Rekindled Embers

by applezombi


Chapter 25

Chapter 25

Correspondence between Lady Red Gingham and Sir Tarpit, Knights Jubilant.  The first note is typed, the second hoofwritten.

Sir Tarpit-

             I’ve got a new pony for your Confession rotation.  Lofty Tale, of the noble family by the same name.  He has recently been cast out of the Knights Vigilant for violating his Oath of Chastity and fathering a foal.  They gave him the option to give up the foal and keep his Knighthood, but he refused.

             Keep an eye on this one.  Don’t spare any of the tough questions, especially sexual ones.  I’d like a report at least every two months.  I’ve already been asked to CC one of the Mystics into those reports, so they’re keeping an eye on him too, though it seems like a low priority case.

Good luck.  We’re taking this seriously, though I don’t think there will be any problems long term.

Signed,

Red Gingham

 

Red-

             Just had my first meeting with Lofty.  He seems repentant.  His motivations appear pure; he left the Knighthood out of family loyalty, not disaffection, so the Mystics can probably relax (if that’s even possible!).

             I’ll be sure to ask the hard questions, like you said.  I don’t think we’ll need to waste too much time with this one, though.  My guess is he’ll be back to a regular confessor within a few years at the most.

Signed,

Sir Tarpit.

1112 AF, New Canterlot City 

             Lofty Tale loved to garden.  Maybe it was in his blood; he was an earth pony, after all.  He felt a connection to the land, a sense of completeness, which he had never felt before.  It didn’t hurt that gardening was one of the best distractions from the mess that his life had become.  At least his grandfather and sister didn’t usually bother him while he was out here, and even the manor servants had been ordered to allow him to work on his own.  It made the work rather difficult solo, but it also made for some quality alone time to be with his thoughts.  

His thoughts drifted to his friend Emberglow.  She hadn’t written him back in weeks, and he was beginning to grow concerned.  Before his disgrace, he would have thought nothing about dropping in at Diamond Home and inquiring about her status, but he had no such option now.

             Currently, he was weeding.  His summer squash was being choked out by a particularly resilient ragweed infestation.  It was hard to weed as an earth pony because the best option he had for pulling the weeds was his teeth, but putting ragweed anywhere near his mouth frequently led to sinus congestion and intense sneezing.  He could use a trowel, but the damned things had almost unbreakable root systems.  Pulling them by teeth really was the best of the bad options.  The hard work was paradoxically relaxing, though, so he didn’t mind.  

Especially when he got a surprise visitor.  He heard the hooves long before he heard anything else.

             “SNEK ‘TEK!” True Tale, his beautiful, perfect son cried out loudly as Lofty was suddenly pelted by a tiny furry blue missile, landing right on his back and attempting, in a coltish, clumsy way, to tickle Lofty’s ribs.  Lofty made sure to position himself between the rows, so that when he ‘fell’ he wouldn’t crush any of the plants.

             “Oh no, I’ve been sneak attacked!” he cried, laughing despite himself.  Lofty’s heart overflowed with affection.  “And you know my weak spot!”

             “Daddy’s tik’ish!” True proclaimed, running his tiny hooves along his father’s ribs, trying to provoke a ticklish response.  Lofty gently played with his son for a few more minutes, rolling about in the dirt between rows of plants until both stallion and colt were filthy.  Eventually both collapsed into panting giggles, catching their breath from the roughhousing.

             “Now True, tell me.  Does Nanny know where you are?” Lofty asked after their laughter had lulled.  True considered for a moment, then pointed up at the Tale manor.  In the window, watching, probably for the entire ‘sneak attack’ routine, was the Tale’s hired Nanny, a nearly ancient earth pony named Brushstroke.  From a distance, Lofty could see the amused grin on the servant’s wrinkled face.  Once eye contact was made, she waved to him and went back inside.  “Good boy.  How did your lessons go today?”  The colt didn’t answer, but rubbed his forehooves together in embarrassment.  “Did you listen to everything Nanny had to say?”

             “Kinda,” True admitted.

             “But she said you’d been good enough that you could come help me?” Lofty asked, and True nodded with a silly grin.  “I’m glad to have you.”  Lofty loved it when True came to help him in the garden.  It was the only place he could pretend that nothing was wrong, and they were just a completely normal family doing normal things.  Spending time with other ponies reminded him of what he had given up.  Spending time with his son reminded him why he’d given up what he had.

             Admittedly, True’s ‘help’ was somewhat less helpful than it could have been.  Clumsy hind hooves were often in danger of trampling plants, while clumsy forehooves sometimes ripped the weeds out while leaving roots behind.  But that didn’t matter a bit to Lofty.  It wasn’t as if they needed the fruit of Lofty’s labor; both of them were provided with a place to live and a spending stipend.  The garden was simply a conceit of Lofty’s, and he donated everything he harvested to the soup kitchen anyways. 

Even the soup kitchen had been taken from him, he thought darkly.  The director he had selected had approached him after his very public ouster from the Knights Vigilant, suggesting sheepishly that they should sever ties for the good of the kitchen.  It was a bitter pill to swallow, but he’d swallowed it willingly, if not enthusiastically.

For an hour, he helped show True how to identify the weeds that needed pulling.  He had to keep a close eye on the foal, because his tiny hooves sometimes found the wrong plants to pull.  Lofty didn’t mind in the slightest, and it was a happy hour, interrupted only by a clearing throat at the edge of his garden.

