[Start Arc - 7]
It is remarkable how swiftly things can return to normal. Only a short while ago chaos reigned, and as everything had been so completely beyond anypony's control and the Royal Sisters were silent, many had despaired in that moment.
But hope had dawned like the glorious sun on a new day. A whirling corona of rainbow light had driven back the insanity, restoring everything to its correct and proper place. Harmony had once again prevailed!
As ponies abruptly found themselves restored to their proper frame of mind, or sitting in the middle of a street which had just been floating, first came shock at the suddenness, then fear that Discord would strike again any second, and then third and finally, joy.
Celebration! Upper and Lower Canterlot, for once there was next to no distinction between the classes as all rejoiced and gave thanks.
Tears were shed as frantic ponies found their loved ones alive and well.
The destruction, the warping, all of it was undone. There wasn't any need for even one of the many statues of Celestia to be repaired. Every single thing, large or small, had been restored to its proper and perfect place.
On the first day, most of pony-colonised Equestria partied long into the night.
On the second day, a good feeling of hope and renewal still pervaded everywhere. A second, unofficial holiday was announced by all non-essential businesses. Meanwhile, messages flew frantically back and forth not just across the whole of the country, but across all borders too.
Assurances, explanations, more assurances, promises, schedules for urgent meetings, yet more assurances, and a push to immediately restart all halted trade.
Here though, even if it didn't become common knowledge until a fair while later, a lingering black stain was caused. Griffonia didn't accept Equestria's reassurance, and essentially blocked all incoming Equestrian trade by rising tariffs so harshly that no pony trader was willing to take the loss.
Not only that, but without further warning the Griffins clamped down on their side of the border, ejecting all visiting non-citizen ponies from their lands over the course of the next few days.
But that wasn't a problem to most Equestrians, not having anything to do with griffins or the cold, mountainous lands up north. It was a case of, 'How dare those spiteful Griffin heathens?', mixed with the attitude of 'Oh well, their loss'.
It really was utterly remarkable how quickly normal life resumes after a disaster ends. Almost too remarkable.
The entirety of Canterlot had been overrun by one mad creature, the land and sky warped with impossible, uncounterable magic, life and all sense turned on its head, even the two alicorn sisters apparently unable to answer, and yet now...
And yet now, ponies were going about their lives once again. Trotting down the streets, working the weather, coming and going, and otherwise back to earning a living.
And while many a pony was still upset about Discord, and the newspapers were still going wild, there was no massive uproar. No riots. No panicking citizens loading up their valuables and fleeing the city. Nothing of the sort.
Why was this?
Because there was no lingering signs or evidence of any damage? Because everything had been reset? Because it was the pony beloved power of Harmony which'd saved them all?
Why?
Unexpected and unforeseen pony resilience? Patriotic union in the face of adversity? Pride? Even just complacency? Or perhaps rather because there seemed to have been a subtle, unnoticed calming effect left over by the magic of Harmony.
Everyone was calmer, far calmer than the situation called for. More upbeat, more positive, more cheerful.
It was like Discord's return had occurred a few months ago, and not just a few days.
And then there were those who had been warped by Discord himself. The crazies. Thankfully restored now, of course, but still. How could they just shrug it off? Ponies who had never suffered tragedy or seen disaster, who were naturally skittish and distrusting of the unknown, and who should've by all rights been left with PTSD.
But they weren't. Most weren't even left overly nervous and distrusting after the incident.
When interviewed, nearly without exception, these ponies reported that their memory of the event, both before and while under the crazed effect of Discord's influence, were blurred hazes.
In the few cases where an individual could correctly be linked to the actions as one of the crazies, (bearing in mind that all evidence was now gone and the land restored), these recovered individuals could barely even remember the perverse acts they'd performed while under the serpentine chimera's chaotic influence.
And, as a result, these ponies weren't left feeling particularly guilty, despite there being strong evidence that the warped actions an afflicted individual undertook while crazed were strongly linked to their original personality. Either as a complete reversal, or as a removal of all inhibitions.
Again, to those few who took note of the lack of 'worry' caused was itself worrying.
Actually, somewhat ironically, it was mostly the ponies who had escaped Discord's touch, and who'd instead had to either hide or run around trying to survive inside the unleashed world of chaos, who were the ones left with the greatest degree of lingering trauma. If the word 'trauma' could even be applied.
Trauma implied horrific damage. It would probably be more accurate to call it instead at most, 'lingering nervousness', and leave it at that.
So everything returned shortly to normal, a miracle in and of itself.
Oh, there were of course a few exceptions, there always are. Individuals with different stories, different views, who hadn't forgotten it all, and who were still strongly affected, but they were vanishingly few. And of those who did still remember the chaos as it had really been, terrifying and raw, fewer still wished they did, and withdrew into themselves.
