Weekly Devotional of Night Chamberlain Rarity. Full Moon 8.
Please, you must understand. Once upon a time, we were not the blessed ponies we are now.
An outsider, in their shallow judgement, might have seen our fields and called us prosperous. We, in the shallows of the Unenlightened Age, once believed the same. You see, Equestria and her ponies lived in ignorance. Callow, selfish, fleeting creatures darting from day to day in accordance to whatever silly whims struck our fancy.
We lived in knots of havoc, lawless hedonists in a lawless land, and it was the disregard of our heartless ruler that allowed it. Enforced it. I would call her a spectator, but I doubt she even went through the trouble of observing. Instead, she stood back and deigned it acceptable to sip tea and eat cake while Equestrians slaved themselves to their passions, no matter how foolish, destructive, or cruel those passions might be. We were her children, and our mother abandoned us in a kitchen filled with knives, hot stoves, and poisons under the sink.
Of course, we thought nothing of it at the time. I am ashamed to admit we enjoyed ourselves and praised her for the neglect. After all, what foal doesn’t relish the thrill of sliding down a banister? What foal considers the danger of falling down the stairs and breaking their neck?
I wish I could say I never partook in this thoughtless debauchery. I cannot.
But understand, we knew no better. We knew no other way.
How could we see the truth beneath the blinding glare of Daybreaker’s sun? A merciless servant of a merciless mare, the scalding orb strung along the sky, burning and hounding Glorious Night into exile for twelve hours. Sometimes more. This prideful symbol of Daybreaker’s arrogance, existing only that she may shine brighter, bolder, bigger for any eye to see, blinded all who dared look upon it. It scorched the skin beneath our coats and forced dark glasses over our eyes.
(The details of these trying days are hazy. My dreams seem to know them, but when I’m awake, it’s a struggle to remember. That can happen with trauma; some events are too terrible to recall. But the fires—I remember those. I remember those very well.)
Our Lady, our Matron of the Night, The Mare in the Moon, our most and best beloved Nightmare Moon watched it all, miles above our heads, unjustly trapped in her millennial prison: the very moon She so loved. (Daybreaker had an awful sense of humor and a taste for irony, you see.) The crime for this sentence? A request to share a bit of light from Daybreaker’s plate. A slice of the love Daybreaker hoarded for herself.
Yet even the cruelest of tyrants can’t escape justice forever. On the longest day of the thousandth year of Her wrongful imprisonment, Nightmare Moon could no longer bear our suffering. Down thundered Our Lady from the heavens. Great clouds clasped the sun, and the thunder cracked with Her righteous fury as She cast down the wicked Daybreaker from her stolen throne.
I was there. I am one of the blessed souls fortunate enough to witness the Homecoming, though I confess that isn’t how I felt when it happened. None of us did. We didn’t understand and cowed at the lighting and thunder. We were all so frightened to be in the presence of such glory, and the sudden guilt of our thousand-year mistake crashed against us like a wave. Oh I cried so much that night
There are times when I wake up teary-eyed, without knowing or remembering exactly why. I am certain I don’t want to. Praise Her Royal Majesty, our Lady of the Moon. Praise her infinite kindness for sweeping our dreams clean of Daybreaker’s horrors. Praise the true Princess and her infallible mercy. A lesser mare might have looked upon the past millennium of heresy, hedonism, and narcissistic foolishness, and punished us as we deserved. Instead, Nightmare Moon chose generosity and gifted Equestria an everlasting night. Twenty-four hours a night, seven nights a week, twelve moons a year, we are sanctified by Her dark and jeweled sky. We may look upon the moon without fear of blindness. We see the wicked despot trapped in the very prison that kept our true Princess from us for so long, and we breathe easy.
Daybreaker can’t hurt us anymore, nor will anything else. By the glory of Our Lady and the tireless effort of the Night Guard, we are safe from dragons, from the vicious monsters of the forest, the greedy foreign powers of the griffons and the yaks, and we are safe from ourselves. Especially ourselves. We are silly little creatures, and I, chamberlain or not, am no exception.
There is no greater danger to a pony than other ponies.
I do not deserve what I have. I know this. I am blessed and cherish my position in Castle Midnight, that I may serve in the shadow of Her Majesty. If Our Lady wills it, my position may elevate in the coming years. (If I may be so bold, She seems pleased with my work. I pray this devotional may please Her, too.) Some would kill to wear my uniform.
I am grateful and I am faithful—despite my transgressions. Ponies are fallible. We all make mistakes. We all have incorrect dreams every now and then. But my heart is aligned, and that is what is important.
One warm summer night five years ago, we awakened to a marvelous new kingdom. A rightful kingdom. Nightmare Moon—most magnificent of mares, giver of stars, shepherdess of dreams—gave us safety, security of work, and governs us with a strict and steady hoof as all good mothers do. Equestria is prosperous.
