Marks of the Moon

by Moonatik

8 - Epilogue

Had ponies from ten years ago been told there would be a safe, functional, regular train service that ran through the Everfree Forest, they’d have laughed it off and not given it a second thought. Had those same ponies been told this train service took ponies to the new centre of Equestrian government deep in the Everfree itself, they wouldn’t even honour it with a laugh.

Yet Rarity rode this service to work so many times she’d lost count.

Rarity, along with the three fillies, had a small few seats to themselves on a quiet, largely empty part of the train. Only two other ponies were in sight. The windows gave a view of the serpentine trees of the Everfree whizzing past, and the train’s interior was elaborately decorated with intricate silver designs on an immaculate purple backdrop. They’d been quiet since getting aboard, the pervasive mood being a desire for calm after Apple Bloom’s brief outburst upon hearing Neighsay’s fate. Scootaloo may have wanted to gush about having met the Warmaster, but understood it to be in poor taste.

It was Sweetie Belle who broke the silence. “What’s up with Carte Blanche?” Sweetie asked her sister. “You sounded like you knew him.”

Rarity scoffed. “Do I know him? Stars above do I know him, I wish I didn’t!” she ranted. “He’s a selfish marenizing pest! In every way, just the most despicable sort of pony! The sort that slides up to you, woos you with their wealth and their charm, only to ditch you as soon as they have what they wanted! Why anypony would want to honour him with an audience, let alone Selenite herself, boggles my mind! I swear some stallions-”

“Quick, change the subject!” Sweetie whispered to her friends as Rarity continued ranting.

“Hey Rarity I don’t think you ever told us about your time in the military!” Scootaloo hastily shouted with a wave.

“-an absolute swine in- Hm? Oh yes! I was in naval logistics,” Rarity said, the foul expression vanishing from her face. “Joined up when that horrendous hag Chrysalis attacked. I’d have had to join sooner or later, what with it being mandatory. Truth be told it wasn’t bad, even if it meant I couldn’t be there to run the boutique right as the competition moved in. Poor Sassy did as well as she could’ve given the circumstances. Oh, and no, I never saw combat. Most of the time I was sitting at a desk looking over reports.”

“Ah, okay, thank you for your service,” Scootaloo said, quieting down. “Nailed it,” she whispered.

“‘scuse me, Rarity,” Apple Bloom said. “Didya mean everythin’ ya said earlier? ‘bout givin’ bat ponies special treatment even if that means you’re gettin’ screwed?”

“Well, hm,” Rarity shuffled on the spot. “To a certain extent, yes. I don’t have to like everything that’s happened, but my heart truly does go out to all the poor thestrals in Equestria.”

“So, what,” Apple Bloom said, “ya don’t mind ya whole life bein’ turned topsy-turvy?”

“Of course I mind!” Rarity burst. Everyfilly flinched. “Three days a week! Three nights! I have to dress up like this, stuff my mane up, and perform menial mind-numbing drudgery for eight hours! Eight! And all the while I'm running a business all by myself and barely managing to pay the bills and struggling to keep up with the few orders I get and watching everypony else flock to the newcomer's boutique and as they're booming, I'm having to subject myself to Nightmare Moon's-” Rarity's whole face clenched up, the bright red flush visible under her pristine white coat. She forced out a long breath and untensed, before returning to sitting normally. “Apologies, darlings, such an outburst is unbecoming of me.”

Sweetie raised a hoof. “Uh, actually-”

“But,” Rarity sighed, “yes, I do mind. In a better world perhaps, one where thestrals were treated as proper ponies from the start, none of this would be happening and we wouldn't have to worry about any of this. No use dwelling on it though, what's done is done and we're left picking up the pieces.”

The four of them shared a brief silence, only the rumble of the carriage making a sound.

“It's strange,” Rarity mused as she stared out the window. “If I just sucked it up, closed down the boutique, found a nice apartment to live in and went full time at the Castle, I'd earn more than I ever did making dresses and be far more secure. But then I'd have no time for my true passions, and what sort of life is that?”

“It's the life most of us get!” somepony loudly grumbled.

