Winter was coming, and the world approached its death.
Perhaps there were parts of the palace gardens which never knew a true winter: those portions where pegasi had told the environment to simulate a rain forest, or some other section of the tropics. Any area themed to the equator would exist in something very close to atmospheric stability. And that was a lie of sorts: the artificial placidity of the air representing a temporary victory in the eternal war which had been created by pegasus magic. Techniques which were forever going to battle against thermodynamics and entropy, because with the exceptions of their own body temperature and that which was generated by exertion, the species had no means of creating heat. They could only move it from one place to another. For every warm zone, there would be a corresponding pocket of cold, with the energies always trying to find ways of evening each other out. The gardens were a balancing act consisting of a thousand shaking poles balanced across delicate fulcrums, and only magic prevented the entire system from crashing down.
There had to be cold regions, for heat needed to be taken from somewhere. The girl understood that much now, and so thought she knew a little more about why snow was always falling on the little portion of false mountain, flakes drifting through artificially-thinned air to land on stone which would not allow them to melt.
But... summer came to the mountains, in time. Depending on the relative elevation of the ibex homelands, it wouldn't be a particularly warm summer. Even in this world, there had to be places where no amount of sunlight ever truly shifted snow from its home, peaks forever capped in white. But there could be warm breezes, muzzles stretched upwards as fur-rimmed nostrils sniffed towards the waft of far-carried unfamiliar scents.
The girl could picture that. It was easy to do while huddled against cold stone, her low-lying body partially covered in white. Her own heat should have been enough to melt most of it away, for her natural temperature matched that of a horse -- but she had been there for some time. Enough to watch the sun shift across the clear sky, light always reaching her while never bringing any warmth. She could picture the scene, and the ibex. The ibex was especially clear, right down to the last strand of fur and the careful regard of horizontal pupils.
She could imagine the ibex scenting those foreign vapors. But she didn't know what the dead had thought about any of it. What had lured someone to... come down.
To come to her death.
Perhaps two hours left before sunset: the girl could track that much from the sun's movements. The days became ever-shorter as winter approached, and she distantly wondered what that did to the relative lengths of Solar and Lunar shifts. Mandatory overtime at one end of the calendar, balanced by going home a little early at the other? It wasn't as if she would get a chance to find out. She hadn't earned that.
What would summer be like, on the artificial piece of false mountain?
She didn't know. There might be storms, much like the one which had killed the Guard whose frozen stone eyes forever stared out across the world. There was one now, and it existed in a clear sky. Turn her ears towards the palace and there was a constant rumble in the air, thunder which never faded, low and steadily building an electric charge of anger. Something which grounded itself through her, over and over, arcing through her shivering body and failing to discharge into the snow.
That part of the girl which had been trained as a farmer understood the need for winter: that some level of death was necessary for life to go on. Step away from the tropics, and there would be no spring without the snow. She knew that. But she hated being cold.
And yet she huddled in the shadows of peak and statue, collapsed so that lower body pressed tightly against the stone. Snow covered the fur of her legs, draped itself across her skirt in a falsehood of a blanket, broke away from the sweater when she breathed into the half-sphere pressed against her mouth and nose. There were times when she looked into that frozen gaze, searched for anything which could look back. Spoke to it, seeking counsel.
But there was only silence. The quiet of the dead, and the distant rumble of rage from the living.
She hated being cold. But winter was coming, would always come. The death of the world approached and when you were already feeling so cold inside, dead within...
She almost felt at home on the mountain. The perfect environment for her. Total isolation, with only the dead for company.
Perhaps two hours before sunset.
She could just... not show up.
...no. The entire Lunar Guard in attendance, the Princess waiting for her, and vacuum where they had expected a centaur to be? It was the height of rudeness. At the very least, she had to send a note ahead: something to prevent the assembly. There was even a chance that the Princess was expecting it. A test issued, to see if the girl was mature enough to recognize the need for refusal.
Yes, she had to send a note: that was the minimum.
Which meant finding somepony to write the note for her.
...and getting up from the snow.
...later. She had at least two hours: she was sure of that. She could stay a while longer, huddled in cold and a false winter which was but a preview of the true.
