There are multiple reasons for both animals and monsters to avoid this part of the forest, not all of which came from the ponies -- but some of those associations help to keep the area clear. Evolution allows the survivors of encounters to pass on desired traits, and some base level of knowledge can be granted to the youngest in the form of instinct. It means there's quite a few species across the continent who don't react well to the sight of sparkles in the air, along with a number who treat any thunderstorm as the potential first wave of an attack. Add that to the unnatural sight of the gatehouse, something both clearly constructed and stinking of ponies, and the majority of the midrange predators have decided to steer clear for a while.
It isn't just that, of course. The neurocypher's body has been removed: both shell and meat can be key potion ingredients, and that's something where all one hundred kraals in Pundamilia Makazi will talk trade -- although The Three tend to feel that the selling party should settle for a price of 'And you may get out alive.' But a dying neurocypher, one brought down by violence, will release a pheromone with its last breath, and there were still traces of that in the forest. A signal which lurked below the level which could be detected by pony senses. (The girl, who doesn't know what the pheromone is for, would simply register it as something odd.) Neurocyphers are solitary hunters: they never work in packs, sometimes quarrel over desirable territory, come together just long enough to breed, and any offspring are on their own from the moment of birth -- but there is one way in which they cooperate, and it only comes upon their demise.
The pheromone tells every other neurocypher that there's something in the area which can kill them. It has a way of discouraging claims for what would otherwise be a newly-open territory. And for the species which can register that scent, have some instinctive awareness of what it might mean... well, they know there aren't any neurocyphers around, and the question of just what managed that is going to haunt them for a while.
It will be some time before the normal range of carnivores returns to this part of the forest, and the two mares who are just stepping out of the gatehouse (almost at the exact moment of local dawn, and the little alicorn has been caught yawning) on a chill late autumn morning have been afforded some protection. However, each feels herself to be fairly capable of looking out for her own safety. (The librarian has spent a few years learning when to ask for help, while the performer spends the majority of her travels in solitude and has already learned that when calling out in desperate search of aid, the air doesn't respond.) With the two of them together, a pair of rare magic-related talents more-or-less united for a single purpose... it could be said that anything in the forest which still wants to take a chance on that meal might remain conscious exactly long enough to regret it.
In that view, the Guards who emerge behind them might be seen as unnecessary. In the best case, redundant. And in reality, they're here because with these two mares, there's a very real chance that any major attack could lead to fourteen seconds of excited discussion regarding exactly which spell would be best to use, followed by a lot of bleeding because the brief debate used up all the time available for actually casting any of them.
The little alicorn slowly advanced on the scrap of fabric, which was fluttering somewhat in the forest's breeze. It was dirty now: carrying particles of dirt and fragments of leaves, with a stain worked into the knot around the bark -- but it was still cloth, and that made it easy to distinguish.
She took a few careful steps forward and, because she was so small, what had been a low branch for the centaur wound up involving some rather awkward craning of the librarian's neck, along with a few mostly-unhelpful wing flaps in the hopes of getting a little extra height without actually having to rear up. Rearing up meant eventually crashing back down again and besides, her teacher in all things flight always wanted her to practice.
The performer hung back, staying about six body lengths behind. Watched, and a twitch of corona adjusted her cape into a shield against the chill. It was clearly meant to come across as a dramatic twirl of fabric, and mostly wound up serving as a lumpy drape across two well-packed saddlebags.
"Any reason?" she called ahead. Followed by, with a mix of merry sarcasm and genuine curiosity, "Or is this one of those alicorn things which a mere unicorn wouldn't --"
"-- it's as close as I've come," the librarian quietly said. "To her. I wanted to know what it smelled like." A little more softly, "Tirek had a scent. It was..." Purple eyes briefly closed, and her forehooves dropped back into natural mulch. "...unique. And the larger he got, the stronger it became. Ponyville reeked of it. For weeks. The pegasi did what they could, but there's still times when I find an pocket of undisturbed air. Or I'll see another pony go through one. It's faded, but... it's still enough to set off the memories. And then some of them react all over again."
The performer did something which would have surprised those who thought they knew her. She kept her silence.
"I wanted to see if she smelled like him," the little alicorn finished. "I had to know."
"Does she?"
(The Guards fanned out to secure the perimeter, making no noise and pretending they weren't there.)
"It smells like dirt and leaves," the librarian half-grumbled. "It's been here too long. And I've never had the best sense of smell to start with."
The performer automatically smirked, began to advance. "Well," she proudly announced, "where an alicorn snout has failed, let the world see if the Great And Powerful --"
Light flowed from the librarian's horn, located a small dead branch among the leaves.
"-- ow!" The unicorn mare rubbed at her freshly-bopped snout. "Twilight, do you have any idea how annoying that is?"
"Yes," the librarian calmly replied. "That's why I do it every time you go third-person. Because it's annoying. Come over and take a sniff if you want to. I'm just not sure if it'll do any good."
The taller mare muttered to herself, and greyish-tinged magenta projected from horn to saddlebags as she approached. "Fine..."
Twilight moved aside. The unicorn stepped in.
"Dirt and leaves," she announced after a moment -- followed by a squint. "But there's something else."