“Hello, Grace,” Lofty said.  He didn’t even have to lift his head.  Only his sister Graceful Tale cleared her throat in such a conspicuous and condescending way.

“Hello, brother,” his sister said airily.  “True, I think Nanny was looking for you.  She said you’ve been outside long enough.  It’s time for your art lesson.”  True pouted, but he knew better than to argue with his Aunt Grace.  Lofty looked at the manor’s back door, and indeed Nanny was waiting for him patiently.  Grace made sure to ruffle the colt’s mane as he dashed past.  Lofty stood up, brushing the dirt off his coat as much as he could.

“What can I do for you today, Grace?” he asked his younger sister softly, already resigning himself for the argument to come.  Arguing was all they ever did, these days.  He wondered if other families hated each other as much as his seemed to.  Everypony was always antagonizing each other, bickering, making subtle insults and petty threats, with the exception of True, of course.  Everypony doted on True.

“I need you to start taking on some family duties,” Grace said bluntly.  Lofty laughed.

“Oh, have I suddenly become not disgraced any longer?” Lofty asked.  He knew he was starting off a bit defensive and combative, but he didn’t care.  After weeks of being criticized by his sister every conversation they had, he was sick of pretending to be nice to her.

“No.  I’ve just found a way to take advantage of your disgrace,” Grace countered snidely.  “Do we have to have this conversation in the dirt?”

“No, we don’t have to have any conversation,” Lofty shot back casually.  “But this is where I am.  If you want to talk to me, this is where you’ll do it.”

“Fine.  I need you to go to a reception ball in five weeks,” Grace said.  Lofty was intrigued despite himself.

“A reception ball?  What for?” Lofty asked, then silently cursed himself for showing interest.  His sister would latch on to that if she could.

“It’s the talk of the town in New Canterlot City.  Not that you would know.  The pontiff has announced that we have finally negotiated an exchange of embassies with the heretics to the north.”

“Really?” Lofty asked.  That was interesting news.  “Did the shield come down?”

“No, it’s as strong as ever.  The word is, a Knight Jubilant managed to make contact with some crystal pony ambassadors in Zebrica.  She managed to convince whoever’s in charge up there to allow an embassy in the Northern Empire.  In response, the pontiff agreed to host an embassy here.”

“So the reception ball is for the crystal pony’s embassy?” Lofty reasoned.  His sister nodded.  “But why me?  I’m not exactly an asset for the family at the moment.  Probably not ever again.”  Not that Lofty minded too much.

“See, that’s what I thought.  But no, you are an asset.  Just not the way you were before,” his sister mused.  “I’ve spoken with several other members of the families who will be attending the ball.  Let’s just say, every family of import is sending a representative.  The representatives will be a subtle sort of message to the heathen crystal ponies, an insult too buried for those backwards heretics to even notice.”

“Oh,” Lofty said, disappointed but not surprised.  It made sense now; the pontiff had been forced to invite the embassy in exchange for being able to send his own — but just because he had been forced to welcome the crystal ponies didn’t mean they were supposed to feel welcome.  “So who else will be attending?”

“I don’t have a comprehensive list, but I know a few.  Fine Dine, Tight Caulk, Darkspire, and Mariposa,” his sister listed off.  Lofty nearly groaned out loud, especially to think that he was considered to fit in with that company.  Fine Dine was a widow five times over, and there were questions about most of her deceased husbands.  Tight Caulk had been tossed out of the military for cowardice.  Darkspire had never been caught or convicted of anything, but everypony knew to keep him far away from foals.  Mariposa was so socially inept it was rumored she had some donkey blood in her.  All from important families, families with influence and power.  But each one was the bottom of the proverbial barrel.

“Forget it,” Lofty said.  “That’s petty and cruel, even for you.”

“Think about this, though.  You’ll be the best of the lot,” his sister reasoned.  Lofty rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“I refuse,” he said.  Grace scowled at him.

“I have something to offer,” she said.  “If you do this for me, I’ll make sure True gets into the Shooting Star Academy.”  It was the most advanced and prestigious preschool program for foals in all of New Canterlot City.  With True’s questionable origins, his placement in the elite preschool would ensure his access to a bountiful and successful education.  The problem for Grace was that everybody doted on True.  Even Grace herself.

“Unfortunately, your offer has no weight,” Lofty said with a smirk.  “You see, I checked the mail today.  I know, it’s usually the butler’s job.  But I found an interesting letter.”

“Damn,” Grace swore.  “I didn’t think they’d send out acceptance letters so soon.”

“You may hate me, but it’s obvious how much you love True,” Lofty crowed victoriously.  “Thanks for getting him admitted, even if you did try to use it to manipulate me just now.”

“I still need you to go to this ball.  It’s important enough that we need to send somepony, even if it has to be somepony disgraceful.”

“You want me to start contributing to the family’s social standing?  I’ll need something more.  Something you weren’t going to give my son anyways.”

“What do you want?” Grace sighed.

“Funding in perpetuity for my soup kitchen.  It doesn’t have to be much, and you can do it as publicly as you want.  Who knows, they might put the family name on a new wing, or something,” Lofty offered.

“How much?” Grace asked.  The slight smirk in his sister’s face revealed to Lofty that she’d been expecting this, or at least something like it.

