The Last Nightguard

by Georg


15. Distracting Deployment

The Last Nightguard
Distracting Deployment


“In the event of deployment to an undeveloped area, you may not be provided with a barracks, so be prepared to establish a field expedient shelter from a poncho or loose cloud materials. Take care to only use wild clouds and not anything that might be claimed by local residents, and keep your shelter small so it does not draw unwanted attention.”
—Manual of the Royal Guard, Volume One


Light was Dark and Day was Night. Ebon Tide had no problems at all sleeping in the rays of sunlight that filled Luna’s bedroom, but now that Night had fallen, something deep in his heart drove him to wakefulness. With a quiet yawn, he moved the covering warm wing to one side, caught in the beautiful haze of memory. There were many, many evenings when Calla would entice him to remain in their bed rather than see him vanishing into the darkness on the way to his job. It had become a wonderful habit, broken forever when a fever had taken her far before her time, and now the feathers—

Eb’s eyes opened wide, taking in the sharp images of Luna’s unfinished bedroom and in particular the warm dark wing spread out over the edge of the bed and coincidentally himself. There was little doubt to the ownership of said wing due to the locale and size, but Eb held himself perfectly immobile while his mind tried its best to catch up with reality.

Before he could do much more than blink several times, Luna poked her nose over the edge of the bed and looked down at him, her deep teal eyes sparkling with mischief. “Ah, that is where that horrid noise is coming from. Did you know you snored?”

“The pot calling names unto the kettle,” responded Eb instinctually. “Twice I awoke to the music of the night, undamped by doorway or distance. The Guards posted to your room had always claimed you had a Royal Canterlot Snore, but we did not ever experience it at such close range.”

That set Luna giggling and she eased herself back into bed, followed by a book from the nightstand. “We have accomplished our task for the eve, and have decided to return to our educational odyssey for a few hours. Perhaps we shall arise at middle-night and see to a snack. You are welcome to remain—”

“Nay,” declared Ebon Tide just as forcefully as he could while carrying out the strenuous task of rising to his hooves. “Too long have I lain slug-a-bed when my duty awaits. Your fel magic doth churn in my blood with the light of the moon, so I might as well be productive with the time I have been gifted.”

“Do you plan to wage war upon Equestria’s enemies, Warleader?” asked Luna with a quirk to one eyebrow indicating her fey mood.

“I do not believe Equestria has any enemies left to fall upon,” admitted Eb. “I plan on examining the fitness of what Guards you still have. Perhaps in case of invasion, we might roll a few of them down a hill in order to disrupt the assault.”

He headed for the door to Luna’s quarters, paused, then turned for the bathroom instead. It was going to be difficult enough to force his stiff joints and aching muscles down the stairs without trying to find a bathroom in the maze of palace passages.

* * *

Progress was relative. In his day, Eb would have been glad to get a forest stream of tepid water to bathe in. Now, water of whatever degree of warmth sprayed forth at the touch of a metal device, and a vast selection of mane care potions and oozing slimes could be found within easy reach for the cleansing of manes. That is if he had more than the thin fuzz like a swamp-peach, and his skin did not cringe away from the astringent spray. He was extremely careful when washing, feeling the curdled bits of dry skin flake away under the warm water and a sense of peace begin to form. Only when he was done and the entire chamber wiped down to dry did he reluctantly consider his strange new wings.

They itched.

As a pegasus, he was no stranger to preening. Itching was the first indication of a needed preen, after all. Without feathers to oil, the process seemed strange, and the dry oil from his preening gland ineffective on the broad stretches of his new wings. By sampling, he found a small bottle of oil in the vast collection of mane care products that had been stuffed into Luna’s cabinets. It left his wings a little sticky, but at least they did not itch while he strode past the distracted princess and out into the corridor. Thankfully, the stairs went down from the Royal Bedroom, which only let the abused tendons of his legs scream a little as he picked his way down to where the two armored Guards watched his path.

“Guards. Report,” said Eb once he reached the bottom. It was an excuse to stop walking, and a fairly poor one because the duty of a door Guard was nothing. As long as nothing happened, there was nothing to do. Since they were doing nothing, nothing had happened. Well, other than a number of fresh jasmine flowers in wall hangers that filled the corridors with a pleasing scent.

“Warmaster Ebon Tide,” said the first Guard. “All is well. Nothing to report.”

“Nothing at all,” said the second with a subdued smirk.

Once he recognized that smirk, an ancient memory flooded in and raised the churning morass of anger in his gut. Ever so slowly, Eb turned his gaze on the second guard.

“Does something strike you as humorous?”

The smirk vanished, at least on the surface. “No, sir.”