The only thing She asks of us, her little ponies, is She always be first in our hearts. Her alone. Lovers cheat, parents die, children leave, but the Night will last forever. The Nightmare is always there. A little love in return is more than a fair price to pay.
Tonight, the eve of the fifth anniversary of our liberation, I remember this. I am grateful. I am devoted.
I am trying.
Please. Please, please know that I am trying my best. I’m only a pony. Everypony makes mistakes, but my Princess is always first in my heart. So may it always be.
Most exalted is our Equestria. Best beloved, our glorious Moon.
The clock struck the hour in the northern courtyard. Lieutenant Dash popped up, took a sharp gulp of air, and wiped her muzzle. “Wait, what time is it?” Her eyes darted in search of a clock; where she expected to find one in a pantry, Rarity didn’t know and didn’t care. Of all times to be punctual.
“Six.” Rarity propped herself higher on the flour sack. “And my eyes are down here, in case you forgot.” The sultry whisper petered into an impatient pout, and her ears flushed at the sound of it. Not that anypony could blame her. Two months of party arrangements (celebratory and political), managing a spotless castle, and attending to Her Majesty’s wishes, all the while the humid summer glossed the Night Guard in sweat and blew the heady scent of her… It had left the chamberlain in something of a state.
A state to be rectified. Right now.
A warm flush surged in the pit of her stomach. Rarity hooked her forehooves around Dash’s taut neck. She nipped a tempting little blue ear twitching right above her nose. “We’ve got an hour. It’s fine.”
“Are you sure?” Some amount of caution could be expected for a mare in Dash’s profession, but tonight it edged irritatingly close to paranoia.
To say nothing of other things edging irritatingly close. Rarity nuzzled the soft hollow of her throat. “Positive, Moonbow.”
The white and silver of her mane had always put the chamberlain in the mind of tarnished candlesticks and week-old snow, and it gleamed in the half-light when Dash turned from the door. Finally.
“And technically, I’m still off duty, so…” The leathery edge of her wing skimmed the length of Rarity’s thigh, up and over the cutie mark, and down again. She shrugged and smacked her lips. “Yeah, I guess I can spare a couple minutes.” Dash smirked. “If you’re that needy.”
Rarity huffed. “I do beg your pardon, but you’re the one who came sniffing around my desk looking for—”
The wing switched direction. Swept higher.
The remains of Rarity’s sentence peeped in a breathless squeak. Her knees buckled, and she dangled from the lieutenant’s neck like a winner’s garland. A second wing wrapped her withers. Clawed wingtips dug into the base of her tidy bun, plucking at the thin purple hairs.
In the backrooms of her mind, Sensible Rarity remembered that while the lieutenant had the night off, chamberlains did not, and she still had a high-profile event to attend. How did she expect to face the public in such a disheveled—
A hoof joined Dash’s busy little wing. Silver buttons scraped the dark armor. Rarity’s jaw fell, and Dash swept in to meet it in a kiss.
Sensible Rarity decided to keep her opinions to herself.
One wardrobe change, two globs of pomade, a steel currycomb, and three puffs of Nightshade No. 6 later, Night Chamberlain Rarity moved among the best and brightest stars of the Night. Second only to Winter Solstice, the Summer Sun Liberation was the highlight of the year.
A silly sort of pony might be tempted to compare it to the frivolous galas of the Unenlightened Age. The wise, of course, understood this night meant more than dancing and trifling dresses. What need had Equestria for gaudy designs in their taffetas, velvets, and sequins? Filtered and perfectly tailored for every pony, the designated dress code suited them fine. Everypony who mattered moved through the courtyard in their blacks, indigos, and violets, stark against the paler lavenders, greys, and periwinkles of their lessers.
“As a matter of fact, Commissioner, I do believe it was a Manehattanite who originally submitted the designs accepted into Her Majesty’s dress code. A Miss… Pommel, if I’m not mistaken. Which I am not.” Rarity swirled her weak cider, peering over Commissioner Gladmane’s pompadour. “Why, speak of the sun-bringer.”
There, by the buffet, a pale pink pony in an ash-grey dress arranged a plate of vittles. Where that hayseed Polomare went, her mistress couldn’t be far. “There she is.” Rarity gestured to the mare in the bob-cut chatting up Mr. Orange. Pity he hadn’t brought his niece along this time. The mare talked nothing besides business, but Rarity always welcomed a familiar face. “Rumor has it those two have a wedding date this Solstice. About time, wouldn’t you say?”
Commissioner Gladmane made a noncommittal grunt. “If you’re that curious, why don’t you ask the general? His wife’s head of Family Planning, isn’t she?” He shifted on his hooves. Bored.