Rarity and the fillies whipped their heads around to the source of the grumble. In a seat on the other side of the tram, a stocky red earth pony stallion was throwing Rarity a smirk. Saddlebags on his back and a thick tool belt around his waist, there was a noticeable scraggly beard across his face and little else in the way of hair on his head. A newspaper was resting in his hooves, which held his attention until he noticed the four pairs of eyes staring at him. “Oh sorry, I couldn’t help but overhear your big loud outburst. Tends to happen in public places,” he laughed.

“And you are?” Rarity cocked an eyebrow.

“Me? Name’s Chrome,” he said as he sat up and turned to face Rarity, putting the newspaper to one side. “Nopony special, just an electrician around Ponyville, sometimes at the castle. I know who you are though, Rarity, my wife got her wedding dress from you.”

“Oh?” Rarity’s eyebrow remained up, but the rest of her eyes widened. “What’s her name?”

“Aloe Charm,” Chrome said.

“Ah!” Rarity’s face lit up considerably. “Of course I remember Aloe! Lovely lady, hers was the Kirian style dress, wasn’t it? White with the golden piping?”

“That’s the one!” Chrome grinned.

Almost instantaneously, Sweetie looked at his cutie mark, which displayed a typewriter. “Huh, your cutie mark’s a typewriter. Are you like, a specialist at typewriter electricianing?”

A wheezing laugh broke out of Chrome for a split second. “Haha! No, sorry, definitely not. I got this when I was a colt. I found out I had a passion for writing, just loved making stories and sharing them with other ponies, even as I got older. Mind you this was, what, thirty years ago? Still love doing it now when I get the time. But, turns out there’s no money to be made in the sort of thing I like to write and nopony around town was hiring writers. Before I knew it, I’d been an electrician for twenty-five years!”

“I thought ponies got jobs that aligned with their cutie marks?” Scootaloo pondered.

“Most of the ponies I work with don’t,” he said. “My coworkers all have cutie marks like pencils, sewing needles, musical notes, cameras, or that one lad who's got an eagle. Not really what you’d think of when you think electrician, ey? Only one bloke has anything close to an ‘electrician’ cutie mark, a pegasus with a thunderbolt on their flank, but somehow I doubt that means he’s a good electrician.”

“Hey, you know, there’s something I remember reading a while ago in the paper,” a pegasus mare on the train, chimed into the conversation.

The other ponies turned to the pegasus mare with curious looks, seeing her dressed in a tight-fitting buttoned-up aquamarine shirt tucked into a black pencil skirt, oddly contrasting her light-yellow coat and copper mane which was tied up much like Rarity’s was.

She continued. “There was this survey done asking ponies if their job matched their cutie mark. You know how many answered either ‘doesn’t match my cutie mark’ or outright ‘contradicts my cutie mark’?” the mare paused for emphasis. “Seventy percent.”

“Seventy!?” all three Crusaders blurted out at once.

“Seventy,” Chrome exhaled. “I’d believe it.”

“Sometimes I envy blank flanks,” the mare sighed, a solemn look on her face. “Least they’re not going around with a permanent reminder of how far they are from their actual passions. With me?” she gestured to her flank. “I started wearing a skirt all the time so I wouldn’t have to see my cutie mark every time I passed a mirror. It’s just there, all the time, telling me my true calling is stage acting and not as a penpusher in the tax department. But hey! I guess Equestria needs tax officials more than it needs theatre actors!” she groaned.

Apple Bloom shrugged. “Hmph, yeah, just what Nightmare Moon’s nasty horrible Empire has done to good honest ponies,” she stated, smugly folding her hooves.

Only for her to be startled by sudden short laughs from Chrome and the pegasus mare.

“Ohh, kid I already told you I’ve been in this pit for twenty-five years,” Chrome said while he rubbed his head. “Way before Nightmare Moon came back, I’m just a lot busier now what with everypony’s lights being used all the time.”

“And before this, I was doing the exact same thing in Canterlot!” the pegasus mare seethed. “Oh yeah, don't move to Canterlot. Rent alone will ruin you.”

