Tuesday morning
"What did you learn?" asked Celestia, placing a plate of pancakes before her sister.
"Quite a lot," reported Luna, before taking a bite. "More than I expected to, anyway."
"Such as?" asked Celestia.
Luna unearthed her face from the pile, whipped cream all over her muzzle. "He's got a lot of regrets, for one thing." She told her sister everything about Brian collapsing and crying when recognizing the memory; Brian's encounter with the black serviceman, the racial slurs, and how the entire event had set Brian on a better path.
Celestia listened with baited breath. At the end of the narrative, she seemed puzzled. "So, if I understand this correctly, he has regrets about an experience that set him on a better path."
"I think there's more to the story than that." Luna levitated her napkin, and wiped her face. "He explained that he regrets this whole event because of how horrible he was."
Celestia shrugged. "Makes sense to me," she said.
"It doesn't," retorted Luna. "Not to me, anyway. You see, the way he reacted, in that excessive manner, it told me that the memory itself isn't the one traumatizing him. I think he regrets even being set on a better path."
Celestia, intrigued, forgot about her chocolate-chip-vanilla-whipped-cream-and-about-six-tonnes-of-butter pancakes, and asked "How so?"
"Well," said Luna, "my theory is that our guest is regretting something associated with this memory. As if that particular event had started a cascade of other events, which are really the ones that traumatize him."
Celestia was impressed with her little sister. At that moment, she saw that these doctorates and professorships in psychology were far more than honorary. "Interesting," she said. "Do you think you could try and get into his dreams again?"
Luna chuckled. "I can't make him dream of what's really traumatizing him, sister. Besides, don't I have a duty to fulfill? A duty to the ponies of Equestria?"
"Yes, that's... that's true," answered Celestia. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be asking such nonsense."
"It's alright, Celestia," said Princess Luna. "Sometimes, I'd like to be able to do what I want with people's dreams. But wouldn't that be selfish?"
"It would, it would." Celestia took a sip from her tea, and asked "Any plans for today?"
"As it happens, I'm giving a lecture at the Oxenford University." Luna carelessly levitated her notes in front of her, and flicked through them. "Hope I've got everything," she said. "And you?"
"Well, it's Tuesday," said Celestia. "You know what that means..."
"Briefing with the Lord Mayor?"
"Worse than that," said Celestia. "Lunch with the Lord Mayor and the department of Canterlot beautification."
"Good grief," retorted Luna. "I wouldn't like to be in your horseshoes..."
"You most certainly wouldn't," chuckled Celestia.
"That makes me think," said Luna. "Does he know anything about our guest?"
"I'm assuming he's heard about it all," said Celestia. "If the news got to Rarity, I'm sure all of Canterlot already knows. Oh, that reminds me, I also have an appointment with the press attaché this afternoon. Which means I won't be able to attend Doctor Splint's fundraiser." The Princess bit her lip. "Darn it."
In fact, the operative's arrival had directly or indirectly shaken up everybody's schedule: Twilight had to make time for studying the soldier's belongings, Celestia had to meet with the press attaché, and Luna was sure she'd have to answer the Oxenfordian scholars' questions about the psychology of humans, though she hoped that the news hadn't traveled that far yet. So, as everyone was busy rearranging their schedules and then following said modified schedules, that meant that only one pony in the castle was left to continue Brian's interrogation: Fluttershy.
Barely an hour later, the butter-coloured pegasus was meekly walking down the hall to the human's cell. She passed formations upon formations of Royal Guards, whose presence alone managed to make Fluttershy feel uneasy. Just like the last time she'd been here, she was carrying Brian's diary in her mouth. As she approached the cell door, a guard pushed the door open with one of his hind legs, and stepped aside to let Fluttershy enter. He slammed the door behind her.
"Um, er- hello?" she said uncertainly to the man, who was sitting on his bed, cigarette in his mouth.
As if Fluttershy's voice was the hissing of a black mamba, Brian raised his head so violently that his neck cracked.
