Rarity slowly retreated from Rainbow Dash’s embrace, turning around, face fixed in a mix of suspicion and confusion. “You know who we are?”
The bishop shook his head, knocking the dazed look off his face and straightening up. “Ah, forgive me, that was a particularly crass way of putting that; I hope you understand my shock from recognition – if your intention was disguise, your present appearance has worked fairly well.”
Rarity cocked her head slightly, one eye lidded in thought. “I’m afraid I don’t quite follow. Recognition of what, exactly; our identities, or our status?”
“I should have thought the status and identity were one and the same. I wasn’t aware the titles, as they were, were separable from the identity.” He reached down, scooping up the wig and fallen tiara from their place just in front of his hooves, tossing it over with a swift flick of the forehoof – not swift enough, however, to avoid burning a line into his arm with the rim of the tiara. “Although I suppose I might not have a perfect understanding of–” a high pitched and eminently coltish squeal “–ach!”
At once, Rarity realized her mistake. “Ah, sorry about that. I suppose I should have warned you about the enchantment. The whole thing is quite new to me.”
“No, I’m the resident, I should have guessed.” The bishop shook his head, still rubbing his foreleg. “But you ought to be careful with your jewelry; I’m sure you can put that thing to better use that whatever ruin you pulled it out of, but ownership enchantments often carry long-term curses besides their immediate–”
Rarity, wig now safely replaced on her head, placed the tiara in the front of the hairpiece with a clumsy forehoof. Finished, she lowered her head to see why the Bitalian had trailed off so suddenly.
The bishop pointed a shaky forehoof at the coronet. “Wh-hoose crown is that?”
Rarity raised an eyebrow; while she was still somewhat suspicious of the odd little stallion, she figured it was an innocent enough question to answer truthfully. “It’s the former possession of the, uh, House of Mareanello, or, rather, the contessa thereof.” She scrunched her face in thought. “Which, I suppose, makes it my crown by virtue of the second qualification, although that may not be your intended ques–”
“A TITLE?”
Rarity took a step back from the bishop, forehoof raised mid-sentence. “Er–”
“You have a title of nobility?” The bishop took a step forwards, incredulous look on his face.
“…Yes?” Rarity cocked her head. “Is that not what you were referring to with your first question?”
“Of course not!” The bishop rolled back onto his haunches, throwing out stubby forelegs in exasperation.
“Then what were you referring to?”
“You! Both of you! Your identities, your importance, your extraordinary statuses?”
Rarity (and Rainbow Dash, who had turned her head around) stared back at him. “Meaning?”
“Meaning?” The bishop barked out a laugh. “You-you’re two of the Aspects of Harmony! The manes and tails threw me off, but the Marks and accents clued me in; you–” he pointed to Rarity “–are Rarity Belle, Aspect of Beneficence, and you–” he pointed to Rainbow Dash “–are Rainbow Dash, Aspect of Fidelity! What else could I mean?”
Rarity and Rainbow Dash did a bit of mental thesaurus work before turning to each other, eyes wide.
Rainbow Dash turned away first. “Oh, you, uh, meant our, uh, actual–”
“Yes, your actual titles.” The stallion, picking himself back up onto his hooves, moved towards the doors on the opposite wall of the entrance. “And the apparent presence of some other set of titles is both an utter shock and very elucidating to your present situation, so with that in mind, I strongly recommend we do not keep speaking in the entranceway wherein a nosy pony may overhear what is rapidly becoming a quite sensitive conversation.” He opened the door, holding it open with a forehoof as he looked over his shoulder. “So, please, follow?”
Rainbow Dash, after a shrug followed after, hind leg dragging at a limp. “Works for me. Plus you can, uh, finish up back there.”
“But of course.” The bishop watched her plod in, then turned to Rarity, who looked on in renewed suspicion. “And you?”
“Ah,” Rarity bit her lip, “forgive me for my trepidation, but–”
“You’re still not sure of my intentions–”
“Precisely.”
“Which, in light of your apparent elevation to the Second Estate, is very understandable.”