"Centaur scent?"
"I don't think so." Light rummaged a little more, and a magnifying glass emerged from the right saddlebag. Examination occurred.
"It's a weird weave," the unicorn decided. "I haven't seen that with any normal fibers."
Twilight sighed. "For whatever that's worth. But I don't think it's going to put us any closer to getting her out of here."
"I'm still taking a picture," the performer announced. "With the magnifying lens." Rummaging resumed.
"Go ahead. I'm just going to look around the area."
The little alicorn began to slowly trot away. Every few steps saw her stop, test the air with unlit horn.
"I don't even know why we're here," she eventually muttered. "All of the residue's faded by now. There isn't a device in the world which could still pick up the faintest trace, and I know nothing living could do it. What are we supposed to learn by looking at the arrival site?"
"Whatever we can," the performer firmly said.
"I don't think that's anything. It's too late. We'd be better off in the basement, trying to think of something based on the evidence from the original team."
"We can think anywhere." The performer's tone had gone soft. "You've had to think in a hurry on missions. I've... got the road. It's always the road, and there's been too many times when I wasn't the only thing on it. Think outside the lab."
The little alicorn began to pace. Small hooves steadily cut a deepening groove into fallen leaves.
"New fabric." It was as good a place as any to begin. "We could take a sample. Show it to Rarity. See if she can replicate it." The slim head slowly shifted back and forth. "It would give her a challenge. Something she can think about, other than..."
Twilight stopped. The performer waited.
"...other than the fact that she's been pushing off a commission from the palace," the librarian reluctantly finished. "That's one of her dreams: to do custom work for the palace. And they reached out to her, and she's just been making excuses. Invoking customers she doesn't have, just to put it off a little longer. Because she'd have to go in for that one -- well, you know her: she's not just going to take the word of somepony else's measurements! It would mean seeing her, and..."
The performer was often grandiose, and that falsely. Egotistical, although some of that was stagecraft. She could easily seize control of a conversation, dominate to the point where multiple fields would try to clamp around her jaw just to let somepony else get a word in.
But the unicorn had gone through her own nightmare: a torture which had begun as something willfully self-imposed, right up until the moment when her will had no longer been her own. It had taught her a certain amount of patience. And besides, any performer who wanted to make a career of it needed to learn when to let the audience do most of the work.
"...it's not just Rarity," Twilight reluctantly finished. "It's Fluttershy."
"Still," Trixie quietly said. "I'm going to cut off a small piece of this. If you think it's safe."
Which got a distracted nod. "It's always Fluttershy these days. As soon as Rarity tries for the palace, she's going to have an assistant." The imitation was expert, and a little bit more. "'...I've watched the Boutique for you a few times, I've been your model, and I just have all this freaky knowledge of sewing! Isn't it better if there's two of us?' Because it's an excuse, any excuse to get in the palace and try to find -- her. Only if it was the dress, a dress for a party, Fluttershy could go right up to her and she knows it."
Scissors went to work. The results were carefully sealed in a glass vial.
"Trying to get out of a palace commission," Twilight softly sighed. "But it's Fluttershy. It's... harder to say no to her now, so Rarity's just avoiding the chance. And it's Sweetie, because Rarity was just close enough to see where Sweetie was, right before..."
Her eyes closed again, and the pacing stopped.
The performer put the vial away, glanced back at the alicorn. "You never said what you were all going to try against Tirek."
Without looking, "It was stupid." Her legs went back into motion, leading her in blind circles. "This is all so stupid. Summoners? There's barely anything in the Archives about that kind of magic! How are we supposed to figure out what could have gone wrong, or right, when the Princesses don't want us trying any of those spells just yet, not without --" and the quotes dropped into place around the next word like a cross between prison bars and a guillotine's blades "-- 'supervision.' And if the casters were trying for a centaur, then why haven't they --" stopped, shook her head again. "-- no. I know what the answer is there. They haven't tried to get her because of the palace. Nopony would want to try getting in --"
"-- you're wrong."
It had been a statement, and the calm, factual nature of the words was what got her eyes open again.
There was just enough anger to pick up on and with Twilight, that generally meant there was a lot more lurking below the surface. "What do you mean, I'm wrong?"
"Deliberately summoning a centaur after Tirek would be insane," the performer stated. "When you've committed to insanity, you don't give up that easily. Because you've done one crazy thing, so you've already gone past the boundaries. And if that insanity failed, then you have to justify it. Because if you don't, then..." The blue fur shivered. "...you have to stop. As soon as you stop, you have to account for whatever you tried. But if you keep going, then you're pushing it off. You do the second crazy thing to make sure the first was worth it, and then you do something else, and something else, all so you never have to stop and think." Her head was beginning to dip. "The more you do, the harder it is to stop, because part of you knows what's going to happen. That you can't explain it to yourself, not once you're thinking again. You'll do anything to keep going, no matter how bad it gets. Because anything's better than looking at yourself. Anything."
"And you'd know," demanded a future lesson waiting to write its scroll.
The streaked tail dropped into the leaves.
"Yeah," Trixie Lulamoon answered, as her left forehoof touched her sternum. There was still a little discoloration there, if you looked for it: just a slight twist to the fur, and the skin beneath. Something which was still healing, because metal and madness had left their own mark. "I would."