The world would eventually turn towards spring. The real winter was within, and so it was forever --
-- she scented nothing from the approach. Maintaining the pockets necessary for artificial environments required doing strange things to the air at the borders. But when it had been hours with a distant rumble for company, any other sound stood out. The noise produced by wingbeats made her ears perk strongly enough to dislodge flakes, and then black feathers crossed the border.
The pegasus touched down on cold stone, began to slowly make her way up the staircase of rock. But the wings did not refold, nor did her snout press itself towards one of the half-spheres. Instead, the extended limbs continued to slowly, subtly shift, and the girl thought she understood that now, too. Concentrating the atmosphere, making it easier to breathe for the pegasus alone.
"Thou should'st not be awake yet," the girl protested. "Thy rest is far too precious. To bed with thee, while comfort might still be found --"
"-- I couldn't sleep." Nightwatch's soft words almost seemed to waft up the little mountain, like a gust of summer breeze. "I'm not sure anypony could sleep right now, not if they live close enough to the palace to hear it."
The dark head turned for a moment. Silver eyes regarded the distant marble walls, then returned to the girl's face.
"And right now," she finished, "'close enough' might mean all of Canterlot."
Cerea shivered.
"You know that the story leaked," the little knight said. "The noon edition of the Tattler, that was first, so there's a really obvious primary suspect. At least for who it was leaked to. The Princesses really want to find out who's talking, because that is a part of the oath. For everypony, not just Guards. To protect palace interests, and -- somepony's violating it. Maybe they're doing it over and over."
"Mayhap they believe 'tis in best interests to speak," the centaur softly countered.
"And maybe they're wrong."
Silence and flakes drifted across the artificial peak.
"How did you find out?" Nightwatch asked. "Because you left before the reinforcements arrived, the ones who only joined the protest because they found out you'd been hired and... they must have thought that wasn't going to happen. So you didn't hear it, and you still can't read well enough to finish an article."
"'Tis rather easy to perceive when all art attempting to hide the missives," Cerea quietly said. "Papers shredded as I approached. Chewed, in some cases. I... offer my apologies for the foulness of the ink --"
It was just above a whisper. "-- I don't think I've ever heard you this upset."
Instantly, "Prithee, but within my form shall be found no trace of --"
And with enough dryness to take multiple flakes apart, "'Prithee'."
The centaur's awkward expression somehow suggested a poker player who had just been informed that she had a tell, and wasn't entirely certain how to go about putting it away.
Finally, "How did you find me?"
Nightwatch sighed.
"You kind of had to tell ponies where you wanted to go, in order to go anywhere at all. At least until after tonight. And I didn't think you'd tried to hide in one of the passages, not when you're still memorizing them and learning all the ways in. Asking somepony to make sure there was a clear path to this statue, and making sure no tours went near the mountain for the rest of the day? It sort of creates a witness, Cerea."
"...oh."
"And I thought you might be here," the little knight gently finished. "When you're friends with someone, you learn a little something about how they think, and... I thought you might be here. Because I was sleeping, and... there's things you wouldn't say to me, even if I had been awake. Sometimes I think she's the only one you really talk to..."
Hooves climbed a little higher. The shivering centaur remained in place.
"How often do you come out here?" Nightwatch asked, wings still shifting.
"...every so often," Cerea softly admitted. "Every few nights, after you go on-shift and the gardens are clear. I don't really keep count --"
"-- does it help?"
Blue eyes briefly closed.
"I don't know."
The pegasus nodded, mostly to herself. The slow ascent continued.
"The protestors are just about up to the gates," the little knight told the centaur. "There's never been a protest that large, not while I've been a Guard. Um. There's been a few in the past which beat it, from what Princess Luna said. Ponies who didn't like spells which -- well, they're pretty much gone now, or they don't talk about it out loud any more. But it's a lot of ponies, and -- other sapients. There's also a lot of Solars standing watch. The unicorns are hoping they can get shields up in time, if one idiot makes a move and a hundred other ponies decide to be exactly that stupid. Shields up and hardened, quickly. It's... not as easy now, with Captain Armor gone."
A name which had drifted through a few lessons, one with very little meaning attached. Somepony who'd been essential during the changeling assault. And there had been something about a wedding, but she'd been tired and besides, weddings weren't all that special for centaurs. You chose a mate, you announced it to the herd, and then you concerned yourself with breeding. That was it.
