The Golden Rule

by B_25

Rating: teen
Tags: Other, Romance, Shining Armor, Princess Celestia, Slice of Life, Princess Luna, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Second Person
Length: 36388

You are a young lieutenant granted the honour of guarding Celestia.

Silence. The golden rule is silence. Silence, and obediance.

For years, you have trained as a royal guard. Now, thanks to the fortuitous return of Shining Armour, your old-time friend and Captain, you are promoted to guarding Celestia personally. What follows, though, is the discovery of a personal side to the Sun Princess that you could never have imagined, not even in your most vivid dreams.

Published 2012-11-14 23:40:01 UTC
Last updated 2017-03-22 07:53:16 UTC

I – Of Parades and Old Friends

~I~

Of Parades and Old Friends

A story of friendship, written lovingly by writer.

The command rings out across the ranks, loud and clear.

“ATTEN-TION!”

Click!

The snapping of hundreds of pairs of hooves cracks the chilled morning air like a many-tailed whip, as you and the rest of the platoon snap to attention.

You stand there, still as a stone, not even daring to avert your eyes from directly in front of you.

The height of summer was the time the alicorn had chosen to visit. It had been unusually hot of late, even for summer – but by some miracle, this morning's air is cool, and crisp. Perhaps Celestia had taken a small sympathy on you, and made the sun's intense heat more tolerable to bear from underneath your heavy, pristinely polished breastplate and full parade regalia, but you still feel immensely relieved every time a small gust of wind filters underneath your visor, turning the sweat on your brow into chilling comfort. The last hour has been the most focused of your entire life, and you aren't willing to even mop your forehead, lest you be noticed.

You tense a little, waiting for the command to move. In the near distance, you can see the glimmer of the Princesses' crown as she watches your battalion go through its steps.

“Coldstream guards!” Shouts the unicorn once again.  “Shoul-der.... ARMS!”

The glistening silver spear shaft slams into place, just above your left shoulder. You snort a little at the exertion, but the sound is completely lost among the clashing of spears on silver armour as they come to rest, dozens of lethal points readied in respect.

“OFFICERS!” Screams the commander of the guard. “TAKE... POST!”

This is it. This is your moment. The part of your routine in the parade where the slightest fumble could embarrass you in front of the eyes of the entire city.

You take a deep breath, and count to two, like you were instructed. The eyes of the Princesses might be upon you. You know there will be ponies watching from the stands. They're always sold out when the military present the colours to the Princesses. You take four steps forward.

One. Your heart beats in your ears.

Two. You stare straight ahead, not daring to even think.

Three. The graveled parade ground crunches underneath your immaculately polished hooves.

Four. You stop, stamping your opposite hoof in attention.

Still facing away from you, Shining Armour removes his helmet, unveiling a long, cleanly-cut mane of silver blue.

“PARADE!” he barks, his voice all authority and command. “REMOVE... HEAD-DRESS!”

You are a good two metres in front of the column, but you feel and hear the rustle of hundreds of heads simultaneously lowering. You slip a hoof underneath your chin, and lift the silver guardsman's half-helm from your head, hoisting it on your shoulder in readiness and snapping your eyes back to your commander.

For a moment, you stand there, reveling in the moment as the wind does its best to unfurl your slightly sweaty mane. It's the best thing you've ever felt in your entire life after an hour of parade drills, but you daren't move, nor show any sign of relief.

“THREE CHEERS FOR HER MOST GRACIOUS MAJESTY, PRINCESS CELESTIA!” Shining Armour shouts, his voice ringing across parade ground. “HIP-HIP!”

“HURRAH!” the parade ground booms in a deafening response. You thrust your helmet into the air and do the same.

“HIP-HIP!”

“HURRAH!” you yell at the top of your lungs, but your shout is lost in the roaring cacophany.

“HIP-HIP!”

The last cheer is the loudest of all, a crisp blast of patriotism that nopony on the parade ground would dare to overdo.

“HURRAH!”

Silence retakes the field.

Shining Armour. You've known him for a very long time. Almost as long as you've been in the guards. You joined when he was just a lieutenant, friendly and amiable, an effervescent grin ever on his lips. Now, though, as you stand outside his office, you feel nervous. He'd asked to see you on 'formal business'. What exactly that had meant, you weren't entirely sure.

The last time you saw him was more than a year ago, before he went to the Princess's Royal Guard Academy. You know it's there that they train the best of the best to be officers. The last you'd heard of him, he had made the rank of Brigadier, and had been posted as Captain of the royal guard, its youngest ever. When you saw him enter the parade ground today to lead you in your drill, he certainly looked the part in his full officer's regalia, his head held high, the royal purple-tinted steel cuirass trimmed with gold, his half-helm's crest dyed the same tone of blue as his mane.

You didn't know exactly why he'd come back to lead your battalion personally. In some small way, you'd hoped it was a friendly visit to his old stamping ground. More likely, it had been for the sake of the Princesses. He was the commander of the guard, and he was here to make sure the troops he hadn't seen in little over a year were fit to be presented to her majesties.

You'd hoped for a little bit of recognition from him, too. But that afternoon, when Shining Armour had done his pass over the ranks, he had simply trotted by you, his eyes panning over you like you were just another soldier under his command. Like you had never been friends at all. There was no acknowledgement. No confirmation, no smile, no wink, not even a shift of his eyes. Just the legendary ten thousand feet stare that went straight through you, and cold, hard discipline.

You wonder momentarily if Officer's training had changed him that much that he wouldn't even recognise you. It's a little bit frightening to imagine that, but a better alternative than simply admitting that he wants nothing to do with you anymore. You two used to be very good friends in the mess hall and the sparring hall. He was always the better, of course. The advantage of being the best there was, you used to say. He always claimed it was down to luck.

You knock on the door of Shining Armour's rarely-used office with a hoof, shaking out the last of your jitters.

“Enter,” commands a voice, far more imperious than you remember.

You do so promptly.

Staring out the window, seated on his rump, his back rigidly straight and his brow fixed into a stern frown, is Shining Armour. He is now dressed in a red bandolier's jacket, the insignia of his rank decorating his shoulders, and the epaulettes of his station the same colour as his mane. His suit of magenta and gold armour hangs on a ponnequin just to his right.

You want to smile and shake his hoof. You want to go with him down to the bars in town, and buy him a drink, and talk about old times. You want congratulate him on an amazing performance today. You want to congratulate him on making commander. But you can't. The golden rule of the guards is in effect.

Silence, and obediance.

“It's good to see you again,” he says coldly, without even glancing in your direction. You click your back heels together and salute.

“Likewise, sir.”

That, you can do. But nothing more. Nothing informal.

In the army, it might have been well and fine to speak to him informally. But, once you're picked to go in the guards, you change. Friends become officers. Friends become subordinates. Friends get deployed. You become a fighting machine, trained to protect the princesses. The respect for your fellow guard and the rank they have attained replaces every imaginable bond, including friendship, and you become brothers of the sword, bound by an intimacy and strict adherence to the guard's creed only known to those who have fought side by side, the best of the best.

So not now. Not now he's been made commander. Maybe when he was a lieutenant and you were his sergeant you might have risked speaking to him frankly. Probably not when he had been promoted to Captain though, and definitely not anywhere above. Now he was Commander, it was out of the question.

“Did you see the Princesses today?” He asks you, only the tip of his muzzle illuminated by the light outside the window. Elsewhere on his face, a shadow lies, and a taut frown creases his youthful ivory brow.

Some part of you objects to the unusual nature of his opening question. You'd expected something more formal or informal. Not this.

"Yes, sir. All three of them, sir," you say, knowing better than to ask 'which ones'. Shining Armour smiles somewhat.

“Did you see Princess Cadenza, standing next to Princess Celestia?”

"Yes, sir."

Shining Armour scratches his chin.

“What did you think of her?”

For the first time since you were a rookie, you falter for a reply. But after a brief pause in which you console yourself, you say very honestly that you thought the Princesses looked very radiant today, though you're still feeling slightly uneasy as you finish. The commander smirks a little.

“Is that right?” he says, turning his attention away from the window and back to you.

"Yes sir," you reply, meeting his icy blue gaze.

"Well, I quite agree with you," he says. “Her majesty Cadenza was most radiant today."

"Yes, sir," you say.

He turns back to his desk, on top of which there is an envelope. From where you are standing, you cannot see whose name is written on it - not that you would attempt such a thing, of course. He takes it in one hoof and pockets it, before looking back over his shoulder, eyeing you doubtfully.

"May I trust you with a secret, soldier?”

You say that you are honoured, even though inwardly, you are a little bemused. The conversation was strange enough as it was, but you were used to that. Senior officers treated their junior officers and sergeants as their confidants and allies, even if they hardly knew them. It was not a forced thing at all. That was the expected level of loyalty among the guards. A commander must trust his officers.

The fact that you hadn't seen him for a year was a little jarring, though, and you would not have expected him to entrust a secret to you so readily.

Shining Armour nickers a little to himself, and turns back to you, taking a few slow steps forward before leaning in towards you.

"The princesses were most pleased with today. Celestia herself said it was a fine performance."

You don't smile. You aren't trained to smile. You don't blink and you don't stop staring forward, either. But inside, a wave of relief washes over you, and a little bit of the pressure slides off of your back. It feels easier to stand in place, under your commander's intense gaze.

"You have done well, Lieutenant," Shining Armour says, leaning back and beginning to pace around you. "Your drills were immaculate. I wish I could have said the same for your colleagues, but they have work to do. It was your unit that stood out the most to her majesty. And while her majesty might not know the difference between forming line and forming column, I do."

He stops at your back. You continue to stare at the same point you've been staring at for the last two minutes - a little spot on the wall underneath a painting of a navy cutter in full sail, riding the high seas. Without looking at it, you know the spray is white, and the sea is a turquoise green.

"...Yes, today was a very good piece of work indeed," Shining Armour says, after a pause that you knew he was not obliged to explain. "I will see to it that your consideration for Captaincy is given more merit this year."

A little part of you stings at the remembrance of your previous attempt to become a proper, commissioned officer. But you don't even flinch.

"Thank you, sir," you say.

"But none of this is why I have called you to my office," he says, from somewhere to your left. You hear the heavy, jangling thud of his heavy hoof-falls as he continues his slow circle around you. "Do you know why I have summoned you?"

The little burble of fear in your stomach doesn't spread any farther than your throat. But you're scared, and you know it.

"No sir," you say levelly.

He re-enters your vision again, staring at you. For a half-second, your eyes are tempted to flick to his own. Like two chips of blue ice, they bore into you with a ferocity you don't remember from him.

“I wish to inform you that I intend to marry Princess Cadenza in two months.” He then turns away to the window swiftly, leaving you to digest the information. Your eyes widen slightly.

Shining Armour.

Your friend.

The military officer who rose from a simple, commissioned lieutenant like yourself to become the youngest Brigadier in Equestria's history.

“You're marrying her?” you say stupidly, entirely unable to contain yourself.

Shining Armour spins around, glaring back at you with cold, ice-blue eyes. You freeze, fully aware of your idiocy.

“Lieutenant?” he says, an all-too venomous edge to his voice. “Did I just hear you speak without being spoken to?”

It's a baited question. You know you're in real trouble either way, but you can't reply without speaking more, and at this point, you don't know if it would make him angrier or not.

"Yes sir," you say, after deliberating for what feels like an age.

Shining Armour leaves the window and trots over to you, his brow pulled tight into a curt expression.

“I can't believe it,” he says quietly, shaking his head. “A lieutenant of two years. You'd think you would have learned by now.”

You stand on the spot, rooted by duty, staring straight ahead. In your stomach, fear curdles thickly.

“You've had this coming for a long time, you know,” the royal commander says, bringing his face to within an inch of your own. “Oh, yes. You've had it coming, alright.”

You close your eyes, fearing the worst. You'd be sorry if you weren't, after all.

You feel Shining Armour lean close to you.

“A promotion.”

Your eyes open again. Your brain and heart are panicking, doing overtime, but the information they're receiving from your eyes does not make sense.

The commander – your friend – Shining Armour is smiling at you. Smiling. And now he's laughing.

You're not in trouble at all.

“At ease,” he says, his voice regaining some of his warmth. You promptly collapse back onto your rump in shock and surprise, and he suddenly bursts into laughter, punching you in the chest with a forehoof, his face screwed up in mirth. “Oh, that was golden!"  he says, tears rolling down his cheeks. “You should have seen the look on your face! You were scared out of your mind!”

You frown, and feel the kick of a blush on your cheeks as a smile curls across your face. Slowly, it's all dawning on you. He hasn't changed a bit at all, has he?

He speaks your name again, and smiles. You realise that he's speaking to you frankly, as a friend. It's something you've missed. You call him a name and lash out with a hoof, whacking him on the shoulder. This only encourages more laughter, and you dart at the unicorn, shoving him back a little. His mirth only grows, though, and you call him another few caddish names before asking him if he was at all serious.

“Oh yes, perfectly serious,” Shining Armour manages, still chuckling and shielding himself from your hooves. “You're the finest soldier I've ever laid eyes on. When they asked me who might have enough merit to jump up the ranks to take a new Captaincy, I couldn't think of anyone better.” He smiles at you as you stop shadow boxing him. “I came back to see if you were still here, and, well... I'm glad to see you haven't left." He looks you up, and down. "Or changed a bit.”

You are elated, of course. A promotion, a reward for all your hard work. For a brief second, your chest swells with pride, but it nearly comes rushing out again when you think about the little secret he mentioned.

Of course, he must have been joking. Surely.

You ask about Cadenza anyway, an amused grin forming over your face. That was all part of the joke, right? But much to your astonishment, he nods.

Your jaw drops in amazement. For a second, you simply stare at the unicorn, who shifts a little under your stunned gaze, looking half-pleased with himself, and half-embarrassed.

The first thing out of your mouth is a question - how a lug like him had gotten a Princess to fall in love with him.

Shining Armour laughs again, shrugging.

“She was kind enough to accept a dance from me at an officer's ball in Canterlot," he says.

You gasp. What could have possibly compelled him to ask a Princess to dance? He was but a common soldier.

Shining Armour raises an eyebrow at you.

"Not so common any more," he says, tapping his chest, where the solitary, winged gold star indicates his new rank and station. "That was the same night Celestia promoted me. I was celebrating with a few of my fellows, minding my own business, when all of a sudden one of those snobbish Bluebloods bet me fifty guineas that I wouldn't. Didn't think I had the guts to risk getting taken down a few pegs. He was trying to ruin my night, so I asked her. Just to prove him wrong."

Just to prove the point, he reaches into his jacket pocket and withdraws a note that appears to have been written rather carelessly on a handkerchief, passing it to you with a grin.

"I, Sir J. Blueblood, Esquire, in the presence of Lieutenant-Colonel Icewater of the 1st and and Brigadier Montmarre of her majesty's 3rd, bet Brigadier Shining Armour, Commander of the Royal Guard, the sum of fifty guineas to obtain a dance from Princess Cadenza. Should he fail in his task, he must pay the same sum to Sir J. Blueblood, Esquire."

Underneath, the note is signed by various signatures. The victor is apparent by the presence of an attached banknote, which is indeed for the vast sum of money outlined in the bet, for one 'Brig. S. Armour.'

Shining Armour continues.

"I looked up, saw her sitting at the table, downed the rest of my drink and went for it. And apparently, she loves gallantry and bravery in stallions. Who would have thought?” His eyes sparkle at you mischievously. “Caused quite a stir among the Bluebloods, from what I hear, but more's the pity for them, eh? Now that I'm commander, they can't whine without kicking up a stink.”

You inquire about the relationship itself, raising a curious eyebrow.

"It developed rather well that night," he says, rather carefully. "That was months ago. I believe she is somewhat more acquainted with me, now, and we have met and spoken several times since. It is a good thing I work in such close proximity to her, because I admit, I'm fairly infatuated by her."

You make a passing reference to Shining being something of a Romeo. He scowls at you, ignoring you, and after a few moments of grinning, you ask when the news will become public.

“Oh,” he replies, faltering. “I haven't proposed yet, but I will in a little while. In fact, that 'little while' is part of why I've returned to find you.” He smiles. “I want you to help me out for a few months."

You nod. "Of course!" you say, ever willing to do him a favour, and especially seeing as how he's just given you the gift you've been wanting for almost two years now. Your only question is what needs to be done.

"By guarding Princess Celestia while I travel north to meet Cadenza once more, and propose to her," he says.

Again, it takes a little bit for the information to sink in. But when it does, a feeling of utter giddiness overcomes you. You feel like passing out, and you swear your forelegs are suddenly very weak.

Shining Armour watches you with a grin as you gasp in shock, struggling for words.

“Thought you might like that,” he says, retrieving the thick, immaculately white envelope from earlier from out of his coat pocket, waggling it in the air with a hoof. “I've got your comission papers signed and ready.”

Your eyes fall on the envelope, and you gasp. No wonder he had concealed it from you. It has your name on it, in brilliant, cursive gold lettering, and it bears the royal insignia atop a lump of red wax.

Finding your hooves is hard, but you up and trot forward to accept the honour all the same. As your hooves close around the envelope, though, a slightly troubling thought brings you back down to earth with a bump.

The honour of serving in her majesty's guard was reserved for only the most seasoned of officers. You were not enough of a veteran, and you voice your concerns aptly.

“Yes... or, the honour can go to those with outstanding commendations and experience,” Shining Armour says pointedly, giving you a knowing look. “And what better commendation can you receive for guarding her majesty, then that of the Commander of the royal guard?”

For a second, you simply stare at him, gaping. The tension in the air is palpable. He has just offered you a promotion, a commendation, and the job of your dreams, all in the space of thirty seconds. And you are totally, utterly wiped by it.

You cheer, completely abandoning any pretence of formality, and throw your forelegs around Shining Armour, dragging him around and around in a whirlwind of delirious joy, both of you laughing and laughing.

You adjust your armour as you walk. It's shinier than usual, and that's saying something, given that you were only on parade yesterday. It gleams so brightly, it's almost a little painful to look at.

Your mother was so proud when you told her. You sent her a letter by pidgeon straight away, and got one back less than a few hours later. Your comrades were equally delighted and jealous when you told them you were going away. The seasoned gunnery sergeant who'd helped you out so much as a junior officer was rather teary-eyed. Some of your more experienced fellows, seasoned lieutenants and captains approached you, each mumbling a quiet word of respect in the mess hall that afternoon. Your subordinates cheered you. Even some of the hard-as-nails drill sergeants claimed they'd miss you. It was the best day of your life.

That night, you packed your duffel-bag, too worked up to do anything else. After hours of trotting around your tiny, officer's room, you flopped onto your bed and lay awake, staring at the ceiling, totally unable to fall asleep.

You were also dead tired. Somewhere between the two, you caught a few hours' rest, and when you awoke for the 5am reverie, you felt more refreshed than you ever had in your entire life. That morning, you left the barracks amid a hoofshake or two, still walking on air. By that afternoon, you and Shining Armour were winging your way through the skies, well on your way to Canterlot. And before you could even rid yourself of the euphoria that accompanied the unbelievable turn your life had just taken, you were both in an earth pony carriage, being pulled up the pathway that led up to Canterlot Castle.

It was the Princess's home, or so Shining Armour had said.

To you, it looked more like an entire city.

Towers of gilded gold and royal purple. White marble columns, tapering arches, and high walls of glittering alabaster stone, Canterlot Castle sat, perched on the mountainside far above the city, providing gorgeous views of the vale miles below. It was a marvel of... well, everything you've ever known. Nothing you'd seen had ever been so extravagant and beautiful, or so incredible, or so intimidating. It was certainly nothing you could ever have dreamed of seeing, and your mouth fell slack as you admired the palace from the carriage.

The highest tower, you knew, was Luna's observatory. The giant glass lens poking out from the ceiling confirmed that thought. In line with it were several other towers of varying height and scale, and the main manor itself, which sat in the centre of it all, a palatial, rotund addition to the many wispy spires and tapering points of the castle. Scattered hither and thither were towers of varying height and size, a dozen tapering points with differing heights, widths and thicknesses, some of them connected to eachother by long, glass corridors - but despite the unusual arrangement, the palace still maintained regality. How and why you weren't certain. All you knew was that there was some magic to the place that even a unicorn like you could never hope to learn.

Then, a jolt hits the cart, jerking you back into awareness, and you heard the wheels rumble as they hopped from the gravel path onto to the wooden drawbridge. You glanced over at Shining Armour, grinning nervously. He smiled back, clearly understanding the effect Canterlot was having on you.

“Amazing, isn't it?” he said, before turning his gaze out the window and sighing. “What I wouldn't give to come here more often.”

You rib him with a hoof, and remind him that he might live here one day, provided all went to plan with Cadenza. Now it was his turn to look shy.

“Well, we all live in hope,” he replies, flushing a little.

The cart passes through the gate, travels a little further, does a small half-turn, and then rumbles to a stop. You look up at Shining Armour. He passes you a hopeful smile. You make sure your helmet was on straight. You step out of the carriage.