“Three thousand a month,” Lofty said confidently.

Grace laughed with contempt.  “What would they do with all that money?” Her lip curled in a sneer.  “Nine hundred.”

“How much is our representation at this party really worth to you?” Lofty mused.  “If we’re required to attend, and I refuse, that means you or Righteous.  Did you enjoy the last time you ran into Tight Caulk?  What was the word he used to describe your flanks?”

“One point four thousand,” Grace snarled, her face flushing with anger.  “I’ve left you alone out here, Lofty.  I could change that.”  As a threat, it wasn’t very subtle.

“Two point one,” Lofty countered, softening his voice.  “Think about the optics.  This really does make our family look good.”

“One point seven five,” Grace offered, and Lofty waved a hoof in acceptance.

“Fine.”  It wasn’t nearly as much as he’d liked, and Grace’s face was sour.  It looked like neither one of them were quite happy with the end result.

“I don’t see why you feel the need to donate bits,” Grace muttered. “Don’t you donate all your produce from your garden to that kitchen, too?”

“I’m not going to argue with you about this, Grace,” Lofty sighed.  It would be a waste of time trying to explain to his sister how the poorest of ponies lived.  She wasn’t stupid, but she saw no need to try and understand the experience of those outside her narrow worldview.  “We already made an agreement.  Now, would you like to help me with this ragweed?”  Grace huffed.

“When did we stop being siblings and start being enemies?” she asked, and Lofty shook his head.

“I don’t know, Grace,” Lofty said softly.  “Sometimes I wish we could just start over.”  He knew there was no chance of that.  The only answer he got was a disappointed glance over her shoulder as she turned to trot away.  Reluctantly, he went back to his weeding.

“I’ll send somepony by to get you outfitted properly.  The ball is five weeks from today,” Grace called from the back door of the manor.  “Remember, just because the ball itself is a calculated insult doesn’t mean you can disappoint our family.  Best behavior, big brother.”  Without another word, she slipped inside the manor.  He sighed and returned to his gardening.

This was Lofty’s life now.  Working in his garden, reading, playing with his son, arguing with his family.  Mealtimes he shared with his grandfather Righteous Tale, a boisterous disapproving stallion who hated Lofty for the disgrace he had brought to the family name.  Twice a week he went to confession; it was a requirement of his discharge for at least two years.  The confessor was a Knight Jubilant, Sir Tarpit.  He didn’t even want to think about what they talked about at those special confession sessions.

Life  was peaceful, quiet, and not a little bit boring; it was a prison of his own making, really.  Perhaps a reception ball, even one designed to insult the poor crystal pony ambassadors, would be a welcome source of excitement in his life.

Lofty kept an ear out as he weeded, listening and hoping for another ‘sneak attack’.  When he heard the approach of hooves, he grinned.  It was about time for another break with his son.

“Lofty?” the sneaking assailant asked, and Lofty Tale jerked to his hooves from his crouched position, his shocked eyes zeroing in on the voice.  It was the last voice he’d expected to hear in his own garden.  A familiar but unexpected pony was hiding behind his tomato cages.

“Emberglow?” he blurted, rushing to her side.  She jerked away from him, eyes widening in startled fear, before relaxing slightly.

His friend looked terrible.  Her feathers were bent and crooked from long overuse.  Her fur was dirty and matted, and there were bags of exhaustion under each of her eyes.  Minor wounds, only partially healed, crisscrossed her entire body.  Her dress was odd; it looked like something somepony had rigged together out of a burlap blanket and some bandages, though it actually fit her nicely.

“What happened to you?” he asked, noting the fear in her eyes, and the weariness.  “I haven’t heard from you in weeks!”

“Is… is there somewhere we can go to talk?  Somewhere private?” Emberglow asked.  She sounded exhausted.

“Follow me,” Lofty said.  He led the way into the manor, Emberglow following behind him with a slumped head and pinned ears.

The manor’s backdoor led to a comfortable sitting parlor adjacent to the kitchen.  Lofty poked his head into the kitchen; the cook wasn’t there at the moment, so he quietly led the two of them through the kitchen to a spiral staircase that led into the wine cellar.  There was an extensive collection of fine wine laid out on racks laying against the wall, and a separate shelf for expensive liquor.

“It will be quiet here.  The only pony in this manor that drinks is my grandfather.  Everypony else in my family lives at the other estate; this is where they hide the disgraces.”

“You’re not a disgrace, Lofty,” Emberglow said tiredly, looking around the wine cellar.  “Nopony will overhear us?”

“No.  What happened, Emberglow?”

“It’s such a long story.  I don’t even know where to start,” Emberglow said, her voice careful. 

“Are you hurt?  Is there something you need right now?”

“Water?” Emberglow said.  “Maybe something to eat?”

“On it,” Lofty said.  “You wait here.  Nopony will bother you, and I’ll be down in just a moment.”  He rushed upstairs, his mind buzzing with curiosity and concern.  He quickly buzzed through the kitchen, collecting a few fresh vegetables from the pantry and a large cup of water.  With his goodies, he trotted back down the stairs into the cellar.  Emberglow shot him a grateful look as she greedily swallowed the water.

“Thanks.  I’ve been flying for days,” she said, gasping for breath as she gulped down the water.

“Flying for days? Don’t tell me... you flew all the way from Manehatten?” Lofty gasped, and Emberglow nodded.