Rarity wasn’t familiar with the terminology, but got the gist of it anyway. “Right. I understand that my sampling size is quite limited, but exactly one hundred percent of my fellow, ah, Electorate I have entered the domains of have attempted to murder me, so I hope you can understand my reluctance.”
The bishop nodded. “Of course. But they and I are fundamentally different. Their actions were evil but logically consistent, whereas any harm done to you by me would be illogical.” A sniff. “Not that I could, mind you – I would wager you would quite handily annihilate me it if came to fisticuffs.”
Rarity wasn’t inclined to disagree that she most definitely would annihilate this pudgy little fellow, but that wasn’t exactly her worry. “But an employed ruffian with a bow or rifle hiding on the other side of that door would render that point moot.” She shook her head. “Nevertheless, your original point on some sort of fundamental difference wasn’t exactly compelling. Explain, if you would.”
“Of course. The contessa you visited earlier – which contessa was that again?”
“I neglected to say. The one up the road, er, Cree-something, I don’t remember.”
“Cremania is the one you are looking for. I don’t really know anything about her; about as minor of a player in the grand game as any. Regardless, she, or, really, her steward, as I seriously doubt she makes any decisions of her own in her state, is actively trying to be elected Duchess, at least in the long term, which you are inherently in the way of. More importantly, your death and thus extinction of–” the bishop stopped his sentence mid way, lowering his gaze to Rarity “–you don’t have any foals, do you?”
A twinge of, mostly, confusion, but only a twinge. “Er, not last time I checked.”
“…Checked?” The stallion cocked his head in confusion. “Madam, I should think that an unknown offspring is a problem strictly for stallions. Rather hard to miss it on your side.”
“Normally? Yes. But in the context of the past few years of my life wherein I have continuously crossed paths with ancient gods and vengeful spirits?” Rarity rolled her eyes. “A miniature version of myself running about wouldn’t be entirely unthinkable.”
“A fair observation, I suppose.” A snort of laughter. “Right, then. So long as there is not some unknown offspring, the extinction of your title and thus house would create a rush for your house’s assets.” The bishop raised one side of his mouth in a smirk. “I’ve only passed Mareanello once, but as I recall that would mostly be a pile of stones, no?”
“More or less.”
“The point remains; the elimination of competition and acquiring of assets. All good for those in the running.”
“And you?”
“I am not trying to be elected anything. The bishopric has never taken the seat, and, legally speaking, I am not sure I could even if everypony somehow decided that was best. Whatever the case, it is simply not an issue.”
“And what about the other thing?”
“Personal assets, contessa, are not something I need to worry about.”
Rarity gave a quick look around, examining the fine masonry and gilded statues of various ancient pones. She was sure that, in different circumstances, Rainbow would be raving about her favorite semi-historical figure from around the room, but she was obviously occupied. “I can see that, yes. Judging by your property, personal assets such as mine would be nothing compared to your fortune.”
“Quite the opposite; the building, the adornments, my vestments, everything but my undergarments is the property of the church, not me.” He waved part of his set of robes for emphasis. “I would remind you that this is not my domicile, but, that aside, what small luxuries and frivolities I do enjoy are ones apportioned by my superiors and law, not taken or purchased from anywhere.”
Rarity looked mostly convinced, but only mostly.
“Look,” the bishop started, taking a gentle step towards Rarity. “I do not blame you for being wary of seemingly genuine acts of hospitality, and certainly if I had caused my dear friend and fellow national savior to nearly die through good-hearted naivete I would be dead-set on not repeating that. But if I had meant to cause either of you harm I certainly wouldn’t have stopped one of my targets from hemorrhaging; that seems a little counterproductive, no?” He gestured with a foreleg towards the door’s opening. “So, please, do enter before some passerby hears us? These are sensitive topics, and I am frankly dying to hear about your stories.”
“And I’m frankly dying, so get in here.”
Rarity peeked her head around the bishop to see Rainbow Dash standing in the doorway, wobbling on three legs. “Nowhere to sit inside?”