Eb would have continued, but the elevating room took that moment to give out a sharp musical note and the doors slid open. An energetic unicorn in gleaming armor strode out, looking every inch the model of Guard strength and efficiency and making Eb feel small and feeble by comparison.

“Captain Shining Armor,” he said, stepping forward and saluting.

“Coincidence?” asked Eb, giving the two Guards a sideways glance.

“Speaking tube,” said Shining Armor. He gave a nod to a mechanical device on the nearby wall. “Standing order when the door guards hear the sound of the toilets flushing first thing in the morning, or evening for Princess Luna now. Word was relayed to me and I came at once to escort you to… wherever you wish to go tonight.”

“I have an educational lesson first. Can you explain to your Guards what the Cubiculum is?” Eb turned his head slightly to look at the two baffled pegasi, although Shining Armor sucked in a quick breath.

“I’d rather not,” said the captain. “Is that an order?”

After brief consideration, Eb shook his head. “My knowledge is sincerely dated. I shall tell you what I know, and you shall fill in the gaps for the children here. In short, the word ‘cubiculum’ means ‘small room’ in Old Equish. In less polite terms, it is a supposed group of stallions kept to satisfy the carnal desires of the Princesses.”

None of the three looked particularly shocked by the news, although Shining Armor kept his stern composure the best, most likely because he had faced the worst of the rumors and innuendo due to his relationship with the pretty pink Princess Cadence.

“At one time,” continued Ebon Tide, “there was a particular Guard who encouraged such rumors instead of properly dealing with them. Eventually, his loose tongue caught the attention of Her Highness, which of them I am uncertain. In short, he vanished one evening. The next evening, he appeared again. Never a word did he ever speak of it, but his behavior was completely changed. The word spread amongst the Guard, and that word became extinct.”

The silence was exquisite. It lasted far too briefly.

“Beg pardon, Warleader.” One of the Guards gave a brief sniff and waved one wing to stir up a breeze. “If’n you don’t want nopony thinking in that particular direction, why do your wings smell like… um…”

Shining Armor cleared his throat. “It’s a lubricant used during intercourse.”

The whole world seemed to flip upside-down, preventing Eb from doing more than breathe.

“From your expression,” continued Shining Armor, “you did not know that when you applied it to your wings. I’m presuming some well-intentioned palace staff member stocked Princess Luna’s cabinets with everything they could imagine.”

“The staff could use less imagination,” managed Eb. “Remain here.”

The trip back up the stairs to Princess Luna’s bedroom took far less time than before. He vanished into the bathroom shower and scrubbed with the intensity of his youth, only emerging once his wings itched like he had been rolling through nettles. He took the infernal bottle when he strode back downstairs, past the impassive form of Luna working her way through yet another book in bed, and back to the three waiting Guards.

“Better?” he asked, getting close enough to brush his bare skin against their noses.

“Yes, sir.” The Guard nudged a small trash can forward and Eb dropped the bottle into it.

“Besides,” offered Eb in a futile attempt at humor, “attempting intimacy with Her Highness would certainly kill me, if not from the activity, then her reaction to such a request.”

* * *

As much as Ebon Tide wanted to resume his training and sweat in the dueling circles until he had regained at least some of his previous strength, he currently would be outmatched by Peanut Brittle and one of her little friends. Even walking to the Guard training area with Shining Armor at his side left him out of breath.

It was progress, small and frustrating but still welcome.

He found it difficult to remember how helpless and unbalanced he had been just a few short weeks ago, and so easy to recall his time a thousand years ago instead. It was more comfortable, filled with memories of good things instead of the screaming gulf of lunar insanity that filled the gap between now and then. A time when he was young and strong. A time when the world was simple, and the word of the Princesses was law. A time that would never come again, a childhood for a crippled old stallion a few tottering steps from the grave.

“Captain,” said Eb after they had been introduced to a substantial number of exercising Guards, including several batponies. “There is hope for us after all. Physically, at least. It seems Crupper is not the model of the modern Guard.” Eb slowed to a halt and looked up. And up.

The batwinged pony in front of them looked down, then saluted. “Private Pansy,” he rumbled.

“Captain Shining Armor,” said Shining Armor with a nod to one side. “And Warleader Ebon Tide.”

“Grats on your promotion,” said Pansy. His head turned ever so slowly to look Eb in the eyes. “Welcome back, sir.”

“My word,” he breathed. “You’re a big one. Doth any of your fellow Guards ever make merry with your name?”

“Never twice,” said Pansy. “I take it you’re not here to spar?”

“No,” said Eb. “I have no desire to die so quickly after having dodged the Pale Mare until now.”