“I took breaks where I could, but yes,” she said.  “I had to get back as fast as I could.  I have to…”  She took a deep breath.  “I have things I have to do.”

“What happened?” Lofty asked.  Emberglow eyed him.

“I don’t know if I can tell you,” she said guardedly.  “Lofty, everything has changed.  Everything.  I…”

“Are you in some kind of trouble?  Like, with the Mystics?” Lofty asked very carefully.  There were few ways a Knight like Emberglow could get into trouble, and the attention of inquisitors was one of them.  It didn’t help that the last time they had spoken in pony had been when they had been speaking about looking into the disappearance of her friend Oak Chips, something that threatened to draw unwanted Mystic attention in her direction.

“As far as I know, they’ll have labeled me missing in action,” Emberglow replied.  “Maybe even killed.  The mission in Manehatten was a disaster, Lofty.”  Her eyes were wet, and her voice broke as she spoke.  “I lost friends.  Good friends.  I…” She paused, visibly choked up. 

Wordlessly, Lofty pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to his friend.  She nodded her thanks and wiped her eyes.  “I learned some things.  Scary things, Lofty.  I’m not ever going back to the way I was before.  I guess… I’m not a Knight anymore.”

“What does that mean?” Lofty asked, and Emberglow flinched, her eyes darting away.

She hurriedly gathered the bowl of vegetables, and began making for the door as if to leave. “Thanks for the food and water, Lofty.  I’ll get going as soon as I…”

“Emberglow.  You’re my best friend.  I’m a disgraced Knight.  There’s nothing you could say that would surprise me.”

“How about, I met the head of the Knights Discordant?” Emberglow said challengingly.  Lofty stared at her.  “We talked.  I found out some stuff that I’d like to confirm.”

“Emberglow, how could…”

“Lofty, we’ve been lied to.  For hundreds of years.  The Saints… they weren’t like they are in the book.  Not at all.” Her eyes blazed with intensity.  “Kick me out of your house, Lofty.  Tell me to leave and never come back.  It’ll be the smartest thing you’ve ever done.  I think…” She took a deep breath.  “I think I’m a heretic now, after all.”

Lofty stared at his oldest friend.  Emberglow stared back, her eyes hard, though her hooves were trembling with emotion.

“Okay.  Tell me the whole story,” he said patiently.  She stared at him in shock, and then shook her head.

“I can’t.  I can’t put you in danger like that.  I should go.” She pushed towards the door again, but he blocked her way.

“You need to stay here to rest and recover,” Lofty insisted.  “For as long as you want.  You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.  But I want to understand, Emberglow.”

“What would you do if everything you’ve ever believed was a lie?” Emberglow asked rhetorically, some frustration leaking into her voice.  She shook her head.  “Don’t answer that.  I don’t… I don’t want you to go through what I have,” she whispered.

“And what did you go through, Emberglow?” Lofty asked. 

“I lost my faith, Lofty.  And it’s never coming back.” Her eyes were wet with tears.

He looked at her in disbelief. It shouldn’t have surprised Lofty, with the hints Emberglow had been laying down before, but to hear that she had lost her faith was a real blow.  He had always quietly envied Emberglow’s strength, her devotion and determination.  For him, Knighthood had been a personal goal, not an expression of faith.  For Emberglow, it had been both.  Her faith was both an inspiration and a scourge for him, always reminding him of his own personal lack of conviction.  If somepony like Emberglow could lose her faith, what did that mean for him?

“Okay.  What do you need?” Lofty asked.  He didn’t really want to know what Ember had found out, not after seeing the state she was in, but he still had to help her.  Emberglow was the only friend he had who had ever treated him like a pony, not just a name or an asset.  Well, besides True, at least.  He’d give her whatever she needed.

“I need to find out where Steadfast Word is.  Then I can leave you in peace,” she said.  “I don’t know if there’s anything you can do to help with that, though.”

“I still have some connections in the Knighthood, even if I am disgraced,” Lofty said.  “Let me send a letter or two, see what I can find out.  Meanwhile, you can be a guest of the manor.  You can meet my son.”

“I’d like that,” Emberglow admitted.  “But won’t I cause problems for you?  Ponies will ask questions.  Your servants, your family.”

“The only family member who lives at this manor, besides my son, is my grandfather Righteous.  He’s such a drunken old letch that was banished out here where he couldn’t embarrass the family any longer.  Just like me, strangely enough.  There are only three servants at the manor: the butler, the chef, and True’s Nanny.  I won’t tell them your name, and…” he trailed off.  He wasn’t sure Emberglow would like what he had to say next.

“Go on,” she said.  Apparently she’d noticed his hesitation.

“The servants will assume I’ve brought you here as my secret lover.  It’s the kind of behavior they’d expect from me.  If that bothers you, we could come up with something…”

“No, it’s fine,” Emberglow mumbled, slumping.  “It’s not like I have a reputation to uphold anymore.”  She seemed so lost.  Lofty reached out with a hoof, resting it on his friend’s shoulder.

“How can I help?” he asked gently.  Emberglow sniffed.

“Have you ever had to completely reinvent your identity?  Like, from the ground up decide who you are all over again, because your entire foundation has been ripped up?” she said.

“Actually, yes,” Lofty said quietly.  Emberglow looked up at him, and suddenly nuzzled the hoof he had resting on her shoulder.