Apple Bloom looked like she was at a loss for words, head whipping from pony to pony as her mouth hung open.

Shrugging, Chrome shook his head. “When I really look at it some things are different, but most things aren’t that different,” he said whilst gazing at the floor. Only then, his voice took on a more hopeful tone and he raised his head. “If one thing’s stayed the same though, it’s that we can’t risk not looking out for our fellow pony. When the going gets tough we’ve nobody to turn to but each other, and trust me the going’s gonna get tough. Equestria might not always live up to the promise of harmony, but that’s just more reason why regular ponies should look out for each other. Magic of friendship and all that.”

Rarity nodded. “Hm. Yes, I’m inclined to agree.”

An ear-splitting beep sounded on the train’s speakers, the speed of the vehicle noticeably slowing as the surrounding forest got less dense. “You are now arriving at: Ponyville Edge,” came a neutral yet booming voice. “Please mind the gap when exiting the train.”

“Oh, well, this is our stop,” Rarity said, getting to her hooves with the Crusaders following suit. “Nice to see you all!” she waved.

“I get off here too,” said the pegasus, already standing. “My apartment’s in flying distance.”

“I’m further up,” Chrome said, settling back into his seat. “See you around, Rarity.”

Rarity smiled. “See you around, darlings.”

“Applejack.”

One phone call to the Ministry of Justice asking if anypony in the Ponyville Branch of the Apple family was in the prison system and if a copy of their dossier or dossiers may be delivered to the Warmaster's office. That was all it took, and no more than fifteen minutes later such a dossier was with her secretary and then on her desk. Had her mind not been bogged with thoughts regarding this particular mare and her encounter with their sister earlier that night, she'd feel great pride in the efficiency of the Lunar bureaucracy, its wheels greased by the extensive use of magic. Labyrinthine as it sometimes appeared to the common pony, when those bureaucrats were given clear instructions from their superiors, they delivered.

What she read about Applejack was interesting. It gave details of her crime, firing a gun at Lunar soldiers because her family farm was being nationalised, surrendered when the hammer was brought down. Nopony was killed or injured. Her sentence was eight years of corrective labour in prison, and so far she’d served it with dignity. No incidents with guards, was good at the work she was assigned, never got in fights, and got along well with the other prisoners. The dossier even included an excerpt from her plea.

You're accusing me of defending my family, my liberty and my property, ain't that so? If that's how it is, you’re damn right I plead guilty.

Selenite couldn’t help but respect her stubborn commitment to her cause and her family and her unshakable integrity. If this story were instead about a thestral from twenty years ago Selenite may have thought of them as a hero. Perhaps in another life they’d have been allies.

Whilst stroking her chin, Selenite looked up from the dossier and around her office, gazing at no specific point in particular. There were enough seats in the office for six ponies to hold a meeting, not counting the small leather chair of her own. Decorations were kept mostly simple and the furniture was utilitarian. There were just two paintings in the room, hung on opposite walls, one was of the Battle of Aghzat and another of Fledermaus at night. Her broad desk was meticulously organised, free from any clutter or any sentimental trinkets aside from a framed photo of Sol which had been taken at the tail end of his military career. There was one window to her left, overlooking a lush courtyard. She found that keeping a clear workspace helped her think with a clear head, and a lack of distracting decorations centred the focus of herself and any present colleagues on their work.

A buzz sounded through the office, ripping Selenite out of her thoughts. “Warmaster,” came the voice of her secretary, Timetable, through the intercom on her desk. “Night Eye Cygnus is here for his assignment.”

Selenite pressed a button on the intercom. “Very well, send him in.”

A few moments later, the door was flung open as Carte Blanche came strolling in. “Evening, darling Warmaster!” he waved, throwing himself onto a seat in front of Selenite’s desk. “Heh, those kids. Imagine how they’d have reacted if they knew what we really did with Neighsay.”

Selenite did little more than stare back. Carte was a good agent, Nightmare Moon hoofpicked him for the Night Eye program for a good reason, but his crass immaturity frequently grated on her. “Officially, Neighsay was killed trying to escape and that’s what we’re sticking with publicly. Try not to jeopardise that, Cygnus.”