Incredible. Simply incredible. The day was sunny and fine, and the very stonemasonry seemed to light up in reply, causing the magnificent palace to glow, as if it was enchanted by the magic of the sun itself.

But you can't linger too long just to gawk. Now, as you're torn away from the comfortable safety of the carriage, you follow Shining Armour up a flight of marble stairs, through a small antechamber and into the palace itself. You struggle between admiring the inner beauty of the palace, and making sure everything about you is prim and perfect. Your anxiety is intense, and it only heightens as you twist and turn your way through Canterlot's many golden halls, giving you the chance to sneak a glimpse at the grand stained glass windows, each casting brilliant prisms of rainbow light onto the floor. Curtains of crimson silk frame the windows, all done up with long cords of golden rope. Even more magnificent are the Grand frescoes hoof-painted onto the ceiling, each of them depicting the Princesses during a time in equestrian history, and only some of which you recognise.

It's nothing, though, compared to when you clap eyes on the biggest set of doors you've ever seen in your life. They're made from what looks to be solid gold, hugely tall – almost as tall as the arched ceiling itself – and they're embossed with two metal unicorn heads, each clasping a gigantic golden ring in their mouths.

Golden double-doors. You swallow nervously. There's no mistaking who's behind them.

You proceed down the hallway on a long, red carpet, your eyes totally fixed on the doors as they loom closer and closer. You are flanked on either side by royal guards, dressed in shimmering gold with capes of crimson themselves, and there is a guard every ten paces, not counting the two at the door – but you couldn't care less about them right now.

You only have eyes for the doors.

The two pegasus at the door stand to attention when Shining Armour approaches them. It's only when you pass them that you realise that these are the most elite guards you know of, the royal guards themselves. And they revere your old friend with the same immaculate respect you would expect from privates and corporals in your platoon.

It's almost a little giddy for you to imagine how high he's risen. You're just a novice by comparison.

Shining Armour puts a hoof to each door, and pushes lightly. Despite their immense size, the doors swing open easily, yet slowly, oh so slowly...

The door opens into a forum-like area, with gilded chairs for seating around the edge of the room, where dozens of members of the Canterlot nobility sit, attending court. A hundred heads turn to acknowledge your presence, every one of them a somepony with immense power, and greatness. And in the centre of it all, on a golden throne, at the head of the silken red carpet that you've been treading on for what feels like forever, is Celestia herself.

And you cannot help but think, through your fuzzy head and racing heart, that she is even more ladylike, more beautiful and more regal in person than she was from when you were on the parade ground - when all you could see of her was the glimmer of her crown, and her ethereal mane. She is sleek, snowy-white and tall. Even sitting, you would come up to her neck at least, though you have little time for such trivial thought right now. Your heart races in a mixture of admiration and nervousness.

Celestia glances up as you enter, and puts the letter she was reading to one side, watching you both as you approach.

Artwork by maocha

Her coat is a pure white, and her mane is of a thousand colours, long and lustrous, flowing in a magical wind you can't see, but you can feel. The air itself seems to be warmer in her presence somehow, and the throne room bathes in a heat that isn't at all unpleasant. It's a delightful glow on your coat, one that seeps through to the bone when you look upon her, as if she's been touched by sun itself.

Or maybe you're just sweating like a dog. You don't notice either way.

A coronet of pure gold sits atop her head, its fine, tapering points and elegant metalwork half-hidden by a great, white horn. Around her neck she wears a golden necklace, set with a purple jewel that seems to possess not one colour, but fifty. She is all elegance, the very majesty and radiance of the sun, from the bottom of her golden shoes to the tip of her long tail, a dozen shades of blue, violet and verdant green.

You shudder as she flits her gaze over to your dress for a moment. When she raises her eyes to meet your own for the first time, you nearly freeze on the spot.

Those eyes.

They were magenta. A deep, beautiful shade of orchid, they surveyed you with a wiseness and calmness both unmetered and unmatched. Your heart flutters in a mixture of nervousness and something else you aren't willing to think about, and you quickly break the stare, not wanting to let your gaze linger for more than a second.

But that blissful second burns into your mind like a brand, and even after you look away, you can see a pair of gentle amethyst eyes peering deeply into your soul every time you blink, as if she were a blindingly bright light.

After what feels like an age of trotting, you and Shining Armour reach the foot of her golden throne, and kneel on all fours before her, bowing your heads simultaneously.

You wait. You wait, and you wait, and you wait for what feels like an eternity. It's the longest few seconds you've ever lived.

Celestia begins to speak.

II – Of Blueblood and the Tailor

~II~

Of Blueblood and the Tailor

A story of friendship, written lovingly by writer.

“Good morning, my little ponies,” Celestia says. Her voice is like a gentle song, motherly and teacherly at the same time.

“Good morning, your majesty,” Shining Armour says, rising. You follow suit at a careful pace, not wanting to slip up. “May I present to you the good Captain, who was responsible for the immaculate parade yesterday?”

A little part of you objects. That's not entirely true. You drilled your platoon, and Shining Armour's return had a lot to do with your efforts that afternoon. But you daren't speak up.

“Ah, yes,” Celestia says, turning her head to smile at you. For a brief moment, you are overcome with an immensely warm and pleasant feeling. “It was truly a wonderful thing to see.”

You dip your head in reverence again, if only to alleviate yourself from her eyes for a second. Thankfully, any urge to react to her praise is totally overwhelmed by fear and slight nausea.

“I have asked him if he wishes to serve you, as was my recommendation, your majesty,” Shining Armour says again as you raise your head.

“And what did he say?” Asks Celestia. For a moment, you believe she is genuinely curious about the answer, even though it is painfully obvious what it will be.

“He said he would be most honoured.”

Celestia smiles slightly.

“Very well.”

Celestia steps down off her throne, trotting forward to you. Immediately, you return to kneeling again, filling your vision with crimson. The only indication you have of Celestia's presence is the sound of her rhythmic hoofsteps padding on the carpet before you. They soon stop.

Like a radiant, glittering body of light, she stands before you. You don't even need to be looking up to see that. Some way to your left, Shining Armour does a sharp turn, bringing his hooves together in attention.

“Captain,” he says, his voice solemn and loud. “Before the eyes of gathered ponies, I charge you with the task of protecting our most royal majesty, Princess Celestia. Do you swear by all that you hold dear to protect to her majesty from this hour henceforth, in peace or troubled times, in living or dying, and to serve her with all your heart and soul, and if need be, your life?”

“I swear it on my life,” you reply, raising your head slightly so that you might be heard, but not daring to gaze above Celestia's chest. “Until death takes me, or the world ends, I shall not tire of my guard.”

Celestia speaks.

“Then I say to you; rise, Captain.”

You do so, and bring your head up to gaze upon Celestia. Again, her stare pierces through you, and you willingly expose yourself to it, no matter how much it makes you nervous. Her horn seems to shimmer brightly with a power you have never known. Wisps of magical light float gently around her mane, and her magenta eyes glow brightly, two pinpricks of light in the halo of light that surrounds her.

“Do you have anything to say to me, Captain?” she asks, in a voice so filled with power that makes your coat prickle, gazing down at you. For a second, you are overcome with the feeling that she speaks to you and only you, and that there is no other in the room.

“Only that you honour me, your majesty,” you say. They weren't the words you were expecting to tumble out of your mouth, but for some reason, you were momentarily overcome by some unbearable urge to speak your heart.

“Then I welcome you to my guard with humble thanks,” she replies softly, closing her eyes and bowing her own great head in respect. “You have offered me your life. I will not forget it.”

And just like that, the air seems to grow less tense. Something seals within the nether, and the aura of light that surrounds the Princess seems to grow less bright. Her hair dulls to its lesser splendour. The wisps disappear. Whatever visible remnants of Celestia's power seem to vanish, and for a brief moment, it is as if she was never different at all. She returns to the beautiful, silent queen she always was, leaving your soul ennobled and your spirits lifted.

Despite your intense focus on the princess, somewhere in the back of your mind, your heart skips a beat at the very thought that Princess Celestia is thankful. But you aren't thinking about that right now.

Celestia raises her head, re-opening her eyes. They have returned to their dulled state, though they still burn through you like no other.

“Thank you, Captain. You may leave now. I will have a guard show you to my quarters at a later stage.”

You bow your head once more, and take a few, careful steps backwards. Only when you are a sufficient distance away do you turn your back on Celestia and Shining Armour, striding towards the golden double doors. They open for you, and you slip out back into the long, carpeted hallway.

The golden doors roll shut with a soft boom, and you are on your own. Immediately, you let out a very, very long-held breath.

“Not bad, eh?” says a voice to your left. You turn your head to spy a white unicorn sitting on the steps by the golden doors, watching you with a sly smile on his face. He is not one of the door-wardens of Celestia, and you can see by his decoration and apparent abandon of formality that he is an officer, though of what kind you cannot say. He wears a jacket of immaculately pressed royal blue, matching his eyes and perfectly-kept mane of shimmering gold to a tee.

“Sir?” you inquire unsurely, using formality just in case. The unicorn lets out a high-pitched laugh, as if you have amused him, shaking his head and getting on all fours.

“The Princess, I mean, my dear friend,” he says, dusting his coat off. “She is magnificent, is she not?”

You cannot help but agree. You were bound to by respect and politeness, but this was one of rare the occasions where your somewhat excessive devotion to your Princess was well-placed.

“Yes, of course,” you say, your mind darting back to the conversation you had with Shining Armour only yesterday. “She is most radiant.”

“Ah, most radiant indeed, yes!” He replies enthusiastically, before turning his attention to the door guard. “Keep up the good work, Major.”

You frown. Major? If he was referring to the door-guard by his rank, then that would suggest an officer's rank. It's only then you notice the gold star pinned just under his left breast. You snap a quick salute. Again, the white unicorn chuckles.

“Easy, old boy,” he says, trotting towards you. “I'm no officer to you, though I believe my rank and title might be somewhere close to yours.”

The very way in which he holds himself, strutting towards you in a relaxed fashion, a casual smile carved across his chiselled, chivalrous face – says a lot about him. But you don't have time to think about that right now, as he's already before you.

“Blueblood, sir, just Blueblood,” he replies, holding out a hoof. “Sir or Brigadier or Lord, if you absolutely must. Her majesty's own and royal guard. And you?”

You state your name and rank, clasping his forehoof in your own. Blueblood appears satisfied, but at the mention of your rank, the smile on his face falters.

“What, ho? Just a Captain?” he says, frowning slightly. “Why... why, I find that to be most unusual. You must be most spectacularly influential!”

Sensing that now would be the right time (if there ever was one) to say that Shining Armour promoted you, you nod and smile back.

“Commander Shining Armour and I are acquainted."

Immediately, you feel his grip tense slightly, but the grin on his face still says 'friendly'.

“Oh, I see, I see!” He says, bringing his other forehoof to your back, an act that you aren't entirely comfortable with, given that you've just met him. “Just a Captain, yes, I see, that would be his first choice of a recruit.”

Feeling a little tension, you raise an eyebrow and open your mouth to ask if there is anything wrong, but already you are being steered down the hallway.

“But come! Come,” Blueblood says. “Let me introduce you to your fellow officers, with whom you will share the privilege of guarding her majesty.”

You take a different route to the quarters of the Princesses. Blueblood leads you at a leisurely trot that could almost be a swagger, and now that you're supposed to be looking around and learning the palace (and now that you're slightly less on edge), you take a moment every now and again to absorb some of the magnificence that surrounds you.

Of course, the floor is entirely polished white marble. It looks like nobody's ever set a hoof since it was laid, its perfectly immaculate sheen mirroring the frescos of the arched ceiling far above. Again, red velour carpets map the path from hallway to hallway, each like softly-spun silk in between your hooves.

“So, as I was saying,” Blueblood begins again, after a moment of silence. “Not bad, eh?”

“Yes, sir,” You reply honestly. It's more then just 'not bad'. It was extraordinary in every single way, and you don't just mean the castle. Its inhabitants were far more radiant.

“Ah!” Blueblood gives you a sideways grin. “No 'sir' now. Just Blueblood will do for you, my friend.”

You smile back. You think you're beginning to like this Blueblood character. He's certainly affable and amiable enough. You ask him how long he's been in the guard for, as you turn into another gigantic hallway.

“Ah yes, since I could hold a spear,” Blueblood replies. “I have served her majesty faithfully for many years. These halls are as much my home as they are her majesty's, now,” he says with a wistful sigh. “Many long years of service has left me most attached to her majesty. Her younger sister is somewhat less in my heart, though. She is not as well loved by the commoners, and even I must follow the peasants from time to time. And who can blame them? After all, it was not so long ago that she was feared as the enemy, wasn't it?”

The way he says 'commoners' makes you frown, but you agree with him nonehteless. Princess Luna had been under some hidden veil of quiet contempt from many of your fellows. Her night-guards, and those recruits who aspired to join it, were deemed as unsavoury characters by some. Not to you, of course. Celestia's word of her sister's loyalty upon her return had given you confidence in the night princess you needed. And, well... who could deny Celestia after seeing how great and powerful she was?

Blueblood notices your thoughtful quietness. “Yes, I also pray that will change over time.” He offers you another dazzling smile. “Princess Cadenza also holds a place in my heart, but then again, we are cousins, so perhaps that is to be expected of me.”

You feel your jaw drop a little bit. You're talking to royalty.

“Ah, see? I did not mention that I was,” Blueblood says, giving you a knowing, slightly smug look. “I wouldn't want to scare you into silence. I know how Commander Armour treats his subordinates.”

For a split-second, you're tempted to tell him about Shining Armour and his intentions. It's a good thing you don't, because Blueblood continues to talk as you take a quick right, leading through a slightly smaller, less magnificent hallway, and towards a slightly less ominous set of oak doors.

“You would do well to stay away from the commander,” he says, uttering the last word like it was a bad taste on his tongue. “Just a word of advice. I don't think his kind will be around here for very long.”

You get the uncanny feeling that Blueblood dislikes Shining Armour. Either way, it's none of your business, and you keep your mouth closed, just like you'd learned as a lieutenant.

Around you, you notice that the hallway around you no longer has all of the trappings of the path to the throne room, instead bearing only a few paintings of summer and spring forests, and that the floor is of a slightly less polished quality. The walls are not made of carved marble, but of chiselled stone, grey and tall. The floor-level windows offer you a look outside onto the castle lawns, but the view is less quiet and grand. It's almost as if the rest of the castle has been added on later, which strikes you as strange, for it seems to be much, much older. You like it just as much as you like the rest of the palace, for while it was not as impressive or lordly, it still blew you away, and the walls seemed to leak some kind of homely familiarity to you.

“Do you know that he speaks openly with her majesty?” Blueblood questions you, still slightly indignant. “Not nearly enough formality for such a role. Insubordination, I say.”

“Where are we?” You ask, eager to take the conversation out of dangerous waters before he asked you for your opinion.

“We're going to her majesty's quarters. Didn't you hear me, old boy?” Blueblood titters gaily. “For some reason, her majesty prefers to live in the older, less grand section of the palace. We call it the summer-house, for that is what the palace was in the days of yore – a hunting lodge and summer retreat, where Celestia lived after the war.”

You ask, very tentatively, what Celestia might ask you to do. To your surprise, Blueblood only shrugs.

“I'm afraid I can't say. Her majesty's wishes mean you mind spend one day on guard duty, and the next accompanying her as an envoy. The other, you might be the guard to her ambassadors. There are all sorts of things you can do. You might be lucky and get posted to Luna's observatory. The view from all the way up there is quite the treat.”

You frown, puzzled. You don't recall climbing any stairs. Where were you?

Blueblood smiles to himself again.

“Just take a glance out of the window to your right, there.”

Having been walking on Blueblood's right, you've only had cause to examine the left half of the hallway while he was speaking, out of politeness. You can't imagine how it would be different, but you turn your head anyway.

All the blood drains from your face. The hall is totally symmetrical, but from this side, the window provides not a glance of the gardens, but of Canterlot valley, a thousand feet below. You quickly gallop over for a look, but you slow as you approach the window, just in case you slip or... or something.

Tenatively, you pause a few feet away from the crystal window, and lean close, peering down. Yes, you weren't dreaming. As you peek out of the fine glasswork, you can see a mighty clifface and a sheer drop before you. You realise that this part of the castle, and consequently, the entirety of Celestia's living quarters, Luna's observatory and all, is suspended in the air, and all that stands between you and a terrifyingly long fall is the window pane.

You take a few steps backward, feeling a bit nervous.

Blueblood's laughter causes you to turn back. The lordly unicorn watches you with a half-amused smile.

“Like I said, not bad, eh? I suppose the view makes up for the lack of grandeur?”

You reply, slightly breathlessly, that you thought the view made her living quarters much more magnificent than the throne room. It's an earnest statement, perhaps inspired more by your giddiness than anything. You love nature, and you always have. For a moment, Blueblood frowns at you, as if something bothers him, but he seems to brush it away, shrugging once more and trotting forward again.

“Each to their own.”

You reach the unattended doors, and you realise suddenly that you haven't seen a guard in at least five minutes, since you left the long path to the throne room.

“Oh, yes,” Blueblood says, pausing to glance back down the hallway. “Only her majesty or her guards get to come through here, though. Foreign dignitaries go straight to the throne room, where they await her majesty's pleasure. This is our territory,” he says proudly.

You both resume your steady trot, and when you reach the red oak doors, Blueblood pushes through them open with a soft rumble. You follow through, tentatively.

Celestia's quarters are... jarring, to say the least. You've trotted from the cathedral-like magnificence of the palace into another world entirely, and this world is very green. The trickling of water makes your ears prick, and the smell of life fills your lungs. It's a wonderful aroma.

The room is long, tall, slightly rectangular, and absolutely filled with plants of all kinds. It's like you've walked into a miniature forest. The slightly angled roof follows the walls and is supported by immense, sandstone columns. Instead of a ceiling, though, the entire roof is made of pure glass, allowing the sun to pierce through. In the centre of the room, a large, many-tiered stone fountain is sunken into the floor, with steps leading to its edge. It burbles softly, the sunlight dancing off of its crystalline waters and shimmering off of the stone ceiling. There are three sets of carved stone double-doors, one for each of the remaining compass directions.

“This is her majesty's antechamber,” Blueblood says. “We call it the greenhouse, for obvious reasons. But wait just a moment, will you?” He says.

You glance over to Blueblood, and see him cupping his forehooves to his mouth.

“I say, Merryweather! Are you in here?” Blueblood yells. You jump, despite having prepared for it.

“Hullo!” Calls a similiarly regal voice. “Don't shout, I'm coming!”

There's a trotting of hooves from some way to your left, and the stone double-doors open. A unicorn trots out, looking around for the noise.

“Merryweather!” Blueblood replies, grinning broadly. “Come and meet our newest recruit.”

“Ah! Splendid!” Merryweather cries, trotting around the edge of the large room briskly, his voice cutting in and out between the pillars. “I've heard you were coming! Let's have a look at him, then!”

You feel a bit unusual being inspected like this, but when Merryweather comes closer, you can see how he might think of such a thing as normal.

He's an older unicorn, and his coat is an ivory white, just like blueblood. His mane is a memoir of prosperity - full and thick yes, but many shades of grey, some darker than others. On his upper lip he has an extremely well-kept and waxed moustacio of a similar tinge, and over one eye he bears a monocle, concealing a set of eagle-like amber eyes. He wore the uniform of a royal officer, blue and gold armour, though he lacked the crested helm that you took for granted. He reminded you of a drill sergeant, but without the pace stick, and a good deal more seasoned.

“Major Merryweather is a veteran of twenty-five years,” Blueblood says to you, not-so-quietly. “They wanted to make him a general when he retired, but the mad old coot settled for the royal guard instead.”

“I heard that!” Merryweather barks. Blueblood laughs in his faux-pas, high-pitched giggle again, and you grin in what you hope is your best amused smile as Merryweather draws near.

“May I present the good Captain, who will be joining us?” Blueblood says, nodding his head in your general direction. Merryweather's eyebrows rise in barely-concealed surprise, though his thin lips are hidden behind his moustache.

“Captain, is it? Great Scott, boy, you must be an extraordinary one. Colonel Merryweather, or just Merry if you please,” he says, offering you a hoof.

“A pleasure and an honour, sir,” you reply, taking the unicorn's hoof, for once convinced of your words.

“Where's Dechant?” Blueblood says. Merryweather glances away from you.

“Oh, I'm not sure. I believe he's making ready this lad's quarters. Guess where Celestia put him?”

“The royal barracks in the east wing, I would expect?”

“Err... no, actually. The archives.”

Blueblood's eyes widen. “The archives? Are you sure? I thought that room was... well, a giant library.”