“You’re right.  I’m sorry, I’ve been so selfish,” Emberglow sighed.  “I suppose you’ve had to reinvent your whole life recently too.”

“You’ll understand why when you meet him,” Lofty said proudly.  “C’mon.  Let’s go see my son.”

True was taking his ‘art lesson’ from Nanny.  Really, that just meant putting him in an easily cleanable room and an easily cleanable foal’s smock, with several buckets of hoof paint.  Nanny Brushstroke had been hired specifically because of her creative background, and always loved helping the little foal explore his creative side, no matter how much of a mess he created.

“Nanny Brushstroke, I’d like a word with my son, please,” Lofty said as he and Emberglow entered the room.  There were a dozen wide sheets of paper, covered in a rainbow of hoof prints and clumsy figures.  Lofty was impressed; he could almost guess what some of the pictures were supposed to be.  True Tale was lost in his task, spreading more globs of paint over the surface of the paper.

“Very well, Master Lofty,” the nanny said.  “Let me get the young master cleaned up, and he’ll be ready for company.”

“You know what, Nanny?  I’ll give my son a bath.  Take the rest of the day off.  I’ll take my son off your hooves for the rest of the day.”

“Very well,” Nanny Brushstroke said formally, though Lofty could see the approval in her eyes.  She was always too professional to say anything, but he could tell she approved of him and his relationship with his son.  “Master True?  It is time to clean up before dinner.  Your father will see to your bath.”

“BAFTIME!” True cried out, splashing paint everywhere as he clopped his front hooves together.   True was practically a painting himself, with splotches of wet paint matting fur, hooves, tail, and mane.  Suddenly he noticed the stranger standing behind his father, and he shrunk down, his eyes wide. 

“Don’t be afraid, little one,” Emberglow said gently.  “I’m just a friend of your father.”  Nanny Brushstroke had been about to leave the room, but she made sure to give Lofty and Emberglow an appraising look as she left.  Perhaps the nanny’s approval wasn’t exactly absolute.

For convenience and sanity, the art room was directly adjacent to True’s bathroom.  Lofty stepped over and opened the bathroom door.

“Okay, True.  Into the tub with you,” Lofty said.  True glanced apprehensively between Lofty and Emberglow, clearly a little apprehensive with a stranger present.  He finally slunk past his father into the large porcelain bathtub.  Once inside his trepidation seemed to evaporate, and he began to prance and clop around in the tub. 

“Rain, rain, rain!” True chanted, and Lofty obliged his son by turning on the shower.  Emberglow laughed as the tiny foal capered about in the flow.

“It may not be the most efficient method for cleaning a foal, but…” Lofty trailed off, watching True at play.

“It’s too cute,” Emberglow finished, and Lofty nodded.  “You definitely made the right choice, choosing him over Knighthood.”  She seemed to realize what she was saying a little too late, and flinched.  “I’m sorry, Lofty, I d-didn’t mean to…”

“Hush.  It’s fine,” Lofty said, getting drenched up to his shoulders while he tried his best to rinse the paint from his son.  True wasn’t paying attention to a word of their conversation; he was far too busy trying to splatter as much paint on his father as Lofty was cleaning off of him.  Fortunately, Emberglow didn’t seem to mind the bits that splattered onto her makeshift dress.

A few soggy minutes later, two damp grown ponies and one fluffy, toweled off foal entered the Tale dining room.  Emberglow had tried to refuse Lofty’s invitation for a meal, but he could sense her heart wasn’t in it.  She looked gaunt, and given her physical state probably hadn’t had a decent meal in a while.

“Whatever you do, though, don’t engage my grandfather.  Righteous gets his kicks from pushing a pony’s buttons, and you probably don’t want to get him going.  Just ignore him, or give one-word answers.  Be vague, let him make his own faulty assumptions, and he’ll leave you alone.”

Personally, Lofty hated taking meals in the dining hall.  It was huge and impersonal, all cold, lacquered wood and tall family portraits of dead ponies with judgmental eyes.  But Righteous demanded they eat there at least once a day.  Lofty could have fought him, but it wasn’t worth the battle.  On top of that, if Lofty tried to conceal Emberglow’s presence, Righteous would surely notice and become even more unbearable.  The only upside was that True would be joining them.   The foal’s presence always seemed to calm his grandfather’s worst impulses.

When the chef brought out their steaming dinner platters, though, Lofty’s grandfather was nowhere to be seen.  Lofty was beginning to get hopeful as he helped True with his dinner.  The chef was skilled, and her amazing creations always somehow managed to convince True to clean his plate.  Tonight it was spinach linguine with red sauce, and Lofty’s heart sank.  He had just bathed True.  There was no way this didn’t end in the kind of disaster that only a toddler with pasta could manage.

Just when Emberglow had managed to come out of her funk long enough to start enjoying the meal, the dining hall doors slammed open, and Righteous stumbled in, lurching with the uneven gait of a drunkard.  The smell of booze wafted in just after him.

Righteous Tale was an old pony, with a gently protruding beer gut and a permanently sour expression.  His grey eyes, when not hazed over with drink, were piercing.  Despite age and vice, he still retained some of the handsomeness of his youth, something Lofty had been assured repeatedly that he had inherited.  Righteous’ fur was a navy blue, and he kept his darker blue mane cut short and clean.  Lofty was always surprised that his grandfather looked so well-maintained, even after day drinking.