Maybe their loved ones would draw them out. Maybe they wouldn't. Maybe they'd overcome it themselves. Maybe they wouldn't. There are many different stories out there, and everyone is different.
And so it was, and so it went. Within a few short days of ecstatic celebration, restoration, and Harmony, Equestria returned to normal and resumed its ever onward and upward trot towards a better future.
------
Lieutenant Screech's eyes were heavy with dark bags, evidence of his lack of sleep, as he had to shake his head yet again to Crimson and Gloom.
"No, I'm sorry but there's still nothing. Every patrol knows to be on the lookout for him, but nopony's found hint nor scent of Prey."
Even as they were speaking, the three of them were swiftly moving through the Night Guard section of the Palace, first down this corridor and then that, passing by opening and closing doors. Other Night Guards were rushing everywhere, making it seem like they possessed twice the numbers they really did.
Everyone and everything in the Palace was caught up in the same rush.
Everything may have been reset, but Discord had still created so much work for the Guard, both Royal and Night alike, that they'd still be trying to catch up for at least a month to come. At best.
"Somepony's got to have seen him. I don't get it, I don't get it! Everything else has come back, so Prey's got to be here somewhere." Gloom repeated for the twentieth time. Gloom wasn't directing his frustration at Screech, but at the facts. It was frustration which had morphed quickly into rising desperation. And that had been two days ago.
Now, it was more an exhausted sort of dread.
The Sargent was just as tired as his Lieutenant, but unlike the senior thestral, he was the only officer who didn't have everyone under his command accounted for. It was increasingly looking like Prey might be the only missing person in the whole city.
"I'm sorry Sargent. I have nothing more I can tell you." Screech sighed, truly feeling both Gloom's pain and the weight of his own responsibility. He was as a superior to Gloom and Prey both after all. And Crimson too, of course. Duty before all else.
Crimson finally spoke up. It was the same question he'd asked last time, and the time before that, and the time before that. The same request, the same demand.
The armoured pegasus's voice was tightly controlled. Gloom and Screech still heard the brittle strain he tried so hard to suppress in it; "Has Princess Luna been able to search for Prey yet? Dreams, or his tracer bands. Sir?" Crimson's tensed wings were rigid at his sides.
It was the same question. The same one he'd asked three days ago.
Screech had to give the same answer he'd given three days ago as well.
"No. I'm sorry." Screech answered heavily.
He didn't have to explain why. Not again. Not after Crimson had demanded an explanation the first time. Demanded! Him, Crimson, had demanded. Again, something Screech could well understand and empathise with. It is hard to hear that the one you care about, the one who is missing and might be lying helpless and hurt somewhere, could not come before the good of a nation.
Intellectually you understood, but your heart? It would never accept that answer. But there was nothing new he could add to try and reassure them. No word of the lamb. No sign.
Screech understood. He was a clan warrior. He knew what it was like to go out to greet a returning foraging party, not expecting anything to have gone wrong, and that moment of vertigo-inducing dread which seized your heart when you only counted three, instead of four, thestrals flying back.
The sudden anger which flashed into denial and then a dreadful numbness as you helplessly watched the three shapes flying closer, unable to do anything but already knowing the truth, and yet still desperately peeling your eyes and searching for the fourth figure to reappear. Screech well knew. It had happened to him.
Duty can be such a heavy burden, and never does it weigh more heavily than when you least feel like upholding it.
Screech stopped, taking the few seconds out of his hectic rushing back and forth. He briefly touched a wing to Crimson, then Gloom's shoulder plates, "I'm sorry again. But there's nothing more that can be done right now."
Then the Lieutenant was striding off. It was the same again. Gloom and Crimson had waited, hoped, and worried, but it was the same. Two, now almost three days, and no hide nor hair of the lamb had been so much as glimpsed.
They'd wanted to go out and search for Prey themselves, no matter knowing that they'd have no more luck than the combined forces of the rest of the Night Guard.
What had happened? Why? Was it because Prey wasn't a pony that he hadn't been restored? Where was he? How were they going find him? Could they find him?
Those were the questions the two of them asked themselves. They didn't ask the questions they tried to smother even in the privacy of their own hearts.
Was it already too late? Had it always been too late?
The Night Guard was being run ragged, and it wasn't just their lack of numbers this time, the newest although not-so-new thestral recruits notwithstanding. The Royal Guard was also pulling double shifts and overtime, having to match their bat-winged counterparts in working upwards of twelve-hour shifts, six days a week.
For a moment, before the rush of duty reclaimed them, the two of them stood there, out of the way to the side of the corridor. Exhausted yellow slit eyes met the dropping amber pair. Nothing was said. Nothing needed to be said. Nothing further could be said.