“Yes, I'm positive,” Merryweather replies, looking similarly bemused. “I heard Celestia ask the royal decorator herself. Something about her student wanting to come and visit more often, and her not having suitable housing, whatever that means. He's in the old librarian's room. Celestia took a few of her old books out of there herself just the other day.” Merryweather passes you a grin. “You'll be sleeping in the archives,” he says again, as if you hadn't heard. “It's a bit of an unusual choice, I know, but trust me, it looks nothing like a dusty old library now that the decorators have had a crack at it.”

You laugh and smile, and mumble that it hardly matters. It's a room within the Princess's quarter of the palace. You aren't complaining at all.

“Oh, I wasn't suggesting you were,” Merryweather says. “But we haven't had more than three private guards for a while, now. Celestia doesn't usually house her visitors, so we had to change a few things around,” he adds with a smile.

The clunk of stone on stone makes him glance to his left. “Ah! Here he is! Dechant, come and meet the Captain.”

“Captain?” Says a bold voice. You turn your head right to see the broadest, tallest draft stallion you have ever seen, trotting across the small plaza.

Unlike Blueblood and Merryweather, he is a grey, he is a pegasus, and he is utterly huge. His breastplate, coloured a peculiar blend of green and gold, must be the largest and most immaculately polished you've seen. His trots are at least one and a half times your strides, and almost immediately he's beside you, looking down at you.

“Captain eez a verry low rank to be a royal guard,” he says in a thick accent, smiling at you with white teeth. “The Princess must zink verry 'ighly of you.”

“Colonel Dechant here is from Prance,” Blueblood says. “He saved the lives of a dozen other pegasus during a run-in with some gryphons, and was given a gold star for his valour.”

Hoping you aren't betraying any of your fright from the colossal pegasus, you suck in a breath and laugh politely, shaking his hoof, which dwarfs your own. The Colonel looks down at you, a very faint scar drawn down the edge of one of his lime-green eyes not helping your nerves.

“I 'ave been preparing your quarters, Captain,” he says. “I 'ope zey are to your liking.”

“Well, it's probably better than my room at home,” you go out on a limb and say, jokingly. Merryweather chuckles in reply.

“And where is home for you, old boy?” Blueblood says, his lip curling in curiosity.

You mention the name of your town. A silence fills the air.

Merryweather is looking at the space in between the two of you, a thoughtful frown on his face.

“Just outside of Canterlot?” you add helpfully, passing your gaze to Blueblood. Blueblood has the same expression on his face.

“I don't recall there being any officer's academies there, Merry. Do you?”

“Can't say I do,” the older unicorn replies.

“Oh, no, sir,” you say, smiling ingratiatingly. “I joined as a private. I was promoted to Lieutenant, and I have been assigned to special duty.”

“...Oh? So you're not an enlisted officer?” Merry says. You glance back at him, and are quite surprised to see him regarding you strangely. The smile slips off your face.

“Well, yes, but only recently-promoted... Shining Armour asked after me to assist him while he attends to... personal business elsewhere.” Again, you finish lamely.

“So you've never been to her majesty's academy for officers in Canterlot?”

You look over at Blueblood again, eager to reply that you'd been trained at the barracks, but something about the look on Blueblood's face makes you pause. He's not smiling anymore. Just furrowing his brow, his blue eyes not quite meeting yours.

“No, I have not,” you say carefully. “I'm afraid it was... beyond my means.”

Your last words cut through the air like a knife.

“I see,” Blueblood says, drawing breath. “So, you're just a... commoner?”

There's that word again. It makes your skin crawl to hear him say it. And you don't think he's using it for lack of a better word for the working class.

You're not sure what to say now. Merry still looks at you unsurely. Blueblood is still... somewhat impassive. Colonel Dechant looks troubled, and watches Blueblood.

The oak front doors swing open, and the voice of the princes's voice breaks the silence. The four of you look over, and you see Celestia trotting around the fountain room towards you, accompanied by yet another young-looking alabaster unicorn wearing a rose-coloured dress, her purple mane falling behind her in immaculate, curled, violet locks.

You have to admit, you've never been so relieved to see royalty. It was starting to get a little more than awkward.

Celestia glances up and sees you, and once again, she does not so much seem to see you as she does peer into you. You tense up again.

“Captain,” Celestia says, greeting you with a warm smile before turning to your fellows. “Gentlecolts.”

In unison, the four of you lower your heads graciously. In doing so, you notice that Blueblood’s ‘bow’ is hardly more than a dip of his head, and that Dechant is so tall that his gesture involves him nearly doubling over.

“Good morning, your majesty!” Blueblood says, once again filled with a strange enthusiasm. “We were just greeting the captain here with open hooves.”

Feeling Celestia’s gaze flicker onto you, you raise your eyes. Two pools of magenta stare back, and for a moment that drags into an eternity, you are struck with the same terrified uncertainty that you experienced in the throne room. What makes it worse is that now you have no reason to avert your eyes. Your heart beats a tattoo against your chest, but you remain stony-faced, as always. Again, your subtle nervousness proves useful in staying absolutely quiet and unmoving.

“Good to know,” Celestia says softly, still looking at you. “Has he been shown around yet?’

“I was doing just that before you entered, marm,” Blueblood replies with a smile that you feel carries no warmth. The Princess appears satisfied by this response, but trots toward you anyway, a small smile gracing her face.

“Well, my business with Shining Armour didn't take nearly as long as I imagined. I have been blessed with some free time, and I’d hoped to be able to spend just a little bit of it showing him around myself.”

A tour of the most hidden part of the palace from Celestia herself… your poor heart! You can almost feel the days of your life slip away as it thuds against your chest with all the fierceness of a steam locomotive.

You see Blueblood’s eyebrow rise in surprise, but if he is, his voice reveals nothing.

“As you wish, your majesty,” he says evenly, turning to Merryweather and Dechant. “Come, you two. Let us leave our young Captain to explore.”

Merryweather nods wordlessly, and offers another bow to the Princess before turning and trotting away. Colonel Dechant passes you what you’re certain is a cold look before following suit, and together, the three of them pass back through the western, stone double-doors.

For a moment, your gaze lingers on the doorway, and you feel slightly nervous. You feel like your first impression on Blueblood and his decorated associates was poor, though you can’t pin down exactly why. The conversation would remain unfinished for now.

You turn back to the Princess and notice that the white unicorn mare is still by her side. You look at her expectantly. She smiles, and arches her perfectly plucked eyebrows, looking back at you as if to say ‘Yes, I am still standing here. Is there a problem with that?’.

The stone door clunks shut, throwing the foyer into silence, other than the slow trickle of water. You watch the mare unsurely. The mare watches you with such an unbothered air – like she’s not even standing next to the Princess herself! – and for a moment, you’re the one who feels out of place.

Thankfully, the Princess is the first to make the move.

“Captain,” she begins, causing you to lose your staring contest with the alabaster unicorn.

You look up at Celestia, who is once again smiling at you for reasons you can’t comprehend. It’s not a broad smile, just a soft one of contentment, and you’d swear that there was some private joke that she was enjoying, and that you were in the dark about.

“May I introduce a friend of mine, and one of the elements of harmony, Miss Rarity?” The Princess says, breaking her gaze to look down at the unicorn. “Rarity, this is the young Captain who is so very good friends with Shining Armour.”

Your nerves spike. Is the unicorn an element of harmony? As in, the elements of harmony? You glance back down at the little mare, who, despite being rather young and fetching, now appears just as intimidating as an officer.

“Miss Rarity,” you say, bowing your head and closing your eyes for what feels like the umpteenth time that day. “It is a pleasure and an honour to meet you.”

The reaction is not what you’d expected.

“Oh my, what a gentlecolt! A pleasure to meet you, too!” a long, drawn out and overly posh voice says. She sounds genuinely delighted to meet you, and a high-pitched giggle of excitement reaches your ears, causing you to glance back up.

Woah! The little unicorn mare is now directly in front of you. You don’t know how she crossed the space between you in such a small amount of time, but you have little time to think as you are assaulted by a flurry of faux expressions, long, drawn out darlings and a very substantial invasion of your personal space. Rarity draws a long, white tape measure along your chest, chattering happily all the while.

“I don’t often get to take measurements for the royal guard, so you’ll have to excuse me for being a little bubbly,” she says with a titter, as if that adequately justifies her weird, cool-and-then-kind attitude.

“I, um,” you reply, totally unsure of what to say. Thankfully, Rarity takes the matter right out of your hooves, instead continuing to talk while she works her way around you.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking what size your armour is, darling,” she says, acting like she isn’t busily measuring your underbelly and (most worryingly) the inside of your back leg. “I’ve always wanted to make a royal guard’s jacket! The Princess asked me to do a favour, and I thought, absolutely, why not?”

Despite your years of stony training, you feel yourself becoming slightly flustered. Nopony has ever actually been so on top of you while you’ve been on duty. Usually, you were supposed to respond with force to this kind of thing, but when doing so clashed with common sense and the courtesy of a Princess? You force out your armour size, before glancing up at your monarch, stony-faced.

Celestia watches you both with barely-contained amusement. You understand what might be so funny now, but it’s not very funny to you. In fact, it makes you want to scowl. But you dare not. All you do is stare straight forward, trying to ignore the unsettling feeling of the tape measure snaking its way along your back.

“Rarity is a tailor,” Princess Celestia says to you. “I asked her this morning if she might be so kind as to do your uniform at some stage, and she arrived almost straight away. She’s also a friend of Shining Armour, though I wouldn’t imagine you two have ever met before.”

Feeling intensely nervous that the Princess is speaking to you, you nod to show that you understand, and after a while, you feel brave enough to glance down and speak to the mare, who is now peering closely at one of your hooves.

“You are acquainted with Commander Armour, Miss Rarity?”

Again, the unicorn beams at you.

“Oh, of course! He is an elder brother to a very dear friend of mine, who is also, coincidentally, the element of magic.”

You raise your eyebrows. You didn’t know too much about Shining Amour’s little sister. He had brought her up in previous conversations with you, but you’d never met. It seemed like a strange thing not to have bought up, though you could see the reason why he might not have wanted ponies to know. It was a rather boastful thing to talk about, and Shining Armour wasn't really one to tout himself. You can now understand how he might have been such a prodigy at the officer’s academy - magic was certainly in his blood.

“Well, I thank you for your generosity, Miss,” you say, still feeling slightly chagrined.

“Oh, it’s in the blood, darling,” Rarity says, in a chilling echo of your thoughts. She waves a pristine white forehoof at you in a 'so-so' sort of way as she finishes measuring your fourth leg, and her tape measure zips itself into a neat little ball. “Aaaaand done!”

Taking a step back, she admires you, smiling. “Thank you, Captain,” she says sincerely. “I hope I’ll see you and Shining Armour again.”

You can't be sure you feel the same way, but you nod and smile in reply.

“Goodbye, for now, Rarity,” Celestia says. The little unicorn turns and does a low, rather flourishing bow involving much uneccessary hoof waving.

“Thank you so much, Princess. I'll have him looking as dapper a gentlepony as I can manage.”

“Very well, my little pony,” Celestia replies, smiling. “Don't overwork yourself on my behalf, though.”

The unicorn gasps in what might have been shock.

“Think nothing of it, Princess! It is an absolute privilege.” She casts an eye over at you, passing you what you swear is a sultry smile.

“I'll be seeing you later,” Rarity chirrups, with a small, lady-like giggle. “Ta-ta!”

She vanishes with a small poof of smoke.

You are alone in the presence of the Princess now. You try to act like you haven’t just been assaulted, covering your rattled state with the unyielding demeanour that you’d learned so well.

Not well enough, it seems. Celestia laughs lightly at you, the slight smile still present on her lips. It sounds like the shattering of crystals, and it certainly shatters all the nerves in your body.

“...I’m sorry about that,” she says, apparently all too aware of your discomfort. “But she’s a very generous mare who enjoys her work, and a loyal friend of mine. I have to admit, I would have liked to tell you sooner about her coming, but then again, I didn’t expect for her to drop everything and report to me so quickly.” The Princess tilts her head slightly. “I doubt you’ve ever been so… unwillingly well-patted down, as it were.”

Somewhere in the back of your mind, a curious voice asks if the Princess really apologised to you. Another part is baffled that Celestia is evidently okay with this bossy little mare showing up whenever she pleased, and chatting to her like she wasn't a Princess at all. That she was among Celestia’s ‘friends’ stunned you even more. Did Princesses even have friends? Your mind ticks over these problems, and many more.

The majority of you, though, is quite ashamed that you couldn’t conceal your emotions well enough, even though you were ninety percent sure that you’d done a perfect job of it.

As a result of all these strange, conflicting feelings, you feel a little confused about how to reply. You were prepared for obedience and rigidity ever since you left the throne room, but all you’ve encountered thus far is a rather unmilitary and, dare you say it, normal air to it all. So you say nothing, merely nodding, just like you were trained.

The Golden Rule is in effect.

“Well then,” Celestia says, apparently unbothered by your silence. “Shall we look around?”

In midst of being traumatised for life, you scarcely remember the Princess' words. You say that you'd like that very much, though in reality, your stomach churns at the very thought.

“I have time to at least show you where you'll be staying,” she says, trotting towards you.

You remember you have a room here.

And then it hits you fully. You have a room here. You!

You spend a precious moment or two trying not to be totally overwhelmed by it all. You want to ask why she's giving you special treatment, but you dare not question the Princess.

“I knew you could not have lived in Canterlot or nearby,” she says, with a slight smile. “Many of my officers do; and some even return to their homes at night from the palace. Some have their own chambers in the royal barracks. But I thought to myself, Maine is an awfully long way away for anypony to commute every day. So I thought I might let you borrow the old librarian's quarters. Usually, my young student stays there, but I don't think she'll mind sleeping in one of the guest rooms. Oh, and it is free of charge, of course.”

Your maw relaxes slightly as you think to ask how she knew your thoughts. You want to ask a question, but you keep your mouth closed, thinking better of it. Immediately, you begin to worry.

Can Celestia read your thoughts?

“I cannot read your thoughts, Captain," she says, with an amused smile on her lips. "Just your face.”

You falter, feeling totally confused. You were sure you weren't that obvious. The sun Princess continues to smile as she walks by, her ethereal tail flowing slowly behind her.

“Now, come along, my little pony,” she says, awfully close to your ear. “You are very determined to be polite, and already I find that rather endearing about you, but I have much to show you before I go back to my duties.”

You're still staring straight ahead, but you can feel her gaze pass over you as she walks by, her majestic, teacherly voice both commanding and imploring at the same time.

Endearing?

Obediantly, you turn and follow her through the north door of the greenhouse, pondering what that might mean.

III – Of the Royal Archives, and a Cup of Tea

~III~

Of the Royal Archives, and a Cup of Tea

A story of friendship, written lovingly by writer.

You follow Celestia through the greenhouse door, pondering her words. But whatever thoughts you have swiftly take second priority to what's in front of you.

You thought, for a minute, you'd somehow trotted back into the castle again. And you had, in a sense. You gasp.

The utterly gigantic archives lie before you. The ceiling, like that of the greenhouse, is made of glass, allowing the light to shimmer through, though the rest of the hall is made of smooth, grey brick. The whole room must be several stories high, and wall to wall are pressed books of a thousand different colours. The clip-clopping of your hooves echoes with the end of each stride, your steel shoes meeting cream-coloured slabs of stone.

In the centre of the room are pillars. They reach for the heavens, but fall halfway short, supporting what appear to be massive wooden staircases that run from level to level. As before, a large, set of arched stone double-doors lies at the far end of the hall, but tall wooden book-cases arranged in horizontal rows obscure your view of just how wide the room is.

“This is the Royal Archives,” Celestia says, her voice echoing a little in the gaping silence. “My sister's observatory and the owlery towers are just beyond. My rooms are to the left...” she tapers off.

The soft tocking of a singular grandfather clock resonates through the lonely hall as you take a moment to drink it in. A thick rug tickles your hooves, its designs so intricate you feel you could never hope to understand their significance.

“Your room is just over here,” the Princess says, taking an immediate right and drawing you down a small corridor with a solitary door at its end, away from the endless maze and the wall to wall spread of books.

Internally, you whine a little. You knew the Princess hadn't much time to show you around - not that you would dare ask her for such a thing. She probably had better things to do with her time than show a new recruit around her household personally. Secretly, you hope to be able to explore the massive archives later, on your own.

And your new room is just that - utterly massive. Your old Lieutenant's room at the Barracks had been four strides in breadth and three in length, and you'd thought that was pretty generous. This room is at least three times that. You'd had to duck your head in one half of your old room – the slanted, attic-like confines of your quarters annoying you on more than one occasion. Here, there is no such quarrel. The ceiling, just like that of the rest of the wing, feels so very high above you, and is laden with long slabs of dark wood.  From it a steel frame chandelier hangs, its magically-lit candles flickering elegantly in the still air. The walls are made of immaculate mahogany panels, and the dulled glint of sunlight across the polished, grey-brown floorboards makes them sparkle. The centre of the floor is occupied by a rectangular rug traced with delicate designs and strange imagery that you have never seen before, and a circular tea-table with two matching chairs.

In one corner is tucked is a giant four-poster bed, its beams and backboard engraved with floral emblems and the sun. The bedspread and pillows are an unearthly white. In the other is a desk, set beside an old stone fireplace. Various cabinets are placed against the walls, their doors engraved with gold and silver suns and above them are distinctly half-full bookshelves. Next to them is a long velvet settee, with a rectangular tea-table in front of it.

It's strange. It's a brilliant room, and you know it, but it doesn't feel like it was made for a noble. Like the castle, you were expecting Celestia's wing to be all marble and gold. This is polished wood, and delicate embroidery, and carpet. It's like somepony's private office. A bureaucrat, maybe. Somepony who's quite ordinary.

It's like somepony had made the room just for you.

“This used to be my librarian's room,” Celestia says, making you turn. She, too, is examining the room with an air of faint curiosity. “But she left me a while ago. Nopony's really lived here for quite a few years, now. I used to keep all my books in here, but I spent yesterday moving them all out, so I hope you don't mind the shelves being a little bare.”

You gaze at the room around you, lost for words. You feel your neck muscles tense, and you shake your muzzle once or twice. Speaking is beyond you right now.

“Good!” Celestia says, apparently mollified by your non-answer. “You are most welcome. Now, would you like a cup of tea?”

You blink once, feeling slightly embarrassed. You've never even drunk tea before, let alone shared it with a Princess. Your emotions and discipline unbarred in her presence, you feel yourself turning a slight shade of pink.

“You would honour me, your majesty,” you say.

Celestia's horn glows an amethyst purple, and a silver tea-tray pings into existance. It is an exquisite thing, ingrained with a golden leaf motif of the sun, and upon it sits two identical white china teacups. Wreathed in magic, the tea-tray floats over to the long sofa, and sets itself down onto the tea-table with a soft clinking noise.

You both trot over to the table.

“Have you ever had tea before?” Celestia asks, glancing back at you.

How did she... You find yourself fighting a frown. You've never had a cup of tea in your life, and you lament your awful luck. For her to ask such a thing was a million to one, surely.

“No, marm.” You say. “I apologise,” you add quickly, as if you had offended her.

A moment after your revelation, Celestia smiles and shakes her head, though she politely ignores your embarrassment.

“Never had tea before? Well, well. We shall have to see about that!” Her horn shimmers softly with magic, and your cup hums softly, glowing an amethyst purple. After a moment, though, the cup returns to its normal state.

“There,” she says, looking satisfied. “That teacup belongs to you now.”

Curiously, you peer down at it, uncertain.

“Thank you?” you say, somewhat confusedly. Celestia chuckles.

“I've enchanted it. Try touching it.”

You extend a nervous hoof, and touch it on the rim. No sooner have you done so that you retract your hoof in fright.

The cup's white surface moves. Or at least, you thought it moved. A shimmering ripple extends from where you touched the cup's surface, like a rock tossed into a still pool. For a moment, it is as if the cup's solid china surface is made of liquid. You look on in confusion.

And then, colour bursts into life from the void of white china. The surface of the cup dyes itself an emerald green, and then a deep brown.

You look back up at Celestia, who is watching you.

“It's painting something,” she says, smiling. “Keep watching.”

You look back down, and realise that some of the green has overlapped that of the brown. The cup then dyes itself blue, leaving the shape of a tree there.

The cup turns caramel in the area that isn't occupied by the tree. Fields of wheat paint themselves in the background. And slowly, surely, a house begins to build in the foreground. It's a white stucco cottage, with a wooden verandah. The tiled red roof is adorned with a tiny smokestack, from which wisps of ashy grey warmth spiral.

You gasp as recognition takes you. It's your home. You'd recognise the farmhouse anywhere. After a moment longer, the cup stops flashing, and you pick it up gently, turning it over in your hooves.

It's a beautiful picture. You can see it's an exact representation of your memory of the farm in the sunlight, just as you left home for the first time. You see a figure in the solitary cottage window. Just next to the handle of the cup itself, you can see an auburn unicorn mare through the window. Her features are too small to work out, but you're sure that it's your mother.

