Scent was not the first sense to awaken, because that would have meant her body was granting some degree of internal mercy. It wasn’t, and so the tactile array began to report in.
It was then that she recognized the presence of pain.
The secondary presence.
She vaguely recalled having recently used her body as a improvised ramming instrument. Sideways. And there were ways in which the Second Breath could be thought of as an ultimate adrenal rush, which included every means through which it hid the finer details regarding rapidly-accruing consequences.
The Second Breath was over. (The girl felt as if she was having difficulty with the first. Something about her body’s position seemed to be off.) And she’d sent herself into rock, with the armor taking the brunt of the impact — but kinetic energy rather infamously moved. A portion had conducted through steel, drilled into padding, reached her skin, and then just kept on going. There seemed to be quite a bit of bruising along her left flank, which was perhaps why she was lying on her right side —
— she was on her side. Getting up again was going to present a few issues.
Read enough tales of knightly glory, and you wound up picking up a few extra details about the time period along the way. Things like the era’s often-dubious attempts to delve into medical research. Blood-soaked wood with carved-out shallow depressions, made to fit the human body. Grooves designed to carry leaking fluids away after the first cuts had been made. Investigation through dissection.
It was a rather random memory to be drifting through her slow-waking brain. She didn’t feel as if she had any true cuts: the last battle hadn’t seen her skin broken, and nopony had tried to treat any of her wounds through surgery: something the Doctors Bear were understandably reluctant to do. But pain served as one of the body’s means for self-evaluation. And when it came to summarizing exactly how those injuries felt, the girl had latched onto an excellent mental shorthand.
She felt as if someone had hit her with a fourteenth century anatomical table.
Her brain also insisted that the table had been hickory. She wasn’t entirely sure why. Maybe it had something to do with the wood’s superior density. Still, in Equestria, black ironwood felt as if it would have been more suitable…
So that was why she was on her right side: keeping pressure away from the injuries. (The party who’d done the positioning might not have been considering her normal sleeping posture: upright and locked — but placing her in that pose from the outside was difficult.) She would have to get up eventually, pushing against her body’s mass and the oddly-heavy weight of blankets —
— the armor had been removed: she’d just realized that. Her limbs reported warm, soft fabric. Both torsos were also covered, but there was an additional layer in play there. Something which felt oddly flimsy —
— eventually, she would have to get up. The pain was going to have a say in the process, and… that voice was not as loud as she felt it should have been. Her first guess was that there had already been some degree of healing, and that seemed to indicate an extended period of unconsciousness.
Or perhaps she was simply losing the pain within the other sensation. The dominant one, that which seemed to suffuse every cubic centimeter of her form, constantly shifting without actually going anywhere…
Initially, she couldn’t quite work out what the feeling was. Her first impression was that it resembled the desire to vomit: a sensation for which the ill-self-advised gyūdon bowl had granted her an extended period of intimacy. The girl needed an unmeasured extra period of time before she realized that her stomach wasn’t at fault. Or rather, it was no worse than anything else, because…
It was very much as if her body had taken something in for the first time and was trying to decide if it was digestible. Whether she was capable of processing it, or needed to do whatever was necessary to expel the substance before it did her harm. But it was a sensation which had spread out to the whole of her form.
Her pasterns wanted to heave bile.
Portions of her brain were actively trying to throw up.
Individual cells were on the verge of spewing mitochondria.
It was a sensation which suffused her body. Saturated. And it wasn’t stopping.
That strange, horrible, newly-universal sensation had just about taken over. It never faded or intensified, which at least told her that Tartarus wasn’t responsible. But it was giving her some trouble in sensing anything else. She had to force her olfactory bulb to report in: something which at least proved that the moon-touched status had left her some time ago. And when the first messages arrived…
Sterilizing agents. Topical things for skin and fur. A room which gets cleaned just a little more regularly than everywhere else, because they understand how infection can start. And there’s a hint of potions in the air, because it’s a lot harder to scrub that. Instruments, metal and wood. There’s silver somewhere nearby. A little platinum.