Crimson's wings bunched tightly at his sides, the feathers dull. He hadn't cleaned them in days. There hadn't been even one minute of free time. The weight of one feather in particular was heavy.
Gloom's hoof rose in the moment of distraction and tiredness, but encountered only the unyielding polished metal of his armour as he tried to scratch at his chest scar.
Everyone else was fine. It was selfish that when after the miracle of Harmony, and everyone else was fine, Scenic, Lilly, Carton, Saffron, all of them, but yet-
The private moment of stolen time ended, "Sargent Gloom?! Anypony seen-? Sargent Gloom, Captain Nighthawk wants you."
A harried thestral called out, barely waiting to make sure he'd been heard, and then was off again, this time calling out for Lieutenant Vivid Edge.
------
Crimson had demanded an explanation from Screech. He'd strongly 'asked' one of Luna.
Luna hadn't had time to see them, she was the Princess, and alicorn, co-ruler of the entire nation, with tens of thousands of ponies looking to her and her sister in this uncertain hour for guidance and instruction.
Luna hadn't had time to see them, and yet, for them, the ISND, in recognition of their service, she had still given them time. Three and a half minutes of her invaluable time that first night, when it was also most in demand.
A minute and a half to listen to their hasty request, and to say "No". She could have left it there, she was an alicorn and it was her right. The two extra minutes was the additional time she chose to succinctly explain why she couldn't, and to apologise for their disappointment, but that they must hold out hope. Then she'd teleported away to meet with her sister.
Gloom and Crimson's request had been simple. Please locate Prey through the tracer bands, or failing that, through the dream realm.
"Nay. We cannot, for we have not the time. It is all we art able to do to manage even half the nightmares infesting our dream realm and plaguing our subjects. Tis' never so simple as finding but one dreamer among many, and at this time..."
Luna had shaken her head, apologetic, even understanding, but as unyielding as iron, "At present there is no time. How long wouldst thou have us search. One hour? Two? And pass by the dreams of suffering sleepers who art before us and in need now? Nay."
"Princess, the tracer bands, can you not-?"
"Nay," Luna had interrupted again, "We cannot. Once more we have not the time, but even so... we art troubled. We suspect Discord's foul hoof. We cannot sense our magic near. We felt out for it, but it is gone. Or it is very far from here. Again, we have not the time to spend that we might confirm one way or the other."
Then she'd attempted to briefly comfort them, "Take comfort in this. We will search when the most immediate need has passed and there is time again. We do not forget those who serve us. Until then, wait and hold out hope. Our night will watch over Prey. Now fare thee well, Sargent Gloom."
The Lieutenant had listened to Crimson and Gloom's plea. He'd repeated their request to ask Luna the second and third nights to ask if she'd had time to check yet.
The answer was still no.
------
A brand new stained glass window was installed in the main throne room of the Palace. What was more, it was commissioned, installed, and finished on the second day.
That such speed and importance was placed upon the construction of this one new stained glass window showed from how high up the order had come from.
The court was packed and heaving at all hours of the day, and so all who bothered to look up had the chance to gaze upon the glorious depiction of the brave Elements putting an end to Discord the Lord of Chaos' madness by the powers of Harmony.
------
There is a limit to what one person can endure. Or rather, what they think is the limit, only to discover that the world doesn't care for where you drew the line on what you're prepared to suffer.
The world doesn't care. Stand in its way, fight back, give in, run away, it doesn't matter. It will run you over and grind you down to nothing without ever even noticing you in its path.
Scenic Paint had decided he'd had enough. And the world hadn't cared. He'd quit the Night Guard because of what he'd seen in Mayflower, the horrors he'd survived, and the unnamable terror which had come in the night. No, he couldn't do it again. He just couldn't.
Scenic had quit to live safe in Canterlot, to paint, to love Carton Juice, to find happiness. He wasn't brave, he knew that, but he couldn't do it again. No, he just couldn't.
The world hadn't cared. Discord hadn't cared. It had come along and swept him away in the flood of chaos, like his life didn't matter. Like he was nothing, a nobody. Like he didn't matter.
And he hadn't been able to butternut-squash about any of that!
There was a terrible, huge truth in that. A harsh wake up call.
"He's not coming back. Discord isn't coming back." Scenic stated out loud, stirring the pot.
"I know, I know, Paint Spot honey. Princess Celestia will be ready for him if he does. And the Elements of Harmony will also put a stop to him too." Carton Juice answered.
She'd said much the same before. And same as before, Scenic wasn't certain she wasn't trying just to convince herself.
"Yeah. Princess Celestia will stop him for sure. Her and Princess Luna too." Scenic agreed firmly, nodding at the pot of simmering potato soup as if it would agree with him.