“Drinking tea is time for reflection,” Celestia's voice says, softly, serenely. “This cup will change to whatever is most important to you. That way, you can think of it while you drink.”

You look back up, slightly shocked. You weren't expecting something so sincere. The sudden representation of your home took you quite by surprise, and you aren't quite sure how to respond. Celestia only surveys you with those soulful eyes of hers.

“Thank you,” you manage. “Thank you very much.”

The Princess smiles.

“May I see the cup?”

You wouldn't deny her.

“Of course, your majesty.” You pass her the teacup, and she turns it over in a grip of clear, purple-tinged magic, looking at what you care most about. Home.

“Does your cup change, too?” you ask, slightly curious.

Celestia's smile vanishes. Her eyes flit to yours again, and for an instant, you swear the gaze she was giving you was not filled with warmth at all. It was a saddened, bitter look.

You blink once in surprise. Celestia is smiling again.

“No,” she says, quite calmly and happily. “My cup is white, because I love all things dearly and equally. Now, what kind of tea would you like?”

Maybe it was just a trick of your mind, but you swore you saw some chink in Celestia's unfaltering politeness. Perhaps you were dreaming. Perhaps you touched on something greater.

Either way, you dismiss the thought quickly. You have no time to think about it now. Very politely, you inquire as to what she can offer you in the way of tea.

The Princess, who has been examining your cup with interest, looks up at you, a slightly rambunctious smile upon her lips.

“I have chai, breakfast, white, earl grey, black, green, herbal, jasmine, darjeeling, camomile, orange, ginger, cinnamon, pomegranate, pekoe, oolong, rosehip, lemon, mint, peppermint, lychee, and lavender.” She pauses. “...In one store-room. If you would like any of others, I might have to fetch a list.”

...Already, you regret ever choosing to try tea. Tentatively, you choose Chai. It sounds nice.

“Very well,” Celestia replies.

Ping!

You glance back at the table, and see that your saucer has been joined by a small, silver jar, filled with what appear to be rather dry-looking leaves. Another slightly bigger saucer bears an immaculately crafted silver teapot and a small wire-frame bauble, and a third saucer has on it a small jar of what looks like sugar.

Unbidden, Celestia seats herself on the recliner.

“Come, sit,” she commands simply. You do so carefully, brushing your Captain's uniform beneath you so it doesn't crease.

“First, we put the leaves in the tea strainer,” Celestia says, levitating the tiny bauble from the table. You look at her in surprise for a second, before nodding. She's trying to teach you how to make it. She didn't ask if you wanted to learn or not – not that it mattered, of course.

You see the bauble is joined at the middle with a small silver clasp, which Celestia opens with a gentle snap. She then levitates a few of the browned, unappetising-looking leaves into the middle of the bauble before closing it.

“So we don't get leaves in our tea,” she says, noticing your watchful gaze. “Next, we put it in the hot water...”

Celestia removes the lid to the teapot, and a little wisp of steam escapes the top. The bauble lowers itself slowly into the water, encased in a field of glowing blue magic.

“Would you like milk?” She asks. You do your best not to feel like a fool, and you mumble something nonspecific about not knowing the difference.

This piece of information seems to delight the Princess even further, and she laughs her delightfully tinkling laugh again.

“Very well!” she says warmly, her horn glowing once more. “You can try milk.”

With another soft ping, a minuscule silver decanter joins the already bewildering ensemble of cups and saucers on the table.

“Now,” Celestia says. “We wait until the tea is done, pour it, add sugar, stir, add milk, stir again, and then enjoy.”

She pauses. You watch the cup steam for a second, and then, realising that she intends to wait in perfect silence, glance up at her.

Thankfully, she isn't looking straight at you. She's watching your cup, somewhat interested in its portrayal of your home.

As if the powers that be had seen that Celestia was, for the moment, unoccupied, a small green wreath of flame puffs from Celestia's horn. You're taken quite by alarm, but when a small scroll tumbles from the nether and onto the table in front of you, you realise it's dragon mail.

That was actually probably the only facet of the Princesses that you were aware of and entirely comfortable with. All students of the Princesses were assigned baby dragons, removed from dragon nests while they are still in the egg, and tamed into civlized society over the course of their adolescence. The result was manifold – namely fewer villages burning to the ground in dragon attacks – but the potent magic breath of the dragons was discovered to have other uses than just burning.

Celestia levitates the still smoking (and slightly singed) scroll from the table, unfurls it and begins to read. The next few minutes, while you wait for the tea to boil, are highly awkard, for you at least, but you can see Celestia's eyes run slowly across the page, looking as content and calm as a real Princess.

“My student,” she says. "She wants to know if she's welcome for a visit one of these days."

You blink once.

“Pardon?” You say, unsurely.

“The letter.” The Princess lowers the parchment, looking over the top of it. “You were curious as to what it was about, weren't you?”

You were. Of course you were. It was only natural for you to be. But you weren't because you'd been trained not to be.

“I would not dare intrude, your majesty,” you say, carefully picking your words. You turn to your tea before Celestia has the chance to reply. Gingerly, you raise the cup to your muzzle. You wouldn't dare try and see what it smells like – that would be highly rude.

But the tea's hotness makes you pause, and as you hover the cup under your mouth, deciding how much to drink, a slight fragment of the aroma floats into your nostrils. It smells delicious...

And it is! But billions of blue barnacles, it's positively blistering. With a steady hoof, you sip at the scalding tea.

“Is it... good?” Celestia asks curiously, setting the letter to one side.

You tell her that it's very hot. Celestia laughs again, sending a shiver down your spine as you try to enjoy your tea.

A moment or so passes as you continue to take miniscule slurps. You find it extremely difficult to try something so new with the Princess being so very right next to you. The fact she is as amiable and unbothered by your apparent lack of knowledge about something as simple as tea does not help either. You feel a little guilty about that.

You feel even more guilty as you look at the table, and notice that there's only one teapot there. Apparently, the Princess does not get to choose her own flavour, and you quickly open your mouth to add that you would not deny her of whatever she wishes.

The Princess beats you to the punch, cutting you off halfway.

“Oh, no, no, not at all, Captain!” she says, shaking her head and laughing. “I enjoy all forms of tea, but Chai just so happens to be my favourite. We'll share the pot, shall we?”

You agree, feeling quite relieved, and watch as Celestia pours herself a cup, using her magic to manipulate the teapot and saucer with the greatest of ease.

“You know, it's most improper to slurp your tea, particularly in the presence of company,” she says in good humour, silently turning a silver teaspoon around in her cup as she watches you. You do not smile (in fact, you feel a little more apprehensive about ever having decided to try some – you have to drink it with manners, too!?) but nod anyway, feeling extremely sheepish.

You must present a comical sight to any onlooker. Celestia lies against the cushions of the settee, holding her tea in her magic with all the refined excellence of a Princess, her silken tail curled up around herself, looking as natural and relaxed as can be. You, on the other hand, sit awkwardly on your rump, the tiny white saucer held carefully in one hoof, your other hoof carefully balancing the china cup with your home on the side. Given your own slightly bulky soldier's frame, you can't help but feel rather silly, perched over the dainty teacup.

But it's nice. You like chai. You like tea. There's a first time for everything, and, embarrassment aside, it was a rather pleasant experience.

“So, Captain,” Celestia says.

Until she starts talking again, that is.

Inwardly, you feel a little more regretful about your decision. It strikes you as very obvious that the tea was far too hot to drink quickly. So what else was there to do while waiting for it to cool, other than talk? You make a note in your head as you peer down into the murky depths of your cup. Tea means talking. And talking means questions.

Never drink tea with Celestia.

“How are your first impressions?”

Your nerves are barely over the fact that the Princess is willing to even speak to you, but Celestia seems unaware of your predicament, and you brace yourself mentally as you feel her magenta eyes pan over you once more. You glance up from your tea, and she's looking at you, smiling politely.

You get the feeling she already knew part of the answer. You mind flickers to the scathing looks passed to you by Blueblood and his companions.

“Very comfortable, thank you, your majesty,” you say.

“Do you find your quarters comfortable?”

Of course you do. It beats your old lieutenant's quarters by a mile. You can hardly even believe they let you have it. You want to say as much, and express how grateful you are.

“Yes, your majesty,” you say.

“And do you find your fellow officers to be amiable?”

Your heart falters.

“Yes, your majesty,” you repeat again, not entirely willing to say what's on your mind. Celestia's smile wavers slightly. You return to your tea to distract yourself from the fact that you weren't telling the entire truth.

Maybe Celestia knows. You hope she doesn't, because then she'd be aware that you've lied to her – something you'd never, ever, dare to do. But you didn't want to cause a fuss, especially when you were only new. Stirring the pot was hardly the way to make friends.

Celestia deposits her teacup back on its saucer with a soft clink, looking at you with her curious, pondering gaze.

“Your home is very beautiful," she says.

You smile. The thought of home is comforting.

"Thank you, your majesty." You return to your tea.

For a moment, silence prevails.

"Forgive me, but... you're not a stallion of privilege, are you?” she says, cutting through the silence like a knife.

You sip a little too much of the tea in surprise, and it burns your tongue. A sharp intake of breath and a wince gives away your answer, though you look her in the eyes and reply bravely anyway.

“No. No I am not, your majesty.”

And you weren't. You'd lived a very simple life up until now.

Celestia regards you with her strange magenta eyes once more, her face forming an expression of quiet pensiveness. You get the feeling she's watching for a response, or waiting for one, but if she is, you aren't going to give it to her.

Your upbringing... It wasn't good. It wasn't gentlemanly. It was 'common', as Blueblood had so delicately put it. You had lived on a farm for most of your years, attending the local high school. The fact that your mother could scrape enough money together to send you there while feeding you and clothing you was a fluke. Your father was a nonentity in your life, and always had been, so even from the beginning, it was just you and her. You worked with her in the field from age ten, graduated with moderate grades from your school at eighteen, and enlisted in the guards almost straight away, along with some of your friends.

Maybe being a guard wasn't your calling in life. Maybe you were destined for something far greater. But being in the military allowed you to earn money, and that was all you cared about.

The other advantage to being a guard was an education. Like most military colleges, the guards offered to pay a majority of your student fees – a huge advantage to you, of course. What was asked in return was also fairly straightforward – that afterwards, you were to serve in the military for a few years. It was a steady job and an education, just you wanted. Whatever money you made you could send back home, and you and your mother always figured you could use your education for something else. And there was always a need for healthy, young stallions in the army.

You'd always planned to return home, one day. But then, when you turned twenty...

You swallow some more tea. That is not something you speak of, or think of. Not now. Not ever.

Celestia suddenly speaks, breaking the silence and bringing you back to the moment.

“As a Lieutenant, you were paid seven guineas a week. That works out at roughly twenty-eight a month, and precisely three hundred and sixty-four guineas in a year. Is that correct?”

You pause to run the sums over in your head.

“Yes, your majesty.”

“For guarding me, I will pay you four hundred.”

“A year, your majesty?” You ask, your heart leaping in delight.

The princess blinks once.

“No,” she says, softly. “A month.”

You look at her. You want to say something about honour being enough, or something about serving her majesty being worth more than gold. But you can't. If your entire body wasn't so vaguely aware that you were in the company of a Princess, the teacup would have fallen from your hoof. Four hundred guineas a month is... it's staggering. It's more gold then you'd ever seen or heard of in your entire life.

A little nervous breath escapes your slightly open maw, and you clasp it shut firmly, though inside, you are shaking.

“Th-thank you, your majesty,” you manage, bringing your eyes to bear with Celestia's.

For once, the Princess is not smiling. Instead, she continues to gaze at you with her opalescant eyes, and for once, they don't bore into you so intensely. Maybe it's a conscious choice she's making, not to be so prying. She can see the money means a lot to you. She must. You've just given away more with that little stutter than you ever could with proper words. But for once in your military life, you don't worry so much about hiding the nuances of your emotions. You're too busy replaying the moment over and over in your head, trying to alleviate the hammering of your heart.

The conversation dries up shortly afterward. You didn't have anything to say anyway. You don't finish your tea. Celestia leaves you soon afterwards at the westernmost archive door, asking only that you find her tomorrow morning, and you do not see her for the rest of the day. You slip away from your new rooms next to the grand library, and trot your way through the north door. You can explore the gigantic archives later. There's things to be done right now, and you navigate your way to the owlery (luckily, helpful signs and arrows let you bluff your way to the foot of the tower).

You arrive at the base of a long, circular staircase, and exactly one hundred and thirty-five steps later, you're in the owlery loft.

The first thing you do is write a cheque to your mother, containing the majority of your meagre bank account. You slip it into an envelope, and attach a hastily-written letter explaining yourself. You wouldn't want your mother to worry that you had no money, particularly when you were so far away from her.

The owl takes off from the windowsill in a burst of feathers. Once again, you are granted silence, and once again, you are given the golden view from the top of Canterlot Castle to consider that day.

It's in this moment of peace that everything catches up with you in one colossal rush. Having the palace before you and your day behind you makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. Most ponies would never see what you've seen today in their entire lives, and you've witnessed an incredible amount in just a few, short days.

The parade.

Your promotion.

The ceremony.

The other officers.

Your room.

Tea with the Princess.

You're afraid. You don't question that - you know you should feel afraid, or at least unsettled. You're a strange pony in an unfamiliar place, with nopony else to catch you if you slip. Strange things have happened to you lately, and you know you should be cautious. After all, it could all be so radically different, couldn't it?

But you find, as you look out at the view below, that the sun is beautiful. For a brief moment, the flow of time itself slips from underneath your hooves, and you find yourself staring at the fruit of its golden gaze.

The entire palace has been set aflame, drowned in a sea of gold. The world itself is alight with a warm beauty that reaches out and pushes the frightened chill from your chest. The sun, like a wondrous, ethereal healer, and a caring mother, gently lifts your spirits.

It's all so beautiful. You even catch yourself smiling. If only you could be so grossly incandescent.

You're warm. You're content, if not amazed. You're happy, for once. Fortune has smiled upon you.

You could stay like this forever, locked in this moment for a very long time. You really could.

But the dull hoot of an owl brings you back to reality.

You climb the stairs back down to the archives, still smiling.

An image of your home, as seen on the cup.

IV – Of Luna

~IV~

Of Luna

A story of friendship, written lovingly by writer.

The oats brush against your legs as you canter through the fields, and the rain-like hissing of their thin reeds as they part is a melody to your ears.

Oh, how you've missed the field-before-home. That was the name for the crop nearest the boundary of your home, where every morning and evening you'd trodden. It had always had oats sewn in it, and it was the first crop to be planted after the winter was over, and the first to be reaped when the oats were ready.

A better metaphor you couldn't ask for, with the growing and harvesting of your labour year in and year out so very much like yourself. When you left home at nineteen, the stream at the very edge of that paddock signalled your departure, and when you were very, very little, carefully jumping across the stepping stones that spanned the chilly river was your way of going to school.

The stream. It filled with water that flowed from the reservoir nearby, and in the drier years you could water the plants with it via an aqueduct to the north. It wasn't overly wide, although it was quite deep and fast for such a little stream, especially when you were only a young foal.

The moment you crossed the shallow river, you were just about halfway into town, or so your mother had said. To you, once you crossed through the water, you were more than halfway to school, and friends, and hours of fun. Treading back across the rocks before the day was over would jynx the rest of it, and you never dared try recrossing until the day was over, not for the longest time.

The ritual continued well into your teens, in all your comings and goings. Every jump had its equal and opposite, and every half that was left behind you became another half-day you'd conquered. Because that was what life was to you back then – a series of challenges to be met and expected, and every time you crossed that boundary it was another challenge passed.

And so you jumped.

Going to school. Jump.

Coming home. Jump.

Going to market on a Sunday. Hop.

Coming home with food. Hop.

Going to the barracks to enlist for the town guards. Take a long step.

Coming home with money. Take a long step.

Going away for the army. Trot.

…You hadn't trotted back yet.

In fact, you haven't jumped over the rocks in a long time, now. Not since you were at school, at least, though it certainly felt like a lot longer, especially with the recent happenings in your life.

You pass a familiar tree on your right. It's a eucalypt, the one with the twisted bough that had been there for as long as you remembered, its pale, papery bark and dull, moss-green leaves. By some miracle it hasn't fallen down or lost any of its limbs, and in a way you're slightly thankful. You even smile a little. It seems as if nature itself strives to preserve your memory.

You pass beneath the eucalypt. As you do, you can feel something tickle the tips of your ears. One flitters in surprise, and so do you, blinking and ducking your head out of reflex. Glancing up, you notice the same low-hanging branch that you'd once had to leap to even touch.

Clearly, you're a lot taller than you were back then.

The thought rises in your head if your mother will even recognise you. After all, you're so tall now, and muscled, and... army-like. Your armour is informal, but it still glitters with the silver insignia of your station and rank, and at least a dozen service medals.

You canter on. You certainly recognise home. Nothing has changed. It's been kept as perfectly as you'd remembered it. In the distance, the sun's beams caress the auburn crop as it shifts and shimmers in a slight zephyr, and you pass on through the scrub, eager to get home.

Your patience isn't long in rewarding. You spot the little ley-line in the land just over the nearest hill, the one with the long furrow in it that marked the boundary between your farm and the mallee scrub. Coming closer, you can see the sunken shale banks of flat pearly-grey stones that you know better as 'the jump'. The dirt underneath your hooves turns to polished rocks that clack and click as you walk across them, and you descend into the washed-out riverbed.

You reach the edge of the stream and peer down into the depths. As always, the water is clear and swiftly running, its soft burbling whispering secrets of the past into your ear.

This is home, then. This is really it. Your first time back in years and years. What would your mother say?

For a moment, you pause in your stride, and you glance up at the six or seven stepping stones you'd had to walk across once, wondering if you should use them for old time's sake.

You can vaguely remember the first time you crossed the river, with your mother leading the way. The water would've come up to your withers and neck if you didn't stand on the stones, and you were awfully frightened of jumping – after all, you thought you were going to fall in. It was probably very cold, you thought, and it looked rather quick, and it would've made you sopping wet. You gave your mother a plaintive look. She gave you a warm smile.

You made it, in the end. You always did. That was the way things worked on the farm. There was, as your mother said, an I in family, but it was only a little one, and part of something much greater.

Luckily for you, as you became older, you'd learned to be less afraid, and you'd stuck every rock a million times without falling in. It was still a few strenuous years of growing before you were capable of taking all the rocks at a brisk trot, being unafraid of the water.

It wasn't anything you thought of as a particular achievement, but it stood for something.

But the wind brings with it the smell of home. The very idea of it is far too beguiling to put on hold, water or no. So not today.

You take a little breath and wade across the stream for the first time. To your delight, the gently-running water is warm enough to bathe in, and it splashes and banks around your shins eagerly, but it rises no deeper then that, and you cross to the other side unbothered.

You're back on home fields. The fields-before-home, to be exact. You breathe deep the essence of home, sucking up lungfuls of warm, dry air, and allow the dry grass to brush away the droplets water that slips down your legs.

Oh, what a smell it was. The dusty scent of grain fields. The delicious, cherished aroma of fresh bread and baked corn from somewhere over the next hill, making your mouth water.

Hearthfire, a distant voice murmurs in your ear. You smile. It's a spell you remember well. Your mother had cast it so many times, and you know what it looks like. You knew the distinctive huff of the magical fire catching on tinder and wood in your fireplace, and the brightness of the flame as it crackled into life. The smells that followed were just another part of the magic to you.

The auburn oats shift like a sheet of living snow before you, the tapering points of their stalks catching on your coat as you begin to bound through the field. All you can focus on is the delicious aroma of woodsmoke and fried corn that you could taste a mile away.

“Come on in, dear,” the voice says in your ear once more, as you hit the centre of the paddock. “Your father's just finished serving breakfast, and we'll be eating shortly.”

Your breath escapes you in a nervous pant, and you skid to a halt. Around you, the grass follows suit.

The voice is homely. Motherly. Wonderful. It's everything you've ever missed, but that isn't what has you so spellbound.

The wind dies. The tall oats stop whispering.

Your... your father is...

You press on through the rushes and oats, confused but willing to believe, wanting to believe –

Something nudges you once or twice, just below the nape of your neck. Sleepily, you open your eyes, and you blink a few times at, mumbling incoherently about being hungry.

“Well, that would be the point of breakfast, my little pony,” says the slightly amused voice of Princess Celestia from somewhere to your left.

It takes your sleep-addled brain a few seconds to kickstart itself, but when it does, you jump in fright, falling out of your bed in surprise in an unceremonious tangle of limbs and blankets.

“P-princess?” you stammer, scrambling to all fours in a mixture of panic and adrenaline, your mind racing to all sorts of possible conclusions.

Were you late? Had you overslept? Had you...

“What time is it?!” You blurt out, feeling your heart seize up in your chest.

The Princess gives a soft laugh, shaking her head. “Oh no, Captain. You're not late. I raised the sun several hours ago on my own, but I just thought you might like something before the cooks stop serving breakfast.”