(She didn’t want to think about platinum.)
Repair materials on a wall. Covering up the damage. I don’t think they got all of the embedded scale fragments out.
There have been ponies going in and out of this room for a while. The Doctors Bear leave behind olfactory phantoms. The alicorns came through within the last day: that’s fainter. A canid hung around for a while. An old stallion took some time. But there’s just two ponies here now..
The stallion’s burned some of his fur. Again.
The mare…
…worried. Tense. Fear twisted up with concern.
She’s been here long enough to have it all soak into the bench.
The balance of evidence suggested the girl was alive. She was starting to become aware of her own heartbeat. She was also sure that death would have hurt less —
— there had been a pasture..
Lala.
I saw you.
We touched. Hugged.
I miss you…
She wanted to cry. Because she had seen her friend, greeted a sibling through the power of a promise kept. But she also wanted to weep because she was alive, and the mare was right there.
The mare had slept through just about all of the events which had occurred in the palace: briefing, preparation, departure. The girl had done everything she could not to wake the mare, because she didn’t want to tell her friend about what was going to take place. If everything had somehow been successful, then her subsequent wish had been to sneak in and out, with no further encounters. And had she executed the final failure, then a corpse didn’t have to explain itself —
— was the mare moving? A shift of air against the girl’s exposed face suggested that the wings had just flared out, and that was followed by hoofsteps. On the approach.
Am I crying?
She wasn’t sure. Not only did the tears seem somewhat insubstantial, but there were too many reasons for that tiny flowing weight to be present.
The girl was almost certain that she could move, and was completely sure that she really, really didn’t want to. Any rapid shift of her body felt as if it had the chance to target a jet of vomit at the nearest wall. However, this assumed there was nothing between her and the wall, and the mare was approaching.
If she could move, then she could probably open her eyes. If she was lucky, she would find herself staring into hickory. Wood and smoke…
Where did that come from?
She had to look. There was very little choice, because the mare was getting closer and they’d lived together for too long. Faked sleep could probably be spotted, especially once the mare saw how the rhythm of breathing had changed: something which became extremely visible through the dubious benefit of overlying amplification. On a good day, the girl would be proud of her endowments, looked forward to gaining additional mass and cup sizes, and yet never ceased to be amazed by just how many means they had of betraying her.
The mare was almost right up to her. She had to look…
Cerea opened her eyes.
The pegasus was less than a meter away. It left Cerea gazing into moist silver and the wet tracks which had worn their way through black fur: something where the grain and lie had been roughened through spending too many hours awake. There was no armor blocking the view for any of it, and yet the scent of metal in the palace’s medical offices persisted. With Barding half-curled up in sleep on the second bench (with the snout oddly close to the little scrap of tail), it couldn’t do anything else.
The little knight stopped moving. Stared at Cerea, an act which took place on a near-level plane, and there was a sound like a nicker and a neigh tangled together: something which made an odd kind of sense. Each had been a noise which the girl associated with a given equine mood, and the pegasus smelled the same way. Joy and a deep sadness, inextricable from each other.
A softer nicker was followed by one more hoofstep. Another salty drop ran across saturated fur, and then the sleek head bent down.
The contact was made with the upper plane of the snout: something which allowed the mare’s tears to fall onto the girl’s bare skin. Fur rubbed against the afterthought of a nose, kept doing so, and the girl wondered how long it had taken for the little knight to figure out the nuzzle.
There were two nearly inaudible whinnies: words which the girl hadn’t been taught. The pegasus backed away just enough to let Cerea see the smile.
The dark head went left, angled forward for something just out of the girl’s sight. She heard teeth gently apply pressure to metal.
A light blue spark drifted down from the girl’s forehead, passed in front of her face and headed for an open door. She didn’t understand why.
And then Nightwatch offered her the disc.