There weren't many things that could frighten Brian, out of everything that could possibly exist on earth and in Equestria. Among them were theme-park mascots, buckets, and worst of all, rising tobacco prices. But he would never one day have imagined that a yellow-coated, bubblegum-maned, cyan-eyed, tiny pegasus would ever be added to that list.
"Hey," responded Brian, unemotionally.
The filly trotted towards Brian and placed the diary on his lap. The operative was tempted to pat the pony on the head like a Rhodesian Ridgeback and say "good girl", but thought better of it.
"Look," said Brian. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry about what I did. I lashed out, I shouldn't have."
To his surprise, the filly smiled at him. "It's alright," she said, soothingly. "I forgive you." She nuzzled Brian's leg, and climbed onto the bed. There, she reached out a hoof, and gently rubbed his back.
Though the sensation wasn't in of itself unpleasant, Brian felt nonetheless scared. Last time they had met, Fluttershy had done something to Brian that he could almost classify of mental torture. And for all he knew, if he did anything, she might do that again. So here was the six-foot-two-tall soldier, arms like clubs and a face that scared people away on a regular basis, frightened to almost complete tetany by a cute little pony.
"The word 'irony' comes to mind," Brian thought, realizing how utterly ridiculous the entire situation was.
"Now, tell me, Brian," said Fluttershy. "What are you afraid of?"
The Captain looked down at the filly. For such a cute and harmless-looking pony, Fluttershy sure had some guts. She had just called Brian by his name, and she was the first to do so. She hadn't asked permission to call him by his first name, yet here she was, and she had just called Brian by his name.
"What do you mean?" asked Brian in return.
"Well, um," started Fluttershy. She cleared her throat, and started timidly explaining herself. "When I stared at you, back at my house, I saw that you were actually scared. Not scared of me, but scared of something that, um, maybe I... rekindled?"
"No," lied Brian. He felt offended by the filly's use of the word 'scared'. Among that aforementioned list of things that could scare Brian, was the fear of being a coward. The fear of not being up to a task. The fear of not being strong enough to do what is absolutely necessary. These were some of his greatest fears.
"I'm sorry if I did something bad to you." Fluttershy rested her head against Brian's arm, and kept stroking his back. "I really didn't mean to hurt you."
"Please, don't apologize," said Brian. "Heaven knows I don't deserve it," he thought.
"Brian, it's alright." Fluttershy looked into his eyes. "I'm not one to bear a grudge."
"I've written the book of bad ideas badly executed, Fluttershy," said Brian. "And what I don't like is to hear other people quoting from it."
And Fluttershy, not only forgiving Brian but also warming up to him and apologizing herself wasn't so much quoting from Brian's book, rather than plagiarizing it and making a film adaptation with two spin-offs and a tie-in video game.
"One day, that innocence of hers is going to be her downfall," pondered Brian.
"I believe in forgiveness, Brian." Fluttershy climbed onto Brian's lap, and caressed his face. "I can feel that you have a hole in your heart. And when I see such a gaping hole in somepony's heart, the only thing I ever want to do is fill it." She placed her arms under Brian's, wrapped them around his waist, and cuddled Brian. For a long time. A very long time. She could feel Brian's pain. His sorrow. His regrets. His hate for the people who'd wronged him. And above all, the small amount of love that he still carried.
Brian wrapped his own arms around Fluttershy, and stroked her cheek with one hand, her mane with the other. He could feel her breath against his wrist.
That silky mane, and these little arms, small like branches on a baby tree, firmly clasped around him. They reminded Brian of his little girl, who had left too soon. Like everything else he had ever had.
He started shaking, and crying. A steady stream of tears left his only eye, trickling into his beard and onto Fluttershy's mane.
Eventually, Fluttershy patted Brian on the back, and just before they broke apart, she said "It's all okay, Brian. It's all okay." She resumed her previous position, just next to Brian.
Fluttershy had left a few yellow hairs on Brian's journal. The operative carefully swept them off with the back of his hand, before running his palm down it, as if reassuring himself that it was still there.