Twilight blinked.
"...sorry." And it wasn't enough.
Trixie sighed. When you were a little older, somewhat wiser, and had a lot of probation time left, sighing could be the best response.
"Let's just keep looking around. They wouldn't want us out here if they didn't think there was something we could still find."
The mares continued their inspection. A map was brought out. The distance to nearby settled zones was measured, followed by a quick examination of clipped news articles, looking for signs of disturbance in the region at the time of summoning. Leaves were overturned. Several startled bugs wound up being inspected for magical contamination, and were then sent on their way.
But there were no traces of magic left to feel. The impressions of what had been believed to have been the centaur's first steps had been preserved, but all that told them was the direction she'd been moving in upon arrival. Dried blood drawn by a badly-angled branch had flecked away well over a moon ago.
"Let's try the occlugraph again," Trixie proposed.
Twilight nodded, trotted back into the gatehouse. After a moment, the doors opened again, and the glass floated out ahead of her.
It was roughly seven times larger than the standard occlugraph: the usual pane of glass would fit comfortably between a pony's outstretched forelegs, and trained eyes would have little trouble tracing the trail of deep scratches in the glass. There would be traces of color at the bottom of the little channels: hues which were usually a match for the caster's natural field hue. Width could be an indication of power, curves and angles demonstrated intent. A few spells were known to form unique patterns.
It took moons of study to learn how to read an occlugraph, and there were those who never mastered it. But these were mares whose marks and talents related to magic itself: one for comprehension, the other for innovation. It made the subject a little simpler for both, and it also had the potential to turn them into one of the most formidable research teams the world had ever seen.
(The Princesses had done a lot in the name of repairing the relationship. They also had Spike sending in food regularly, and had issued the little dragon reins so he could drag them off to bed before the 'we can get in three more hours' fainting began.)
Ponies usually had to learn how to read an occlugraph: that mark was one of the rarest known. But there had been an expert called in for this one, fairly early on. Luna's chosen devices had been connected to a fourth, the results had been transcribed onto glass, and the stallion had spent a full six hours trying to sort through it all. The resulting migraine had escalated accordingly.
A normal occlugraph would consist of a single scratch winding its way across the glass, with just one hint of color. This pane looked like the surface of Pinkie's favorite ice-skating pond after most of Ponyville had dragged ink-coated blades across its surface.
Very few of the settled zone's residents actually knew how to skate, but that just helped to explain all of the little gouges, along with most of the places where it seemed as if miniature ponies had spun out. And then you had the colors: just about all muddy browns, but with tiny hints of brighter things within the river...
"Does it make any more sense?" Trixie eventually asked, doing so at the exact moment she felt her eyes beginning to water. "Looking at it here, where it happened?"
"No," Twilight firmly stated. "And the more I look at this, the more I think we need a summoning spell. Even if the Princesses won't let us try one, they could always cast a minor version themselves. Get the pattern for it, show us what that looks like. We don't even have to be there when they do it, and then we could at least try to pick it out of this mess."
Her gaze tried to follow the channels, became lost in cross-cuts and wild spirals, nearly surrendered --
"-- wait..."
The librarian squinted. Trixie's field went for the magnifying glass again.
"What is it?"
"This bit here -- this color -- oh, thank you..." Custody was transferred. "Do you see it? It's just about a single grain, but... it's sort of a mint green."
"There's just about every color in here," Trixie pointed out. "Where you can see color at all. What's so special about mint green?"
"I'm not sure," Twilight admitted. "It just..." She squinted again. "...looked familiar..."
She stared through the lens. Sighed, and carefully set the glass down among the leaves.
"I'm going to ask for that summoning occlugraph," she announced. "The very next scroll. They at least have to give us that. They can try to summon a kitten or something. Anything harmless."
The little alicorn took a slow breath.
"They say she's harmless," the librarian slowly tried. "And they sent us out here in case there was anything they'd missed..."
The performer, a little older and wiser, remained silent. The alicorn began to pace again.
She'd been shown pictures of the one whom the palace described as the victim. They all had. In the course of her research, she looked at one of those images at least once per day.
Trixie, who'd been halfway across the continent at the time, occasionally claimed to see a very different kind of centaur. But Twilight had examined the pictures, over and over. It was never enough to take away the horns.
Nearly all of the images held by fast-yellowing newspapers were in black and white, because that was less expensive to print. Some of the private shots captured by Canterlot photographers were in color, and a number of those ponies had held their ground (or sky) for a surprisingly long time. There was a delusion which crossed worlds: one which said that if you were taking a picture of an event, then it either had to leave you alone or, at the absolute maximum, would take a moment to pose while looking for more helpful lighting. (The girl was fully familiar with that portion of insanity, because every human who tried to get a picture of a fast-galloping braless centaur with a phone held up to a gap in house curtains worshiped at its altar.) It was a belief which had kept cameras in place for far longer than normal ponies should have dared to remain.