The pegasus waited until the silver wires had finished moving across the centaur’s skin. (It was a familiar feeling, and it had just picked up an extra layer of discomfort. The girl didn’t want to think about animated wires.) Watched until the last one had settled against the tip of a furry, oddly-sore ear, then took a very deep breath —
“— you didn’t tell me! You just went out there, you went into Tartarus and you didn’t TELL me, you were going to just leave Equestria AND YOU DIDN’T TELL ME — !”
It was, Cerea felt, a rather credible impression of the Sergeant, and all the more so for being completely inadvertent. The crying didn’t seem to be subtracting much.
“…I…” The act of trying to speak made her intestines twist: for a centaur, that was a feeling which could travel a very long way. But there was no other choice. “…I didn’t want you to … if you knew, you might have —“
“— been upset? Tried to talk you out of it?”
The girl didn’t understand how Barding was sleeping through all of it. The smith had to be exhausted. Or perhaps that was one of the smaller gifts granted by his mark: the ability to rest when there was a lot of noise around. Metalworking wasn’t exactly a quiet process —
“We both made a promise!” The tail instantly reached full lash: both wings flared out, and wind began to whip about the room.
Desperate now, with no words which could help and only a name to offer in the frantic hope of interruption, “Nightwatch —“
“ We said we could speak to each other about anything! WE’RE FRIENDS!”
The wings almost slammed back into the rest position: a movement which didn’t happen evenly, and still took place at the exact moment when the pegasus lunged forward.
The girl heard several wind-carried papers drop. It was something she had to hear, because the mare didn’t move out of the sight-blocking teary nuzzle for a very long time.
Eventually, there was a silent agreement made to change the topic. The little knight’s posture and scent more than suggested that any immediate revisiting of the initial one had a good chance to set things off all over again, only louder. Barding needed rest.
“He’s been sleeping in here most of the time,” the pegasus quietly offered from her renewed position on the visitor’s bench, inclining head and ears towards the charred form. “The doctors finally stopped trying to get him out, because at least it meant he was sleeping. It’s been the forge or here, ever since they brought you in. He’s been doing a lot of work. And he always had an excuse for coming back —“ Nightwatch trailed off for a second, took a shallow breath. “Well, it’s Barding. He always has a burn somewhere. He just decided to stop ignoring them.”
A slow head shake: something else Cerea got to see on a near-level plane. The Doctors Bear had shoved at least two beds together in order to create something which offered a centaur support — but it had to exist at the height which permitted them easy access. It had left Cerea rather low to the ground, even after she accounted for the height granted by piled-on blankets.
Blankets, and… something else. The armor had been removed. Somepony had gotten her out of the padding. But the centaur was almost entirely sure she was dressed, in… something. Tactile information was still coming in, and whatever she was wearing didn’t seem to be providing much to report.
If Cerea concentrated, she could speak without nausea. It just took some effort, and the roiling sensation within her cells did nothing more than wait for the chance to surge back.
“How long?”
Another spark worked its way past her nose. Both mares watched it go.
“Two days,” Nightwatch finally said. “You didn’t wake up for nearly two days. I…” Stopped again. Took a deeper breath, and feathers rustled. “The Bearers heard the signal.”
…signal?
It was only then that she recognized what she’d almost done, and a slow-moving suffusion of horror began to search her body for any remaining space.
“You emptied a cylinder in one go,” the pegasus unnecessarily explained.
Which was supposed to be the distress call.
I forgot.
It was just a weapon I could use against him, and I forgot…
There was a sound which Tartarus would always allow to pass. Especially if it granted the deep place a fresh supply of those who could suffer.
The surge in volume was joined by the blast which rose from her skin and fur: concern and terror, produced at a level which actually made the edges of Nightwatch’s nostrils twitch.
“Are they all okay?” Cerea frantically questioned. “Please, please tell me —“
“— they’re fine,” was just a little quieter. “Now.”