Perhaps fashion had been a poor choice of subject matter. “General Windrider has far better things to do, I’m sure.” In the corner of Rarity’s eye, a familiar shade of creamy yellow cut through a crowd of commoners. Headed her way. “But speaking of wives, how is yours, Gladmane? I haven’t seen her tonight.”
“Upper Crust decided it would be best to stay home with the baby. Better not to be tempted by old mistakes.” He cast a glance toward Jet Set and his wife, Misty Fly, who blinked back at them with slitted yellow eyes. “The new arrangements still need some gettin’ used to. You understand.”
Yes, yes—please tell me all about it. Rarity saw her clearly now. The crowd gave the viceroy ample room and no space to be mistaken. Her clipped stride hadn’t slowed in the least. Rarity fluttered her eyelashes, utterly absorbed by the commissioner’s anecdotes and far too busy to speak to anypony else, thank you.
“I’m afraid that I don’t.” She smiled apologetically. “Of course, still a single mare myself, I find it somewhat difficult to understand how one could be dissatisfied with Her Majesty’s whims.”
“Oh no, I—I wouldn’t say dissatisfied, Madam Chamberlain. Not in the least.” Damn it all, she’d spooked him. It served her right for pushing too hard. “I only meant we weren’t exactly each other’s first choice. Crust already had hers, of course. Myself, I’d been hopin’ for somepony like Madame Hemline or Lady Silver.” He laughed and bent his head. “Oh, but the Night knows better, doesn’t she?”
A second Night Guard swooped to join Corporal Misty Fly. Rarity couldn’t see the eyes beneath the helmet from this distance, but she noted the lithe, sleek build and the rounded ears of a pony who hadn’t undergone permanent transformation. The Guard strove for uniformity, but a trained eye could pick them out. Corporal Fly had a clipped right ear. Lieutenant Dash liked to hover or perch instead of standing. Private Sky Stinger was the second-tallest. Lieutenant Dash had chipped hooves because she never bothered filing them. Captain Dust had a slight limp. General Windrider boasted a wider wingspan and moved slow, while Lieutenant Dash never stayed still for two seconds—there, even now, she fidgeted and—
Rarity blinked hard. Conversation. They’d been in the middle of a conversation. “Indeed. May the Night last forever.” When she looked at Gladmane again, the viceroy was behind him. She felt at her bun; tied tighter than usual, the roots pulled at her scalp. “How very fortunate we are to have a Princess to… to relieve the burdens of—”
“Chamberlain.”
Rarity clenched her teeth.
“Can I have a moment of your time, please?” Viceroy Moondancer adjusted her glasses—dreadful things with chunky frames that didn’t fit the dress code at all. (Surely a relic kept for sentimental purposes. It couldn’t be for fashionable reasons.) A flick of her red and violet tail bade Rarity to follow. She never broke her stride.
Commissioner Gladmane made a run for it the moment Rarity turned her head, the gutless coward. So much for her excuse. She nodded and fell into step. “It’s a lovely night for an execution, is it not? The stars are shining so brightly, and the moon…”
She looked up. Something in her stomach sank at the sight of Daybreaker’s silhouette. She looked down again.
“Oh,” Rarity said. Her voice stuttered. “I have no words.”
Moondancer led them to the buffet. Corporal Fly nodded her way, but she ignored it. “I know. All nights granted to us are lovely.” Levitating a fork, she stabbed a small tomato. The pale pink skin—nearly red in the moonlight—had a dull sheen. The Department of Horticulture had saved the very best of this year’s crop yield for tonight. “However, I really have to wonder how well one can appreciate Her Majesty’s art from inside the castle pantry. Call me crazy, but I don’t think it takes that long to take inventory.”
Rarity sampled a tomato for herself, chewed the hard little thing slowly, and paid no mind to the lieutenant two tables away. Nor the lazy confidence of her slouch. None at all. “What can I say, Viceroy? I like to be thorough.”
Moondancer set the fork down. “Do not treat me like one of your petty social-climber friends. I didn’t come to play games with you.” Her muzzle wrinkled as she scanned Rarity’s pristine uniform and glossy mane. Not a hair out of place. “I still have a nose.”
Lifting her chin, the chamberlain regarded her coolly. “In that case, you know what season it is. There’s no fault in scratching a summer itch; no different than a drink of water on a hot night. The way you talk, it’s as if I’d committed Heartcrime.”
Two tables away, Lieutenant Dash chuckled and ruffled the mane of a schoolfilly who stared at her with small wings and wide eyes. She’d always had a soft spot for foals. Sometimes she’d wave to them during the castle tours. Rarity twitched her ears and kept her eyes on the viceroy.