The little knight had brought in the pictures for her, because it had been time or rather, there had been time with nothing else to fill it. Her training seemed to have been concluded, the armor was finished, language studies were being held off until the evening, and she didn't want to face the sketchbook again: not when the most vital image still wouldn't allow itself to assemble on the page. Nightwatch wasn't quite ready for bed after finishing her shift, and so the morning had found the girl looking for something to do together in the scant hours before her only friend (the one she'd hurt just through existing, the friend she didn't deserve) would be asleep again.
So it had been time, because if she was going to see the face of the one she hated, it might as well be now. It was something to do. It was also the chance to gain a focus for the slow-boiling rage towards the one who'd destroyed her chance. And if her reaction to viewing the face of an uncaring murderer was something which grounded itself in shameful inner fire...
She'd admitted that to Nightwatch, just before the pegasus had gone for the pictures. She hadn't wanted to, but she'd needed to explain why she'd stalled so long, she owed the little knight much more than simple truths, and shame became all the worse when someone -- somepony else knew you were feeling it. But Nightwatch had reacted to the horrible admission with a flare of confusion, and...
Cerea picked up the largest of the color prints. Held it with fingers gingerly gripping the farthest possible edge, and raised it to eye level.
"Um..." the little knight ventured. "So. Um. Now that you see him, do you -- um. Do you want --"
Firmly, "Not even once. Not if he was the last stallion in the world. The only stallion in the world." There were human jokes about final pairings, none of them ever seemed to recognize the inevitability of genetic collapse and even if that somehow hadn't been a factor, to look at Tirek was to choose extinction.
"Are you..." The little knight's hover adjusted to be somewhat closer, and the wind produced by wingbeats provided the mercy of blowing a few pictures away. "...angry? Because ponies think you're the same as him, when you look so different?"
"Sexual dimorphism again," Cerea sighed. (She wasn't quite ready to set the picture down yet. Some hatreds needed to be memorized.) "Remember when the Doctors Bear were ready to try and sell that at the press conference? Some of the liminal species really do have it. The orcs are pretty bad that way. But nothing's worse than the trolls."
"Um. Something about bipeds who look sort of like they're made from -- soft rocks?"
"Well, the men are trolls," the girl tried to explain. "The women are trollops --" She paused, waited until the wire's hissing stopped. "-- never mind."
"No, I got the last part," Nightwatch managed to smile. "But with Tirek?"
She searched for the most appropriate word. The hunt didn't take long.
"He looks like a baboon." Quickly, "Do you have --"
"-- yes. I've seen them in a zoo. Um. Once. Most of the simian species are in zebra territory. They're very careful about what they allow to leave the borders. So most ponies won't be familiar with them." The little knight shook her head. "Which isn't the worst thing, because most of what I saw them do was fling -- um. Fling... um. Fling. They fling things. And some of them were -- um..." Feathers vibrated from sheer embarrassment. "Nopony ever wants to see them more than once. They're horrible. Maybe every simian species is. None of them are sapient, and I don't think they ever could be."
A number of textbooks raced through Cerea's mind, with every last page pausing just long enough to laugh at her. The vocal end of it emerged as "Um..."
Nightwatch glanced at her. "What?"
...I can't explain.
I could never explain.
There were evolutionary biologists having nervous breakdowns on the first day when the gaps opened. Some of them switched to creationism on the spot because the only way to explain all of us was if there was a divine power in charge which wanted to do nothing more than prove them wrong.
...anyway, if you looked at one of the great apes and then spotted your first human, you wouldn't see it.
I don't even know how centaurs evolved. There's a creation myth, but there aren't any fossils --
-- actually, keeping the gaps secret would have meant any fossils were destroyed...
"...nothing," was her only answer, because there were times when she owed Nightwatch more than the truth, and there were also a few where the truth was just too complicated.
The little knight blinked twice. Slowed her wings, and carefully touched down. Silver eyes regarded the spread of pictures and articles on the barracks' little table.
"You're right, though," the pegasus decided. "He does look like a baboon. None of your males look like that?"
"I'll sketch one later," Cerea promised. "And there's no horns." She bent somewhat, carefully set the picture down on the too-low surface. "That one where he's almost skeletal. When was that taken?"
"After Discord beat him," Nightwatch explained. "I told you he got bigger as he pulled more magic in. That's what he looks like when he doesn't have any power. His base state."
Ugly and old...
It was something which didn't change much across the images. After some examination, it was possible to see just how much power Tirek had accumulated just through the shade of the fur: for the color images, magic absorption brought the strands steadily closer to red. The length of the horns (and why horns?) was another indicator, as was overall muscular development. But when she looked at the background, used that to infer size...
From what Cerea could see, the stolen power had allowed a number of laws to be violated. Square-cube was clearly one of them. She didn't think Tirek would have been able to get around the one about excess muscle restricting joint movement quite so casually. If she had somehow been on his scale, able to charge in...
There's ways to attack him. I don't think he's double-jointed and with the trapezius that swollen, he can't even look around completely. Go at him from a little behind, where his arms can't reach --
There were pictures in which the magic had made him fit, or overly so: a parody of what fitness could be, even more than some of her own stallions. (Those in her herd at least tried to make sure they always had a full motion range available for arm wrestling.) But the age was never far away, the ugliness was a constant, and when she looked at his eyes...