“Now —“
More quickly, with an added note of apology, “Some of them were still pretty shaken when they got back to the palace. Miss Lulamoon just about kept herself together until the rest of the staff was out of the area, and then she asked for a mild sedative. The doctors didn’t argue. Not after what she had to try and pull off in the Struga.”
Trixie went in?
“Not that the distraction would have worked without Pinkie —“ The little knight stopped, visibly recentered. “From the starting gate, Cerea: they heard the signal, and they had enough supplies to perform the ritual again. That got them in. After that, they were trying to find exactly where you were. They had maps, but — they couldn’t really use them. Um. Not for long.” A little more softly, “There’s going to be a fresh survey, next moon. There has to be, with all of the changes which were reported. Everything they came back with, and —“ She nodded towards a mobile set of stacked drawers. It was the sort of rolling multi-compartment supply station which could be found in any hospital: the main Equestrian difference was the folding hitch. “— everything you drew.”
The sketchbook was resting on top of the array. Cerea looked at the closed covers for a few seconds. Nightwatch’s gaze flickered away from the drawers.
“They were mostly following the cloth scraps,” the pegasus resumed. “That gave them the trail. And of course —“ her face creased with disgust “— that kudu told them you’d been by. That saved some time. So when they got to the bottom…”
Another pause, and silver eyes squeezed shut under the pressure of pain.
“..they found you,” the little knight visibly made herself finish. “Both of you.”
“There was stone blocking the entrance,” Cerea softly recalled.
Gaps which were too small for a centaur to get through. Large enough for ponies.
If he hadn’t been dead…. if they’d reached us while he could still drain them…
She’d made a mistake, and the consequences would have been permanent. The fact that Tirek was dead didn’t seem to excuse it.
He’s dead.
She was sure of that much.
I saw…
…I killed…
…why do I keep thinking of hickory?
Her tongue felt strange.
“There wasn’t enough room to get me out,” the larger mare quietly noted. “And they couldn’t teleport —“
Nightwatch’s lips briefly quirked.
“There was stone,” the pegasus agreed. “They have a Twilight. Who doesn’t really exert her field strength very often —“ the disc helpfully added the minor undertone of confusion “— but when she does, some minor obstacles stop being a problem. Like Ursa Minors. And stone columns.”
“…oh.” Cerea resolved to ask somepony what an Ursa Minor was, as the disc hadn’t hissed and she didn’t think constellations had been causing problems —
— I’m leaving.
“They found you,” Nightwatch repeated. “They — saw what you’d done… Cerea, please look at me…”
It took a few seconds before the girl could force her gaze back onto silver. Seconds during which the reek of guilt and shame filled the world.
“Once he was dead,” the pegasus went on, “they could use magic again. Twilight was carrying you in her field, and she —“ the wince wasn’t suppressed in time “— also took the corpse. It’s part of why they had to improvise on the way through the Struga. They were trying to bring you out as quickly as they could, and she didn’t want to risk putting you down. Applejack still said that she felt like it was a smoother exit than she’d been expecting.” Paused. “I’ve been trying to figure out if Honesty means she’s still allowed to be sarcastic.”
Cerea internally tabled another question for the 32nd of Never.
I feel sick.
I was unconscious for two days. That’s why the bruising is partially healed. But the rest of it…
She was in the medical offices. The Doctors Bear had gathered every piece of data she could offer, and it still hadn’t kept them from sending up fumes of concern whenever they discussed the possibility of having to treat her. Her body felt like a foreign instrument: one where all of the notes were off and the spit valve hadn’t been cleaned out in ten years. She had been hit by so much of the magic which had erupted from Tirek’s corpse, and she felt sick…
Which probably didn’t explain the rather odd residue on her tongue.
Or why it felt so… pleasant.
Is the rolling cabinet hickory?
She inhaled.
Birch.