“You started without me?” Righteous accused as he trotted over to the table.  His eyes found Emberglow and narrowed.

“You were late,” Lofty reasoned.  “I wasn’t going to make True wait for his meal.”  The mention of his son was calculated; Righteous was much less combative with his grandfoal around.

“That’s right,” Righteous said affectionately, and Lofty had to stop from rolling his eyes.  “Eat up, little colt.  Is it good?”

“Yeth!” True said, splattering half-chewed pasta out of his mouth as he spoke.  Righteous smiled indulgently as Lofty cleaned the foal’s chin.

“So who is your guest?” Righteous asked, his voice dripping with implication.  Lofty sighed.  At least subtext and innuendo were better than outright accusation and argument in front of the foal.

“An old friend,” Lofty replied vaguely.  Righteous scowled at him.

“Is that the phrase they’re using these days?” Righteous said contemptuously.  “Seems to me that even with your stipend, you could afford a little better than an ‘old friend’.”  Emberglow bristled beside him, and Lofty held out a hoof to calm her.

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” Lofty shot back.  He knew Righteous wouldn’t push the issue too far into specifics as long as True was in the room, though he was fully dreading being cornered by the old stallion later.  Righteous harrumphed and dug into his pasta.

“What is your name, ‘old friend’?” Righteous said to Emberglow after eating a mouthful of pasta, a touch more politely.  Emberglow glanced up from her meal, her face thoughtful.

“Emberglow,” she replied after a pause.  Lofty flinched.  For a moment he thought Righteous’ eyes flashed with recognition, though Lofty was sure he had imagined it.  It was gone in an instant, but it filled Lofty with dread.  The less his grandfather knew about Emberglow, the better.

“And if not for business, what are you doing here?” Righteous asked bluntly.  Emberglow opened her mouth to respond, but Lofty cut her off.

“She’s eating dinner, grandfather.  And apparently being interrogated by a rude, drunk old stallion,” he said cuttingly.  “She’s a friend that needed help.  She’ll be staying with us for a while.”  He declared it as if fact, and Righteous scowled.  Lofty did his best to ignore his grandfather while he finished his meal, and Emberglow retreated into an unsure sort of silence.

After dinner and dessert, Righteous Tale excused himself and left the dining hall, probably to find another bottle as Lofty had forbidden drinking in front of his son.  True was flagging in his foal chair, so Lofty plucked him up and placed True on his back.

“C’mon, munchkin.  Let’s get you cleaned up a bit and then off to bed for story time.”

“Bursh teef,” True muttered sleepily, and Lofty laughed.

“Of course, you still have to brush your teeth.  Good boy,” Lofty said.  He trotted out of the room and Emberglow followed, looking a bit like a lost, beaten puppy.  He wanted nothing more than to help talk her through whatever had happened to her, but she wasn’t ready just yet.  He took her to the library; one place in the manor he was sure Righteous never haunted.  It wasn’t huge, but there was a large comfy chair and plenty of books for her to glance through, if she wanted.

“Stay here for now,” Lofty told her.  “I’ll be back soon.”

“Okay,” Emberglow said tiredly.  He closed the door to the library behind him softly and trotted off to True’s room to get the little colt into bed.  Grace had once criticized him for being so involved in the actual care part of foalcare, the details and the chores such as overseeing bedtime, but he preferred his hooves-on approach.

It took only a few minutes to get True wiped down, teeth brushed, storied, and tucked into bed.  A growing sense of nervousness began to fill his heart as he trotted back to the library with a quick pace; what was going on with his friend?  What had she meant with all of her vague statements?  He had to stop himself from impatiently rushing back to the library.

As he reached the room, he drew up in horror when he saw the door open, and heard his grandfather’s voice from inside.  Angrilly, he marched through the door, pushing it open hard with one hoof.

Emberglow and Righteous were both standing on their hooves, facing each other.  Emberglow looked defiant, and Righteous looked angry.  Strangely, his grandfather looked much more sober than he had at dinner, and even didn’t smell of alcohol.

“Grandson, I love you,” Righteous began gruffly, and Lofty snorted in disbelief.  “But you need to turn around, close that door, and don’t listen in to what I have to say to your ‘old friend’.”  Lofty suddenly recalled the look of recognition Righteous had given her at dinner, at the mention of her name.

“Not a chance,” he said, moving up to stand alongside Emberglow.  She shot him a grateful look.  “You don’t have the best reputation when it comes to mares, grandfather.”

“Oh, so the knives are coming out now that your colt is in bed?” Righteous snarled.  “Very well.  If you want to have it that way.  I had hoped to spare you this, grandson.  I really did.  Sit down, both of you, and keep your maws shut until I’m done.  I’m going to tell you about the Tale family failsafe.  Maybe then we can get rid of this mare, and the danger she poses to all of us, before the Mystics swoop down and black bag us all.”

“What…” Lofty tried to get out, and Righteous made a violent slashing motion with his hoof.

“I said shut up!” Righteous yelled, and both younger ponies looked at him in shock. After being assured of their silence, he continued. “There’s an idea, see.  A theory.  A theocracy like the Diarchy can never last forever.  Eventually, it’s going to collapse in on itself.  Maybe it’ll be outside pressure.  Maybe civil war, heresy from the inside.  Maybe it just fades away.  But someday, the Diarchy won’t be around any longer.”