“Pansy is in training to be a trainer,” said Armor. “He’s gentle as a kitten, and if you want to re-learn all of our modern combat skills, I can think of no better Guard to supervise your journey.”

“Speaking of a journey, I’ll be wanting quarters nearby instead of all the way over at the palace.” Eb looked around. “Normally, the barracks are in the near vicinity.”

“I made preparations to have you set up in the married officer housing. That will give you more space for any private physical therapy or meetings with medical staff,” said Armor. “Pansy will meet with you in the early evening to coordinate training and other activities. Unless you are dining with Their Highnesses or have other duties, in which case training will wait until later at night,” he added without even a trace of the snide arrogance Eb had begun to expect from lesser officers.

Pansy spoke up suddenly. “Officers have access to the steamroom and hot baths. If you don’t have any physical therapy scheduled yet, I’ll arrange for one of the staff to take care of it whenever it fits into your schedule. The steamroom feels mighty good after that.”

Shining Armor shrugged. “As you can see, Pansy could easily ascend the ranks to the general staff, but he plans on leaving the service after his term is over.”

“I like arranging flowers,” said the hulking batpony, looking perfectly comfortable with his decision and not angry at being tweaked over it. It was a sensation of completeness that Eb had difficulty understanding with the underlying simmer of dark magic in his gut, but Pansy was centered like the whole world turned around him. It was yet another concept that Eb was trying to come to grips with, since his compatriots lived and died in the Guard with a very few leaving from old age or missing limbs. The modern Guards had just as much of an edge on their training and dedication, but many of them planned careers after, which just baffled Eb’s older mind.

Once Shining Armor returned to his duties, leaving Eb in the competent care of his new trainer, there were a few questions that needed answers— that is bat answers, not unicorn answers.

“My wings are itching like fire,” grumbled Eb. “I know how to preen,” he added at the rather uncomfortable look that came over the big batpony at the presumed idea of lecturing his superior officer on a simple hygiene task that pegasi were supposed to learn as foals. “I don’t know how to properly preen these kinds of wings, though. And my preening gland is still dry as moondust. Suggestions?”

* * *

An ‘officer club’ seemed to be a rather odd thing to Ebon Tide’s antiquated mind. Officers and soldiers served in the same way, ate the same mud, and bled in the same distant soils. In his day, an officer who placed his own physical comforts above those of his soldiers would soon find something rather uncomfortable in their near future. To make matters worse, the doorkeeper attempted to keep Private Pansy out.

Eb took great pride in holding his temper while informing the unfortunate wretch that he could either permit Warleader Ebon Tide’s personal aide to enter, or Pansy would be dispatched to return with Her Dread Highness, and the two of them would enter the club anyway. He wanted to include a threat about greasing their path with the obstinate fool’s blood, but that would probably upset his nervous aide. The stern lecture worked anyway, and word traveled fast enough that civilian servants and officers alike cleared their path like leaves before a gale.

The attraction of the familiar drew him near the bar, only not a bar as he had once known with wooden tankards and ale to make the memories go away. Glass had replaced rough-hewn wooden barrels containing what he suspected to be far more powerful drinks that would wreck his weakened body in a few gulps. He excused passing by the temptation instead with the excuse that he was only looking at the moment, and when he had recovered some of his previous vigor, he would raise a traditional drink to family and comrades long gone to dust and blown away.

“A spa,” observed Eb as the fairly hasty tour concluded at a closed door with the aforementioned sign. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Officers and enlisted have different sides in here,” rumbled Pansy. “Other’n that, it’s the same facilities. Manecutter visits once a week, which you probably won’t need for a bit. The preeners work split shifts, so the ladies from my clan are probably on right now.”

Eb could barely remember the subtle dance of clan names and Houses when visiting Peanut Brittle’s family. It was certainly a complicated topic that warranted some serious study to find out which political factions were pressing for power with the rediscovery of Princess Luna. As a Guard, he was forbidden from taking political stands, but there were always exceptions and ponies who took great pleasure in seeing how close to the line they could tread without being trod upon. Some of the foolish were Guards back then, and certainly in the modern era too.

A little treading upon the uncautious treaders would be good for his recovery.

For now, he merely followed his aide into the facility, taking in the marble tiles and shining gadgets which could have easily paid for a division or two of slingers or thunder-stompers. Then again, it seemed to provide employment for a whole division of older batpony mares, who looked up at him with eager eyes when the two of them walked into some sort of massage area with padded benches and the scent of oils in the humid air.

“Warmaster Tide!” An older mare with a mane gone entirely to grey stepped forward, motioning back the other attendants with a wave of a wrinkled wing. “We were hoping to see you in the officer’s club sometime, but this is far sooner than we expected. Come in and have a seat.”