They meant something to humans, though. A wedding came with its own kind of tactics, and plans which also fell apart on first contact with the enemy. Or, more frequently, the caterer.
She'd had a dream. One where she'd pictured herself as a bride...
"You know why they're here," Nightwatch softly continued. "When they know the ceremony is tonight. Why they're so loud, why we can hear part of it when we're this far away. They feel like it's their last real chance to stop everything. Shouting loudly enough to wake the Lunars, to reach inside the palace. Trying to talk us out of it."
And without thought, as a phantom bouquet fell away from a limp hand, "You should listen to them."
The rumble washed across their fur.
"I was assigned as your supervisor," the pegasus stated, forehooves planting on the next stage and pushing. "Every new Guard gets one. A senior partner, keeping an eye on the rookie." Somewhat disgruntled, "I'm not old enough to be a senior -- Cerea, you can drop the breathing aid, I concentrated the air for both of us --"
The girl's right arm slumped down, and snow drifted into glass.
As whispers went, it was a rather melodious one. "-- it was a foregone conclusion, wasn't it?"
"Um. Sorry?"
"They had to hire me." Small blue eyes closed again, just long enough for snow-covered lashes to exchange flakes. "After what Princess Luna said during the press conference, when she basically assigned me on the spot. It would have been then and there, if the reporter hadn't said something: the training would have just come after. There was no choice, because they'd already made one." Speech was beginning to emerge more quickly, chill words blasting into fur and skin. "Even when I'm not suitable. Everyone knows it. Everyone, everypony --"
The little knight's question felt far too steady. "Why don't you think you're suitable?"
"Three out of ten." It was half a snarl, and it was all directed at herself. "Four on a good day, or when I got lucky. Six or seven times when my Princess is dead --"
"-- do you really think anypony's ever stopped one hundred percent of every possible attack there is? Guards work together, Cerea. We have to. We cover for each other's weaknesses, because no one can do everything. I can't stop a spell, except by trying to block it with my own body. There aren't any earth ponies who could redirect a lightning bolt. You're a centaur. We can do things you can't. You can do things we can't --"
The girls hooves were beginning to scrabble against the stone now, as if trying to find a position from which to push. "-- the sword does it! I just swing it, I'm not using it well enough, and without the sword --"
Which was when memory came to what she considered to be her aid, because the strongest betrayals always rose from within.
"-- Princess Luna disarmed me! On the first meeting, on that first night! She barely had to do anything to stop me, and without the sword, I'm helpless! I can't do anything, not a single thing which any pony could do --"
Nightwatch snorted.
"-- lift."
"...what?"
"Lift," the pegasus repeated. "Encircle, enclose." Nodded towards the centaur's right hand, where skin was reddening against the snow. "Throw --"
"Any unicorn past puberty," was a natural counter.
"On a secured object?"
Fingers began to close around white, compressing it. "She had me secured. My arms were pressed against my sides. I couldn't move. She could have done anything to me, anything she wanted. She could have --"
Cerea stopped.
"-- she was kind," the girl whispered. "The same way the police chief was kind. Capture instead of kill." She didn't know what she'd done to earn that --
"Cerea..." The little knight was less than a meter away now, with most of that on the vertical. The lithe body was stretching forward, snout projecting from the helmet. "...you're a centaur. There are sapients who can match pieces of what you can do. A minotaur could manipulate the same way, a pony could gallop. Um. I'm not sure anyone could do what you can with scent. Maybe some sapient I don't know about. But you're still the only one who puts it all together. Even if you think it's all the sword, you're still the only one who can hold it without fear. And you can learn."
"I failed." Her most instinctive counter, perhaps because it was also her most natural result. "I --"
"-- against Princess Luna? Just about everyone in the world would lose! But you wouldn't fall for the same trick twice --"
"-- and I'm supposed to hold off things she can't beat? When I fail --"
"-- we're a unit, Guards are a herd, we cover for each other --"
"-- you don't know how I fail!" Hooves still scrabbling, failing to find purchase because that was the best way to keep her low and cold. "And I fail all the time! And what if it's just me? What if everypony else is down, I'm all that's left and I -- three out of ten, there's going to be more than three and no one ever said it would be three in a row, three out of ten isn't good enough --"
The pegasus was right in front of her now, and the girl's upper torso had slumped in such a way as to make the silver gaze into something doubly level.