Carton Juice had been one of those touched by Discord. He hadn't seen it, they'd been split up at the time. He hadn't even seen the creature Discord once during the madness, perhaps the one small relief about the whole terrible affair.
Carton Juice hadn't wanted to talk about it. Knowing he was an utter hypocrite for it, he'd still pressed her into telling him out of deep seated concern. He knew how much Mayflower had bucked him up, the therapist had helped him realise that, so he'd been terrified of what it would do to sweet, loving, gentle Carton, but instead...
She barely seemed to recall any of it. She'd just said she wasn't sure, that it was like a waking dream, but there might've been: "Something about trying to collect pollen from flowers? And trying to be a giant queen bee? Maybe running around going 'buzz buzz buzz' and trying to sting everypony?"
Swallowing, Scenic had asked her if she had stung anypony? If she had been turned into a giant bee?
Carton had blinked blankly, brow furrowed, and then given him a strange look, "No of course not. A pony can't be a bee." She'd said.
Scenic had bitten his lip when he'd gone to say how Discord had done that and more, and physically turning you into something else was foal's play to that monster. But he'd stopped himself just in time, and smiled weakly in relief instead. How could she not remember? Scenic didn't understand, but he knew that wasn't something you could just forget.
Or was it? Maybe it was something she should try to forget? Was that right? Or was it wrong? Scenic didn't know, he just didn't know, and he was worried for Carton.
Surely not being able to remember something was a bad sign, and yet so many other ponies didn't seem to clearly remember either, and none of them were worrying about it.
Scenic himself had a hard time differentiating all of what had happened during that time of chaos, the floating buildings, the inside-out trees, screaming lampposts, false streets, and animated food to name just a few, with the sun and moon flying this way and that through the boiling purple sky and time distorting all around him. But Scenic couldn't shake the feeling that he still remembered more clearly than anypony else did. And he didn't know why that should be the case either.
A very small cynical part of him, one which hadn't even existed until a mere hooful of months ago, blamed his trip to the border of Equestria.
If he hadn't gone out there, and hadn't seen, then he wouldn't have the experience of these sorts of terrible things. And perhaps that experience was why Discord hadn't faded from his memory quite like it had for his beloved marefriend.
But Carton Juice was okay now. Physically, at least. And she didn't seem concerned mentally either. That should be all that mattered. So long as she was okay, then he could suck it up and learn to just deal.
For the first time, Scenic thought he was the same as Gloom, Crimson, and Prey, at least on this one thing. He hadn't gotten it before, sure he'd been a part of Mayflower, but also apart, and afterwards he'd quit when they'd stayed... but this he now got.
To put it in Scenic's own words, which he'd spoken to himself after taking a good long hard look at himself in the mirror, "Okay. So I've seen some bucked up stuff. And now that stuff's in my head. I'm now bucked up too. But I can't tell anypony, because Carton wouldn't understand. And most importantly, I don't want her to understand. And so what? So what?"
So what if she didn't remember like she should? So what if she didn't have to sleep with a night light on like he did? So what?
He didn't want her to be like him. So he was going to make sure it didn't happen.
Next time, (and before, he hadn't ever conceived there even could be a next time, and hadn't that been another nasty wake up call?) next time, what if Carton was the one who got hurt?
That's what Scenic had learnt. That was the lesson he'd taken away.
That there could always be a next time. That it might not be him who was the one who got hurt. And that there wouldn't always be somepony else there to magically save Carton Juice for him.
Scenic sightlessly stirred the soup pot, the now too hot stove making the thick potato soup bubble and spit. He barely even noticed when a scalding drop hit the scarred skin of his cheek and briefly burned him. The rest of his thoughts were too loud.
Princess Celestia will protect us. The Elements and power of Harmony will save us.
"Yeah... yeah..."
------
Randy tipped his heaped wheelbarrow of rich compost onto the freshly dug flowerbed. Then he turned around and went back for another load. The much lightened wheelbarrow bounced along as he set out across the open grass stretch of the park, towards the collection of Park Gardener's work huts.
Absently, Randy hummed a tune he couldn't quite remember, but which was nevertheless stuck in his head.
There was always plenty of work to be getting on with in the park. Budding flowers didn't care about no Lord of Chaos, no sir'ee! All they wanted was some nice sunlight and warmth to begin pushing up.
Vast patches of small, but exceptionally pretty, snowdrops and delicate crocuses thronged the flowerbeds, always the first to awaken every year just before spring even arrived. They didn't mind the cold.
Neither did Randy, not with his gardner's uniform, brisk work, and warm fluffy hat with earmuff flaps.
Actually, the warm hat had been Lemon Pink's Hearth's Warming gift to him, which made it doubly warm in Randy's opinion. A simple, practical gift for a simple, practical pony.