“Yeah yeah, I know,” Carte smirked, flicking a hoof. “It’s hard not to brag about it whenever his name is brought up.”

Selenite opened a drawer in her desk. “Sure. Now, your assignment-”

“Y’know I kept him alive for five hours-”

“Your assignment, Cygnus,” Selenite interrupted. She threw a folder labelled 'CYGNUS 6/04/1008 - TOP SECRET' onto the desk. “You know the drill, everything you need to know is in here. Any questions, ask away.”

Carte’s eyes fell onto the desk, first onto the folder before scanning the neatly arranged documents across it. “I take it you were moved by that apple kid,” he said.

One of Selenite’s eyebrows twitched up. “Hm?”

“Couldn’t help but notice the dossier on your desk, for a convict named Applejack currently being held at Maretery Prison. I doubt it’s a coincidence that the list of her known relatives includes a sister named Apple Bloom,” he said, pointing to the dossier. His eyes went wide, scanning the page closer as he suppressed a snicker. “And deceased parents. How tragic.”

“You can read upside down?” Selenite pulled the dossier closer to her side of the desk.

“You can’t?” Carte smirked as he leaned back into his chair. “Probably isn’t just a sudden burst of curiosity completely overtaking you. Unless you expect me to believe that the ever-punctual Selenite, who has had my assignment ready and on the desk before I entered the room every single time before tonight, somehow lost track of time whilst reading some random pony’s dossier. Unless, by chance, your usual attitude has been rumbled by feelings of guilt.”

“Get to work,” she said, impatiently tapping the folder with Carte’s assignment.

Leaning forwards, Carte reached out and dragged the assignment towards him. “That we can do. But right now, I’m curious. What’s the matter? What did that kid say to you that’s left you so shaken?”

Selenite quietly sighed to herself. “Cygnus, you have a job to do, and it’s not as my therapist.”

“Well I think it’s important to understand what state of mind my boss is in, for my sake and yours,” he said, throwing her a cheeky grin. “So please, indulge me. No need for codenames either, I’m asking as a friendly colleague.”

Glaring at Carte, Selenite leaned back into her chair. “Okay, Carte,” she said, before bringing a deep breath in and out. “When Sol brought me into the room the earth pony kid, Apple Bloom, had an outburst of sorts, called me a tyrant and ‘Nightmare Moon’s number-one minion’. One of her friends, Scootaloo the pegasus, then started arguing with her with Scootaloo defending me and Bloom degrading me, heh, like I wasn’t even in the room,” she said. She released a light chuckle and her eyes went to the ceiling.

“But, anyway,” she continued, refocusing herself. “Bloom said she missed her sister, who was sent to prison years ago for firing at Lunar soldiers in some ill-fated stand against nationalisation. Once they’d calmed down the Scootaloo kid asked for my cutie mark story. Have I told you what happened before?”

“No, but stuff like that tends to travel fast. I was only a little kid at the time but a teachers and students’ strike for thestral rights organised by a fourteen-year-old made headlines in Lunarist newspapers from Vespagrad to Ayacachtli,” Carte said. “Believe it or not, you’ve made a name for yourself in the public eye, beyond just being the Warmaster.”

“Hm, alright,” Selenite said, a light smile appearing. “Well, I started to tell the story, but was interrupted halfway through when some other ponies came in. During the interruption, Bloom accused me of being a hypocrite for fighting against anti-thestral bigotry whilst supporting the eternal night. In the moment I was a little shook up, but it wasn’t anything I was unprepared for. I’d heard the argument before and knew how to respond, but given the circumstances of her elder sister and the fact I was hearing it so passionately from a child, it sorta stuck with me. Not to mention her outburst at the end. It’s clear that some ponies now feel the same way you and I did before the revolution, that society is unfairly stacked against them. I don't know if we can honestly call what we do ‘justice’ with that in mind.”

Carte had the same smirk on his face the whole time. “That it?” he said with an exaggerated eyebrow raise.

“More or less,” said Selenite.