The little knight stared at her.
"I'll go into the smithy," Cerea whispered. "Barding can watch me, make sure I don't mess anything up. He's already improving on everything I taught him. I don't mind being his assistant..."
Wings flared out. There was a downdraft blast of wind, and the pegasus vanished.
The girl's eyes closed again.
Good.
She'll tell the Princess.
It's better this way.
It's safer.
I'm protecting them from me --
-- she'd never gotten around to trimming her hair. And even if she had, the normal length still would have been more than enough to work with.
Teeth clamped down on the end of the false ponytail, and the hovering pegasus yanked.
"OW!"
"Get up!" The words were relatively clear, at least when they emerged from the disc -- but then, ponies were probably used to speaking with something in their mouths. "Get up, right now! I'll pull you all the way in if I have to, but you're going to get up! We're going inside, and we have to be in before Sun goes down! So we can still get you into your armor and make it to the ceremony in time, after the next talk!"
She couldn't try to reach the hovering pegasus, not without twisting her body in ways which even a centaur couldn't maintain for long, and the sheer length of her hair let the flying body keep a consistent distance away from clutching fingers. "What are you doing? This is the right decision, it's the only decision! It keeps everypony safe, it makes some of the protestors go away, the armor can be upgraded --"
"-- you won't listen to me!" the straining pegasus gasped past a mouthful of blonde strands. "Maybe there's only one person in the world you might listen to at all!"
The little knight pulled, and long legs went upright in a desperate attempt to relieve some of the tension.
Cerea was still learning to read pony expressions. Even with the hank of hair in the way, the pegasus' smile still struck her as a rather grim specimen. It became all the more so as the wings changed angles, with the new direction of flight forcing Cerea to move down the slope as snow fell away from her and cold merged back into the false peak. It was that or have her hair yanked out at the roots.
She followed, moving towards the rumble of the storm's fury. She had no choice.
"And if you won't listen to me...!"
The little stack of papers had been given a place to themselves in the barracks. Nothing else touched them, because they were more than a hundred and fifty years old: a spacial buffer against incidental contact had seemed necessary. They were also slightly elevated. Had they possessed senses, they would have been able to survey just about every empty bunk, along with the little puddle of blankets on the floor. Keeping watch.
It was, in some ways, a place of honor.
The girl stared at the writing.
"I don't understand." She had thought it on the first day. Said it over and over. Learned how to speak the words in Equestrian. It was the most reliable sentence she possessed, and it still meant nothing.
"It's changed over the centuries," were Nightwatch's first words after finally spitting out the hair. "Different questions, or new ways of phrasing old ones. Some parts aren't used much any more, or they aren't given the same amount of regard."
Armored hooves lightly touched down.
"It didn't seem fair," the little knight softly decided. "I didn't think it felt fair, when I did it. To judge how somepony might do as a Guard, based on another skill entirely. Something I wasn't any good at. I'm still not. And we didn't ask you to do it, because you couldn't yet..."
Her hands had fallen open at her sides: reddened flesh reluctant to tighten on itself. "I don't --"
The pegasus trotted past her, and black fur gently nudged the old pages into turning. Stopped at a place which was just completely covered in mouthwriting: characters almost completely even, but for a little flare of daring curve at the edges.
"The application," Nightwatch quietly told Cerea, "has an essay question."
She stares at the words, and their very existence seems unfair.
It's a trap. It has to be. She came all this way, she's doing something no one has ever done, she had to push herself to come this far, she pushed herself away from everything she'd ever known and what did it let her find? A simple sentence whose jagged-seeming lettering is just waiting for the chance to clamp down on her hocks. Draw blood, send her whimpering back out into the city to see if she can hold onto her job a little longer, because the mountains may be closed to her now. She came all this way in the pursuit of a dream, there's still a thousand barriers between her and any chance at reality, and the most crucial blocking gate is now formed from unbreakable ink. And all around her, she can hear quills scratching their way across paper.