Although he had only seen her once since all the chaos had been put right...
But that was fine, because she was okay. Not that there had been any doubt. Nothing could phase her. She probably could have coldly stared down Discord until he'd run away, easily!
But he'd been so worried at the time, and so relieved when he'd thrown open his front door and she'd been standing there. In relief, he'd gone to hug her. She'd frozen up, and then shoved him away a mere second later with surprising strength. In surprise he'd looked up and found her pretty lilac eyes hard and cold.
"What's wrong Lemon? Did something happen? Are you not okay? What happened?" He'd blurted.
Lemon had given herself a shake, "I... I am fine. Pardon me, I was not ready for that. Hello, Randy Pickaxe by the way." Distractedly, she'd brushed her silvery mane away from her face as she looked back at the street filled with celebrating ponies.
He'd tried to get her to come inside, to ask what she remembered and what she'd seen, (He himself had hidden in the attic while the chaos was happening) but she'd refused.
He'd asked her to please stay, but Lemon had insisted she had to go. That there were urgent things she needed to check on. Randy had wanted her to stay. That she hadn't had hurt him more than he'd thought it would. But Lemon was an important pony, and she had important pony things to do. He was just grateful she'd checked on him. That counted, didn't it?
Even if Randy suspected it was her mysterious boss who was always overworking her that she'd gone to check on...
And that he hadn't seen her since...
And that he was missing her...
And he really needed her opinion on something...
'No! No more moping! Things are good, everything is fine, the sun is shining, Firea is fine, Canterlot is back to normal, and everything is looking up.'
Hang on, that reminded him. Thinking about Lemon, wasn't the tune he was humming now from a snippet he'd heard from her?
Randy thought hard, what had it been? Lemon Pink really wasn't somepony he could picture humming, let alone singing despite how much he would've like to hear it, so when had he picked up the tune from her?
Now how did it go? Randy tried to recall the words as he let go of the wheelbarrow and reached for the shovel, which was planted in the compost heap.
"Hmm hm, hmhmhm, Hmm hm Hm~ Something something... ah! Yes. Raven magpie fly away, scarecrow, keep at bay. Wheat n' barley dance and sway, Harvest King, come to play, hmm hm hmm Hm... uhh, how did the rest of it go? It's really stuck in my head. Just'll have to ask Lemon how it all goes when I get to see her again."
He really did hope that was sooner, rather than later though. Randy missed his friend. Not because, well, not just because she was his marefriend, but because she was his friend too. They didn't do any coltfriend and marefriend stuff together anyways, not really, only going on dinner dates. But the time Randy was lucky enough to spend with Lemon, he found was somehow more real.
Lemon Pink was exactly who she was. She knew it, and didn't need to try and prove it to anypony. She didn't need anypony else, which had first been unnerving to Randy, but now just was. She was an orphan, avoided because of her sharp horn, and you know what? She wasn't bitter or confrontational about it at all. It was sorta' inspirational to Randy.
Lemon was controlled and alert at all times, and Randy felt calmer and more contemplative when in her company than he did at any other time. And he missed that.
He really looked forwards to it coming around again. Randy didn't think about the future much, but when he did, he unconsciously thought about a future where Lemon Pink was in it. In what form, he wasn't sure, just that she was.
Discord had... been Discord. But that was in the past now. He didn't want to think about it. He didn't like to think about it, and he didn't need to. Discord had been a villain, trying to ruin all the good in everypony's lives.
And he, simple Randy Pickaxe, had a lot of good in his life to get back to. If he let Discord taint his happiness of the future, then the nasty villain had won. That was how he'd decided to look at it, at least.
Randy nodded firmly to himself. Yep. That was that. Live in the moment and be happy.
He pulled the shovel free and began, well, shovelling. "Hm hm, hm Hm hmm, ~Raven magpie fly away, Scarecrow, keep at bay..."
------
"There." Saffron said quietly, deftly tugging the last line of Lilly's new shirt straight.
Lilly grunted. Then she caught herself and made a better effort, "Thanks. It's a big help. You know, caus' clothes are your thing."
"It's part of my job, yes. I get paid to be an actor." Saffron agreed, smiling as she checked Lilly over once again. Specifically, checked over her meldwood deformities, that they were properly covered up by the new outfit she'd insisted on.
Lilly nodded absently, nervously thinking about her coming meeting with Tallow, her brother, "Wait-actor? But, model?"
"My job is to pretend to be somepony else, somepony confident, happy, and bright. So yes, an actor. That's who the producers and photographers pay me to be; somepony else. They don't even bother to try and see the real me." Saffron said shrugging easily, beautiful golden curls bouncing.