“They sent the signal as soon as they were in the wild zone,” Nightwatch resumed. “Scrolls and fireworks. The air carriages evacuated everyone, and…”
Wings and tail both twitched. The next breath was forced.
“…I’d been awake for a while,” she said. “I knew something was going on, almost from the start. The palace has a certain background beat during a crisis. Too many hooves and wings, moving too fast. And you weren’t there. I found somepony I could ask. Then I found Princess Luna.” A little too stoic, “After a while, the carriages landed. I met them on the roof. And I saw Twilight carry you out.”
…no…
“I’m sorry —“
“I know,” was a gentle statement of fact. “I know.”
There was silence for a time. Another spark floated out. Barding shifted a little in his sleep.
“You were taken directly here,” Nightwatch resumed. “Well — almost. There was a field transfer. Princess Luna brought you the rest of the way.”
Which, to Cerea, seemed to be omitting a rather crucial detail. “Did they manage to bring out the sword?” This time, her liver twisted. There seemed to be some chance for a knot. Not quite bowel torsion. “I know somepony might have to go back for it —“ or she could, once she felt better—
— if —
— but it had to be done. “— and it would have slowed at least one pony down, because I don’t think anypony brought a net. So I understand if they needed to wait. But it’s too dangerous to leave in Tartarus.”
Silver eyes flickered towards the rolling drawers. Quickly moved back to Cerea.
Almost toneless, “It’s out.”
I don’t know that scent. What pony emotion was left for the girl to encounter?
Probably a narrow subsection of disgust. A sympathetic reaction for anypony having had to carry the plastic.
“Tirek?” Cerea asked. Postponing the true question. The moment when she would need to ask why every organ felt as if it was in open revolt. The odd tongue sensation could be a side effect. Picking up on hickory all the time might be its own symptom.
“The corpse is about forty body lengths down the hall,” Nightwatch quietly said. “Um. We had to turn an empty room into a morgue. It was mostly having Princess Luna set the temperature. Preventing decay. It’s… not a very large room, because it’s a very small corpse. The Doctors Bear are going to do a full autopsy at some point. And the Princesses told the press that Tirek was dead, but that’s all they’ve said. They didn’t tell anypony that you were involved, because they were hoping they would get to — um…”
They thought I was going to die.
It felt like an oddly calm thought. The alicorns had possessed every right to believe that Cerea might die. She’d spoken to Lala. A few seconds of heart stoppage seemed to be indicated.
“They wanted to debrief you first,” the little knight awkwardly tried. “And Princess Celestia knew that just telling everypony about one centaur having killed another was going to need some work. And rephrasing. So they just said Tirek was dead. That calmed things down, at least to where the protesters outside the palace had their numbers drop a little. But there’s a few ponies who don’t believe them, because almost nopony’s seen the corpse.”
“And they want proof,” Cerea reasonably guessed — followed by a bitter “While Wordia is probably writing about how the mission failed —“
“— um. No. She’s still in the palace.”
Cerea blinked.
It was Nightwatch’s turn to look nauseated. “She says she has reasons to be worried about going home. And she hasn’t accepted any security measures. So she’s just — here. With Guards at her flanks any time she leaves the assigned bedroom.” The mare’s lips pulled back from her teeth. “And she keeps complaining about that, but she’s the one who won’t leave! And she’s still tried to get up here at least twice! Any excuse to poke her snout where it doesn’t belong…!”
Cerea waited until the mare’s hackles dropped somewhat, and used the time to talk her kidneys into settling down. They didn’t listen.
“So the Princesses were waiting until you woke up,” the pegasus not-so-smoothly switched. “And debriefed you, before they said anything more. But we can’t give out pictures, or bring anypony in yet. With cameras, you can sort of… um. You can see… um.” The opposing collection of nausea was visibly increasing. “...unless you keep the shot really close on his face, too close to put a newspaper next to his head or something else which shows place and time… you can sort of see inside him. Um. A little. Or at least the parts which are sticking out. The… broken wires…”
Nightwatch stopped. Wings unfolded, shook out all of the joints, went back to the rest position. The process came across as being somewhat stiff. Healing from the strike, but not entirely healed. Temporarily incapable of flight. Something else which was Cerea’s fault.