You blink a few times, taking it all in..

“I... I see?” you finally manage, as your baffled brain comes to terms with the fact that you hadn't done anything wrong. Your head swims with vague, urgent images of home, and now that your poor chest has unbound itself you find it thudding with a worried adrenaline.

That dream...

“You were very tired,” the Princess says again, her voice striking clearly through the groggy haze in your head. “You've been asleep for ten hours! You must have been absolutely exhausted by all of yesterday.”

Still lost for words, you make no reply. The Princess doesn't seem to mind, though, and her warm, disarming smile only widens as she casts a cursory glance at your mane.

“...I take it you slept well, then?” she says, the tiniest hint of mirth hidden within the depths of her maternal voice.

Tentatively, you raise a hoof to your mane. Or rather, where it's supposed to be. A little short, recently uncut and most definitely unshorn, it's supposed to be hanging where you'd left it.

Instead, your hoof meets it about an inch into the air, sticking up at a bizarre angle.

You've got bedmane.

Internally, a part of you dies in embarrassment. The other parts swiftly follow as you realise that accompanying your bed hair are your sleep-filled eyes, and that you're standing beside your unmade bed with a pool of sheets around your fetlocks. You feel yourself colouring quite strongly.

You're torn for a moment between raking it down madly and leaving it as it is. You opt for the latter, planting your forehoof back onto the wooden floor with a solid clack.

“I apologise, Princess,” you say automatically, before pausing.

Her reaction isn't one you expect. It's worse.

After the longest of ages of her simply staring at you in a bemused way, Celestia bursts into riotous laughter.

No sooner have your ears received the delightfully lilting notes than your eyes clench in an involuntary wince.

Oh goddesses, why did she laugh?

She sounded like she was really enjoying herself too, and that made it all the worse. It wasn't just a giggle, or a quiet chuckle to herself, as one might expect of a mother marvelling at her silly foal. It was genuine laughter, as pure and crystalline as the being that it came from. Her gentle eyes close and her shoulders shake, and she even takes a breath or two throughout the whole ordeal, like she's discovered the best joke in the world.

All of which is to your detriment and embarrassment, of course. Thankfully, though, the Princess does stop, albiet many painful seconds later.

“Oh, Captain!” She manages, still tittering. “Do you have any idea how funny you look right now?”

Judging from the burning in your cheeks and the horrible feeling in the pit of your stomach, you can say you do fairly well. But you shut your mouth, obeying well your mother's old adage:

It's better to close your mouth and look a fool then it is to open it and remove all doubt.

So you stand there rather sheepishly while Celestia continues to giggle. Eventually, though, her laughter dies away, and she replaces the smile with a false pout.

“Why so churlish, Captain?” she says. “It was just a joke.”

You apologise again, this time for being churlish.

Celestia wipes a tear away and blinks once or twice, still amused.

“Still a little weary, I take it?” She says, the edges of her smile still prominent over her high cheekbones. You quickly nod your head in agreement, desperate for a train of thought to go with that isn't 'the Princess is in front of you, and you're looking like a mess'.

She clucks her tongue once.

“Hmm, maybe you didn't sleep so well after all, then?” she murmurs to herself, still watching you carefully. “Bad dreams? Ah well. They pass, and I think ten and a half hours of rest is good enough for anypony. Now you just have to put up with me and the armourer for another fourteen, and then you can go back to bed again!” A silken smile graces her lips. “Deal?”

Still embarrassed, you nod and stammer out something that might've been “Alright.” The Princess laughs again, and leaves the room, her great mane flowing behind her in a hidden draught.

“Enjoy your breakfast, Captain. Come and find me in the archives when you are finished. Today, you are going to meet my sister, and then we shall decide what your contribution to my guard will be.”

The door shuts gently behind her unbidden. You blink a few times, and look around once or twice, confused, only to espy a tea tray on your tea table once again.

You feel your brain staggering quietly, but with the embarassment of bedmane in front of the Princess still washing over you, it feels dimmed.

Celestia had brought you breakfast, while you were in bed.

You trot over to your dark, wooden tea-table, abandoning your anxiety for a second to contemplate the insanity of that thought. Upon it, the silver tray that had held teacups and teapots now holds several large dishes, all of them a shining silver too.

You lift the cover of one, the modicum of your mind that isn't stunned into silence vaguely wondering if anything Celestia liked to eat off of wasn't silver.

With a small puff of steam, you lift the cover of one dish to reveal a hot plate of roasted corn cobs with butter and fresh bread. That same, small part of your brain adds two and two. You realise that your dream wasn't inspired so much by homesickness as it was food, and the little thought makes you smile. It assuages your anxiety somewhat.

But then, in a tidal wave of astonishment, the more abundant fact clouts you about the head. Celestia really did bring you breakfast in bed.

Either that, or it had been teleported there by a servant of sorts. But you hadn't seen any servants in Celestia's quarters other than yourself or the other guards, and if it had really been a servant bringing it, you know would've heard them and woken up – quiet though they might be, years of surprise dawn inspections by your drill sergeants had taught you to wake up rather quickly, and at the sound of a pin drop. You never wanted to be the last out of bed.

For a moment, you debate that thought. It seems highly unbelievable that you had simply been dead to the world with exhaustion, but the other alternative is that Celestia had bought you breakfast.

Cognitive dissonance demands you put it down to the former. You do so, brushing the matter to one side before leaning down and gently nibbling on one of the golden corn cobs.

It's delicious. And for some reason, it tastes just as good as it did at home.

You exit your room a short while later, satiated, robed in your shining armour and well-groomed, but slightly unnerved. You were hardly into the day and already you'd had enough bewilderment for a week. A very untoward part of you wants to stay in your room where it's safe, but it is swiftly overridden, as it always has been, by obedience.

The golden rule is in effect, after all.

All at once, you are beset with the task of finding Celestia, but thankfully, and in what appears to be a rare twist of fate, she is hardly difficult to find. Despite the immense size of the archives, the aisle the sun Princess has chosen to deposit herself in is only a few rows from the staircase in the centre of the room, and you spot her after only a few minutes of trotting around the archives, her great head slowly turning as she scans the shelves intently.

“Hum,” she hums to nopony, as you approach. “Where did I put it?”

You pause, unfazed but slightly unsure.

“What are you looking for, Princess?” You inquire.

“Oh, just a book,” she says, with a smile on her face.

You expect the second part to her statement, but when it never comes, you're overcome with the urge to facehoof in stupidity. Of course she was looking for a book. You ask uncertainly if you can help her.

The Princess's answer is more hospitable this time, and she turns to gaze down at you, her smile still warm.

“Oh, no, I don't think so,” she says dismissively. “I was just looking for one particular book that I'd put here a while ago, and...” her gaze returns to the shelf. “Confound me, it's vanished. I think I might have lost it. I'm sure I'll remember where it is later, but...” she passes an effervescent grin to you. “Don't you just hate it when that happens?”

“Yes, Princess,” you say obediently. You politely inquire as to the title of the book, but to your surprise, the Princess' face turns down into a thoughtful frown.

“Well, it didn't really have one, you see,” she explains.

You blink stupidly for a bit, feeling the slight flicker of helpfulness leave you. How are you supposed to find a book with no title? You voice your concern aptly. Celestia, though, only shakes her head in reply.

“It was just a particular book I wanted to show to my sister,” she says, giving the shelves one last, cursory look. "But don't worry, Captain. I'm sure it will come back to me in good time.”

You suddenly remember that you're set to face the Night Princess, and immediately you're unsure again. Your gaze turns to the carpeted floor.

You aren't nervous. But you are just a little bit uncertain. After all, it was less than a year since her rather abrupt return to palace life. You had quickly surrendered any doubts about her in favour of Celestia's unquestionable judgement, which had ruled her to be 'awoken' from her nightmare, but there were still doubts and whispers upon your mind. Whispers that weren't your own – you'd heard tell of her great and terrible power muttered in the mess hall for weeks after she'd returned.

As stony still as ever, you give away nothing, not even a glimmer of your thoughts – but something inside you lurches in fear as you realise that you might not be safe from thinking such things, even in the security of your own mind.

You quickly look back up at Celestia, and with good timing. She is just turning to face you, and she doesn't appear to have noticed your momentary lapse. She does, in fact, look rather impassive, as if something has sapped her usual warmth for a moment.

“Anyway,” she says, trotting past you. “I think I'll show you to our dear sister sooner, rather than later. Just to get it over with.”

You nod and turn sharply to follow her, though for the second time in two days you find yourself pondering the meaning of Celestia's words.

Only this time, her attitude seemed far less... ponderable, if that was the right word for it. It was even slightly negative, and that disturbed you.

Celestia leads you down the library, past the towering staircase and to a magnificent set of stone doors. With a glow of her horn, Celestia parts them, and you enter into a long square corridor.

“My sister enjoys a somewhat cooler atmosphere to her quarters,” Celestia says, looking around the hallway as she trots down it. “I don't often come here, you know, and certainly not with guests.”

You most certainly did not know that. You quickly nod your head a few times.

“We prefer to meet in a more pleasant location, and I respect that. My little sister does prefer her privacy,” Celestia says, gesturing to the drawn, dark blue curtains. "Aside from her and her guards, almost nopony else asks to see her. My, it is very dark in here, isn't it?”

Almost absent-mindedly, Celestia's magic kicks into life, and all of the corridor's long curtains throw themselves open unbidden at once.

You had never bothered with magic beyond some advanced telekinesis, which seemed to come naturally to all unicorns at any rate. Not to mention the fact that Spellbooks, school, and the quill were never your forte. All the same, you take some awe in the fact that Celestia has just bunched two dozen sets of cloth curtains together, while simultaneously tying fourty-eight ropes into elegant knots, as well as walking and talking to you.

Such immense telekinetic power, at the merest of thoughts. You stare at her for a moment in awe. She smiles back at you hopefully, as if to ask if something was the matter. Quickly, you blink once or twice, bringing your eyes front and chiding yourself.

Amazing or not, you forget yourself sometimes. It's not the first time you've happened to just stare at her, though, and you wonder why her eyes are so irresistible to look at, to smile at. It isn't magic.

Celestia doesn't even appear mildly bothered by the immense telekinetic burst nor your curious gaze, and she continues to chatter amiably as you trot down the hallway.

“...Yes, these windows really do need a clean,” she says, wrinkling her nose at the motes of dust that illuminate themselves in the blue half-light. “I hadn’t touched Luna’s room in a hundred years before she came back. I hadn’t even been into this hallway since I found myself missing her, just around the time of the war with the gryphon kingdoms. But when she settled back in, she refused my offer to help her clean them. I think she prefers it this way, to be honest.”

You look around once, silently thoughtful. The hallway is nothing if not ancient, and the stained glass depicts various events from Luna's life – no doubt a testament to her rule prior to her banishment. But while they are smaller and perhaps less artisan than any of the tall, glittering murals of Celestia that stand in the palace's throne room, they are far, far older. Tinted in shades of dark blues and greys you can’t even name, the ample light that flows through them dims and tints itself to an opaque, seawater blue, as if the sunlight has been distilled into pure moonlight.

You trot as you walk, and before the idea of Luna's past can occupy your mind, you’re before Luna’s great, throne-room doors. Like Celestia’s, they are very tall and broad, engraved with dozens of pictures of the heavenly bodies their deities represent. But they themselves are not made of any metal. They are merely a smoothed stone, as cold and grey as the figures that suddenly prostrate themselves either side of the doorway.

Your eyes widen. You hadn’t noticed either of them. Their tall, purple forms seem to blend well with the darkness, and you would not have even been aware of them if they had not bowed to Princess Celestia.

"I would like to see my sister, please," Celestia says politely.

"As you wish," the rightmost guard replies.

In tandem, the two unicorns ignite their magic, and a strong purple glow encases stone doors before you rumble. You swallow yourself and tense your body, the imminent anxiety of meeting her majesty surging through your veins like hot oil.

The stone double-doors click and groan before opening slowly, granting you a view of how very thick the slabs of stone are.

You trot inside.

The room is dark, to say the least. The broad sconces on the pillars crackle with a magical blue flame that you neither hope to understand or cast yourself, but the light that they carry does not illuminate anything beyond the silver-gilded carpet between your hooves. You know there must be an end to the room, though the darkness conceals it from you as you trot side by side with Celestia through the threshhold.

Though you can see no guards, you know of their presence. The battle-sense required of a unicorn guard comes easily to you, and as you walk deeper into the room you feel a number of sets of eyes lock onto you. It would have usually given you the jitters, but having ponies stare at you was part of your training. You had to deal with that discomfort, and so you do nothing but stare straight ahead.

Even if they were the dreaded nightguards, wreathed in their cloaks of ebony, their blades edged with the energy of a thousand stars. Even if one pair of those eyes was Princess Luna herself.

The only other source of light in the room is a broad, arced window. Like the stained glass outside, it deceives your eyes by dying the light a gentle blue, and against it is silhouetted a curved, metallic throne. It glistens in the half-light in a way that no mere silver could. The brightness from the window does not seem to reach farther than the throne, though, and you find yourself wondering if it's really darkness that surrounds you, or merely a forced absence of light.

It is to the centre of the black silhouette that you find your eyes drawn inevitably, where they meet something - a presence of some sort. You cannot see it, though you can certainly feel it.

“Kneel,” purrs a prurient, silken voice.

You do so unbiddenly, touching your muzzle to the floor in reverence. You hear four metal-shod hooves tap at the black granite in turn, and the shifting of feathers on fur as two long wings are flapped.

“Hello, Luna,” says Celestia, from somewhere behind you. Her voice carries with it a tone of politeness and sternness, and you're almost sure she's warning her sister for some reason. But you daren't raise your head to look with your own eyes, nor dwell on the thought too long - there was no telling what powers the Princesses were capable of.

“Our dear sister,” Princess Luna says. “To what do we owe this pleasant surprise?”

Her voice sends shivers down your spine. Like Celestia’s when she felt the need, Luna’s voice is a step beyond fluid, a resonant tone that seems to demand attention despite not being particularly loud.

“We may not see eachother simply because we are sisters?” Celestia inquires from beside you.

"Yes. But it is unexpected nonetheless."

"I thought I might introduce you to a new member of my guard."

"We know. That was the part of it that was not pleasant, Tia."

Ouch.

You hear the ruffle of fur on fur as she pauses before you, just barely within the shadow cast by her throne.

“My, my,” Luna says, her voice dripping like quicksilver into your ears as she paces a slow circle around you. “Thou art so young.”

“He is still a knight,” Celestia replies. “My knight, if you must insist.”

From somewhere above you, Luna gives a sharp, derisive laugh.

“Hah! We think not. He is greener than the grass, and no knight maketh him. We know this one is merely a foal...” her voice trails off rather abruptly. “But nevertheless. We command thee, ser. Gaze upon me.”

You feel a cold chill settle in your chest. The air hadn't seemed anything but brisk when you entered the throne room, but now it swirls around your lungs and throat with a dry, icy itch.

You raise your eyes.

Unlike her sister, she was young for her age - far younger than you'd been expecting. She could have been a teenager, and she was as tall as you but twice as sleek. Her gracefully preened feathers and fur were dyed the most elegant shade of midnight blue, and her hooves were tipped with silver shoes. You could see all the loveliness and beauty upon her youthful features - her thin lips that were so gently pressed into a cold smile, and her dark, dark eyes that softly, irresistibly beguiled you to obey. But while she was young and beautiful, you could feel the power radiating off her. She was a sinister mistress, a night-goddess fit to rule, and where Celestia was grace, love, and patience, you could see instantly that Luna was far more imperiously cold.

Suddenly, Luna bursts into a fit of giggling. It shatters all the frozen nerves in your spine.

“Oh, sister!” she says, an amused and arrogant grin lifting her dark features. “Our dear sister! Your new colt is a coward.” She casts her gaze down to you. “Look at him! He trembles like he fears the darkness.”

You double-check your body to make sure everything is still frozen. Had you shivered? It was cold, but not cold enough to elicit that. You were nervous; and that you couldn't help – did you perhaps let some sign of your emotions slip?

“I'm sorry?” Celestia inquires politely.

You knew the question was rhetorical. There was no way Celestia could not have heard Luna's stinging remark. Indeed, other than the sound of Luna's hoof-falls, the room was as quiet and eerie as the blackness of night. You were certain you could hear the thudding of your heart in your ears.

As if sensing your anxiety – no, revelling in it – Luna's mirth continues, a glittering, white smile emerging as she glances up at her sister.

“He is fairly craven! See?” She says, before bringing her full stare back to you.

The night Princess's eyes freeze you. You are forced to gaze into her eyes, unblinking, and you can feel her bores into your soul.

Before you can even brace yourself for it, your mind panics. Your stomach twists itself into a knot, and internally you beg for self-control, not even daring to let your eyes flicker. With a level of unreal, perfect discipline, you manage to keep your breath steady and slow by gritting your jaw and tensing your chest.

You can feel her presence inside you. You can see those eyes, and you know they would continue to gouge deeply into your mind even you even if you looked away. But you do not dare think. You do not dare blink. You merely lower all your defenses, allowing her to probe your thoughts.

“Brave enough to face you, it seems,” Celestia remarks, after a few, awfully long moments.

You imagined that the idea of being feared might admonish Luna, but instead, she giggles once more, placing a silver-shod forehoof to her lips.

“We see,” she says, before leaning forward slightly. “Then tell us, brave colt,” she half-whispers, her sleek voice slipping into your mind, probing with every word. “Dost thou fear the night as it settles deep upon the world? Dost thou cling to the lantern's light by dusk, like a babe to his mother?”

An errant pause fills the air. Her ethereal mane billows in an unearthly wind, a sea of midnight, her eyes like flecks of perfectly cut jet as she watches you with a pathetic, simpering expression.

“Ah, little foal,” she cooes. “Many things flourish by moonlight. Thou dost not need fear the wisdom and learning, the magic and delicate beauty of the moon.”

To you, fear is a drunk stallion with a broken bottle and jeering friends, and you with your back pressed into the wall. It's all the worry for your mother, at home on her own running the farm. But not the darkness. You do not fear the night, and you never have, not even when you just were a child – because you knew that the comforting embrace of the sun was only over the horizon.

But you fear Luna. There is something about the shadow she herself casts that is beyond dark, and the very delicate power with which she rules over it fills you with dread.

“Mayhaps,” she says softly, “Thou fearest us, like the cowards of old.”

Luna trots a tender step forward, bringing her ebony muzzle in close to your right ear. You freeze as you're offered a intimate moment with the night princess. Her voice feels like liquid ice upon your ear's over-sensitive tip.

“Yes, we see it within thee. Mortals are easy to read, with or without some magick to their impassivity. You deny it perhaps, but you fear us, hmm? And the dark, too, and all the promises you cannot find there. You live on in the light. You linger on for our sister's light. But fear not. We promise thee that no ill shall come from our hooves.”

Luna pauses for a moment, and you can almost hear the smile on her face as she speaks again, causing a chill to slither down your spine. You can sense a hint of glee hiding in amongst her opulent drawl.

“...Hmm-hmm...” She giggles again. “Would that we could show thee the extent of true darkness, foal. Mayhaps then thou would have cause to fear the things that lurk there.”

“Luna!”

Celestia's repimand is harsh and authorative, and Luna retreats somewhat, though her smiling gaze continues to bore into you. She only breaks her look after several long seconds, glancing up at her sister undaunted. You take the opportunity to breathe.

“Yes, dear sister?” Luna says, her voice once again assuming its sweetened tone.

“Are you quite done?” Celestia's tone is a little firmer than you're used to hearing. With the careful stress on her words, you can tell that she's had enough.

Luna pouts tragically, like she's been caught with her hoof in the cookie jar.

“Done with what, pray tell?”

“Having fun, it seems.”

Luna's false admonishment vanishes, and is replaced by the malicious grin again.

“We must keep ourself amused. We were expecting thou must have thought the same, to take a foal so green.”

You hear Celestia's gilded hooves ring against the cold marble as she trots up beside you.

“I assure you, Luna,” she says softly, surveying both you and her sister with equal calm, “That my choice in the Captain is no joke, for your benefit or mine.” The white Princess pauses slightly. “And no, there is not any particular reason that I have asked him to serve me. Unlikest thou, I do not pick guards to wait on my every need. They only protect me, and assist me as I might require an extra pair of hooves. Everything else I do for myself.”

Luna gives a petulant sniff, her amused smirk now replaced by a look of blasé indifference. Evidently, Celestia's usage of the old tongue stirs her thoughts. She says nothing, though, and Celestia continues.

“Your guards are not your slaves, Luna. I, for one, treat my guards as among my closest of friends. They offer their lives for us. My friendship is the least I can do to repay them for their service.”

Luna smiles.

“But sister, our guard are our friends,” she says softly. “Indeed, some of them are much more then that.”

She turns, pauses, and clears her throat with a light cough. “Young Pippin?” she calls, raising her voice slightly. “Your mistress desires you.”