In reality, some of the applicants are almost guaranteed to be working on a different section. Others are doing battle with this one. But there are so many of them in this room with its desks and benches and lights which flicker somewhat with the newness of a too-fresh charge, it sounds like they're all writing, and it's so easy to convince herself that every last pony is speeding through that single question with intent to overtake her.
The desks are evenly spaced. There's just enough room between them for copying answers to be effectively impossible. And yet it feels as if there's nopony sitting near her, like there are forty-nine other applicants (because in her present, everypony applies on the same day, something which only comes once a year) existing as their own herd and then there's her. Alone in a crowd, as they all write out their dreams in a palace room (within the Solar wing, not that it's called that because there's nothing else, nopony else) and wonder who's going to make it.
Other than her. They know she isn't getting through. What they don't understand is why she even bothered to show up...
Once a year, and she didn't know that. She arrived three moons early. It meant having to find work, and that hadn't been easy until she'd figured out what kind of service she could offer. A place to live. Trying to master Equestrian while grinding the accent off the relatively few words she'd already known. She often suspects she sounds somewhat comedic, especially because she sometimes catches ponies snickering across her consonants.
She found a job. A place to live. There's even a few of her kind in the city -- well, three. But she hasn't made any connections outside of those implied by work, shopping, and needing to nose over the rent.
She doesn't have any friends. And now she's surrounded by those whom she's supposed to form a herd with, and they'd just been looking at her. Staring, in the time before they entered the room. Some were initially convinced that she'd shown up by mistake, and she knows that because they were equally convinced that she wouldn't understand anything they were saying. And now she's at a desk, while everypony else is writing and this question, this stupid question is the next barrier which blocks her dream.
There's a moment when she wishes she was a yak. A yak would break through a barrier. Which doesn't mean a yak could answer the question, but the paper could be destroyed in a variety of interesting ways.
Horizontally-slit pupils force themselves to focus on the cruel words.
Why do you feel you would be a suitable Guard?
No one said anything about this. She was ready to be judged on her skills in combat, anticipation, cooperation, improvisation (which she sees as being very rare for her kind), and tactics. Having her entire life to come depend on her dubious skill as a writer is just unfair.
She stares at the question for a while. Her eyes move to the clock on the wall, and then she wonders why she bothered to look. There's no time limit here. The applicants finish when they finish and in her case, she'll be exactly that: finished...
She's aware that her neck is stretched forward somewhat more than it should be, along with the fact that her legs are starting to feel stiff and she's mostly breathing through her mouth. Anyone in her trip (because that's the word for a gathering of her species: a trip, and she finds it ironic that it's used for those who never go anywhere) would be able to recognize those things as a sign of stress. Among ponies, she probably just looks weird.
...weirder.
But the question is there. It has to be answered, or there's no going forward at all.
...she just remembered that all applications are personally reviewed by the Princess.
Doubly unfair. Possibly with additional exponent.
She chews on the quill for a while. Words fail to trickle down her throat.
And finally, because there's nothing else she can do, she came this far and the only thing she'll hate herself for more than failure is never having tried... Blitzschritt begins to write.
At first, I told myself I wanted to do something different.
Anything different.
And as long as I was doing something different, then it might as well be something important. Something which made it worth BEING different. Being different is hard.
(She is still new in this land. She doesn't know what the little pot of whitish-brown on the desk is for, and so all crossed-out words remain legible upon the page.)
I thought I could be good enough. I don't think anyone anypony anyone in this room would be here if they hadn't thought, at some point, that they were good enough. I thought I was good enough when I was waiting outside.
Now I'm not sure.
Because up until now, it was just a dream. But the closer I get, the more real everything becomes, and there isn't much that's more real than death. Than your HER death. That's how important the job is, and I feel like I just realized how real that was. That the only thing between her and the worst could be me.
What if I make a mistake?
How should someone like me act as a Guard? Does anypony even know how I should be trained, or how I might work as part of a herd instead of a trip? That's the word for a group of What can I do which somepony else can't? What is it about me that should place me in a situation where a mistake could be made?
What if I make the LAST mistake?
I'm scared.
I think that might be a good thing.
