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// Chapter 1: The mare at the seminar, four rows down 
// Story: Princess Luna’s Unconvincing Disguise 
// by SockPuppet 
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Everypony is telling us, “It’s so amazing you two got Princess Luna to be the Mare of Honor at your wedding! And Princess Celestia as a guest!”

Everypony is meaning, “How in Tartarus did you, two middle-class mathematicians of no apparent social connections, achieve the social coup of the decade, upstaging all of the Canterlot aristocracy and peerage?”

The short answer is, “We made friends with somepony lonely and hurting who needed a friend.”

The long answer? Well, Princess Luna has given me permission to tell you the story. The entire story. Even the dark bits, from her foalhood. Which, I warn you before you begin, are dark. But I promise the ending is happy—after all, look at our wedding pictures! Have you ever seen a picture of Luna with such a big smile on her face?

So let me start at the beginning: the first time I met Princess Luna and her woefully unconvincing disguise.

I was three weeks into a two-year postdoctoral fellowship at Royal University Canterlot, in the most prestigious maths department in the world. The pay was adequate, I had a roommate who paid his rent on time and happily did the dishes, and the professor I was assigned as my mentor wasn’t a stubborn mule (figuratively or literally), unlike the jerk I had suffered under for six years to earn my PhD. 

But best of all, I had a new fillyfriend. Rosie Bayes was a final year doctoral candidate in statistics (which Royal University oddly placed inside the maths department). I’d never dated a pegasus before, but she was petite, pretty, a brilliant scientist, knew all of the good hangouts in the University District, could out-drink a yak, and most importantly, she knew all the gossip and closeted skeletons in my new department. 

Oh, and that thing she does with her feathers...

Never mind. 

Here’s how we met Princess Luna.

Every Thursday afternoon is the weekly departmental colloquium, held in the university’s main thousand-seat lecture hall. The professors always attended to make sure their students and postdocs were in attendance. The PhD candidates were required to attend eight of the ten colloquia every semester if they wanted course credit, and we postdocs were required to attend seven out of ten if we wanted to keep our financial support.

So guess what? We all attended.

Rosie and I sat in the second row from the back. I laid my left hoof on her right hoof, and levitated up a pencil to my notepad. She was left-winged and -hoofed and gripped one of those newfangled ballpoints in her flight feathers on that side.

About five or six minutes before the scheduled start of the lecture, she whispered to me, "Oh ho ho hooooo! Look who just arrived. Ready for the juiciest rumor in the department, newbie?"

I looked into her bright pink irses. "Somebody banging the department chair’s husband?"

Rosie pointed her chin. "Four rows down, seven seats left. Black nerd glasses. Just settling into her seat."

"The big unicorn?" I asked.

"Describe her in one word," Rosie said.

I looked at her. A tall unicorn, with medium blue eyes, dark blue and black mane, and a reddish-purplish-burgundy-ish coat. "She’s tall. The tallest mare I’ve ever seen."

"I’m not the jealous type. One-word description."

She was odd, somehow; aloof; a sapphire-blue cloak hid her body. A yellow silk scarf wrapped her neck. A white star cutie mark was embroidered on the flanks of her cloak. But her face! Beautiful, even with the heavy nerd glasses. She could have been a model. Not a magazine model, but modelled for a great artist of oils or marble. "Stunning," I said.

"Really?" Rosie twitched her eyebrows at me. "You didn’t choose ‘idiot?’"

I cocked my head at her. "What makes her an idiot?"

"What’s she wearing?"

"A cloak."

Rosie said, "A winter cloak. Describe today in one word."

It was nice and cool in the lecture hall, thanks to the university’s magical staff. But out in the streets of Canterlot? "Sweltering. That’s an arctic-weight cloak."

"Okay, you’re not as dumb as you look, but you’re still thinking slow. Two seats right of her, same row. One word description."

A blue-gray unicorn stallion. I said, "Ripped. He’s muscular."

"The stunning mare is named ‘Merlot,’ by the way. That’s the color of her coat. She’s a casual-part time doctoral student. Has a dispensation to only attend the colloquia when they don’t interfere with her day job."

"What’s her day job?"

Rosie covered her face with her right wing. "Oh by Celestia, you need to get over your country bumpkin-ness. What’s anypony’s day job in Canterlot? The government."

"I’ve got a doctorate from Universität Tröttingen. I think ‘bumpkin’ is a stretch."

She lowered her wing and grinned at me. The sexy grin that made me forgive anything, "The second best university in Equestria?" she asked.

"The very same!" I replied.