"Erm, could you tell me what's in there?" asked Fluttershy timidly.
"That's my journal," said Brian. "It reminds me of the good times."
"Could you... show me?" she asked.
Brian, after a few seconds of hesitation, flipped a few pages before arriving at the first page that was worthy of any interest, in his opinion anyway. There was a picture of sixteen uniformed men with extremely beefy necks, all wearing green military berets. In the middle was Brian, smiling at the camera.
"That's what was left of my troop after selection and training. Royal Marines."
"Your training?" asked Fluttershy. "Can you tell me about it?"
After a moment's hesitation, Brian did.
1
"You're all volunteers," hollered the captain, in his thick Northern-Irish accent. "It'll now be up to you to show us what you're made of. But remember at all times that all the suffering that you'll endure, all the challenges you'll face during training, will never even hold a candle to what you'll encounter during operations. NO-ONE becomes a Royal Marines Commando by luck. There is no place for the weak amidst our country's elite fighting force. Are we clear?"
"Yes, sir!" we all answered in unison.
"And remember," added the officer. "He who gives up once, will give up for the rest of his life." He then turned towards the instructors. "Sergeant-Major, they're yours." He saluted, and left.
And then came Sergeant-Major Marshall. This NCO was a living legend amongst the Commandos. He'd walked the earth for forty years, and had spent forty of them in the marines. Undercut hair swiped upwards, sideburns, and a piercing blue gaze, this man would be feared and revered by us recruits. He would decide who left, and who stayed. He confidently started strolling up and down the ranks, looking at each of the recruits straight in the eyes.
"My patience," he said, one hand behind his back, the other making big gestures in front of him. "Has a boundary to the right, and a boundary to the left. Those who TRY and get out of THIS axis of patience... I will bring them back into THE axis... my own way. There is nothing superhuman about Royal Marine Commando training. That means that when you're sixteen, eighteen, twenty, or twenty-five, you can roar thunder through your mouth and expulse lightning through your backside." He took a step back, and started speaking much more loudly. "Proving that you can do that isn’t something you have to do for us. It’s something you have to do for yourselves!"
So at least we knew that Marshall and the other instructors were ultimately here to help us, and not to pound us into the dirt and watch us suffer, like some would have you believe.
So from there onwards, these men I trained with were my brothers. My instructors, they were like fathers to us. One day, we'd all be like them. Provided we stayed until the end of training.
The next morning, Marshall brought us in front of the barracks, and we expected to be ordered to run a mile or something. But to our surprise, he just said "Those who smoke, raise your hands!" No-one raised 'em. Even though everybody there knew that everybody smoked.
"No-one smokes? I find that hard to believe!"
So I, and a few others raised our hands, and I said "Well, um, I do, on occasion, but I-"
But the NCO cut me off. "Bring yer hand down, I'm not lookin' for explanations!"
And then, he ordered "Lower your hands, no-one smokes here anymore!" So we all lowered them. And then he repeated "Who smokes here?" So no-one raised them. "No-one. Good."
So what he was trying to do was to get rid of all smokers. Get rid of that smell that gives you away on the battlefield. That smell that had cost lives. Well, that's what he said, so we believed him. But after training, we all started smoking anyway, so whether or not a point had been made was debatable.
"It is not by filling your lungs full of cancer that you'll be a good marine!" he taught us. "Eighty percent of what we do is in here!" he pointed towards his head. "It's not about wearing a green beret. It's about what's underneath your beret."
So then came the locker inspection. That was a shit-show. He checked our lockers for anything against the rules. Cigarettes, alcohol, that kind of thing. So, obviously, my turn came. I remember stuffing my hip flask and cigarettes in my pockets hoping he wouldn't find them.
And you know, in the Navy, they have a saying that goes 'MARINE. Muscles Are Required, Intelligence Not Expected'. Well, if there was one marine to prove it all wrong, it was Sergeant Major Marshall.
"You've got a lighter?" he asked, finding mine, which I had forgotten to hide. "You smoke?"
"On occasion, Sir." I replied. "But I quit, Sir." I lied.