“He needs a preening, Missus Gust,” rumbled Pansy. “Be gentle. He’s just out of the hospital wing and Flutter would be upset if you put him back there. She’s my aunt,” he added to Eb. “Not in a direct lineage, but you’ll find House and clan connections are just a bit convoluted.”

“There’s been a lot of ancestor checking lately,” admitted Gust as she helped guide Eb’s unsteady path to the waiting bench. “Records back then are more fiction than anything. Unicorns seem to think Princess Platinum had more children than a kennel of pups.”

“I’m related to her,” said one of the somewhat younger batponies who was getting Eb’s rear hoof into a stirrup for stability. She had a pale streak of pure silvery-pink in her mane which at least could have come from that line, but it still was difficult for Eb to think of a unicorn mating into a line of batponies, made only worse by the young mare’s next words. “Mum always said we had unicorns in our family way back, or at least she started saying it when I gave birth to Archer. My whole family has this little bump on the top of our heads, but Archer’s is a real horn.”

“I thought your family picked up an astronomer about five generations back,” said a different batpony mare.

Missus Gust quelled the ongoing speculation about various horned and winged relatives and set her mares about the delicate task of oiling his wings, which they took far too much pleasure doing. They still chattered about family and ancestry, which Eb listened to with more than a little concealed fascination. There did not seem to be any assigned marriages or House fights over producing heirs like in his day, but there was a lot of subtle competition in who had the best talents in their families.

There was even talk about some of the family members attending a school for talented unicorns which Princess Celestia had loaned her name to. And not some sort of secret conclave with hidden rituals and an extremely limited number of students, or even old crabby unicorns like Starswirl taking on apprentices until they could no longer stand the old coot. No, this was an organized and structured public institution with hundreds of young unicorns who displayed their works for proud parents and relatives. No doubt the same could be said about the other two races of ponies, with open schools and far fewer secrets hidden from all outsiders.

It was all so natural and familiar that Eb lost track of time, luxuriating in the feel of so many mares paying attention to his itching wings, only for that sense of peace to come crashing down when Gust nudged him on the side and tried to turn him over.

“Woah. No!” he declared, getting a good grip on the massage table.

“Don’t worry,” snickered one of the older batpony mares who added her cold nose to his nearly bare side in an attempt to flip him. “It’s nothing we ain’t seen before. Iris, grab a towel to toss over the shy gentlecolt.”

Despite his best efforts, a half-dozen experienced mares were more than able to get Eb rolled over onto his back, where there was a sudden hush that fell across his attendants.

“Oh, my,” said one.

“I better… get two towels,” said Iris, nosing into a pile of rough white cloth.

“Yesss,” said Gust slowly, taking a moment to swallow and look away. “Sorry about that, Warmaster Tide. That’s…”

“Average,” said Eb. “I’m sorry, ladies.”

“I’m not,” said one of them, only to be hushed by her peers.

“Stallions normally get a little excited during preening,” said Gust, arranging a pair of towels over his exposed delicates. “I guess since it’s been a thousand years since…”

“Stop right there,” said Eb, who had managed to recover a tiny bit of his authority with the placement of the towels. “We presume the role of prostitute still exists, but were I to take advantage of such a mare, it would probably kill me in my current state.”

“I know a really gentle—” managed one of the mares before being hushed again.

Oil, ladies,” said Gust firmly. “You know the rules.”

It was at least a full minute of silent wing oiling before Eb cleared his throat. “What rules?”

“No nookie,” said one of the mares immediately, which Eb mentally translated into the most appropriate metaphor for sex.

“No encouraging the guards into relationships with any friend or family member,” said a different mare. “And no asking about it either. What gets said here, stays here.”

“No money, honey,” recited another mare. “No groping, you dope. No… um…”

Gust leaned down and whispered into Eb’s ear. It made sense, although the idea of a mare doing that to a stallion in front of others was practically incomprehensible. The quieter group of mares finished his underwing preening in fairly short order and rolled him back over to begin a cautious massage, which ended almost as fast as it started.

“There’s no muscles to rub down,” admitted Gust after some cautious poking, “and not enough of a coat grown in to protect your skin from hooves. I don’t think even Camshaft could do a proper job. She’s a minotaur,” added Gust when Eb twisted around to look up at her. “Can bend a shoe into a pretzel or catch a butterfly on the wing without hurting it.”

“We shall just have to put on some muscle,” said Eb. “Frankly, getting out of bed is a chore right now, but when we return to something resembling our previous level of health, we shall see about requesting her assistance.”