She had been prepared to see intelligence. But the only thing reflected back to her from the photographs was darkness. Pools of ink with tiny yellow floating islands of malice.
The images saw him swollen with power. Reveling in the world's despair. Forever taking, never caring, and always, eternally, ugly.
A body which matched the soul.
"There's going to be a picture in the Hall Of Legends, in a few moons," Nightwatch told her. "It's already started. It's just taking a while because... um. Because nopony ever tried to make Discord look heroic before. All of his pictures there are from... before. So the new one kind of has to carry a lot."
Cerea nodded.
Someone who was the enemy once.
Someone they're trying to honor. To heal.
He fought for something...
"I should put the pictures back," the little knight decided. "The palace has a lot of little reading rooms, and places where... um. Where information is stored. But these were mostly from one of the smaller libraries. I don't think you've been there yet. Do you want to come?"
It was something to do while she waited for the verdict, because training was over and so judgment was due. Something which was going to be rendered any hour now, and then...
...the forge. They would let her have part of the forge, at least for a while. Until she made a mistake.
"Yes."
It would make things easier on Nightwatch, at least. Most of the pictures had reinforced corners to create places suitable for tooth grips, but... hands had their advantages.
Eight hooves trotted through mostly-empty halls. Every so often, a staff pony would spot an approaching centaur, and then the closest available door would be used to make the halls a little emptier. It was leaving a few ponies in restrooms, but at least those who also found bile in their throats had immediate access to sinks and trenches.
"Could a changeling try to look like Tirek? To frighten ponies?" Changelings had been one of the Sergeant's final lessons, and no cooperative willing participant had been available. Cerea hadn't been all that surprised by their existence: there were liminal species which knew how to work with illusion. And when it came to how the changelings did it...
"Um." Nightwatch thought it over. "It's a good question. Most of them sort of mold everything to their own bodies, because they can't fool the environment. Just the senses for whoever can see them. So even if they could made themselves look a lot bigger, nothing's going to be knocked over when they swing out an arm they don't have. And most of them tried to stay the same size during the big fight. Even Chrysalis was trying to pass herself off as somepony who was taller than normal." More consideration furrowed the black fur of the brow. "I guess they could do it, but they probably couldn't keep it up for long. Especially the weak ones, who can only trick sight. They wouldn't even be able to make their hooves sound like there was more weight behind them. You pick up on that sort of thing pretty fast. During my part of the battle, they were trying to make themselves look like Guards. So we'd be afraid to attack, just in case we got one of our own."
The little knight got ahead as they neared an intersection, tilted her head towards the left branch. Cerea turned accordingly.
"What did you do?" Her approaching failure wouldn't exactly eliminate the chance of a second attempt, or a strike by another hive. Knowing about tactics remained important.
Nightwatch snorted. "Just about none of them remembered that ponies fighting in armor make noise. Once we started relying on our ears over our eyes, they went down pretty fast. And there's a smell. It didn't mean much for us in a big battle because the smell was everywhere, but changelings smell. The ones who can only trick sight can't hide their scent either. Did the Sergeant --"
"-- he gave me some shed chitin," Cerea admitted. "It still had some of the reek." And then he'd hidden pieces of lost black shells all over the training grounds, to see how long it took her to track them all down.
With faint amazement, "...you can pick up on that? I thought it faded fast after we got the pieces out of that one pit we found... oh, of course you can do it. Can you tell where the library room is just by sniffing for paper?"
"There's still air currents involved." She managed a smile, and was careful not to let it show teeth. "And those are a little strange in most of the palace. I think it's because of the way you do climate control. And when there's just about always somepony flying -- like right now. I can't smell anypony coming up behind us, but there's definitely wingbeats on the way." She automatically got ready to duck her head.
Big wings. Almost on Papi's scale, but stronger --
-- and worked it out one second after the cool hooves landed behind her, tapping silver against marble.
"Good," the voice of royalty half-yawned. "You have been located. One would normally presume that a form so unique would be easier to find, but the rules change when that body is mobile. Exactly where were you --" which was presumably when royalty caught sight of what was pressed between Cerea's fingers. "-- ah. Well, I shall not detain you for very long. This will be brief."
And she knew.
There was only one reason for the dark mare to come looking for her. Just one and even in the Equestrian language, the syllable took very little time to say.
Slowly, Cerea made herself turn. There didn't seem to be quite enough hallway available for it, and she heard Nightwatch quickly flap away from twisting hindquarters.
The younger Princess looked... tired. Some degree of natural weariness could have been reasonably expected, because Cerea knew about the dark mare's natural hours. Royalty was all too close to its bedtime, and that could have a visible effect -- but this was beyond that.
There was no scent of sweat rising from the fur, or a single hint of froth: nothing suggesting exertion had been involved -- and from what Cerea had learned, overextending a magical effort could express itself in physical effects. The mare simply looked as if she had been thinking. Doing almost nothing except thinking, and maintaining that horrendous level of hideous necessity for an entire night. When combined with the cessation of Cerea's training, it provided a certain suggestion for the topic.
The dark mare was tired, with faint lines creasing fur under weary eyes. And there was a field bubble bobbing along next to her left flank, with the natural color of the energies making it hard to see what was inside.