"So why d'you have a lighter?"
"Well I don't know, maybe we'd need it for..."
"Eating? We eat cold." Then, he looked at me straight in the eyes, and said "Where are your fags 2?"
"I don't have any, sir."
"I asked, where are your fags?"
I didn't answer.
"Turn out your pockets."
So I gave him my cigarettes and flask. I almost cried at that point.
"You know how I know you've got something?"
"No, sir."
" 'Cuz I can feel it. You're next to me, I can tell you're lying."
Brian continued his narrative for a good half-hour, and Fluttershy was very interested by everything the human had to say.
Meanwhile, in the study, Twilight was still studying the human's belongings. She had just finished examining all of Brian's decorations, and had now moved on to Brian's guns. And as she was examining the soldier's Colt 1911, she found a disturbing detail, in the form of the words etched into the metal. More specifically, the word 'Colt'. What could it mean?
She knew for a fact that Brian's species had often mounted horses, in wars or just for sport. The practice would have shocked most other ponies and horses of Equestria, but Twilight knew that few things could ever surpass the bond between a rider and his horse. So a horse was more of a friend to a human than a servant.
But the fact remained that, etched in the metal, were the words "COLT'S MK IV/ SERIES 70, GOVERNMENT MODEL, 45 AUTOMATIC CALIBER". What could it mean? Maybe the weapon was designed to be used by colts or horses. But that idea quickly disappeared from the Princess's mind. That weapon couldn't conceivably be held by a colt. Or, rather, maybe the weapon was made for defending colts. Had the horses rebelled while Twilight was away, and they were now revered by the humans as gods, and the sole purpose of humans was to defend said horses from all harms?
She chuckled to herself at the idea. But then, she realized that the humans would be slaves to the equine master race. She didn't like that idea very much.
And, then, it hit her. Maybe the horses had rebelled against the humans, and there was an ongoing war between the humans and the equines. Maybe Twilight herself, when she had visited their world, had brought a bit of magic that had planted the idea of rebellion in the horses' minds. But that would mean that the only reason for the word 'colt' to be on the gun was because...
She gasped. "He's here to kill us all," she thought.
She started pacing across the room. "What are we gonna do?" she asked aloud. "He's gonna kill us! He'll kill us all!"
She started biting her hooves, tears of fear and guilt rolling down her face, mingling with her sweat. Some of these beads of liquid were trickling into her mouth and into her throat, making her mouth feel salty.
Once she'd regained control of herself, she held back her tears, and adopted her 'study hard' face. There was only one way to stop all of this.
She galloped out of the room, and cried "GUARDS!" at the top of her lungs.
As if they had been waiting around the corner (which they probably had been), a patrol of Royal Guards thundered towards Twilight.
"Yes, ma'am?" asked the sergeant, as they came to a halt in front of their commander.
"I need you all to follow me to the East wing, and I need more of you on standby, ready for an emergency!"
The sergeant ordered one of his own to go and get some reinforcements, and then followed Twilight to the East wing. Which was no easy task, given that Twilight could gallop pretty fast.
The patrol arrived in front of the soldier's cell, and Twilight slammed the door opened with her magic. There was Brian, and Fluttershy, who were looking down at his diary. They both looked up at Twilight as she entered.
"FLUTTERSHY, GET AWAY FROM HIM!" shouted Twilight.
"But Twilight, what are you talki-"
"I SAID GET AWAY!" The Princess levitated Fluttershy away from Brian, and placed the Pegasus behind her, as if she was a stuffed toy.
"He's here to destroy us!" shouted Twilight, staring defiantly at Brian, who looked somewhat confused. Twilight breathed heavily for a few seconds, a mad glint in her eyes. And when she spoke, it was in a very cold yet triumphant snarl. "Did you really think I wouldn't notice?"
"Erm," started Brian, confused. "I beg your pardon?"