"Merlot, there, I kinda-sorta know her. A little. I co-taught a class she took last semester, but she missed a lot of days due to her ‘work.’ She was in a cast or bandages or stitched up most times she did attend. One week she had an eyepatch and smelled like gangrene. Claims she ‘teaches fencing for exercise.’ She can outdrink me by a long country trot, too.  Never takes off the cloak, or a half-dozen others similar to it. ...What would you say if I told you she was the most brilliant pony in the room? The most brilliant I’ve ever known in my life?"

I looked around the lecture hall. I counted seven Royal Academy of Science members, six Fellows of the Royal Society, the President of the University, two Neighbel Prize winners, and a Meadow’s Prize medallist. Starswirl the Bearded himself was in the third row, sitting next to Mistmane. This week’s guest speaker was the founder of the Manehattan City Medical School mathematical epidemiology program. That single room probably held half of the top hundred best minds in the world. "I would say, ‘horse apples.’"

"Three seats left of Merlot, one row behind. Describe."

A buttercream-yellow pegasus mare with a short mane. "Ripped. Do I need to start weight lifting to be in this department?"

"Seven seats right of you, closest pony to the door. Unicorn mare."

I side-eyed to my right. "There are some oddly athletic looking ponies in this room."

"There's one more. Find him/her. Hint: earth pony."

I looked around. I said, "Green stallion. First row, by the other door. He’s built like a bison."

"Very good! Those four only attend on days when Merlot is here."

I bit my lip. I knew what she was implying, but it seemed too strange, even for Canterlot. I asked, "Bodyguards?"

"I’m ninety percent sure of this rumor," she said.

"How many ponies are privy to this rumor?"

Rosie bit her lip. "Approximately? One hundred percent of the department, now that you’re in on it, newbie. We’ll know for sure next week."

"Huh?" I asked. "Next week?"

"Merlot is giving her dissertation preliminary exam. She’s the speaker."

"Okay. Rosie, are you going to let me in on this rumor? Or just make my head spin?"

"Look at Merlot’s bone structure."

"She's wearing an arctic-weight cloak."

"Facial bones, pervert."

It snapped into place in my mind, and once I saw it, I couldn’t unsee it. "Whoa.... You suppose she’s a niece? Or maybe an illegitimate daughter?"

Rosie shook her head and chuckled. "What would a unicorn need a winter weight cloak to conceal in the middle of summer?"

It hit me. I’m smart, but I’m slow. My PhD took an extra year because I work at my own pace. I whispered, "Wings! Are you saying that she’s... Princess Luna?"

Merlot’s ears swiveled toward us. 

Rosie shuffled her wings very slightly, and dropped her voice and whispered directly into my ear. "I think so. You’re going to help me test that theory, tonight."

"!!!"

"Sssshhhhh, they’re introducing the speaker."





After the seminar was over, Rosie dragged me to meet Merlot.

"Rosie Bayes," Merlot said. "How progress your studies into uncertainty quantification and inference?"

"Great, great! Hey, it’s after five o’clock. No talking math. Please meet Proof Pudding, he’s a new postdoc in the department, new to Canterlot, and my new special somepony."

I said, "Nice to meet another of Rosie’s friends," suddenly sweating between my shoulder blades.

The muscular unicorn stallion wandered towards us, eyeing me nonchalantly.

I noticed his saddlebags looked very heavy.

Merlot extended a hoof to me. I bumped it. She said, "Charmed. I would discuss your recent publication in The Journal of Mathematical Magic, but Rosie has declared a moratorium on shop talk. It is nice to put a face to the research, however. Your accent is of the Eastern Shore or perhaps Baltimare city, not Tröttingen."

Whoa! She kept up with the literature. For a casual part-time PhD student, that meant dedication. My paper had come out only a week before. 

...unless she'd been one of the anonymous referees who had read it months back? Stop! Stop, I told myself; trying to figure out who your referees were was a recipe for ulcers and paranoia.

"Good ear," I said. "I got a scholarship to Tröttingen but did my undergrad at at Baltimare College, so I could live at home."

"I was in Tröttingen last year," she said, and lifted her right foreleg to rub her flank, frowning. "Let us not speak of it."

Wow. Her accent—I couldn’t place it, but I could listen to it all day. I felt the intelligence behind her blue eyes. Her deep reddish-purplish coat shined in the sunlight from the windows, offset by the sapphire cloak, which obviously cost more bits than I made in three years. The yellow scarf looked exorbitantly expensive, too, but jauntily offset the other colors. She looked down her aristocratic nose at me, and even with the cloak, where I could only see her neck, chest, and forelegs, her body was obviously solid muscle. Lean muscle, like an ultramarathoner or martial artist, not like a weightlifter. 

Rosie was and is my special somepony, but damn. Looking at Merlot was like standing in front of one of the greatest works of sculpture by the ancient masters. They should have taken a mold of her body and cast it in bronze. 