Something in Rarity’s expression must have betrayed her, because after a moment, Moondancer relaxed. “Of course you haven’t, Chamberlain Rarity. You’re a good pony. However, you’re still an official of the Court, and as such, you represent Our Lady. Daybreaker’s strongest season brings out the worst of our base urges, but that doesn’t mean we have to obey them.” Viceroy Moondancer adjusted her chunky glasses and brushed a stray hair from her black suit jacket. “Tonight is a sacred night. I want you to remember that.”
She was right. Passionate rolls in the hay were a pastime for teenagers who knew no better and had nothing better to do. An occasional fling could be understood, but there was a difference between eating a peach and sucking down an entire orchard.
Rarity’s ears wilted. She should have used tonight for gratitude and praise, not selfish entitlement. “I will, Viceroy.”
“Good.” Moondancer pointed her fork at the stage in the center of the courtyard. “Your sister’s looking for you, by the way.”
The clock read ten till the hour; not enough time to “hang out,” as Dash put it, but more than enough to catch up, at least. Sweetie Belle stood in her reserved spot at the foot of the stage, bouncing on her hooves. The moonflowers braided into her mane and tail matched the blue plaid of her Academy uniform, and petals went flying when she waved to her sister. Just in case Rarity hadn’t seen her, she got on her hinds to wave with both hooves. “Happy Liberation Night, Rarity! Look, I won a front-row spot just for us!”
“So I see! Well done, Sweetie.” Rarity gave her a side-hug—cordial, with sentiment kept to a respectful minimum—and took her place at her sister’s side. “Have you been having a good time?”
“You bet! Gosh, aren’t these seats the best? I’ve never been this close before.”
“Neither have I.” To be honest, Rarity had always been more of an opera glasses sort of pony. Her usual box seat in the balcony had a better view. Fewer distractions.
Excited murmurs of the crowd blended into the scattered whimpers and sobs just above their heads. She stole a glance at the lines of heart-traitors, sun heretics, and other miscellaneous criminals. This close, she could pick out their cutie marks. The dark hoods over their heads had been Mr. Svengallop’s idea, according to Moondancer.
“So!” Rarity looked away and cleared her throat. “So, which one is yours?” At the last minute, she remembered to smile. Proud big sisters ought to smile, which is exactly what Rarity was, so that was exactly what she did. Smiled proud and lovely.
Sweetie Belle’s little pink tongue stuck out in concentration as she squinted. “Um… gosh, it’s harder to tell with those weird bags—oh! There he is, the yellow one in the back with the skinny legs, see? You see him?”
“Yes, dear. I see him.”
“He used to run the—”
“Who he used to be doesn’t matter, Sweetie Belle.” Big catch this year. With a crowd this large, she couldn’t see his cutie mark even if she tried. And Rarity did not try. “He’s a traitor of the heart, now. That’s all. Good as nopony at all.”
“It’s not fair. I worked all year to find somepony with a Heartcrime, and then at the last second, Scootaloo goes and finds two ponies working for Sunwise. Sunwise!” Sweetie Belle stamped her little white hoof, turning to frown at the orange schoolfilly who’d been fawning over Lieutenant Dash a moment ago. “She’s been bragging about it in the dorms since last Waxing Crescent.”
The orange filly caught them looking at her and puffed her feathers. Rarity nodded graciously at her; manners by example, after all. “Come now, ladies don’t sulk. You still did your very best, right?”
“I guess so,” Sweetie sighed.
“That’s all Nightmare Moon asks. Every little bit helps.”
The clock struck seven, and struck the crowd silent.
Rarity took a breath. Held it. Let it go. Kept smiling. Thought of lovely things.
One by one, the blue lamplights dimmed and shrank. In a solid wave from back to front, the commoners and the titled noblemares, the officials and the ladder-climbers, the fearsome soldiers and the eager foals knelt until their foreheads pressed against the mosaic tile.
“Rise.” There, atop a castle spire, stood Her Royal Majesty Nightmare Moon.
Rarity’s heart thumped in her throat, and she trembled against the effort not to cry. No matter how many times she saw Her, even now, after years of personally delivering reports or turning Her linens, every time still felt like the first. Rarity couldn’t name the emotion that devastated her so. She supposed it must be love.
Clouds smothered the stars. No light now, save the one slice of moonlight from Daybreaker’s prison. The light opened and spread over Her Majesty, and upon the condemned.
Rarity’s coat bristled at the crackling scent of ozone and fire. Behind her, somepony in the thick of the crowd began to cry. For their sake, she prayed those were tears of joy.
Lightning struck the stage.
When the smoke cleared, all three rows of the condemned slumped over each other, the stage, and themselves. A pile of blackened coats and burnt tails, no different than a heap of coals.
Nightmare Moon stood center stage, and the blades of her smile shone white and whetted. “My beloved subjects, welcome to the fifth annual Summer Sun Liberation.”
The courtyard erupted in applause.