Lilly searched for something to say. But this was really not the time, with her worry over trying to meet up with her unhelpful brother again, Discord's chaos and the fear it had induced in her heart, the smouldering anger at that fear, and compounding it all, the news Crimson and Gloom had brought. That Prey had vanished. Maybe even literally vanished, because Discord.
"I uh, that wasn't how I saw it at all. Are you saying it's all like...?"
"Oh, don't worry about that. It's my job. But it's not my life. At least, not any longer. I have a life outside of work now, difficult as it is to find the spare time. Volunteering at the hospital, reading, baking the odd pie. And visiting all of you."
And Lilly, in a moment of rare insight, was able to look beyond herself, something she was trying and failing to improve on. And she saw that despite not being able to see anything off in Saffron's perfectly made up face, that there was still something wrong. She too was getting torn up inside over the missing lamb they both knew. Maybe not for quite the same reasons, but still. Saffron knew Prey as the lamb. Lilly knew Prey as a member of the Night Guard.
'Because it's probably dangerous. Whatever could take Prey, it can only be dangerous.' Lilly thought.
------
Crimson couldn't sleep. He was tired, both physically and mentally. Exhausted, really. They'd done so much, worked late into the day after an entire night, and there was still so much for them yet to do. Them. The two of them. Only two, not three.
Crimson couldn't sleep. He'd seen to all his needs, eaten, drank, removed his armour, and collapsed onto his bed. But he still couldn't sleep.
So instead he sat on his bed, and methodically sharpened his father's wingblades. *ssssscrape*
His fur and mane felt greasy. His feathers needed proper care, and soon. He'd get round to it. He would. Just not right now. He was too tried. And he and Gloom needed to be back at the Palace in only six short hours.
He really needed to get some sleep, but sleep just wouldn't come.
*sssscrape* Went the whetstone.
Someone had visited Prey's flat today. It hadn't been Prey.
He'd smelt them, their faint scent lingering in the air. A pony. A mare. Smelling ever so faintly of old blood. It had tickled a faint memory that Crimson couldn't place despite his best efforts.
And they'd gotten inside of Prey's flat, and that was wrong. Strangers didn't get to go into Prey's flat. No way would Prey have allowed that. More than that, Crimson had subconsciously believed the feat just couldn't be done, for some reason. He hadn't realised his own assumption until he'd confronted it earlier. Because somehow, someway, Crimson was certain that Prey had something to keep out intruders. He didn't have an explanation, yet he was sure of it.
But that mare had gone inside, Crimson was certain of it although he had no evidence. They'd either had a key, or had at least picked the lock.
He carefully finished sharpening one side and turned the wingblade over.
*sssscrape*
Crimson didn't think they'd picked the lock. Again, no evidence, but deep down he was certain that no one could pick Prey's lock. Or at least, not without consequences.
*ssssscrape*
He had tried Prey's door earlier. He hadn't gone inside, that would have been wrong, Prey never entered his flat without permission, but after what he'd scented, he had to check.
The door had opened for him without a whisper. Both when he used his spare key... and also without.
Crimson didn't have a reason for why he'd tried. He'd turned the key back, re-locking the door, and then simply pushed with his hoof. And it had opened.
Magic was the simplest explanation. It probably was just magic, since Crimson wasn't any kind of expert. But he wasn't going to mention his discovery to anyone. Not even Gloom. Perhaps the door would open of its own accord for Gloom if the thestral tried, perhaps it wouldn't. It wasn't up to Crimson though, it was up to Prey. Because the door opening meant Prey's trust.
Prey would be back. Crimson refused the traitorous idea that the door had opened to him because Prey wasn't coming back. Like it was now his. But that was ridiculous, because Prey would be back.
*sssscrape*
And when he came back, Crimson had some questions to ask his friend. Because that mare, whoever she was, had opened Prey's door and gone inside. Crimson wanted... he wanted to know if the lamb had another friend.
If Prey didn't want to answer, of course that was fine too. Crimson didn't need to know, he just wanted to know.
But Prey had to come back first so he could ask.
"Hurry up Prey." Crimson muttered tiredly in the dim gloom of his empty room.
He couldn't sleep. *sssscrape*
------
When weighed on the grand scale of the world, the effects of Discord’s return, and then subsequent defeat once again, could be estimated through a much more definite and numerical scale.
Because one thing that never changed when operating at the scale of governments and countries, was money. Trade, economy, investments. Money.
Individual leaders, rulers, government officials, they might all react differently, have a different view on the events, and most importantly, have very different goals. But when all of that was set aside, you could always see the drive of gold behind it.
You could tell a lot about a specific country, about their reaction, and their real 'hidden' reaction to any world event you cared to name by looking at whether gold flowed in, or out after the event.