“How can you say that?” Lofty interjected.  “The Saints say…”

“I’m talking about facts, boy, not feel good stories from the scriptures.  And the fact is, when that day comes, the Tale family’s always going to have somebody on the other side.”  Righteous paused for a moment, taking in Lofty’s stricken look with a sickening grin.  “It's for survival, see?  What happens if New Canterlot City falls to some sort of peasant riot, and they decide to start chopping the heads off of all their ‘noble pony oppressors’?  Or maybe those psycho Discordant takes over, and decides to shove all the nobles down in the dirt with everypony else.  The Tales have always had at least one pony on the other side, to plead our case if that ever happens.”

“You’re a heretic?” Lofty whispered.  Righteous snorted.

“No, I’m a loyal family stallion.  I love our family, boy.  The Tale family has to survive whatever happens.  It probably won’t be during my lifetime, so I just have to lay low, follow orders whenever a Discordant drops them by, and pass on my responsibilities to the next failsafe.  Which is you.  Congratulations,” he finished with a twisted grin.

“No.  No, I won’t.  Pick somepony else,” Lofty stammered.

“I can’t.  You volunteered when you put a foal in that idiot slut of yours,” Righteous said.  “And now you’re bringing deserters home.  A deserter, mind you, whose name is on a missive I got direct from the stallion in charge of all heretics.  Tell me, girly.  How does Sir Heartwing know your name?  And why does he order any and all agents to help you and keep you safe?”

As Righteous spoke, Emberglow’s face slowly darkened with anger, though she said nothing.  Lofty simply stared, completely floored.  Emberglow, a heretic?  She’d admitted as much earlier, maybe, but he’d assumed she’d been exaggerating.  But his grandfather?  He felt like his legs had just been cut out from under him.

“Not going to answer me?” Righteous asked.  “Fine.  Then I want you out of my house.  Tonight.  Every second you stay is a danger to me and mine.  You’re not welcome here, Emberglow.”

“I say she is,” Lofty said, stepping alongside Emberglow to present a united front.

“I’m in charge here, grandson,” Righteous said threateningly.  “You don’t get to decide who stays and who goes.”

“I get to decide more than you think,” Lofty shot back.  “If you’re going to kick out my friend here you’re going to need somepony to help you, because I’ll stop you.  So call the police to evict her.  I’ll be right here when they start asking uncomfortable questions, and I’ll be in the cell beside yours when the Mystics carry us all away.”  He had to fight to keep the quiver of terror from his voice; Lofty had never stood up to Righteous Tale before; his strategy had always been to deflect, ignore, redirect, or downplay.

The two stallions stared at each other, eyes locked.  Lofty couldn’t even look away to see how his friend was doing.  The time ticked by, silent and thick.  Lofty could feel the pounding of each heartbeat in his head as his pulse raced.  A bead of sweat dripped down, just behind his right ear, and it took all his willpower not to flick it away.  Maybe it was stupid pride, but he wasn’t about to lose this staring contest.

Finally Righteous scowled and shook his head, breaking the silence and the standoff.

“It’s on your head then, foal,” he growled.  “You’ve made your choice, you’re locked in now.  Well done, young man.  You’ll be a fine failsafe after me.”  His laugh was bitter, and he turned to Emberglow.  “What did you have this young idiot helping you with?  I’ll pitch a hoof.  The faster you get what you need, little heretic, the faster my great grandfoal gets out of danger.”

“Don’t call me that,” Emberglow protested, but there was little energy behind her words, and her face twisted with guilt.  “I need to find Steadfast Word, of the Knights Mystic.  Then I can leave.”

“Leave where?” Lofty asked, ignoring a quelling glance from Righteous.

“You don’t need to know,” Righteous interrupted as Emberglow opened her mouth to respond.  “That’s the first rule for our job, boy.  The less you know, the less danger you are to the family.  We do the bare minimum to fulfil our ‘duties’ to Heartwing and his fools, and expose ourselves to as little danger as possible.”

“Maybe that was your rule, coward,” Lofty spat, his anger bubbling out like boiling water.  “But if you’re going to force me into this, I’m going to do it my way, understand?”  There was a subtle shift in Righteous Tale’s expression, a reluctant nod, and Lofty palpably felt the power in the room shift.

“Very well, grandson,” Righteous allowed.  Lofty had to stop his jaw from dropping at the submissive tone.  “Whatever you like.  I still recommend we get Miss Emberglow whatever she needs, as quickly as possible.”  It was funny how quickly he’d shifted from ‘little heretic’ to ‘Miss Emberglow’.  Perhaps his grandfather was much more two-faced than he’d realized.

“I can’t stay long,” Emberglow said.  “I just need to confront Steadfast, then I’ll go…” she trailed off.  “Go back, I guess.  I don’t even know how to find…”  She froze, as if unable to say what came next.

“I’ll find him for you,” Righteous said.  “Lofty, you need to lay low with your marefriend here.  Say nothing to anypony.  Your sister will make accusations.  Your confessor will probe.  Say nothing, but deny nothing.  You will be protected by a cloak of scandal and shame.  Let them make assumptions.”