There were a lot of ponies outside the room who were laughing before this started. I'm still trying to get used to the sound of ponies laughing. It didn't sound like nervous laughter. From one of mine, it would have been bravado. Overconfidence. Like they've decided that they were already hired, and I don't like that. Because if you think you'll always succeed, you'll never think about any of the ways you could fail. You'll just think you've already won, and you won't see any need to adjust. If you're already perfect, then why learn anything?
I left an entire mountain of 'already perfect' in order to
I'm scared, because I figured out what the real stakes are. And that I could fail. But knowing I could fail means I'll try whatever I can NOT to. It means I'll learn, and that I'll be careful. And fear doesn't paralyze me. I've heard the jokes. All of them. I'm still waiting for a funny one. I can still act when I'm scared, or I wouldn't be here.
I'm terrified of making the last mistake, and maybe that gives me a chance to be a good Guard. But there's more than that.
I came down. I went into the world, when everyone said I shouldn't. And sometimes that feels like it was stupid especially when ponies are staring. It's almost egotistical. What's so special about me that I should go anywhere? That I should think I'm anything special at all?
That I should be different.
That I should be here.
But I'm the only one here. And maybe this is me just writing because I don't know what to write trying to justify everything I've done when I still don't want to go back, but... what if there's a reason for it? Something I don't know about, something nopony expects, but... a reason?
We're just about all in the mountains. But I'm DIFFERENT. I'm HERE. The mountains aren't everything. There's so much more. The Princess is part of that, and so is Equestria. Part of a whole world.
What if the world needs an ibex?
There's only one of me. One who can try.
I want to try.
I came all this way.
I don't know if they would ever let me come back.
I'm scared. But maybe that's the best thing. I'm scared and I'm still here. I'll always be there if I get through, no matter how scared I am. I promise. I'll always do whatever I can.
Please let me try.
She looks at what she's written. Nearly crosses out all of it, realizes that unlimited time probably still runs out if she's the only one in the room when Sun is raised again, almost gives up on herself right there, then recognizes that she's filled out the whole of the answer section and she still doesn't know what the other pot is for.
The rest of the application is finished. The lone set of cloven hooves are the fourth to depart from the room, and their owner is thoroughly disgusted with herself. Trying to figure out if there's any life in continuing to offer extra stability to potion brewers, because some of them might eventually decide that normal shelf life is enough. You don't sell replacements as often when things keep.
Four days later, she will be on the training grounds (mostly while desperately trying to figure out the why), and the smith of the era will be trying to figure out some means of adapting training armor to her. Creating something which will fit. The helmet winds up needing a nearly-full redesign.
She wrote the words which led to the rest of her life.
She wrote the words which led to her death.
She wrote words which saved the world.
Silver eyes closed in respect. The sleek head raised, and then renewed vision regarded freshly-weeping blue.
There was a question. Just one, because one was all which was needed.
"What if the world needs a centaur?"
The ceremony flowed over her like water, and so there were ways in which Cerea had trouble retaining the details of it. Looking back found her regarding something where memory had blurred. Because if it wasn't clear, then it hadn't happened, she hadn't done it, she'd hadn't been so foolish as to take up the role of a knight when she wasn't one, would never truly be...
But she had.
There were excuses. It was hard to take in the sights when visions of future failures kept intruding, almost impossible to listen with phantom screams filling her ears -- and when she did manage to focus, she mostly saw the dark glow which surrounded the Lunar throne room. A shield raised against sound, so that the only words would be the important ones.
The scents... they were with her, though. Some of them changed a little as they drifted past the Princess (her Princess), because it was always a little cool around the alicorn and temperature made a difference. But she could still recognize all of them, especially those which rose from the assembled Lunar Guards as they watched. Uncertainty. Concern. And always, always fear, but for a little vacuum where the Sergeant stood.
From her left, where Nightwatch stood... the concern was echoed, and that was expected. But there was also some pride there, along with a certain amount of exhaustion because hauling a centaur through most of the gardens and a good part of the palace was tiring work. And with the Princess... cool patience, which almost managed to hide the deep undercurrent of worry.
At one point, glow moved the new insignia towards her upper waist, and she was given words to repeat. To swear.
She did.
"My life for your life..."
The mounting pins made contact. Screws began to twist themselves. Locking in.
"My life for all lives..."
Offering her life.
The whole of it, until the end.
Winter was coming, and the girl approached her death.