"For you," she stated, and floated it forward -- then took another look at what Cerea was carrying. "Ah. After you put those away, then." Which was followed by a small snort. "Somewhere. Nightwatch, if you would take custody? A species which fails to use saddlebags, wearing a style which is rather short on pockets. At the very least, somepony will need to find some way of outfitting you with a courier's pouch. Although slinging the strap across the upper torso may encounter --"
Careful teeth nipped the pictures away from Cerea's fast-numbing fingers.
"-- but that is a matter for another day. On this morning..."
The bubble crossed the remaining distance, waited. Cerea carefully raised her arms, straining to keep them from shaking, brought them together above her breasts to prevent squeezing, one more thing which could make her look and feel stupid among humans and it never seemed to matter that the ponies didn't know...
The corona winked out, and the bubble's contents dropped onto the girl's tight-pressed hands.
Cerea stared.
"You will need to sign," the dark mare stated. "In three places. Nightwatch will show you where. And read the contents to you, of course, as none should ever sign a form before knowing exactly what it contains." With open irritation, "A rule which far too many fail to recognize, followed by attempting to defend their willful ignorance in court. But as this is the same contract she signed, familiarity will allow her to offer assistance."
The little ink bottle vibrated on the girl's left palm, as did the quill. Papers threatened to overflow the other.
"Additionally," the alicorn continued, "there are tax forms. Somepony neglected to deliver them to you when your training began. I have taken the liberty of filling in that section for you, as I am familiar with the numbers involved. There will be two signatures involved there. In all cases, I encourage you to use your own written language, as that is the most legally binding." With a small head tilt to the left, "Presuming you wish to sign, of course. The choice remains yours."
...right. A smith draws a salary. There's probably a privacy clause, or something swearing me to secrecy about the steel --
"And," the mare added, "this is but the legal aspect of matters. Should you choose to sign, I will expect you in my throne room at half an hour past Moon-raising. In full armor, with your sword, in front of the assembled Lunar Guards, to swear your oath." The head tilt subtly increased. "The sword is in transit at this time and should be in the barracks well before Sun-lowering. You will be told about the measures we have taken to store and secure it within the palace at that time. Please memorize the combination to the safe, and no matter how frustrating the dials may be, do not hit the clockwork. It has already been rebalanced. Three times."
I...
She was holding her dream.
I...
Full armor. In front of the entire Lunar Guard. Swearing her oath.
She was distantly aware of the sound produced by small hooves shifting over and over again at her side. Nightwatch was just about cantering in place.
I...
no...
...I don't deserve...
...I failed so many times, three out of ten, maybe it got to four but that's six spells past me and she would be dead, the Princess would be dead...
...the other Guards could cover for me, try to back me up, but they're still not used to working with me. They don't know how I fail. Maybe they could keep me from making the last mistake, or save her if I did something wrong, but... if it's ever just me with her, if there's nopony else...
...they're only doing this because they can't make it look like they made the wrong decision, they took a chance on me and they have to justify it in front of the nation and the press, this is a forced pass, it's like the exchange program pushing Papi through even when her grades are bad because they have to make it seem like the program works...
...this is wrong...
The dark mare's gaze moved back to center, and... Cerea wasn't sure just what she was looking at. She didn't think the alicorn knew how to read all of her expressions, wasn't familiar enough with centaur scents to gauge that way, her tail was as still as she could make it and surely nopony knew what to make of shaking shoulders...
"You have the day to think about it, of course," the alicorn said. "But I would ask that you send the paperwork ahead, as I would prefer to avoid the experience of a ceremony with a single missing piece. Should you choose not to join, the papers required for the smithy are at the bottom of the stack. I understand that Barding informed you of the 'fallback' position ahead of time, and that he is rather proud of himself for having done so." With another small snort, "He gained another piece of information well before I found you, and the results should be awaiting you now. I presume he managed to finish the basic task, even in the midst of his disappointment. But you are of course free to assist him part-time in a few of your off-hours, with a corresponding boost to your salary --" and her tones went low, dropping into the realm of half-echoed warning "-- as long as you do not flirt with the edge of exhaustion again. Do I make myself clear?"
She nodded. She was capable of nodding to that. It wasn't committing to anything else and the palace policy about working too many hours had already been explained, so nodding was possible.
"Gratifying," the dark mare stated. "So after you return images and articles, report to the smithy. Because if you are going to attend in full armor, this would be an excellent time to make sure it all fits. And following the ceremony -- again, should you choose to attend -- we will need to see about making you a Lunar 'the hard way' or rather, in the most old-fashioned one. Because that is the only means available." With one last snort, "This may be the first time I have ever been thankful for the swill which some mistakenly call 'coffee.' Good day to you both."
And without another word, the alicorn turned. Trotted away, with every star in the tail twinkling steadily across the breadth of the massive yawn.