You hear the briefest of flitting noises from behind you, and suddenly, your party of three becomes a party of four. On your right, a dark earth stallion prostrates himself, the coal black of his armour glinting dully in the half-light. You blink in surprise, half-wondering how on earth he could have teleported without magic.

“You summon me, my queen?” he says in a youthful, Trottingham accent, without raising his head. You notice his curious usage of the word 'queen', and the way in which he kneels on all fours, not even daring to gaze upon the fair mare before him.

“Pippin, my most treasured servant,” she says lovingly. “Who dost thou serve?”

“You, my queen,” Pippin replies automatically, his head still bowed.

“How deep does your loyalty run?” Luna asks. Again, the guard speaks without pause or hesitation.

“As deep as all the caverns of the earth, as solid and certain as the moonrise.”

His words fill you with a chilling apprehension. Somehow, you don't think that they're uttered for the sake of melodrama.

Luna smiles.

“Very good,” she says, lifting a forehoof from the earth. “Thou may kiss our hoof.”

The guard acts quickly and precisely, raising one of his solid forehoofs to cradle her own, dipping his muzzle to peck her on the tip of her polished silver shoe.

“You honour me,” Pip whispers, his voice lowered in hushed reverance.

“And thee with thine service,” Luna replies softly. “Now leave us, my love.”

“As you command, my queen.”

The guard gets to all fours, and trots backward into the darkened avenues of pillars that line the long hall on either side, all the while with his head still bowed.

You can't help but pass a look at him as he retreats, leaving you baffled and slightly anxious. You'd seen and known discipline through honour and fealty, but that sort of loyalty? His reactions were immaculate, his body unquivering in the chilly air of the grey throne-hall. The way he took her hoof so delicately in his own, and kissed it without fear... the way he'd left with such reverence, returning to the darkness he had been standing in for goodness knows how long. It was as close to fanaticism as you'd ever seen.

You wondered for Luna thereafter. What kind of relationship did she share with her night guards? It seemed to resemble a kind of love-without-love, a cold and incomplete replica of the strongest bond imaginable, and the mere imitation frightened you unabatedly. The rumours that she was a lonely Princess with no court and a determination for the old ways – you had expected them to be false in some way or another. But was what you had just seen confirmation? It was small wonder that modern ponies spoke ill of her and her guards, though you doubt that anypony outside of the palace guards had ever seen Luna's night guards at home.

“That is what I expect from my servants, dear sister. And what of you, ser?” Luna says, pulling you back to the world with a harsh bump. “How deep does your loyalty run?”

You pass a look at Celestia, though you don't know why. The movement of Luna's guard had freed up your nerves a little, so maybe you're looking up at her for some inspiration. Deep down, you're praying that it would never have to come to that.

All you find waiting for you, though, is a pair of curious magenta eyes, gazing down on you with warm reverence.

“Captain,” Celestia says, with a sad smile. “Please answer my sister from your heart.”

You pause, thinking of something suitably majestic to say. But before you can open your mouth, you are overcome with an urge to confess what is on your heart. So you do.

“I live to serve, Princess,” you reply, your words successfully navigating the lump in your throat. “It is a great honour... your trust in me is all the reward I will ever need. And your friendship, too,” you hurriedly add. “I will learn to defend them both with all my heart.”

Celestia smiles only when you mention the word 'friendship'. You wonder if she would have been as pleased if you'd neglected to mention that.

Luna appears mollified by your answer, though she still maintains the look of a royal Princess – a mixture of uncaring complacency and regality.

“Average,” she says to her sister curtly. “by your standards, of course. We suppose he may make a proper servant yet.”

“He is not one now?” Celestia says questioningly. “I should have thought a loyal heart such as his was all one needed.”

Luna flutters her wings a touch, her bottom lip pouting in thoughtfulness. “A fair point,” She replies, after a long pause. “But we are still confused. Prithee explain, why else hast thee chosen him, dear sister? We see that he boasts no great strength, and his mind is as average as a peasant farmer's foal could hope to be.”

“Then you did not look at the one thing that will make him great,” Celestia replies. “He has certain affinity to his magic.”

Luna sighs a little. “A potential then, just like the little Twilight filly? We did not think to look at that. If it had been of significance, we would have felt it, surely. He is to be another one of your seemingly infinite students?”

Celestia shakes her head, smiling. “Oh no, no. He is no Twilight Sparkle. She is rare for a set of entirely different reasons. And what do you mean, 'infinite'? I may only take one student at a time. That is what we agreed upon, yes? - only one prodigal pony for either of us at a time. That way there's no chance of...” the sun alicorn pauses for a moment, suddenly taken by a thought. “No chance of old times repeating themselves.”

Luna's nose twitches for a moment, as if something unpleasant had wafted by.

“Yes, we remember well.” She says coldly. “We hath not taken a student since then.”

“My guards are only a few friends,” Celestia continues warmly. “Just like the dear Captain here. He is merely a friend – my friend, if you must, sworn to me by loyalty, and who I might advise.”

Luna raises an eyebrow.

“Yes, we understood thou. But why bother?”

Celestia pauses for a moment, lost in thought.

“Well, Shining Armour did ask me to take a look at him. I find the commander has an unusual aptitude for hoofpicking soldiers, don't you?”

Luna shrugs. “'Tis true, we suppose.”

“Shining Armour has a talent for defensive magic, of course, but that is his own little ace,” Celestia continues, trotting forward a little to enter your vision and looking down upon you. “He is widely skilled in seeing some sort of potential, and such is the case now. I feel a pony of the Captain's... somewhat unusual and untapped nature could do with a polishing. Don't you?” She offers her sister a kindly smile.

“We do not doubt thine ability to polish,"  Luna says coldly. "But forgive us for failing to believe that Commander Armour wants thee to create gemstones out of gravel. We had thought better of his talent as a general.”

Celestia smiles. You feel it, rather than see it.

“I seem to recall somepony taking a young orphan from Trottingham under her wing all those years ago. He was quite small for his age, wasn't he?”

Luna's face tightens in thinly-veiled annoyance.

“Pippin is... different,” she says, briskly. “That is all I will say of that. And as for your friend, we didst see his magical prowess,” she adds somewhat scathingly, “But we did not think him worthy of your time. It is as I said before, dear sister. There is nothing to this guard, shy of –”

Luna stops speaking, her mouth half-ajar in thought. Without moving an inch, her eyes flick to you for a moment. Then, they slowly crawl back up to her sister.

“No,” she mutters softly, a wicked smile curling her lips up. “No, no, no. Surely not...?”

You turn your head slightly to glance at the expression on Celestia's face. She is impassive as ever, and you have no chance of reading her.

“Oh, Tia!” Luna says, her sentence broken by foalish giggling. “Thou... thou still remember? That is why? Why, we had not thought –”

Luna suddenly flinches, breaking off, her eyes widening in something akin to shock. For a moment, she appears flabbergasted by something, but it is only a short moment, and she soon returns to her elegant, arrogant state.

“It is more important to me to avoid the old times then anything in the world, Luna,” Celestia says, breaking the deathly quiet with her soft voice. “But you will not insult me by finishing that vastly incorrect thought. Or I will grow angry.”

“Very well then,” Luna says angrily, before snorting softly. “Play thine game. Move thine pawns as thou see fit. We cannot see anything special about him, and if thou wish to conceal it, then we do not know why thou hath bought him here."

"It is not his magical prowess I want you to see, Luna."

Frowning, Luna turns to you for a split second, somewhat confused. You meet her gaze, and are immediately awash with vulnerability once more as she searches through you, looking for something.

Suddenly, her eyes widen slightly.

"I do not believe it," Luna says quietly. "It is a trick."

"I was hoping to tell you myself," Celestia adds dryly. "You could have just asked me what he was."

A flash of venom emerges from Luna, and she breaks the gaze with you, wheeling on her sister.

"Thou speakest of avoiding old times, dear sister, and yet you chooseth he for your guard?” she points an accusatory hoof at you. “We see now why thou hast picked him. And we are highly unamused.”

Celestia blinks. “There has not been a unicorn capable of such magic within the palace walls for over a thousand years, Luna. Not since the last one was killed.”

“And good riddance, some would say. Their purpose was war.”

“His purpose will be peace. That was ever their intended purpose. But I will not pretend that his presence makes you and your own uncomfortable, Luna. That is why I have come to show him to you, in hopes that you will approve of his training.”

Luna grits her teeth in anger.

“Well, thou art out of luck, sister!”

And without waiting for an answer, she throws her head back haughtily, turns her back on her sister, and trots back into the darkness cast by her silverlike throne.

Somewhat stunned, you quickly look at Celestia again for an explanation, but nothing has changed about her demeanour. The sun princess still continues to stare at her sister's retreating back.

You quickly understand that whatever has transpired is far above you, and avert your gaze straight forward once more.

“Come, Captain,” says Celestia.

You turn and follow her out of the cold throne room without a word.

With the rumble of stone on stone, the doors close behind you, and you exhale slightly. Your nostrils flare a little as you suck down lungfuls of warm air, but you don't care. You just want to get rid of that horrible, awful frost that had settled like a dense fog deep within in your chest.

But no sooner have you skipped out of the frying pan then you're tossed back into the fire. Celestia turns to you and bows her head humbly.

You're pleasantly surprised, but you can't help but frown just a little. Celestia appears deeply unsettled by something, the perfect arches of her cheeks falling into a demure scowl. She seems genuinely upset, and you assume the change in her usually smiling appearance is down to her sister's rather erratic behaviour, though you can't garner much more then that – Celestia's eyes remain as impenetrable as ever, like jewel-clad guards to the secret privy of her royal mind.

“I'm very, very sorry about that,” she says ashamedly, confirming your suspicions. “Forgive my sister.”

The apology is immaculate, brief, and momentary. But you're bothered nonetheless. Again, Celestia is apologising to you. Again, it's for something she didn't do, and it's as if she feels somehow responsible for her sister's actions. Again, it's as if she thinks she even has to be held accountable for her actions at all, let alone somepony else's, and especially not to her loyal servant.

As if that's not bad enough, you're now overcome with the almost insatiable urge to accept the apology. You feel like she was being more earnest and heartfelt than usual, or at least, as far as one day of knowing her could tell you. She even looked a little weary, as if the minor clash with her sister in the throne room had drained her.

You notice that the guards that stood either side of the door have vanished. You decide to press your luck.

“If I may speak out of place, your majesty?” you say tentatively, your voice a little strained against the still-chilly air.

The Princess's grimace lifts slightly, and she affixes you with a saddened look. A moment of awkwardness ensues - you wait to be granted permission, and Celestia continues to stare at you.

“You need to ask?” she says wearily, her voice quiet and without its usual warmth.

You gulp. Was that a rhetorical question, or...?

Another strenuous silence follows. Clearly sensing that you aren't willing to speak, Celestia eventually sighs and nods her great head.

“...You may.”

You take a deep breath.

“I would not question your will, your majesty,” you say, doing your best not to let your voice falter. “But I am only your servant. You need not apologise to me.”

The Princess looks amused while you explain yourself (you're finding that this is almost always the case), and no sooner have you finished than a chirruping burble of laughter escapes her lips.

“Well, try telling that to the senate,” she says, her voice tinged with good humour. “But thank you, Captain. It's very kind of you to say so. But that does not change my sister's behaviour, nor the nature of my apology.” She passes a glance back down the corridor. “Luna can be... difficult, at times. Even with things as they are.”

You notice she places a careful stress on the word. You don't inquire as to why Celestia's sister is the way she is. The very question eats away at you, but you smile and nod obediently all the same.

For a moment, the Princess remains lost in her pensive stare. You follow her gaze down the passage to the moon-rune doors, which are now firmly shut.

“...Is there anything else on your mind?” Celestia asks, without missing a beat.

The smile falls like an autumn leaf in the breeze. Of course there are. You want to ask so very many things, starting by asking the same thing to her. Celestia seems troubled by her sister. You want to assuage her worries, and to ask more about the strange night-guards, and Princess Luna, and the library archives, and the castle itself, and the nature of your job, too, and what Luna had alluded to before your departure. But do you dare open your mouth to speak?... for a moment, you're torn between answering her question honestly and everything you'd ever known about obedience and discipline.

In the end, your shake your head. You daren't open your mouth to confirm Celestia's suspicions, and it would be rude of you to pry.

Again, you're lying to her. You feel extremely remorseful about that, but you're consoled somewhat. You weren't lying in mean spirit, you just didn't want the Princess to worry. It was more of a deception than a lie outright, or so you tell yourself – and as before, Celestia gives away no hint of knowing any better. But her gaze does flicker slightly as she ponders her sister's rooms.

“...Are you doing that on purpose?” She murmurs distractedly.

You blink once or twice, not entirely sure how to respond to the non sequitur. You politely ask her to repeat the question

The Princess sighs a little.

“That's the second time you've kept the truth from me,” she says, in a somewhat unbothered fashion.

Your eyes widen in shock, and you yank your head back up so quickly that you rather painfully crick your neck. The Princess's weary appearance is unchanged, but her eyes now bore into you instead of the carpeted floor.

“You did it yesterday, too,” she adds, with a thoughtful pout. “While we were having tea. I asked if you found your fellow officers amiable, and you said yes, but you really meant to say no. I was just wondering if you actually meant to.”

You stammer an apology once or twice, before closing your mouth, totally ashamed.

Caught red-hoofed. Of course, neither instances were malicious. They were more half-truths than lies. But they were lies to anypony else. Internally you berate yourself. You'd suspected yesterday that she was quite aptly clairvoyant, even though you were somewhat stunned at the time. Now, though, you're sure of it.

Celestia sees the chagrin and dismay on your face, and to your surprise, offers you a warm smile. You're astonished even further when she speaks to you sedately and pleasantly.

“Would you like to know how I knew?” she says, her voice filled with a genuine calmness.

You're totally unsure how to respond. Your mind, hardened by years of military service, says 'trap'. Any high-ranking diplomat or senior officer would have snapped into a furious tirade by now, or at the very least sent you packing without an ear-bashing, disgusted. But your senses tell you that Celestia is both interested and amused. She's watching you for a reaction, you're certain – but she doesn't appear to be angry, or even remotely upset. What is she looking for?

“I told you yesterday that I was not all-knowing, and I meant it,” she says, putting a golden shod forehoof to her chin reflexively as she watches you. “But after a while in politics, you learn how to tell what ponies are thinking. Sometimes, you can see regret in their eyes, or sadness, or maybe even a little bit of anger. That the one thing Luna was right about, really – mortals are certainly very easy to read... but it is not due to our own powers that we find ponies readable, and it never will be.”

At this, she turns to you fully, cocking her head curiously so that the light catches off the jewel around her neck, causing it to glint and flicker.

“It is merely that mortal ponies bleed the truth,” she says softly. “And after you live as many moons as my sister and I have, you become more acquainted with the wound of lying that ponies so often inflict upon themselves.” She pauses pensively. “You don't like lying, do you?” she asks, after a brief moment.

You catch your breath. Her words pierce you through your heart with ease, and you say nothing, feeling ashamed. The Princess tuts once or twice.

“I didn't think so,” she mutters quietly. “You do frown a bit when you lie, after all. Not much, but just enough to let me know how you feel.” Your surprise at having a visible tell quickly dwindles into a pained wince, as you become aware of what exactly having one might mean.

“So, Captain,” she says rather evenly, taking a step towards you. “Do you feel I shouldn't waste my breath on common soldiers? Is that the reason for your deception?”

“N-no, your majesty,” you say, mentally back-pedalling as fast as you can. “I would never presume such things. It's just that –”

“Or maybe you feel I've made a mistake by being so commodious to you?” The Princess says, her voice growing in sternness, continuing to grow bolder and taller as she slowly closes the distance between you.

Now you're really panicking. You can feel the hotness building up underneath your uniform.

“No, no!” you say. “I... I just don't want you to be uneasy on my behalf!”

The Princess pauses, her face pensive.

“And why, pray tell, is that?” says Celestia, her soft voice edged with something you can't quite pick, but can feel. The coat on the back of your neck prickles in anxiety.

Celestia towers over you in stature, the slight frown on her face burning you with shame. Your eyes close involuntarily, and your head droops to face your polished shoes. You feel like a foal, and in many ways you are a foal. How could you be so stupid as to lie to Celestia? How could you ever even think that was okay? You'll probably be dismissed now. Kicked out of the guard, on his very first day, and you know Blueblood will probably revel in that. You can almost imagine the slight, wry smile on his face, his stupid faux laugh, and the snide murmuring in only a half-joking fashion.

So you aren't expecting something warm to brush along the back of your neck. You raise your neck instinctively, but your horn hits a metal something with a soft clink.

You open your stunned eyes. All you can see is white, and all you can smell is a fragrance you can't quite describe. It's sweet, but not overbearing, unlike any flower or fruit you've ever known. You would have stayed confused, but the itching on the tip of you nose lets you know that the wall of pure white before you is chest fur. The cool feeling of something tapping against your horn gives you chills. It's something metallic. Gold, even.

Slowly, you add one and two together, still not entirely willing to believe you were being comforted by a Princess.

Celestia draws you tighter into her gentle embrace for a few moments longer, the smooth fur of her muzzle brushing against the side of your neck. The delicate nudge of her chin against the back of your head brings it all home to you, and your heart skips a beat in astonishment and panic.

“You meant well, my little pony,” she says, her gentle voice humming hypnotically against your ear, full of warmth and kindness. “I know you meant well. And I know my sister said awful things, and I know you must have so many questions. But please, you need not be afraid to ask me things, and more importantly, to tell me the truth of your heart. There are so very few ponies that come to know me as my guards do. You don't have to lie to keep me happy. I promise I will never ask you to do that, and I promise to never go back on that promise.”

Her voice tapers off. The weight on your neck lifts, and you feel the tip of her slender muzzle brush up your neck, and past the roughened tufts of fur around your jawbone.

The Princess's face emerges back into your view. It's calm, commodious, and welcoming. A pair of opalescant eyes, and a slight smile. Her wings are tucked leisurely against her body, and her long neck is lowered to be at the same height as you, such a vast contrast from the fierce, imperial figure you had dared to defy only moments ago. Her horn glows softly, and she brims with the same, glowing power that had so stunned you in her throneroom, only a day ago.

And... she's immensely enthralling. You're far too blown away in awe to stop yourself from being totally captivated by her stare, and your mind swims in the sweet scent around her neck.

She's like a majestic swan with her brood of cygnets, or something else you can't put your hoof on. There's something caring about her, something that, far from making your heart race in excitement, makes it thud heavily against your chest, like your blood has thickened at her very touch.

“I only wish to be your friend,” she whispers with a smile, her magenta eyes imploring you.

You wouldn't say no. You daren't disappoint the Princess now, and not because you'd been told otherwise, or disciplined for servitude for years and years.

You said yes because her fondness was heaven to keep.

“Good,” she says again, her smile still radiant. “Now come. We will take a trot to the armoury, back in the main castle, and see if we can find something suitable for you. Let us walk and talk!” She rises and turns, her prismatic mane whirling in the light as she does so. “After all, you have an appointment to keep!”

Shocked, stunned, stupified and shocked. Four words that can accurately describe how you feel right now. The electric current of Celestia's touch and the unearthly fragrance around her neck makes has left you slightly giddy.

You pine for that moment in your head thereafter. Her scent caresses the inside of your muzzle. It's as much her as you'd imagined.

It's...

Wonderful.

Your senses rekindle themselves, and you blink once or twice, becoming painfully aware that the Princess has turned her head back, and is now waiting on you.

“Coming?” she says, politely. “I know you have a question or two for me. You did just admit it, after all.”

Kicking your deadened legs back into life, you take a few speedy steps forward to follow her down the hallway, back to the archives and your quarters. But in doing so, you see the Princess's long strides slow, and she falls alongside you to walk two abreast as you come to the base of the stone tower steps.

“After you, Captain,” she says, opening the door for you.

You pause for a second, glancing up at the Princess. Perhaps sensing your discomfort, she gives you another warm smile.

You step through the door. And as you do so, a weight lifts from your shoulders. The Princess suddenly seems less intimidating. Scary, certainly, but you know she's approachable. You feel like you can take on the world – and your new post – provided that she's there, whispering encouragement in your ear.

You feel safe knowing that much. And for the first time since you've arrived, you feel a little more at ease.

Something new has come over you.

Seek Guidance

A spell made by Clerics to speak to the dead.

Display more guidance from other worlds.

The voices of the spirits vary greatly from good to evil.

A balance of faith and wisdom is required.

V – Of Loncreta

~V~

Of Loncreta

A story of friendship, written lovingly by writer.

Together you trot the length of the grand library once more, this time in total silence. You feel a little overwhelmed by meeting the Princess of the Night, but then again, everything about your life has been overwhelming of late. Indeed, overwhelming is becoming a norm for you, and it's a very far cry from the quiet country life you once led.

You're so distracted by the absurdity of it all that you almost forget about her.