“The doctors barely left the office,” she finally continued. “Barely left you. They couldn’t ask for help from the outside. It’s not because of classified information, Cerea: a good doctor would take the secrecy oath in a second. It’s because they were the only ones who knew anything about treating you, and they were guessing. They didn’t know how to wake you up. If it was even a good idea to try. And from what they said about how fast you usually heal… it was too slow. Nothing was getting better. Not fast enough to matter.”
Then what did they…?
The mare’s next breath was a little too deep.
“Not until they brought in Sizzler.”
All thoughts considered, the subsequent Who? didn’t last long enough.
The cook.
The meat station…
The girl’s hands didn’t quite fly up to cover her mouth: she was on her side, and the right arm initially tried to shove its way under the soft weight of her breasts before resorting to a quicker path. It took an extra second to block off her breath, and it wasn’t doing anything for the aromas, the scent of hickory and smoke and what was actually some rather savory spicing. Minimal spicing, because the kitchens had been watching her take food for moons and were aware that three grains of salt sufficed — but expert.
She finally identified the odd sensation on her tongue. It was called ‘aftertaste’, and it was magnificent.
Nightwatch was staring at her. Blue eyes returned the favor, only with considerably more horror.
“Cerea?”
Only if it was medically necessary…
“I didn’t want you to know!” the girl gasped through her palms. “I… I’m sorry, I’m —“
The pegasus’ mouth twisted: something which only lasted for a moment. And then the next sound emerged, something powerful, impossible to stop.
Even with the disc, it took a few seconds before Cerea could make out any words through the laughter.
“Moon’s craters, Cerea!” the pegasus gasped. “I didn’t fly away because you were a centaur! Or because my apartment was set on fire! You think I’m going to leave because you’re an omnivore? The only one who was upset was Sizzler, and that’s mostly because he always wants someone else he can cook for! He was proud to be part of your treatment: he just wished you’d said something after you got here! You had your third steak a little while ago, and the doctors said they can almost watch the bruises fade!”
“How —“ worked its way out from between betraying fingers.
“Cut the pieces extra-small, massage your throat until you swallow,” Nightwatch dismissed. ‘Since the doctors didn’t have a liquid mix for meat. But that was when you really started to recover. And the doctors were getting tired. They hadn’t slept enough and once you were starting to stabilize, they kind of shoved each other out the door. Vanilla set up a monitoring spell. Those are the sparks: each one tells him about your condition. He’s sleeping, two rooms down. Or he was, because the sparks alert him if something big changes. Waking up probably counts. But he knows Barding and I are in here. So he’s probably just… letting us talk.”
Cerea slowly forced her hands to drop. Nightwatch sighed.
“The doctors are in charge right now,” the little knight said. “They won’t let the Princesses debrief you until they think you’re ready. But they wanted you to see somepony was there when you woke up. To see a friend. And if they think I’m stressing you too much, if your condition changes a lot just because we’re talking — they’ll tell me to leave, and I’ll have to do it. When it comes to medical things, they can give anypony orders. Override the Princesses, and Princess Luna just sort of stalks out of their offices. Sometimes you can hear the lightning hit when that happens. Usually in the part of the gardens for one settled zone. Where their medical school was. But…”
The pegasus slowly got up again, approached with each hoof picking out a careful path. The girl, still possessed by several kinds of terror, could only watch.
“We need to talk,” Nightwatch said. “About… a lot. And I’ll stop if you’re tired, or too stressed, or sick. You… still look sick. And the Princesses will be the ones who formally debrief you. Cerea, I know you might not want to do this yet, but…”
Silver eyes closed, and it was ten long heartbeats before they opened again.