Cerea stared. It was all she could do, because chasing after the mare to explain about the horrible mistake would breach all etiquette, it was something which had to be managed in privacy and Nightwatch was right there --
"Lunar!" There were very few aspects of the pegasus which came across as birdlike: every shift of legs or head was something equine, along with every movement of the tail. It came as something of a shock to realize the little knight had the capacity to crow. "I was hoping for Lunar! They're going to keep us together, Cerea!" And now it was cantering, hooves outright dancing upon the marble as wings added their own rustle to the growing beat. "You made it! You're the first non-pony in the Guard in -- well, you know!" Quickly, "Not the only one on staff, not right now. There's Yapper. And a couple of griffons. We don't have a potioneer right now, so we've been ordering from a zebra in the city because after Tirek, our last one went home. Um. There's one yak. I don't know much about the yak, because she's Solar. Somepony said her daughter is really nice. But the first non-pony Guard after so many years --" the sounds of cantering hooves had stopped, mostly because the wings were now moving quickly enough for takeoff "-- and it's you. the first centaur Guard, I was hoping you were going to make it but I didn't want to say anything because jinxes --"
Lunar.
Keeping me with her.
Nightwatch could try to cover for Cerea's mistakes, at least for a while. But if the error was crucial...
Keeping me in the shadows. Out of sight.
...which was just another word for 'fatal'.
"-- and your armor! We've got to get you into your armor! Putting the pictures back first, because that's what the Princess said and you have to follow orders now, but then it's the armor!"
Knights wear armor.
I'm not...
"Cerea?"
She didn't say anything. To risk a single word would have been to release everything unspoken.
"You're not moving."
The papers felt cold in her hands.
"We should really get going. I have to sleep soon, especially if I'm going to be fresh for the ceremony! And you need to -- oh, no..." The little knight groaned. "Lunar the hard way. That's what the Princess meant! You can't use any of the potions! So the only way to make you a Lunar in a hurry is... oh, we have to go into the kitchens. All of the kitchens. I don't know if there's enough coffee!"
Was the ink frozen? An inkwell that small really shouldn't have so much weight to it. Maybe ink was denser here. Or it was just the glass.
"Cerea?"
A breeze ripped the top length of her skirt. The crest of a metal helmet pressed against the small of her upper back.
Cautiously, "You should really move. We don't have a lot of time..."
The pressure increased.
"You're -- kind of hard to move... Oh, and then there's the party to think about! Do you have any idea what you'd want for a dress?"
Afterwards, she was never certain as to just how she'd reached the smithy. She just knew that the pictures and articles were no longer with them (because Nightwatch was still at her side), so there had probably been a stop along with the way.
The smithy itself was empty, at least for pony presence. It was still somewhat too early in the morning to expect Barding without a major project under way, or if he wasn't twisting his own hours to match a few more of Cerea's. But he'd been there at some point, and... whether he'd been grumbling all the way through the last task or not (and Cerea was having a hard time picturing any other reaction), he'd finished.
The completed pieces of armor had been carefully placed against the far wall, under the most densely-packed shelf of bone. Bright and gleaming with the false silver which had risen from the chemical wash. The purple of the fleur de lis stood out especially well, especially next to the gleam of a newly-made Lunar insignia. Something which rested alone upon the floor.
"Don't put that on," drifted up to Cerea's half-wilted ears. "You bring it with you to the ceremony. Princess Luna will mount it."
The girl was in front of the doorway, because long legs couldn't quite seem to find the momentum required to enter. It let the little knight trot past her.
"But you need to check the rest," the pegasus happily declared. "Put it all on now, make sure everything fits. That it all goes together and stays that way. You might want to take a test gallop in it, if you haven't tried that yet. And you'll have to put it all on yourself, because it's probably been secured already."
"Secured," emerged as something hollow.
Nightwatch was too excited to notice. "It's something we do with everypony's -- everyone's armor! Because we're wearing metal and even if there aren't that many unicorns who can lift us while we're wearing it, there's plenty who can just twist on a helmet and send it out of alignment! Make it hard to see, or wrench somepony's neck if it's really bad. So there's a securing enchantment. It means fields which are being used for movement just slide off. Only authorized casters can move armor with a corona, and that's Guards, a few ponies on the palace staff, and the Princesses. It's just one more form of protection. Come on! I want to see what you look like in it!"
She didn't know how she'd reached the smithy. She had even less of a concept as to why she was now inside. Perhaps it was simply not wanting to disappoint her friend, not when it came to something small.
The armor could be put on without failing. She was almost certain of that. She'd tested the pieces one by one, she'd even done a few partial assemblies to make sure it all went together -- but she hadn't put all of it on, because that was what knights did and this wasn't meant to be training armor. It was protection for a warrior -- no, for a Guard, and Nightwatch's aura had already told her that was just a knight under another name.
If the armor was flawed, then it suited her.
If it was perfect, then she didn't deserve...
She put the papers down, well away from the ashes of the cooled forge. Found a place for inkwell and quill, then trotted forward. Long legs folded, brought her to the floor, and numb hands reached for the first piece.
It wasn't a fast process. Some sections needed to be interlocked. Joints were tested, from outside and in. A few strategic metal pins were placed, then twisted until they clicked into place.
"...and then there's the locker room! Because they'll have to give you a locker. Um. Which is going to be a bigger locker than anypony else's. ...are you okay with putting this on in front of everypony? And taking it off? I mean, you've got all this padding underneath. It's thicker than ours, but we mostly use some cushioning effects. And you'll still be dressed, unless that means you'll get too hot. Is this too hot?"