Griffonia had all but blocked Equestrian trade, hurting their own economy just as much as they hurt Equestria. That simple fact was so much more significant than most people could understand. Griffonia was willingly cutting off a history of trade which had been mutually beneficial to the toot of not thousands, not even hundreds of thousands, but multiple millions of bits every year. Furthermore, Griffonia was split into two kingdoms, the Low Kingdom and the High Kingdom. Yet they’d come together in their denial of Equestria.
It meant Griffonia was dead serious about their stance.
The world stage was not limited to just Griffonia and Equestria however. There were other nations out there. Not as big, not as prosperous, but certainly not small nobodies. The Zebrican Lords, the Minotaur kingdom, the Diamond Dog mines, small but nationally recognised nations of mixed species, there were plenty more out there.
All combined, these lesser nations' total landmass might only just exceed Equestria, or Griffonia, but they still had a voice.
And once again, on the world stage, the volume of their voices could be accurately measured in money.
And the big surprise? After Discord, and with the recent debacle of Nightmare Moon being real, having returned, and uncovered as Princess Celestia’s sister, perhaps the biggest surprise was that Equestria was still making money.
Oh, they’d taken a hit across nearly every single market, but their national income was still greater than their expenditure. Equestria had, and still continued to operate on such a wide breadth of markets and levels, that all the censure, protests, and imposed tariffs against Equestria by all the nations put together simply weren’t enough to halt the pony nation's prosperity.
Because if any nation really truly wished to hurt Equestria, they’d first have to hurt their own economy even worse. Equestria was too big, too wealthy. And Celestia and Luna weren’t bending to any demands, or even the politer entreaties.
The discovered world wanted to know what had really happened to Discord, they wanted to know how he had been stopped, how they could duplicate the feat themselves, and most of all, they wanted reassurance that it wouldn’t happen again. Because a nation is big, powerful, and slow moving. But the individual, the leader in charge of the nation, they’re afraid and very mortal. Whether from self-preservation, or a genuine desire to defend his or her own people, every single leader, king, or lord wanted to be certain.
And the two immortal sisters, the alicorn rulers of the wealthiest nation on Equus? They weren’t giving anything more than reassuring platitudes.
“We have seen to Discord.” “He is no longer a threat.” “Fear not, all is well again.” “The Sun and Moon are ours again.”
Non-answers. Possibly fake reassurance. A refusal of responsibility. But at the end of the day, the gold was still flowing into Equestria. So all the other nations, barring Griffonia, in the end had to reluctantly stifle their protests, bow their heads, and let it slide.
Equestria had the Border Guard, but no standing army. Despite their vast swathes of land, Equestria was not a nation of military might. It was rather one of unequalled economical power. And the rest of the nations? Even if they formed a coalition for the first time in history, they wouldn’t have the power to bring Equestria to heel. They didn’t have the power, or rather, the gold. And it’s gold that makes the world go round.
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The lands of the Fell House are wide and vast. Their reach, even more so.
On the seas, on the land, in the sky. The Merchant Fleet of Triton Fell was world-renowned. The physical holdings of their estates reached everywhere. They owned and maintained the largest sky ship docks in Equestria, possibly the world, even though the sky ship trade had never evolved to a global scale. Not that it mattered. The Fell House was one of ponies, and what was a full third of the pony race capable of? Flight.
House Fell owned one quarter of all property in Cloudsdale.
The reach of their leg was long, the might of their hoof vast. They employed, sponsored, and funded experts in every field and walk of life. They owned, stocked, and fully supplied two of the most highly renowned mage towers there were, for Celestia’s sake! And what’s more, that was more as a side project that the Fell House had undertaken over the centuries. They weren’t even bothered if the towers turned over a profit! It was all about the prestige and being at the bleeding edge of magical advancement.
When you talked about the world stage, and mentioned the global power that was Equestria, after the name Celestia, the very next one which came to everyone in the know’s lips was ‘Fell’, followed in third place by ‘Blood’.
The trade set-back all the chaos and global panic Discord had caused? It wouldn’t show up as more than a blip on the Fell accounting ledgers when viewed on the timeline of a year.
When you were the level of Triton Fell rich, anything material became equal in value to you, since you could have it all. Barring the time required to acquire and transport whatever it was, of course.
How wonderful it was to be that wealthy, to never even wonder what it was like to be without, because that circumstance would never happen.
Subsequently though, it could be said that the most expensive thing in the world to to Triton Fell was time, for only the two sisters were without limit in that regard. That one, ultimate, end all.
But Triton Fell had anything and everything else. As such, he only placed any further measure of value on a hooful of things outside of his time. His Fell name, the pride of his house, and his pure blood family. So that a meeting had been granted by Triton Fell to another pony, late at night, inside a private mansion deep with Fell owned land, said a lot.