“…I thought we were going to lose you,” the pegasus whispered. “And even when we didn’t, you were leaving. So if you think you can, even a little… I want to talk…”
The girl still felt sick. She didn’t know what was wrong with her, and she was afraid to find out. But having the Doctors Bear not rush into the room seemed to indicate some possibility of full recovery.
Or they’re afraid to tell me.
That I’m dying.
…no. She felt sick, and that sensation had filled every organ — but it wasn’t at that level.
There was also another factor.
I saw Lala.
We hugged.
She knew it, and so death had lost a certain amount of terror.
There had been a promise.
No. There had been two. And the other was for Nightwatch. To… talk.
“I don’t know where to start…”
The mare glanced at the rolling drawers, and then looked away.
“You killed Tirek,” she softly said. “Start with that.”
It was a new source of fear for the girl. Lala understood death. Nightwatch might still see her as a murderer.
It didn’t happen.
“You tried to talk him out of it,” the pegasus quietly said. “Now that he could only take a little, here and there…”
“It didn’t matter to him.” The words were bitter. “He wouldn’t think about changing, any more than he let his brother find help. Somepony who could try to reverse it all. Remove the wires: maybe it was just that simple.”
“But you gave him the chance,” was oddly calm. “That’s what counts.”
“I still killed him.” The words were somewhat hollow. All the more space for the full-body nausea to fill. “I never killed before…”
“He tried to kill you,” the Guard pointed out. A little ear flick added emphasis to the words.
“I decided to kill him before he tried to blast me.” Necessary information.
“So did Princess Luna.” Soft, controlled, without a trace of fear or revulsion. “She just didn’t get what she wanted for a while. You were her Guard. It’s the vow, Cerea. One life for all lives. Yours, because you didn’t know what would happen. And his.” With just a little more volume, leaning forward on the bench, “You saved the world. You’re a hero —“
Automatically, “— I’m not.”
The pegasus was staring at her.
“Really?”
Cerea’s hooves wanted to vomit, and there was actually some practicality in play there. An infected hoof could release pus. Maybe her hooves just needed more practice.
“Somepony would have stopped him,” the girl insisted. “You can tell Twilight that the rocks would have worked.”
“After how many drainings?” Nightwatch asked. “Because with you, it was none.”
“It was a job,” started off the next salvo of protest. “The Princesses offered me money and the disc —“
That’s another new scent.
Find the context. Posture. Expression.
…she’s insulted.
“Guards,” Nightwatch said, “receive salaries.”
“This was different!”
“How?”
Cerea tried to find the right words. Some way of making the pegasus see that the centaur’s act had been strictly mercenary, meant nothing —
— the girl froze.
The two liminals rested within the perfect pasture.
“So just a job,” Lala said. “Almost want to congratulate you, lass. You just insulted every soldier there ever was. Along with police officers. Some spies. For that matter, I think your old knights got armor repair for free.”
“It’s different!”
“How?”
“I took a job for pay.”
“And they don’t?” The dullahan leaned back. “Low pay, most of the time. Heroing doesn’t turn much profit.” A little more quickly, “Would you have done it for nothin’ at all? Because it sounds like the Princesses made the offer first. You never asked.”
“I was the only one who could go in without giving him more strength.” The girl knew she was arguing: she just wasn’t entirely sure as to what. “I had to go.”
Casually, “So yes.”
The “Um,” was borrowed.
“Helps to pay a hero,” Lala observed. “Keeps people in the profession. And stops heroes from starvin’ to death. Don’t insult the professionals, lass. Or yourself. Modesty’s fine for a hero. Denial is just annoying.”
“…I already had this argument,” Cerea slowly said. “I…” and stopped. Looked directly at Nightwatch. “I’m sorry. I know I insulted the Guards, and a lot of other people. I…” It was oddly hard to dip her head, when she was on her side. “…have trouble seeing it in myself. A lot.”