Well, almost. You would never entirely forget Celestia, not as long as you lived. She trots along beside you, occasionally glancing curiously down her long, white muzzle at you, anticipating the questions that she knows you badly want to ask.

With her fond lecture still tingling in your ears, you flip through the multiple issues buzzing in your head, and fire one off at random.

“Luna dislikes me?”

The very act of speaking without being spoken to brings chills down your spine, and you can feel the cogs in your brain turning, grinding against the mentality that you, a lowly guard, were fit to speak to the Princess as freely as you so pleased.

Celestia laughs softly. The melody is like nectar for your ears, and you find yourself smiling a little at it. Your heart beats faster still, as if it wasn't already thudding from your earlier escapade. You quickly chalk it up to Luna setting your frayed nerves on edge.

“Well, I was hoping to save that particular question for later, but I did say you could ask anything you wanted,” Celestia says thoughtfully, her stride unbroken. “I will say that Luna does not like you, and with good reason. But there is a story behind all that. Perhaps a more appropriate time would be after our little sojourn?”

You frown a little, experimenting with your new-found freedom.

“She seemed very angry,” you say, as you pad past the final row of bookshelves and out towards the greenhouse. “I should like to know. I mean, I would never guess why,” you hastily add, “but it bothers me very much that somepony should be upset with me for no reason at all.”

The sun Princess takes a moment to reply.

“Yes, I suppose you are right. You do deserve to know. I can only imagine how fearsome she seems to you.” Your trot comes to a slow as you push through the library double-doors, entering the trickling, glass-ceilinged auditorium that you're slowly learning to call the Greenhouse.

“Luna is not angry,” she says, pursing her lips thoughtfully as she passes through the threshold after you. “She is upset. I think, though, the feelings are one and the same for her, particularly given... our history.”

You blink once or twice, feeling uncertain. “I'm not sure I follow.”

Her rather demure look of thoughtfulness vanishes, again to be replaced by a warm smile. “I would not expect you to,” she says. “The larger part of the history between Luna and I is a story I do not usually pass on to anyone. I will be willing to make an exception for you, of course; but my answer will be rather long, and I find that stories are best told and heard sitting down. That is my only concern.”

“Oh.” You deflate a little bit, feeling your comfort eke ever so slightly away. “The blacksmith. Of course, your majesty. If it is as you wish, it can wait.”

The white princess' perfect brow creases, and her bottom lip juts out petulantly at the tone of your voice.

“Well, if you're going to act like a plucked gryphon about it,” she says, rolling her eyes.

You chuckle quietly for the first time – not around her, or at something she says, but at her, with her, delighted in her cheerful nature.

Just as quickly, the thought of its unnaturalness strikes you as odd, and your smile leaves.

Did you just laugh in front of a Princess?

More importantly, it came unbidden.

It came unbidden.

Good heavens. A smile, after all you've been through? After all the training and drilling to be as firm and steady as granite? You shouldn't even be twitching, let alone grinning so broadly at a Princess, even if she had just given you freedom to do so. Surely, there should have been some adjustment time, you reason, or even a moment where it felt out of place or forced.

But...

Smiling at Celestia feels like the easiest thing in the world. She was so simple and easy to talk to, even though she was entirely impossible to read, even though she was royalty. It was as if all she had in her mind was to make you comfortable.

Like she was in your head.

Something within you shivers. She might have been in your head. You were alright with that, weren't you? She was a Princess, entitled to be or not be wherever she pleased, whenever she pleased, if she pleased. And aside from the inexplicable pangs of guilt you got every time you opened your mouth, being around Celestia was... enjoyable. It was something different, but not bothering, really – she was so warm and beautiful and kind. There wasn't a part of you that wasn't assuaged by her presence.

Your mood continues to swing wildly from happy to self-admonishing. Whatever thoughts you have about favouring a happy attitude around Celestia snake to equally powerful arguments for being stern, and it's spooking you just a little. What's more, you're almost certain that Celestia is responsible for it.

“...Perhaps we could spare fifteen minutes in a quiet place,” Celestia adds, looking around.

Your mind seizes the first conclusion it arrives at. It just as quickly is burned by the impure thought, and drops it instantly – but you feel the heat re-enter your cheeks, and you quickly cough into a hoof to make sure it goes unnoticed.

Hell, you gasp internally. That was never ever your first reaction around a mare, let alone a Princess. You are a stolid, solid guardsman, trained not to react or think that way. You take a deep breath or two, and find there's a slightly unpleasant tightness in your chest. What in the name of all things good is wrong with you? You just hope the whole thing flashed by her unnoticed – and more importantly that she is not in your head.

“Hmm.” The Princess's attention has fallen back on you, and she looks rather meditative. Her eyebrows slant themselves a little, and she gives you a look of concern. “I still make you nervous, don't I?”

Of course it didn't go unnoticed. Does anything ever go unnoticed by her?

“Yes, Princess. I, ah, I think it might take some time to adjust,” you say, not wanting to sound like you'd ignored everything she'd just told you. “It's just...”

You leave the sentence hanging. How would you finish it? Insane to be speaking to you? Liberating to be so free in your presence? So unusual and insane that my mind is swinging to... absurd thoughts?

“I understand completely,” Celestia says quietly. “It is the same for every guard I have ever spoken to in person. I am told I exude a rather intimidating aura of immortality, and that is something I cannot wholly avoid. And yes, the guards do make such a great deal out of the whole affair, but I'm sure things will feel more natural after a time.” She offers you a dulcet smile. “And please, Captain. Call me Celestia.”

Your stomach douses itself in liquid ice. Saints above, it gives you the shivers when she reads you like that.

“Is that an order?” you ask, tentatively.

“Just a request,” she replies fondly. “I think it would help with your dilemma.”

You know better than to ask ‘what dilemma’.

“I think I'd like to hear the story now,” you say, trying to drag her focus away from you.

“Well, alright then,” Celestia replies, turning her gaze back to the sunlit garden. “Just beside the fountain of Knights here, that should do. Here is as private as anywhere else in the castle grounds, and I doubt my lovely and impatient blacksmith will mind too much.”

You trot to the heart of the room and take a seat beside one of the fountains, feeling the grassy floor tickle your hooves. You turn to face Celestia, who, seemingly unbothered, has summoned a long marble bench and is curled up atop of it, with one hoof languidly trailing off into the water of the fountain.

You stare at her, a little stunned. After a moment of making herself comfortable Celestia glances up, and, noticing that you're staring, gives you a pouty look.

"What? You didn't expect me to just lay on the grass, did you?"

You shake your head quickly. It's very easy to forget that, while she appears to be trusting and kind beyond believe, she is also a Princess.

“Alright, then," she says, with a smile. "We'll begin. Tell me, do you know anything about your family tree?”

Slowly, you shake your head. Celestia sighs.

“Well, that makes two of us. You see, I would have liked to look at your family history, but the birth registries of the times that I require were lost during the civil war. It is not a particularly uncommon phenomenon, of course, but...” she tapers off, frowning at you. “You look surprised by my desire to know my guards?”

Indeed you were, though you hadn’t hoped to have made it as visible.

“Well, yes,” you confess, feeling slightly abashed. “A thousand years is a very long time ago, Princess.”

“Celestia,” she corrects you without pause. “And of course, I would very much like to look at your family’s history at that time. It would help me explain quite a lot about you, you see, because you are something strange. You and your ilk were something that Nightmare Moon sought after briefly – first to adopt to her own schemes, and then to get rid of.”

You swallow. You're all ears now.

“Get rid of?”

Celestia sighs, and her expression falls back into blankness, as if she was suddenly lost in thought. She turns her head just a slight, and you notice that her gaze has fallen onto the trickling fountain next to you.

“Yes. And that is a story of many parts, isn’t it?” she questions the cool air of the greenhouse.

You say nothing – but you continue to watch while the Princess composes herself.

“Alright. I will tell you the story of my home,” she says, staring off into the fountain's cool depths. “Have you ever heard of a place called Loncreta?”

You shake your head. She speaks again.

“It was a city in what is now known as the Everfree Forest. It has long since risen and fallen, and the name does not feature in many parts of Equestrian history, so I would not expect you to know of it.”

Again, there is another pause. You consider asking a question to break the awkward silence, but the look on Celestia's face is... strangely neutral. She is not passive or calm, teacherly, content, just indifferent. It reminds you of the look she was wearing in Luna's chamber.

“It was a beautiful place, Loncreta. An ancient city of knowledge and music and life.” She lowers a slender, golden hoof to the surface of the pond, hovering just above the water’s surface. For a half-second it lingers there, before gently pressing through the water’s rippling veneer, allowing the burbling waters to lap at her fetlocks. “And we lived there once,” Celestia says. “Luna and I.”

A little chill descends down your spine at the mention of her royal sister's name, and you suppress the familiar cold in your chest. There is some emotion to Celestia's story that gives you pause, though it does not feel sad. It feels... hollow.

“This was a long time before we... before we fought each other,” Celestia says, continuing to dab at the water, lowering her head over the side of the stone bench to watch the fountain's shimmering surface. “No. It was quite a while before that. It was when we were with our parents. We were quite young and happy in those days. And as you can imagine, we were like any two sisters living in a paradise where the sun always shined, and where the ponies were always happy. We did more than live there. We grew up there. We dreamt of bigger things, we ran and played, we fell in love with strangers there. We learned magic and the arts from our parents there. I spent much of my time in the great library of Loncreta.”

Tap, tap, tap. Celestia’s hoof parts the surface of the fountain. The basin is shallow, and its waters are crystal clear and dotted with stray water-flowers. They accompany Celestia's rippling reflection, the same shade as her coat, and just as beautiful.

"The city was built at the heart of a river delta. Luna always loved the water. It didn't take her long to try and use her magic to walk on it. It was something I could never manage, and it was something she made a habit out of as a result. She’d trot down the rivers and the canals, singing gently. She loved to sing back then, too. Equestrians would crowd the bridges over the water, just to see their beloved Princess. 'Mi amore, mi amore Luna!' they'd cry, and they would throw flowers to her. Luna would pick white flowers from the water and garland them together in her mane. In the end, ponies picked up on it, and they started to only throw lilies. Luna adored that everypony loved her so. Their affection was ever my sister's dearest joy."

The bubbling of the fountains fills a momentary silence, in which Celestia casts an unsure glance your way.

“I am sorry, Captain,” she says. “I do not mean to be to wistful or nostalgic. But I do miss Loncreta.” She smiles weakly at the small white flower bobbing on the water before her. After a moment, you realise it’s a lily. “…And if it was not apparent, the city is no more. I will forever miss it.”

You nod.

“Please,” you say, feeling a little taken aback by Celestia's moment of vulnerability. “If you do not wish to talk...”

“But I do wish, Captain,” she says firmly, cutting you off. “In fact, if there is one thing I must insist on, it is that you hear this tale in full. I want you to know how beautiful this place was. I want you to know that even after my sister and I grew apart, the city was the greatest mingling of the minds this land has ever seen, and it is from those origins of harmony that many advances in technology and magic were made. One particular school would come to light many years later. One that you and many thousands of others alive today were born capable of performing, no less, but has since been forgotten, and has long fallen into disuse.”

You fall silent once again, allowing Celestia a moment to elaborate.

“They call it war magic. Spellbooks labelled it as an art once upon a time, but it was an art born in a different age, where war and conflict were never far from the horizon. In those days, there was beauty in bloodshed, and honour and tradition were the most prized traits of any Equestrian in those days, for there were always unknown enemies to fight. The gryphons, the changelings, the buffalo, the dogs from the earth, and even other ponies, too. The list goes on. Equestria was weak in its earlier years, and we always fought, all of us against common enemies, even though we are all living creatures. We fought to unify, we fought to bring other ponies under the royal demesne, and we fought to protect ourselves.”

Celestia raises her head from the fountain, offering you a wan smile. “I was never one for that school of thought. I know that it is no art. There is no beauty or loyalty to killing and death. In my eyes, peace is truly the path best trodden, and that is part of the reason the stories and magic of Loncreta are best left buried. It is also part of the reason that I try to make so many friends, though that has little to do with your circumstances.”

Celestia breaks from her monologue, but remains entranced on the fountain's cold surface. You take a moment to compose yourself.

“My circumstances?” the words feel hollow leaving your mouth. “That sounds really...”

“Unpleasant.” She finishes with a polite disdain that matches your emotions to a tee.

You blink once. You weren't really going to say that, but it was on your mind.

“I say it because nopony enjoys bloodshed, not truly,” Celestia continues. "The magic of war was a complex mixture of schools, a more aggressive form of conjuring and transmuting and levitation that sought direct manipulation of the earth we stood on, but it is mostly gone. These days, common ponies do not need to protect themselves and their families. That is my job.”

You can relate to that. “And mine,” you add. Celestia nods politely.

“Of course. Now, Loncreta,” she says, beginning anew her story. “Nowhere else was the magic of day and night shared, was the spirit of equinity so alive. In those years before the war, it was such a beautiful place, filled with learning and knowledge and culture... I modelled one of Canterlot's spires on ones I saw in Loncreta,” Celestia raises a hoof and points back towards the library. “Luna's astronomy tower, to be specific...”

She sighs deeply, and lets the other hoof drop back to her side. Something's bothering her. It's a fairly simple thing to see, but you're still adjusting to Celestia being more like a common pony then anything close to an immortal ruler. Before yesterday, you'd have never thought that an equine side to the Princess even existed, so seeing her express simple emotions is a strangely vivid experience.

The Princess speaks again. “Yes, I loved Loncreta. I still do. But I do not go there anymore, not even to visit the ruins. There is far too much... pain for me there.”

She's still smiling. You can see that. But her eyes are closed, and something is wrong, so dreadfully utterly wrong. Her smile hurts. You can see it hurts her, too. Her words are edged with the unspoken suffering of her own immortality, and they cut your heart deeply.

“...Everything changed when our parents died. Luna and I were already beginning to fall out over minor things. We stopped talking for a decade, and, well... to skip ten years of infighting and neglect between us, the war started, Captain.”

The idea that two ponies could simply stop talking to each other for ten years shocks you, but you listen all the same.

“The fighting was bloody everywhere, but it was far, far worse in Loncreta. Suddenly the city was filled with thousands of opposing combatants, some of them loyal to me, some of them loyal to my sister. A city of warriors, Captain. Artisan warriors, every one of them, generals and students and sorcerers all. Married Lunar stallions and solar mares, entire families and neighbourhoods, friends and lovers, all suddenly pitted against themselves. The city was... obviously highly contested territory, and... and I had not prepared adequately.”

Celestia's smile wavers. She opens her eyes to stare into yours, and to your horror, you can see that they are slightly pink.

“The city fell, Captain. It burned, and its inhabitants drowned in the canals and the rivers. Those capable of holding swords did so, and in the suburbs where one force took control, the other side was purged with steel and bladed gems. There was not a thing I could have done, because my sister would have struck directly elsewhere had I left to put an end to it. I was ruined either way, and so I had to choose the lesser of two evils, and I lost everything. I won the day, but I lost my home, I lost Luna, I lost so much, I –”

Celestia stops herself, swallowing. She takes a deep breath, and forces the serene smile back across her face. For a brief, agonising, and private moment, you bear witness to the sadness of Celestia so great that it wrenches at your soul with the unfairness of it all. She does not gaze at you, but through you, and you can't blame her for that. Clearly, she's too busy forcing herself to be strong, even though she lost more than anypony else.

You cannot help but grieve for her in that either - after all, nothing could be crueler. For Celestia to know that her ancient home was being torn apart, but to unable to do anything about it. Over her long life, she must have relived that agonising nightmare a thousand times. You realise that her lament is a glimpse of mortality from a being that you have never thought of as anything less than Princess - kind, wise, and powerful beyond thought. You understand now why she seems to be anywhere where she is needed, and ever-loving to those who have nothing else. Never in the age of Equestrians was so much owed by so many to just a single pony.

There's a long pause. You wait for more words, but she keeps smiling sadly at you. A solitary tear carves a glistening path down one of her fair cheeks, and she turns that cheek away from you, as though she cannot bear to be seen grieving.

“Those faithful followed without a second thought,” she adds quietly, after a small eternity. “Most of them were simply believers, and they sought to defend themselves against the vile enemy. Isn't that always the way? Don't we ponykind justify war for our own means? Yes, Captain, we do indeed, but the conflict between them was not my doing. It was their love for me... for us, that made them do what they did. By the time I made safe the other vulnerabilities and arrived at Loncreta to put an end to the winds of madness, it was already far too late.”

Her words carry a mixture of acceptance and suffering.

“I hope you will forgive me for being emotional,” she says. “I never enjoy speaking of the war. It is a barbarous thing. Please...”

“Of course.” Your voice feels very small and distant.

And for a while, that is all between you and Celestia. She watches the waters of the fountain rippling, and the perfect, white lilies bobbing atop the water, like stars in a clear sky. You watch her and think of how many thousands of times she must have stared at the real sky, the night sky, and been reminded of her sister, and the loss of her home.

By all right, she should hate Luna more than anyone - or anything else. And yet you realise that somewhere within Celestia, there stood the capacity to forgive her sister, despite everything she had done, and everything that she herself had lost.

She speaks after what feels like an age, but her voice has not regained all of its serenity. There is a strain to it that you cannot remember.

“It is well that war is so terrible, Captain, else we should grow too fond of it.”

You nod. Truer words never were spoken.

The sun princess sighs deeply. “But, we must move on. Although it pains me, that is part of a much broader history of Luna and I. Our thoughts turn to you now, Captain. You are descended, I assume, from either a servant of me or my sister during the war.”

What? Immediately your heart grips at your chest, and your eyes widen.

“Yes,” Celestia adds, still not looking upon you. “It is quite possible that your family might have served my sister at one point. The records, as I said, vanished.”

You don't like that at all. Even though she is just Celestia's sister, you don't like Luna, mostly because she frightens the living daylights out of you.

“...I know,” Celestia says wearily. “It's not a pleasant thought for many, though, with the way my sister acts, one can hardly blame them for thinking that way. Now, tell me about your magic, Captain. If you please.”

Eager to pull the conversation away from something that clearly discomforts Celestia, you think about what spells you know.

“It's nothing too complex," you say. “Just basics. Nothing great or powerful, if that's what you were wondering.”

Celestia nods. “It was. I suppose I was hoping vaguely you were prodigious, but sadly, there was one observation my sister was correct in stating. Your magical muscles are mostly underused, and even if you were well studied in magic, you are no Element of Magic.” She looks strangely at you. “That is not a problem, though – I, for one, was not expecting you to be gifted. As for your lack of magical education, well, harnessing potential is my speciality, and I suppose anypony could forgo using their magic comprehensively given time. I take it you never attended a magic school?”

You bite the tiniest part of your inner lip and shake your head. Not on your budget.

Why did that feel shameful to admit?

“Your parents taught you some basics, then?”

A nod.

“Which one of your parents was the teacher?” she asks.

“My mother, mostly.”

“What spells did she teach you? Just basic levitation?”

Another nod.“Firestarting, too,” you add. “I was always very good at starting fires.”

Celestia's eyebrow rises slightly. “...I see. Of course, you were always very good at it. And your father?”

The question hangs dead in the air, and something in the back of your mind cries out, only to be silenced a second later.

“He... he didn't teach me magic.”

Celestia smiles happily for the first time in a long time, mercifully unaware of your thoughts. “Well, we have much to learn, then,” she says, her voice now tinged with keenness and a strangely headteacher-like exuberance. “But first, I think there's something you ought to know about what  you simply call 'starting a fire'.”

Her horn glows, and a tiny puff of flame flickers into life before you. You turn your gaze to it, but it does nothing other then waver innocuously, and you look back at Celestia, who is grinning broadly. She leans off her bench a little, hushing her voice conspiratorially.

“It is impossible.”

She then retreats to her bench, looking pleased as punch. Unfortunately, you can't exactly share her enthusiasm.

“...What?” you ask, feeling stupid.

“It is,” Celestia says politely, blinking once, “Impossible. You cannot create fire with magic.”

“But... I can.”

“I know you can,” she says.

"And you can."

"Indeed," she says, and the flame flickers once before doubling in size.

There's an awkward pause.

“...So... so it is possible?” You add meekly. Contradicting Princess Celestia herself feels confounding in more ways then just one.

The Princess nods. “It is possible. I can do it. But it shouldn't be possible, and that is more to the point.”

You stare blankly at the white alicorn for a moment, wondering what to say. You must seem awfully vague and insecure, because she follows up by asking you a question.

“Let me put it to you this way: what exactly is this flame burning to stay lit?”

You open your mouth, and close it again.

“I have no idea,” you say, returning your gaze to the tiny spot of flame between the two of you. “Magic?”

Celestia shakes her head, and nudges the flame with her horn slightly.

“Not quite. Magical energy can create sparks, but it cannot be woven into a stream of light and heat naturally.”

You frown. “So... how does the flame stay lit?”