“A bit late to be thinking about this, don’t you think?” he asked.

Feigning obliviousness, Selenite shrugged. “It's not even six o'clock yet.”

“You know that’s not what I mean,” Carte dismissed. “You've been Warmaster for nearly four years, you were one of the first ponies to pick up a rifle in support of the Empress when she returned, before that you were organising protests and writing books advocating your cause, even part of your cutie mark stands for devotion to Lunarism. After everything you’ve done and everything I’ve done on your orders, all the wars we’ve waged, all the governments we’ve otherthrown, all the enemies we’ve assassinated, wouldn’t it be best to be a little more sure of yourself? Sure, some dumb kid might be sad about her sister going to prison, but you know, bumps on the road of progress or whatever it is you like to say. Why should that matter? Why let that fog your mind and fill you with doubt? We’re large and in charge. Who cares what a bunch of whiny Sunnies say?”

Selenite felt herself flinch at what Carte said. She knew she did unsavoury things, and tried to refrain from taking pleasure in them. They were just means to an end. But she knew her attitude wasn’t universal and ponies like Carte revelled in it. His approval gave her more pause than any disapproval that Apple Bloom may have expressed.

“Truth is,” Carte said with an uncharacteristically earnest look. “You are Nightmare Moon’s number-one minion. You’re a damn good Warmaster, one of the greatest military and political minds Equestria has ever known and you’re not even thirty. Be proud of that. I know your mother’s proud of you for it.”

Who the hell does he think he is invoking my mother? Selenite thought, the beginnings of a scowl flashing on her face. It faded, as she realised that Carte was completely right to mention her mother. Her gaze fell to the desk, her mind going back to the many times her mother had instilled the values that led her where she was and how every time they’d met since the revolution her mother had been brimming with pride. Yet no matter how much reassurance she conjured up, all the contradictions and ambiguities of her position remained front and centre. What justice was there in locking a little filly’s sister up for something she’d have done in her situation? What order was there in warmongering across the globe and giving ponies like Carte a licence to kill? What progress was gained from allowing the slavers of Chiropterra to keep their prestigious positions, even if on a tight leash?

“With that out of the way, darling Warmaster,” Carte said whilst fluttering his eyelashes and opening his assignment, “I believe I have some minioning to do. Ooh, c'est en Aquilee! Heureusement que je pratique la langue.”

Selenite was quickly pulled from her thoughts. “Right. Yes,” she cleared her throat and sat up. “Our friends over there have by and large consolidated their new republic, but there’s still some Aquileian Royalist holdouts causing trouble…”

By the time Sol got back to the castle, Selenite was already in bed. Being married to the Warmaster meant Sol could coast for the rest of his life and be just fine, but he’d never be content in that. He worked odd jobs wherever he could find them, usually as a bouncer or as a gym instructor. While he was living at the Lunar Castle with Selenite, he had a job in Ponyville as a security consultant on a construction site. The work was fine, the pay was decent, but it kept him busy and that was enough.

“Hi hun, I’m back!” Sol said as he trotted in.

“Hey dear,” Selenite said back. “I’m in the bedroom. How was work?”

Despite Selenite’s status, her castle apartment was very basic. There were plenty of lavish apartments throughout the castle often built specifically for ponies like her, but she chose to have a smaller, more austere space. A single bedroom, a single bathroom, a single living room with no wall to separate it from the kitchen. Selenite and Sol needed nothing more and nothing less.

“The usual,” Sol said as he entered the bedroom, seeing Selenite in her pajamas and under the covers. “That kid was throwing inventory documents in the trash instead of shredding them, again.”

“Really?” Selenite laughed, turning towards Sol.

“Yup,” Sol sat on the bed and started to take his clothes off. After removing his tank-top, he stopped. “Why was Grim Fate in the castle earlier?” he asked.

Selenite tensed. “Hm?”

“I didn’t want to cause a fuss at the time so I kept it cool, but…” Sol turned to Selenite. “Why isn’t she in prison or something? After everything she’s done?”