The nuzzle was gaining skill with practice. Cerea still wasn’t entirely sure what to do in return.
“You could have gone home,” Nightwatch told her.
“The price was too high.” She had to force back the sigh: it felt as if the steak might come up with it. “Even if he’d agreed to use volunteer donors, just a little from each… Discord is still gone.”
“Um,” Nightwatch said. “He could still recover. I hope. Fancypants is trying…”
“And he didn’t have any real control,” Cerea finished. “Plus he was lying. He did it by accident, Nightwatch. For making it happen on purpose, it’s wouldn’t and couldn’t. All he did was… wish.”
Wish in one hand.
Bleed into the other.
See if you die first.
“And you turned feathers into a weapon.” There was a small smile attached to the words. “Feathers.”
“Fragments.” Not quite denial: more towards correction. “It would be easy to add it into the arsenal.”
The smile strengthened — then vanished.
“You were a great Guard,” Nightwatch whispered. “One of the best.”
Most of the words skimmed through her, lent speed by the still-present current of denial. The use of past tense stuck.
“I can’t stay.” And this is where the fight starts.. “Not after what happened at the party. There’s probably going to be lawsuits, Nightwatch. Because of me.” More quickly, ‘I can’t leave the palace without something happening. But maybe I can cross a border. All I can do as a Guard from now on is make things worse —“
The pegasus didn’t interrupt, not with words. There were no gestures, and both wingtips failed to painfully arc towards Cerea’s lips. It was the tears which silenced the centaur. The fresh flow into what had been drying fur, coming so quickly as to keep the strands from absorbing it all.
Something was wrong. Scent said everything was wrong, and the girl, fallen silent on her makeshift bed, finally identified the olfactory signature of regret.
“I was waiting for you to come back,” the little knight softly said. “So I could yell at you, in the way Princess Luna does. To make you yell at yourself, until you understood my getting hurt wasn’t your fault. But that was only part of it. Because you’d gone into Tartarus, without telling me. To confront Tirek, and… you might not come out. I needed you to come back so you would be back. And…. I thought we would talk. Fight, probably. And then you would be a Guard again.”
I can’t…
“Spike sent the scroll which said you were alive.” Decibels continued to fall away. “Alive but — hurt. Sick. So I made sure to be on the roof when they brought you in. Twilight carried you out of the carriage…”
She stopped. Shook her head, far too quickly, and tears flew everywhere.
“Then Applejack came out,” Nightwatch finished, “I saw Applejack. And I knew.”
The girl had initially learned a single phrase for the pony language. She had asked for those words, because she saw them as the most essential.
“I don’t understand.” Applejack hadn’t been hurt, or Nightwatch would have said something before this —
— the little knight turned. Slowly moved towards the motionless stack of rolling drawers, and bit down on a grip which had been designed for exactly that. A simple step backwards pulled a rather small section open.
The girl couldn’t see what was inside, not with the pony in the way. But there was a new scent: hints of candle wax, false traces of long-departed mercury which carried an odd sweetness within. It was almost familiar…
“Barding found out almost immediately,” Nightwatch quietly said. “I’m not sure how, and he hasn’t said. Maybe somepony galloped for him first, and he listened because… it was about you. And then he kept coming in here, over and over. Because he wants you to stay. He wanted to tell you, when you woke up. That… you still had a place…”
Her head went forward. Teeth closed, and steady legs turned.
The weeping pegasus had an even trot. Not powerful, but — steady. There were no signs of weakness. She was simply doing what had to be done.
The little burden was dropped onto the makeshift bed. Placed where Cerea could see it.
And then the girl understood.
The object resting on the soft surface had warped in several places. Several sections had blackened. A few had dripped.
It was possible to find multiple impressions curving across the semi-cylinder. Trenches placed by desperate pressure.
There was just enough of the hilt left to identify, and a little section of crossguard.
It had never been the wielder. It had always been the sword.
The sword was gone.