I noticed her heavy glasses’ lenses looked to be plano—that is, a null prescription. Like they were part of a costume, worn by somepony with perfect vision.

Given the heavy way the silken cloak hung, and the plainclothes bodyguards, I suspected the gorgeous cloak was lined with discrete armor plating. Inside its thrown-back hood, I saw a three-diamond maker’s mark. 

So: probably six times my yearly salary to buy that cloak. 

I levitated up a fold in the cloak. "Is this a Rarity bespoke?"

Merlot quirked an eyebrow. "A stallion with taste and perception. Rosie, do not allow this one to escape. I exclusively pursue pegasus stallions, myself, but I might make an exception for this unicorn if he were suddenly unspoken for."

"My cousin runs a secondhand shop," I said. "I worked there off school. She had a Rarity piece, once, and put it in her front display window with a big sign. It sold in fifteen minutes."

"Rarity would be appalled to hear one of her pieces was given away," Merlot said.

Rosie asked, "You know an element-bearer?"

"Rarity knows all her bespoke customers. She thinks of herself as a designer and business owner, not an element-bearer."

There was silence for a few seconds, and I eventually tried, "An earth pony passed away, and her relatives were all pegasi and couldn’t wear a non-pegasus-cut ensemble, so we found it at the shop."

"Ah!" Merlot said. "Rarity would understand."

Awkward silence again.

Rosie bumped her hips into mine, and slung a wing over my back. Feathers tickled my spine. I love that sensation. Why did I never date pegasi before?!? "Proofie here is new in Canterlot. I’m trying to show him the best places to have some fun. Would you be interested in hitting Celestia Boulevard with us? Dinner and drinks? Proofie will buy, since he’s got a princely postdoc stipend compared to my pauperish doctoral candidate stipend."

Merlot’s lips quirked at that. "Alas, my Thursdays are not amenable to frivolity. I have a... meeting in forty minutes. Tomorrow, however? I much enjoyed our previous outings, Rosie Bayes. I mainly pursue my doctorate to meet intelligent ponies close to my own age. My workplace is... geriatric."

I felt my eyes get wide. "You two have... hung out previously?" I tapped a hoof on the tile, telling myself, She’s Merlot! She’s Merlot! She’s not Princess Luna! Not!

"Dang," Rosie said. "This Friday I’m heading home for my dad’s birthday. What about next Thursday? You’re giving your preliminary exam for your doctorate, right?"

"Unless my duties call me away. They are unpredictable. I have discussed my situation in detail with the chairmare of the department, to obtain special accommodations."

"Want to go get wasted after your exam? I’ve never seen a mare out-drink an entire hoofball team like you did last time. Your metabolism is something else. Proofie here is a country bumpkin and needs to see a classic Canterlot pub crawl. I’ve never had him puking drunk yet."

The unicorn’s face turned pale and she swallowed several times. Her knees actually shook. I thought she was having a heart attack. 

Her heavy cloak wrinkled... as if wings had just shuffled underneath it.

Rosie said, "Merlot? Are you okay? Did I say something wrong?"

Merlot took a few deep breaths. "I... I... no. You could not know. I now attend Alcoholics Anonymous on Thursday evenings. I am headed there forthwith. I would most enjoy getting a tea or coffee with you, and your new paramour," she nodded to me, "but I shan’t engage with alcohol again."

Rosie clapped her wings over her mouth. "Oh my Cel— I’m sorry! I had no idea."

Merlot’s face turned back to its original color. "Of course you could have had no idea. Let us tentatively plan for next Friday afternoon. May I excuse myself? This afternoon’s speaker ran long, and I wish not be late for my meeting of the aforementioned organization that let us not name explicitly again where other ears may overhear goodbye!” and she disappeared in a flash of cobalt teleportation magic.

The alleged bodyguard pony glared at Rosie and I, and whickered angrily.

Rosie looked at me. "You unicorns... can you teleport, Proofie?"

"Nope," I said. "My little sister can teleport, about once a week, it tires her so badly, less than half a mile, and only line of sight. She’s at Celestia’s School."

"That’s an expensive school. Or so we pegasi hear."

"Because my dad’s a disabled Guard veteran, tuition to Celestia’s school is free."

"Huh. Today I learned. Proofie, How many unicorns can teleport to an unseen destination on the other side of town?"

"There are, what, maybe three hundred million unicorns in the world?"

Rosie shrugged. "Last census said two hundred and fifty mill and change. That was twenty years ago."

"Maybe... ten or twenty can teleport blind?"

"That many?" Rosie asked.

"Not ten or twenty million. Ten or twenty."

"Oh."