The padding had to be adjusted there and here, to prevent it from bunching. It was the part where she'd done the least, and she could already see where she would need to pull some of it out near the elbows. She shouldn't have asked ponies to deal with elbows.
"The front's a little weird. It makes you look... um... bigger? I mean, we did just order the new -- bras? I think that's the word. Bras -- for you. But it makes you look even bigger than the bras would. If bras do that. I'm not sure. But I guess that makes sense, having it do that. I mean, it's all a shell, right? Guards always look a little bigger in armor."
Metal just about sprang into place across her lower back, because that was what it was designed to do. When dealing with the sheer length of the centaur lower body, double-jointing only went so far. Spring-loading a few of the panels was just about the only way to get that portion into place without help: the awkward part was getting it off again.
Things she'd done before. But never with her own creation, something she'd made. She was waiting for everything to fall away, a single poor decision to escalate into a cascade of crashing failure --
-- but then it was done, or almost so. There was just one piece left, with girl and mare looking at what was in the centaur's hands.
"That's the most different piece," Nightwatch quietly said. "Even when yours has to account for arms. Ours..." Her right forehoof awkwardly came up, managed to contact her own helmet. "...well, it's right here. The sides of our faces are guarded more than the front, because the first designer thought vision was too crucial. But with you..." With open concern, "How much can you really see?"
"Enough." Not enough. "I can lift and lock the visor. It comes down when things are too dangerous to risk exposure. Besides..." and her eyes wanted to close because the chemical wash had created a polish, the metal was reflective now and that meant looking at the helmet also had her looking at...
...herself.
There had been times, lost in isolation with her own herd after her greatest failure, when she'd wondered who she took after. Who she looked like.
She didn't look anything like her mother.
"...nopony wants to see my face."
Her mother was beautiful.
The little knight took a slow breath.
"Put it on, Cerea," the pegasus softly asked. "Just to finish. And stand up. Let me see what a centaur Guard looks like."
She could never comply with the last part of it, because she knew she'd failed: that the Princesses were simply trying to present an illusion, and illusions could kill. But she was still capable of standing, a body stronger than a wavering soul bearing the mass of the metal more easily than the hideous weight of responsibility.
The girl turned slightly, rotating her upper torso as much as she could without twisting her lower body, so that the little knight wouldn't have to see her expression. But then the helmet was lifted high, carefully lowered, locked into the slide of turning joints as the visor was dropped, one final check to see what was left of her vision as she heard wings flare out and flap, the pegasus gaining altitude and --
-- she turned. Faced her only friend, the one she didn't deserve.
And the little knight pulled back.
It happened in an instant. Wings adjusted their hover, scooped for air and thrust. Pushed the black body and silver armor about a meter backwards on instinct alone, and then the pegasus was trying to recover, pretending it hadn't happened -- but the scent was already filling the room.
But the girl understood, and did so instantly. Because the little knight felt that she knew the centaur, was perhaps the only one who had even come close to that singular feat. The pegasus had learned not to be afraid of strange joints and foreign limbs. Perhaps she'd even come to terms with the face, something which a pony could surely only see as ugly: all the right parts in all the wrong proportions.
But those features were gone now. There was a mask of metal, somewhat peaked at the front into a merciless ridge. A dark hollow to allow sight, and shadows concealed whatever might have been within. At the back, just enough of a gap to allow a ponytail free passage -- but to look at the rest of the helmet was to find nothing warm. There was simply cold, featureless, cruel steel.
It was the visage of a monster.
The mare is at her desk. She's already checked the typewriter three times, because the next article will be among the most crucial of her life. Accordingly, she's also checked the liquid level available in the bottle. This also happened three times, and she's wondering if she tipped it a little too much during one of them. There seems to have been something of a drop.
She has her sources. More than she used to, at least for this, because there are those in the palace who are less than content about having to share their workplace with a centaur. On this lone topic, there are new ponies talking to her, and so she knows what's coming. Well ahead of the official announcement, which will be made tomorrow. After the centaur is sworn in, and so it's crucial that her words reach the public before that happens.
In one sense, it's not as if it'll change anything, at least not immediately: the mare recognizes that. The alicorns have made their decision -- had probably made it before that first press conference, and she makes a note to push that angle -- and so the oath will be taken. But even the palace can be pressured by public opinion, and in this case... she just has to tell the public what that opinion should be.
She doesn't think she can force the government to correct its error within a day. A week feels unlikely. But when she looks beyond that...
The mare has her sources. The palace is difficult to enter -- well, some portions are. But with the centaur having been falsely taken into the ranks...
...the centaur will have to leave the palace.
An event. Something designed to force the nobles of Canterlot into publicly pretending that this level of insanity is the new normal. Everypony will know about it, and only a relative few will be able to attend.
Fancypants will control the guest list, and that one is cagier than he allows himself to look. But the centaur will be out in public. The guest of dishonor, a living centerpiece of propaganda.
One noble will be on watch for trickery. But there's all sorts of nobles. And when it comes to parties, what's essentially a public event... the mare knows a few tricks of her own.