“Precisely. Where is the fuel for this fire? You have never used it for anything other than lighting fires, so you would never think to ask. But what is it that keeps this flame alive?”

The silence is unbroken while you consider any possible answer, but none is forthcoming.

“You do,” Celestia says. “You can do something that can be replicated with sparks and light, but that no spell has been able to mimic. The conjuration and sustenance of fire.”

"Is that unusual?" you ask, feeling a little awkward.

Celestia affixes you with such an intent stare that you feel like you've made a serious mistake.

"Highly," she says.

You're feeling intrepid, but a little nervous. "And why is that?" you ask.

The sun princess still stares at you.

“I am more then happy to tell you. But fair warning, Captain. It might come as a bit of a shock.”

You look down. You're already seated on the cool grass floor. How bad could it be?

“I don't think I can be more ready,” you say.

The Princess doesn't even hesitate before speaking.

“That is not a steel buckler.”

“...What isn't. Princess?”

“Celestia," she says, without pause. "And, that,” she adds, lifting a golden hoof to point at the floor behind you.

What? You stand up and do a little circle in the grass, turning to face... whatever she was pointing at. There's nothing behind you.

You look back at the Princess, puzzled.

“No, no,” Celestia says, with a tiny sigh and an amused look. “Your mark, Captain.”

You turn your head, glancing back at your mark, staring bemusedly at the little disc of white that you'd taken to be a shield for so long.

“It's a shield?” you say, confusedly.

“So it seems,” she replies. “But in fact, there is more to the mark than meets the eye. It is not a buckler.”

“I don't understand.” Again, the words fall out of your mouth like you haven't even thought about them. But you really don't care too much at that point – you're busy hanging off of her every word.

Celestia's eyes trace over your form, finding their way down to the little shield upon your flank. “I'm very sorry,” she says faintly. “I don't mean to worry you.”

“It's... it's alright,” you say. “Thank you, Princess.”

She does not even notice your slip, but continues to talk.

“If you were a palomino, or perhaps a grey foal, some more scorn would have been shown to your mark. Maybe some more questions would have been asked, and you would have come to my attention earlier. If your coat was any other colour, you might have guessed there was more to it, but you're a white. They are less common in these times, though that was not the case a hundred years ago. Yes, you're a very unusual shade of white.”

“White has shades?”

“Everything has shades,” she replies. “White, green, black, red, blue...” A little ripple of sunlight passes across a length of her flowing mane, and for the briefest moment, it seems to be a solid length of pink. “Every colour has a shade lent to it by light, even those which we call ‘shades’ themselves. You are a very pale white. Paler than most, maybe. But there is a circle of your coat that surrounds your mark that is even paler still, perhaps invisible to the naked eye.”'

“What does it mean, though?”

Celestia continues to speak agonisingly carefully and softly. “Well... when a particular type of cloud floats high enough into the air, ice crystals begin to form within it. They are very thin, and very difficult to see properly, because they are so high above the ground, but pegasi might know one if they saw one. If... if a blanket of these ice crystals should pass over the sun, then the sunlight around it bends into a circular halo, a shimmering wave of white light...” She raises an eyebrow at you.

Something in your chest stops dead as the gravity of what she’s telling you slams into you.

“The sun?” you repeat, feeling your head throb. “It's not a white shield, it's a sun?”

“...In a sense,” Celestia adds quickly, eager to finish before your thoughts run rampant. “I believe it is a phenomenon better known as a nimbus, or an icebow. It is, if you like, the spiritual successor to the rainbow, and so I would think your talents would lie within the realm of light and heat. That is most of the reason why Luna was quite alarmed.”

You dare to take a breath, and your knees feel weak. “Because I can... I can do the same thing you can?”

She smiles at you. “Given time and years of practice, you might be nearly as good.”

Your heart is in your ears again. The spinning sensation reaches its peak, and you feel yourself slowly slipping sideways. With an effort that rivals desperation, you pull yourself upright.

This can't be good for us, says a tiny voice in your head.

Two panic attacks in two days, adds another, deeper voice. We're losing a month of our life for this one. There's only so much the heart can take, you know.

“...Captain?” Celestia asks.

You look at the three Princesses in front of you dumbly.

“Huh?” you say, barely aware that one of them was clearly speaking to you.

“Are you alright?” they ask in unison.

“No,” you reply, quite honestly, feeling the world beginning to teeter to one side.

The three Celestias frown at you as the world spins. “Captain, I – oh!”

With a sudden force, the world comes rushing up to meet you. But before you can thud into the grassy earth, something connects to you, and you halt midway, buoyed by a field of blue magic. You're vaguely aware that it's not your own, and you feel the tiniest thread of woven energy tap into your own magical reservoir.

“No you don't,” Celestia says, quite calmly. “Up you get, now!”

What is she doing? You wonder vaguely, as the thread intwines itself with your horn.

Before your addled, fainting brain can even think to raise the question out loud, something sears your mind so fiercely that you almost black out. Celestia's thread burns you, and a coil of unbelievable pain flashes into your horn. In an instant, you are robbed of thought, blinded in utter agony as the nerves in your brain seize up.

A flood of energy roars through the thread, and something ignites within you. The thread swiftly retract, and the pain recedes, but the burning inside you does not, and at once, you are aware of who you are.

You are more then aware. You are a servant of flame, and when open your eyes, and you can see the aura of Celestia shimmering all around her like a wave of intense heat.

You fall to all fours, but it is not your doing. Your head hangs limp, and you can see your limbs begin to glow with a fierce crimson aura.

At once, you are dominated, practically consumed by the thought of standing. A flush of energy roars through you like a wildfire, burning your chest and mind, and you are vividly aware of your surroundings, even though you understand them not. You hear yourself speak, but the voice is not your own. It feels distant and far away, and you have no idea what you say, only that there is an unsatisfied, incredible urge to protect Celestia.

The Princess says something. The heatwave around her shimmers and grows, encompassing you, but you hardly notice. You are lost. The feeling of being dizzy and subservient and nervous vanishes so quickly that they might never have existed. But you don't think that. It doesn't matter if they did. The only thing that matters in the world is the dull, burning roar in your head that demands to be heard.

Where... the moon. I must burn... I must... burn.

“Breathe, Captain. Just breathe.” a calm voice floats into your mind, as clear as a bell. Your ears flit and turn, searching for the source of a foreign presence.

I am the last. I must protect her.

“Just relax, Captain.” insists the Princess's gentle voice. “You are safe. There is no danger. Relax... relax.”

This last word penetrates your consciousness like a blade. With a sucking gasp, you steal a breath and nourish your starved mind. Your eyes re-focus. The gentle trickle of the fountains fills your ears as you regain consciousness. The roar turns into a rumble, and a wreath of smoke emerges from your mouth and nose, and a second later it is followed by a tiny buffet of orange flame.

With a mighty, crackling whoosh, the flame expands and flowers, bursting from you like a fusillade of dragons, barrelling, and billowing as it expands out into the atrium. With it passes the roaring noise and the burning sensation, and you can feel yourself regaining some feeling in your hooves as the last vestiges of flame escape your lungs.

Immediately you come back to earth, and you are aware that you're splayed on your stomach, breathing heavily. Silvery smoke billows from your nose, and you cough and choke trying to force it all out of your lungs and throat.

When you have, you take in your surroundings blearily. And what you see could not terrify you less.

The fountain is charred in front of you. Like a roaring twister of dragon's breath, the flame has seared the precious white marble an ashen black. A multitude of burned lillies splay away from you on the fountain's surface in a cone pattern, and some of them are still smouldering gently. The grass beneath your hooves is dry, and dyed a faded yellow from the sheer heat.

You stare, dumbfounded for a moment or two, before a hoof on your shoulder makes you look up.

It's her again. And she's positively giggling with delight.

“Well!” she says, fanning a hoof before her to ward away the smoke, clearly struggling not to laugh. “That introduction was... a bit rougher then I would have liked.” She ponders the singed water lillies for a few seconds before turning to you. “Are you, er... are you quite alright?”

You take another few gulps of air, still feeling the tingle of heat in your throat and lungs.

“What did I...” you stare down at your hooves again, only to find them deprived of the aura you had seen moments before. You reach up to your chest, trying to pat the burning sensation away from your chest. “What was that?”

“It was a rather severe reaction to a small portion of my magic,” Celestia says, the tiniest bit regretful. “I didn't exactly want you going dark on me, so I thought it might have been a good time to awaken your rather dormant power.” She coughs a little more. “So much smoke...”

You look up at her, astonished. She's very tall at the best of times, least of all when you're nearly spread-eagled in front of her. You get to your hooves, and she raises an eyebrow at you.

“Do you think it was better than passing out in front of me?” she asks, quizzically.

You bite your lip. “Um...”

“Rhetorical question, Captain,” she adds, giving you a smile that tries to cajole some warmth back into your extremities. “Now, ignoring the smoke, how do you feel?”

Quickly, you take a mental recap of all your faculties.

Left legs? Right legs? Tail still attached?

“Well, I'm... I'm alright,” you say, feeling cautious, but energetic.

The Princess gives you a concerned look. “Your momentary pain aside, would I be wrong in saying you feel better than before?”

“I feel... I feel great,” you say truthfully.

You feel somehow empowered by whatever Celestia has done to you. Some barrier has been broken, or some connection has been established between you and her. Maybe she's just growing on you more and more.

“What did you do to me?”

“I kindled the bonfire of your magic,” she replies, smiling happily at you. “Such things are very easily achieved with my knowledge of the magic. It was like a firepit full of fuel, but there was no flame present. Just heat. All it took was a few sparks, but I think I might have added a little too much on my end.” Her smile fades to a sheepish one. “I apologise for that.”

You blink once or twice, and breathe out again, savouring the coolness in your throat and lungs.

It's alright, isn't it? Asks one voice in your head.

No idea, we're breathing fire now, says the deeper voice. We're probably going crazy.

You tell them both to shut up, and you look at Celestia before nodding resolutely. It was alright. Celestia seems visibly relieved when she speaks again.

“...Long ago, elder scholars and mages would have called our little exchange just now 'Pyromancy'. I prefer to use my own word for it, but perhaps you are more familiar with this term for your gift?”

You haven't heard of pyromancy before, and you shake your head. You're about to say something of the sort when what exactly your gift is pre-occupies you once more.

“Sweet heavens, it's a sun...” you say, staring back at your mark.

“Indeed,” Celestia replies. “You are a furtive flame drawn to the sun, and that is why Luna feels so horrifically uneasy around you.”

“But... why?... I don't...” You can hardly string a few words together at the moment, let alone a complete sentence, but you have so much to say.

“If you recall, I said before that she sought to get rid of your kind,” Celestia adds, relieving you of your choice. “Nightmare Moon had all such foals taken from their parents. In the beginning, she imagined that she had a cause for their ability to sharpen and give shape to natural moonlight. But without fail, they turned their back to the moonlight, and she did not want them finding any love for me or my sun.”

Oh. Your squirming stomach disappears, to be replaced by an empty vacuum within.

“She killed them?”

Celestia winces and lets out a shuddering breath, and when she opens her eyes, the grey sadness has returned to her in full.

“Must you ask?” she whispers, her voice bleeding hurt.

You bite your lip again, feeling incredibly guilty.

“I’m sorry. I wasn't thinking. I'm just a little...” you wave a hoof to try and emphasize the words that won't come.

“I forgive you, of course,” Celestia replies. “But there, you have the truth of the matter. To answer the question of why my sister dislikes you, do you now see why my little sister might feel... apprehensive about a unicorn whose mark falls so snugly under my wing?”

“It must - I mean, I must... bring back some unhappy memories,” you say, feeling very awkward and blameable.

“Ones of Loncreta, I have no doubt,” Celestia replies. “And memories of that place are things neither of us want to dwell on. Not to mention, she suffers through enough guilt already for her deeds – she is all too aware of the pain she has caused her sister, even moreso because she did it with her own four hooves. She has also brought great pain upon herself in the process. It seems that many ponies would forget that the Nightmare destroyed more that Luna loved than I did, but... they would much prefer to think of her as 'evil'.”

You nod silently. You have nothing to add to that, and it is all completely true.

“As a result,” she continues, “Luna barely forgives herself. Her narrow faith in her own equinity is only bound by my promise that I will continue to be her sister until the end of days. Ponies fear her and loathe her. She only bites back in kind, and it is not easy for her to be a bright star when everypony around her feels darkened by her presence.”

Then, Celestia does something that surprises you. She closes her eyes and lowers her great, maned head.

“I’m sure her wounds will heal, but it will take many, many moons. So please. Please, just for now. In exchange for my power, I beg that you forgive my sister her behaviour. I said before that the feelings of anger and sadness were one and the same for Luna, and I hope you will remember this, and treat her kindly.”

Celestia begging you for something strikes you deeply, and you bow low.

“I'll do my best,” you say quietly. You need swear no vow on this promise. Like a chorus of broken angels, Celestia's lament is not something you'd ever disregard.

Celestia's wings splay themselves slightly, and she closes her eyes, turning her head up and away in a display of rejection and regality.

“Perhaps, Captain. But your promise will not stop the fact that she loathes the very idea of you. You were entitled to know why, and you asked; and now you know. What will happen is this; you will learn the art of pyromancy. For I am the sun, and she is the moon, and the two are destined to remain independent. Your mark is for pyromancy, and pyromancy is of my own design. Therefore, you will be my protector because I will it, and I will nourish you in kind because I wish it. I am the mistress of the flame, the lady of fire and light, and you are my adherent, my noble servant.”

You take a little, shivering breath at the sight. She has resumed her radiance as a queen, and you are suddenly aware of her aura of immortality. Her wingfeathers seem to shimmer in the sunlight that glimmers in through the greenhouse’s curved glass roof.

Celestia’s eyes sneak open. Her expression unfaltering from its noble pose, she gives you a sly wink.

“A little too much pomp, you think?”

And just like that, she's back to her gracious, mortal, cheerful self again.

Truth betold, you saw a glimmer of the same bewitching power and beauty that was Celestia in her element, perched atop her throne. The wink takes you totally by surprise, and holds your heart in a tight grip.

“Yes, hmm. A little too much,” she says, frowning at your wide-eyed expression as she settles back to her leisurely self. Her wings fold themselves against her sides. “Now, enough talk! We need to get to see my good friend. He will see to your barding, if not a good sword. And possibly the mason, too,” she adds, giving the fountain a puzzled look. “I think I shall need to have this all cleaned up. My, my, such potency...”

She begins to descend from the bench, stretching out her shoulders and magnificent as she does so. You’re a little too tense to do the same just now, but you quickly kick your legs back into life.

“Are there... others like me?” you say, as you clamber to your hooves.

Celestia, halfway through stretching out a leg, pauses, looking somewhat surprised.

“...There have been, in the past,” she says slowly. “But no. Other than your mother, there is only one like you alive today, and that is me.”

Your eyes widen. Your mother, too?

“How did you know that?”

Celestia raises an eyebrow. “Why, you told me that she too could cast fire. But honestly, that came as no surprise to me.”

“What do you mean?” you ask.

Suddenly, the noble Princesses' beautiful face cracks into a grin, and a pealing giggle breaks the air, lifting your spirits.

“Oh, you remind me of dearer times, Captain,” she says, smiling at you fondly. “Or more innocent times, perhaps. You mentioned you were capable of lighting a fire with your pyromancy, correct?”

You nod.

“That is my craft,” she said. “I call it 'hearthfire'. It is an old spell, one of oldest, I think. My very own design, that you and your ancestors have been casting for many years.”

Hearthfire. You like the sound of that. “Is that the name for it, then?” you ask, after a pause.

“It is,” Celestia replies. “In the war, fires were lit to mark signals from town to town to warn ponies to flee. But they were also beacons of courage and hope for the troops, and so in that sense they were hearthfires, fires that warmed the soul and heart like the ones they had at home. They were comforting to most, but I discovered a more practical element to the spell that allowed my generals to communicate over long distances through the flames.”

Your eyes widen.

“So does that mean that–” you cut yourself off, hardly daring to believe it.

“Yes, yes,” Celestia laughs. “It means that for a very long time now, I have been aware of your presence, and I have been seeking you. Like a signal-beacon in the far-off hills, I would catch a thought from somepony every year or so, and so I sought your mother, and your grandparents, and their parents too. Ever since one of your ancestors first learned and cast the spell through paths of knowledge unknown to me, I have known that there was a vein of pyromancers left alive, and I sought them. But they did not communicate with me as my generals had, and their identities have been obscured to me. It is very likely that they only thought of the spell as rather plain, and never treated it as anything different.”

You swallow your disbelief. “H-how?” you stammer. “How does my mother know this spell?

“...Where these ponies learned it, alas, I cannot say,” Celestia replies. “Perhaps your mother learned it from her mother before her, just as you did. If we were to follow the path of your pyromancy, I am sure we would come back to the first pony who had mastered it. As for how he or she learnt it, it may have been an ancient tome or spellbook that carried the knowledge of the spell between its pages. Perhaps it came from somepony's journal or diary from the wartime.” She grins excitedly at you. “But that is beside the point. You are here, and I am delighted! I thought I would never find you, you see.”

“But you did?”

Celestia beams at you. “By the sheerest coincidence only,” she replies. “You see, there is a second 'echo' spell that is required to speak to me. Without using the echo spell and the intent to speak, nopony can hear the user, and all I receive are stray thoughts.” She chuckles to herself. “So you see, I relied on what you and your mother would inadvertently think about. Your mother was not one for fire-gazing, but you were, and I thought long on where you might be, but the clues were too vague.”

You blink. “But I've been casting the Hearthfire spell all my life. So has my mother, and so have all the pyromancers before them.”

The Princesses' eyes twinkle with joviality. “Perhaps. But even so, I could not find you. I can only sense that the spell has been cast. Where exactly the fire is I cannot say, and without you taking a moment to think while staring into the fire, I would not learn anything from it. In fact, until you happened to light a mess hall fire with your horn one day while thinking about Shining Armour, I had no idea who you might even be. It has taken me twenty-three years to find you without knowing who you are, and only by pure chance was I able to do so.”

“So... have you been reading my mind since I was a foal?” You ask quietly, feeling afraid.

She seems to sense your apprehension. “Well, yes and no. You have never had a will to talk to me, so no, I have not 'read your mind'. But occasionally, as a foal, you would fall asleep before the fire, and I would see brief snatches of a very simple life in the countryside.” Her gentle smile softens, falling to something close to motherly, and immediately you feel warm to core once more. “I know intermittent details.  For one, I knew you were a very sweet little foal with a white coat.”

Uncomfortable wouldn't the right word for how you feel right now. Your life was private. You didn't like the idea that the Princess suddenly knew too much about you. It was an absurd thought, because she was a Princess, for heaven's sake, but it was upsetting at any rate.

“...How much do you know?” you ask, pawing at the grass abashedly and staring at the burned fountain.

“Please, do not be worried.” she adds serenely. “I know only the barest of details about you, and they are not private. I only know them because you have felt comfortable sharing the thoughts with yourself. I know that you have always wished to be a royal guard. I know it is in your heart to do so. I know that you love your home very much – and it is with this knowledge in mind that I have asked you to be my sworn servant. I know what your home and family mean to you, and yet it is still my wish that you learn the secrets of a dead brand of magic.”

You feel relieved that Celestia does not know everything about you, but you're still unsure all the same.

“What about my promotion?” You ask. “Was that your doing?”

“Again, in a sense,” she replies calmly. “Before the war, I had a guiding hoof in the lives of every pyromancer. But not since the war have I been able to find another. You ask me if I picked you out for your talents, and yes – I will not lie to you, that is why you are here. But though I risk that my art might perish in your lifetime, I would have accepted your choice to stay away, had you chosen it.”

“But what about me?” you say, still feeling slightly violated.

“What about you would you like to know?” Celestia responds, curiously.

You swallow. “What if I – I mean, what if your pyromancers wanted to do something else?”

“Then they could have,” Celestia replies evenly. “Again, I may only wish upon it dearly, and at the end of the day, the choice of many pyromancers was to serve me.” she pauses for a moment. “I only know that you are a pyromancer at heart. I have known this for many years, and I did not force it upon you or anypony else, if that's what you're wondering.”

“...It was,” you say quietly, knowing better than to be dishonest. The Princess shakes her head.

“No, no. I could, of course, but that would defeat the purpose of teaching a pony. Thankfully, the opportunity to guard me and to guide me has rarely been turned away,” she says, with a gentle smile. “Where it has been passed up – and I assure you it has through the ages – I have made sure that the pony found peace elsewhere. So ultimately, Captain, I only push the opportunity. When it arises, the choice is all yours.”

And with that, she turns and departs the still-smoldering fountain, leaving you once again to follow after her, feeling a little less confused, and a little more content.

You follow her quickly.

Power Within

Pyromancy of Celestia, who harnessed the power of flame to actualize the inner-self.

The heat of fire grants incredible strength,

but the excessive power eats away the life-force of its caster,

and like all dangerous spells, Power Within was kept secret for eons.