“She…” Selenite said, her eyes wandering around the room until settling back on Sol. “She’s supposed to be in custody, I had a word with the ponies responsible earlier, they didn’t tell me why she wasn’t under anypony’s supervision, but anything more than that is classified. Actually, just telling you that is classified.”

“Right, right…” Sol said, his eyes turning away. After a quiet moment he looked back at Selenite. “Well, I know if something’s classified I probably shouldn’t press on it, but… Hey, did I ever tell you about Glacier?”

Selenite pushed herself up a bit. “I don’t think you did, no.”

Sol sat up. “Sergeant Glacier. Pony in my unit during the war against Sombra, one of the toughest ponies I’ve ever known. Had balls of steel, afraid of nothing. He’d saved my life more than once, at that. One time he silenced a machine gun nest on his own, ran as fast as he could straight up to it and took out the three ponies operating it. Madlad.”

“Hm, did you stay in touch after the war?” Selenite asked.

“No,” Sol said bluntly. “He was killed and enthralled by Grim Fate.”

Selenite’s jaw clenched shut. Her whole body went tense and she was quiet as a stopped clock.

“He was just one of thousands of ponies who suffered the same end,” Sol said. “I thought the piece of shit who did that to him would be dead or in jail, not walking around the castle. We fought that damn war for the sake of finding justice, and to me it looks like her victims aren’t getting any justice. So what gives? Because if I don’t know, then it’s left up to my imagination.”

Selenite lay in the bed quietly, her breaths becoming louder. After a few moments she sat up, glanced over her shoulder, then looked at Sol. “Sol, can I trust you?” she said.

“I hope so, it tends to come with being married,” he said whilst crossing his hooves.

“Because everything about Grim Fate is classified,” Selenite said, looking Sol in the eyes. “I need to know that nothing I’m about to say is going to leave this room.”

Sol’s eyes widened a little as he looked back at Selenite’s eyes. “Okay,” he said with a nod.

“Okay, good,” Selenite said, lightly nodding herself whilst never breaking eye contact with Sol. “When Grim Fate was captured, we petrified her. Figuring out what to do next was difficult, some wanted to put her on trial, some wanted to keep her petrified, some wanted to inflict a fate worse than death. But, some thought we could use her… unique skill set.”

Sol furrowed his brow. “How?”

“Experts on necromancy were, and still are, very few and far between, as it’s been an outlawed form of magic since forever. The ones we had always assumed expensive rituals were needed to resurrect or enthrall a corpse, but Grim Fate’s battlefield exploits proved them wrong,” Selenite explained. “Now, we didn’t want to enthrall anypony, that would be insane. But if she could resurrect somepony for enthrallment, she has the potential to resurrect a pony for real.”

Sol gasped. “You’re using her for resurrection?”

“Just this week, more than twenty soldiers who had been killed in action were resurrected by her. During active offensives she can be saving dozens per night,” Selenite said, her voice becoming much more confident. “Yes, what she’d done for Sombra is unforgivable, but I’d say it’s far better to have her powers used for something good rather than locking her away and having her be useless. We can’t save everyone but even a single pony being saved after a premature death makes it worth it in my eyes.”

Sol scratched the back of his head. “I guess.”

“So please, don’t ever think for a moment that your struggle was in vain,” assured Selenite. “The Crystal Ponies have been freed of Sombra’s tyranny, and we hold the power to save soldiers from the clutches of death itself. As far as I’m concerned, there’s no higher justice for Sombra’s victims than assuring that as many ponies as possible are spared from a similar end.”

Sol’s face displayed no emotion in particular. After a few seconds, he shrugged and nodded. “Alright. Makes sense to me.”

“Is that a ‘yes I agree’ alright or a ‘I don’t want to talk about this anymore’ alright?”

Smirking, Sol quietly chuckled. “A bit of both honestly,” he said, getting up from the bed. “I’m gonna go watch TV for a bit, wanna come?”

“Nope,” Selenite yawned as she settled into the bed, pulling the covers up. “Been a long night, I’m Sleepy with a capital S.”

“Alright, fair,” Sol said. He quietly made his way out of the bedroom, leaving his wife to fall into the world of dreams.