//------------------------------// // Interlude: Admissions of Guilt // Story: Rekindled Embers // by applezombi //------------------------------// Interlude: Admissions of Guilt              Sir Brightblade was a slumped, defeated pony as he plodded into Steadfast’s large, military-style tent.  He still felt as if his body carried the weight of all the wounds he’d amassed in Manehatten, even if the Knights Radiant had cleared him to return to his duties.  His first stop after that had been to the griffon front, where Steadfast had been stationed for the last month.               It had been early in the morning when Brightblade had arrived by catching a ride on a supply train.  They weren’t the accommodations he was used to, but he was unworthy of luxury or comfort right now.  After several hours in a rattling train, with only limp straw as a mattress, Brightblade was stiff, sore, and depressed.  Still, an uncomfortable train was a step up from a tent in a Saints-forsaken nightmare city, surrounded by heretics.               Steadfast was awake and in his office-style tent, as Brightblade had expected.  His mentor had always been hardworking and studious.  Despite the pre-dawn time, Steadfast was sitting at a small folding desk, pouring over some reports by the light of a gas lamp.  He glanced up as Brightblade entered, smiling widely at him.              “Brightblade!  It is good to see you, young stallion,” Steadfast said, and Brightblade cringed.  He didn’t deserve Steadfast’s acceptance, or his friendship.  “I didn’t know you’d been assigned out here.”              “I haven’t, sir,” Brightblade confessed.  “I’m on medical leave, still.”              “Oh?  What brings you to me, then?” Steadfast asked, his expression growing concerned.              “I’m here to submit myself to you for judgement, sir,” Brightblade said.  Concern shifted to grave solemnity in Steadfast’s eyes.              “And what grave sin do you believe yourself guilty of?” Steadfast asked gently.  Brightblade gaped at him.              “Sir, you can’t be serious.  You read my report of our failure in Manehatten.  You know exactly….”              “Hold a moment, Brightblade,” Steadfast interrupted.  “I did read your report, yes.  In my mind, you did the best you could given limited resources.”  Brightblade’s jaw dropped.  Was Steadfast even speaking of the same report?  He was quite sure he’d been very explicit about his failures when he’d written it.  “Or is there something you wish to add?  Why else come all the way here in pony?”              “There is, sir,” Brightblade murmured.  “A personal apology.”              “I hardly think one necessary,” Steadfast replied.  “But go on.”              “It’s about your student, Emberglow.  I… I hated her, sir.  I persecuted her, made all sorts of accusations, argued with her judgement.  There were times I became irrational, emotional, and even violent, and she defied me.  She was right to do so, sir.  I was so sure it was a sign she was a heretic.  That she had somehow been tainted by her mission before mine.  I was sure you had been deceived by her as well, and that you were a fool for trusting her, and sending her with me to Manehatten.”              “What changed your mind?” Steadfast asked.              “She saved my life, sir, by sacrificing her own,” Brightblade admitted.  “I know the report officially lists her as missing in action, but I don’t believe she could have survived the explosion I saw.  She took on a heretic veteran, somepony who would probably have defeated me, to give me and the others a chance to escape.”  He paused, looking up at his patient mentor.  Steadfast’s face was a mask of polite concern.  “I… I feel so guilty, sir.  I have done her a wrong, and you as well for not trusting you.”  He fell silent, waiting for the judgement he was sure he deserved.               “Hmm,” Steadfast pursed his lips thoughtfully.  He moved to where Brightblade stood, stiff and bowed.  Brightblade nearly flinched away when a gentle, comforting hoof touched his chin and lifted his gaze.  “Your suspicion may have been wrong, my young friend, but it was not sinful.”              “Sir?” Brightblade asked, confused.              “Even now, I believe there are traitors in the ranks of the Knights,” Steadfast said, his voice low and fervent.  “The official line, taught to civilians, is that actual traitors, those who betray our ranks for the Discordant, are rare.  You and I both know better.  Sometimes the masses need to be told a comforting lie, rather than the harsh truths we both bear.”              “What are you talking about, sir?” Brightblade asked.              “Big things are coming, Brightblade.  Changes.  Upheavals.”  Steadfast turned and backed away, his voice light and tentative.  “I need somepony like you.  Somepony who is suspicious.  Skeptical.”              “You need me, sir?” Brightblade whispered.  He shivered, both from the unfamiliarly cold air and the sudden sensation of both excitement and dread.  “What for?”              “I need ponies I can trust.  Ponies I am absolutely sure are not traitors in the ranks, Brightblade.  I know you were suspicious of Emberglow, but I honestly thought she could be one of those ponies.  Now she is gone.  There are vicious traitors that want to drive wedges of suspicion and hatred between us all.”  Steadfast suddenly turned back to face Brightblade, his eyes alight with intensity.              “Y-you can trust me, sir,” Brightblade affirmed, stammering at the sudden thrill of fear he felt.  “You’ve always been a support for me.  Ever since you took an interest in me while I was in the Seminary, you’ve been there every step of my Knighthood.”              “I need you to know you can trust me, too,” Steadfast returned.  Brightblade was nodding before he even finished speaking.              “I do, sir.”              “Oh?” Steadfast asked.  “But you doubted Emberglow.  A pony I suggested, and put under your command.”  Once again guilt stabbed through Brightblade’s heart, tearing its way through him.               “No!  I, uh…” Brightblade reeled, grasping for a way to refute the accusation.              “Don’t worry, Brightblade.  We all have moments of weakness,” Steadfast interrupted.  “I would like to know, though, what made you doubt Emberglow?  Or rather, who?”              Brightblade’s heart froze, and he stopped breathing.  Brightblade knew exactly who had made him doubt Emberglow’s loyalty.  He knew very well, because the pony in charge of investigating Emberglow after her last ill-fated mission had been his sister Hollybright.  What was Steadfast suggesting?              “Tell me, Brightblade,” Steadfast whispered, stepping closer to Brightblade so their muzzles were nearly touching.  Steadfast’s eyes bored into him, practically reading his thoughts and laying his soul bare.  “How close are you to your sister?”