If the meeting had been widely known, it would have been of great interest and excitement. None but the servants, all of whom were utterly loyal to House Fell, whose families had grown up in service to House Fell and who would die in service to House Fell, would know of the meeting. Them, and the two ponies the clandestine meeting was between.
The cause of meeting, the other individual, the topic discussed, the obscene payment offered without even blinking, and the iron-bound self-confidence of Triton Fell when he gave his demand, it would not be known to the rest of the world at large.
------
Canterlot had been restored. Equestria was whole and unbroken. Like the clock had been reset and the events had seemingly never even happened.
Seemingly. If you only look above, if you were a pony, if you had been cleansed of madness, if you put your now vindicated faith in the Princesses, (who since they were back in charge meant they must've done something important against Discord), and if you believed in Harmony.
Seemingly, all was right again under the sun.
But there were places where the sun didn't reach. Under the earth. Down in the caverns, and beneath the mountain.
Down there existed a veritable maze of tunnels which had been slowly formed over millennia, the huge crystals which grew everywhere blocking or deflecting all long range magics and spells. None of this was new. Ponykind had known of the unmapped caves since the great city of Canterlot was first built.
They knew the tunnels were there, there were even tours of two or three of the uppermost caverns. Canterlot knew of the magic distorting properties of the crystals, it was a well documented phenomenon. They also knew the depths were unmapped, sometimes geologists would take brief caving expeditions down the few safer and well known paths.
Ponykind knew all of this already, and they thought nothing if it. The caves were just background, everyday life. They'd forgotten, they didn't see. A way down into the caverns, but also a way up into Canterlot.
Complacent. Safe. Relieved. Happy. Blind.
They'd had centuries to map the depths, and yet they hadn't. A monumental undertaking to be sure, but with collaboration, it would've been possible.
They could have posted a watch on the underground entrances where they joined the city, but there were no sentinels.
Failing that, they could've at the very least simply filled in or blocked off the way, if they didn't want to have to bother with maintaining a guard. That hadn't been done either.
An army could've marched right into the heart of the city from out of those caves.
It would have to be an army who weren't afraid of the dark, who'd invested great time and effort in carefully mapping out the tunnels with scouts over the months, who could get to the Mountain's base without being seen, and who could move in secrecy.
A changeling army could do it.
Not just an army, a swarm, a vast swarm, a war swarm.
An army so large that they were literally on a starvation deadline. So many troops that they were burning through their supplies like wildfire. An army that had an operational time measured in weeks, maybe even only days.
An army so large it would win by sheer weight of bodies. Losses wouldn't even matter, because every death was simply less mouths to feed at the end.
An army large enough to cover the skies of Canterlot and fill every street all at once, to bury any Guard under black carapaced corpses if need be.
An army without morals, or self preservation, or intelligence. Just overwhelming surprise and sheer numbers.
If such an army existed, and if it could traverse the maze of crystal tunnels, and if it could emerge undetected, then Canterlot would fall from within.
If the attack came from without the city walls, it would never work. The army would be seen in time, either by eye or magic. The defences would be raised, all the Guard summoned, magical enchantments activated, civilians evacuated and defended.
Attack from without was all but doomed to fail.
But it is vanishingly rare that any castle falls to assault. Almost always, as proven again and again throughout sordid history, they fall from within.
The tunnels were the way in. The changelings had an army out there somewhere. Days away at most, perhaps only hours. And nobody but Prey knew it. And Prey was gone.
------<<<O>>>------
And then he wasn't gone. On the morning of the fourth day after the defeat of Discord, a little after ten-past-eight actually, a runt lamb with white wool walked right into the Night Guard section of the Palace and politely asked the first exhausted and harried thestral he came across where he might find the ISND.
The little lamb smiled politely, thanked the rather nonplussed thestral, who was that special sort of tired and overworked that they'd reached the stage of just; 'It is what it is, I'm not going to question it anymore', and trotted of down the indicated corridor.
The tired thestral noticed something was amiss, he'd seen Prey before, but he was too tired to care, and he still had so much left to do before his shift was out. Oh, and he needed to go report the safe return of Prey immediately too. And he was happy about that of course! But, seriously, right now it was just more work.
The word spread quickly. Nighthawk and the Lieutenants on duty knew within four minutes. Gloom and Crimson dropped what they were doing and rushed out.
They noticed what was wrong so much faster than that first tired Night Guard had. Sky blue eyes. White wool. And the absence of any other splash of colour. Gloom's eyes first saw the lack of gold on Prey's forelegs. Crimson first saw the lack of Prey's ribbon.
The lamb was smiling wryly though, and beat them to speaking first, "Hey, I made it back. Sorry for making you worry. Have I missed anything important?"
---I---
There was a lamb who couldn't forget, but who'd wanted to be forgotten.