Twilight took the tone of a mad scientist, marveling over the blueprints of a new invention. "I saw the words on your weapons, Captain! I know that you plan to kill all of us! ALL OF US! I SAW IT AND I STOPPED YOU IN THE NAME OF EQUESTRIA AND ITS INHABITANTS!"
Brian stayed in the same position for a few seconds, mouth open and a huge frown on his face.
"What?" asked Brian, befuddled.
"Don't lie!" snarled Twilight. "I know that your weapon was made to destroy COLTS!"
Brian blinked, thinking about what the lavender pony had just said. And, then, he understood. He laughed. For a long time, he couldn't stop.
"What's so funny?" asked Twilight, surprised.
"Colt's the manufacturer of the gun, Your Highness. It's got nothing to do with hurting colts in any way."
"Prove it," commanded Twilight.
"How?" asked Brian.
"I- I don't know, just prove it!"
Brian really didn't know how to get out of this situation. And in that sort of situation, one had to take a leap of faith.
"Pinkie swear?" he asked, extending his little finger.
Twilight blinked twice at the human.
"No," said Twilight. "Pinkie Promise."
"How does that go?"
Twilight brought her hoof over her chest twice, and placed it on her eye, reciting the chant. Brian imitated her. After that, she calmed down. She felt pretty embarrassed. She quietly left the room and dismissed the patrol.
Meanwhile still, Princess Celestia's lunch with the Lord Mayor and the department of Canterlot beautification was wrapping up. The regal sister was having coffee with the Mayor alone, because the department had already left.
"So," said Sir Cole Slaw, the Lord Mayor. "A friend of mine told me that we have a guest."
"Called it," thought Celestia. "Yes, we do," she said, trying and failing to sound nonchalant. "What about him?"
The Mayor adjusted his orange bow tie that matched his coat and horn. "First of all, it goes without saying that I would have liked to be informed by you directly rather than by my bartender, Your Highness. Also, the issue of what is to be done of him is a hot topic. The PM told me earlier that the entire cabinet is in an uproar. They want to be informed on whether or not he is dangerous, Your Highness."
"Is that so?" asked Celestia, taking a sip from her coffee. "Well that'll have to wait until our briefing, tomorrow."
"Very well." The Mayor drained his cup, and stood up. "I suppose I'll see you tonight, at Doctor Splint's fundraiser?"
"Hasn't he told you?" asked Celestia. "He moved it. I informed him that I wouldn't be able to make it tonight, so he decided to move the entire thing to Saturday. It's important to him. A word of warning, though, as a compensation for the long wait, I promised him that all of the Princesses, and some of the most important politicians of the Kingdom would be there. Therefore, I expect you to behave accordingly. I know how much disdain you have for tradition, Lord Mayor."
"But of course," said Sir Cole Slaw coldly, bowing. "Until then, Your Highness." And without further ado, he left the room.
"Idiot," said Celestia under her breath, once the Mayor had left the room.
Sir Cole Slaw went down the hall, passed a few guards, and tried to find an empty room. After a while, he came across a broom cupboard, which he entered. There, amongst the mops, dustpans, brushes and the inevitable brooms, the Mayor got a gold fog watch from the inside pocket of his suit, flipped it open, and shot a ball of orange light at it. The watch's quadrant lit up, illuminating the Mayor's face. The arms of the clock went forwards, very fast. They stopped at Twelve, and the entire quadrant became a screen of what could only be described as black light, if there was such a thing.
"It's me," whispered Cole Slaw.
"Do you have anything to report?" asked a voice that was coming from the watch.
"Good news, and bad news. Bad news is that the event is moved to Saturday."
"Darn it. I'll tell them to stand down. And the good news?"
"The good news is that the event will have all four princesses and many leaders there. The elite, if you will. Saves us the trouble of finding them."
"Good, good. Good work, Lord Mayor." The voice chuckled.
"There is one other thing," said the Mayor. "There is a creature of an undisclosed nature inside the castle."
"I've heard. What about him?"
"He might be dangerous. What should I do?"
"I will send someone over to check. Good work. You will be rewarded."
Cole snorted. "Thank you. Good day... My Liege."