So much about Lofty’s grandfather was becoming distressingly clear to him right now.  The casual way Righteous had alienated the rest of the family, the unsavory behaviors, the drinking and promiscuous behaviors, even the embarrassing things he said whenever in public, all appeared so very calculated to Lofty now.  Righteous had always seemed to hover on the fringes of every family event or conversation, at once a part of, but completely separate from, every other Tale.  He wondered, with a frightened shudder, if that was what his future now held for him: an unpleasant act, to be hated and disdained by his entire family.  It was cold comfort that he was already mostly there.

“We’ll try it your way for now,” Lofty said carefully, eying his grandfather.  They were in for some long conversations later, he was sure.  “You say you’ll find Steadfast?”

“I have better contacts than you do, Lofty,” Righteous said.  His tone had become businesslike, but also more respectful, furthering Lofty’s perception that much of his grandfather’s outrageous behavior, probably for Lofty’s entire life, had been an act.  “I’ll see to the work.  Meanwhile, you should show Emberglow to the guest suite.  I’ll arrange for some new clothing,” he said to Emberglow.  “You stand out too much in that.”  He raised his eyebrows as if waiting for something. 

“Sounds good.  Thank you, grandfather,” Lofty said with polite dismissal, and Righteous nodded his approval.  Lofty’s anger was still there, but at a low simmer.  If Righteous could behave himself, then so could Lofty.  Without another word, Righteous turned and left the library, leaving Emberglow and Lofty in uncomfortable silence.  Lofty looked away, thinking of what to say next.

“Well…” he began, only to pause as he heard a sob.  He turned to look at his friend.  Tears were leaking down Emberglow’s cheeks as she wept.  “Wait, Emberglow, are you okay?” he asked, feeling a sudden wave of panic.  He reached out to encircle her in a comforting hug, and she jerked away.

“No!  No, Lofty, I sh-should leave right now!  I’ve ruined your life!” she gasped, her eyes wide with fear and regret.  “This was s-such a mistake, I never should have…”  She backed away from him, stumbling into a cushion and nearly tumbling onto the floor.  He seized his opportunity, lunging quickly with his hooves so he could grab her with his forehooves.

“Shush, Emberglow, shush,” he said, crushing her to him in an embrace.  She was shaking and sobbing, but didn’t try to escape his hug.  He let her cry for a few minutes.  “You heard what Righteous said.  I think he was grooming me for this for a while now.  You did nothing wrong.  In fact, you did something very right.”

“I did?” Emberglow whimpered, pushing away from his hooves and sniffing.

“You came to me when you needed help,” Lofty said.  Emberglow sniffed again, then laughed weakly.  “I’m serious.  I’ll always help you, Emberglow.  Whatever you need.”

“Thanks, Lofty,” Emberglow said, then stepped away, looking embarrassed.  He gave her a confident smile, though inwardly he was terrified.

Emberglow had always been a rock; confident, unmovable, faithful.  Sure, she’d had an understandable breakdown at the Ivy Seminary when months of constant bullying had finally come to a head, but she’d grown past that, or so he thought.  The mare in front of him proved otherwise — she was emotional, unstable, and terrified. 

“C’mon,” he said softly.  “Let me show you to your room.  Whatever Righteous says, you can stay as long as you need to, okay?”  She trotted after him soundlessly. 

The manor had two guest rooms, though neither one had been used within the last few months.  Lofty took Emberglow to the furthest guest room from Righteous’ room; the old stallion’s behavior, both recent and not, was troubling Lofty.  The less contact between Righteous and Emberglow, the better.  Hopefully his grandfather would be busy doing as he had said, trying to find out where Sir Steadfast was.  Lofty didn’t know Emberglow’s old mentor, but he assumed the stallion was still stationed at the inquisition building.

“I don’t have a lot of servants in the manor,” Lofty said, before remembering belatedly that this wouldn’t matter much to Emberglow.  “So if you need anything, let me know.”  He hesitated at the door to the guest room.  “I guess you don’t have to hide anything from me any longer.”  He felt a surge of bitterness at his powerlessness; Righteous had taken his choice about whether or not to become involved in all this away entirely.

“Your grandfather is right,” Emberglow argued.  “The less you know, the better.”

“Did you really meet him?” Lofty asked, ignoring her.  “The head of the Discordant?”

“Yeah,” Emberglow sighed after a long pause.  “I did.”

“What was he like?”

“Odd,” Emberglow said thoughtfully.  “He seemed genuinely regretful to be fighting us.  He tried several times to convince Brightblade, our commander, to leave Manehatten.  When an explosion trapped the both of us in a cave, he talked to me instead of fighting.  Even bandaged my wounds and found food for both of us.”

“What happened?” Lofty said, curious.  Emberglow flinched and shook her head.

“I… we found what we were looking for.  The Mystics had been detecting unusual motic radiation.  While I was trapped in the cave with Heartwing, we found it.  It was a pony, trapped in a stasis spell for a thousand years.”

“You can’t be serious,” Lofty gasped.  “Truly?”

“I did the medical scans myself.  The mare we found was genuinely from a thousand years ago.”

“Tell me about her.  What did she say?  What happened?” Lofty demanded.  Emberglow’s eyes narrowed.

“You don’t want to know this, Lofty.  You can’t go back from this.  I couldn’t.”

“I don’t have much choice,” Lofty muttered, trying not to sound bitter about it.  “Who was in that cave, Emberglow?”

She took a deep breath. “It was Lady Rarity.”