“I didn’t really want to go bleeding all over the benches.” Rainbow Dash shrugged, wings remaining conspicuously still. “And I’m getting dizzy, so if you stay out there bitching any longer I’m going to keel over anyway, sitting or not, so stop being so paranoid and come on already.”
“Paranoia is for unfounded suspicion, Rainbow–”
“It is unfounded, Rarity. Why would he patch up the bleed in my wing with a bunch of sulfa drugs to keep me from getting gangrene if he was going to kill me in five minutes?”
It was a good point. “Fair, but–”
“But nothing, Rares.” Rainbow Dash cut her off. “Look, you can be worried all you want, but I kinda don’t care, because unless you feel like trying to sew up my flank I need it done no matter what. You’re welcome to stay out there all you want, but stop being obstinate on my time, okay?”
Momentarily stunned by Rainbow Dash’s utilization of a word with more than three syllables, Rarity reeled back, giving a few slow blinks. “G-goodness Rainbow, I’ve–”
“Yes, I know, you’ve never heard me use a word that smart before. Forgive me for illustrating my eloquence in order to shock you from a spell of petty recalcitrance.” Stone-faced visage slipping a little, Rainbow Dash couldn’t help but snort a laugh. “Oh, wow, how do you talk like that? I feel like I just puked a dictionary.”
Rarity grumbled, knocked rather nonplussedly out of her daze. “It’s an acquired taste.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” Rainbow Dash smirked. “And stop worrying anyway. What, you can’t watch him for anything shady? I saw you turn three dudes into barbecue like ten minutes ago. Just roast him if he reaches for a knife or whatever.”
“It’s not him I’m strictly worried about, Rainbow, but–” Rarity looked around, noticing that the little stallion had seemingly disappeared. “–wait, where did he–”
“Inside, while I had you distracted. I’m clever like that.” Rainbow Dash pulled away from the door, holding it fully open for Rarity. “And besides, you’re gonna want to see what’s in here.”
Skeptical, Rarity started walking regardless. “Judging by what we’ve seen so far in this place, I seriously doubt that – oh, wow.”
The room, insofar as it could still be called a room, beyond the door was indeed something Rarity wanted to see. Cavernous with a stratospheric ceiling above rows of benches and endless hoof-cut stones, the room was nevertheless well-lit through innumerable stained glass windows, chief among them a depiction of the sovereign at the very head of the room. While the subject of the window was of course quite familiar to the pair, the styling was very much unlike anything they had ever seen; Celestia, clad in a tongues of fire in the form of an ancient cuirass and adorned with a star-studded and brilliant archaic hinged crown, stood, burning wings raised into a crest, above a serpentine, fanged,and shadowy creature of some kind, a shoed hoof atop the creature’s horned head and a brilliant sunbeam-like spear raised for the coup de grace.
Notably, the creature shared some considerable resemblance to her sister.
Rarity, after a shake of the head, stared at the regal portrait. “Well, she certainly doesn’t have anything like that at the palace.”
“Yeah. Guess it doesn’t really fit her, as you’d say, current season.” Rainbow Dash shrugged as best as she could considering her injuries. “It is kinda kick-ass though.”
“Not exactly the intentions of the builders of this building, but close enough.”
Rarity and Rainbow Dash turned to face the stallion, who had returned with another set of bandages. Rarity cleared her throat. “It’s a well-executed portrait, mind you; we meant no offense. It’s just that we, er, aren’t quite used to seeing her that way.”
“Oh, no, don’t worry – I assure you, you haven’t offended me in the slightest. Most visitors to the overseas provinces say something similar upon seeing our … particular tastes in worship. High Celestia tends to emphasize the ‘gentle mother’ rather than the ‘conquering hero’ these days, enough so that many of your ilk aren’t used to such a depiction. Only here does the noble and ancient form of the Conqueror persist.”
Rainbow Dash pointed at the bandages. “Speaking of ‘persisting,’ I’m guessing those are for me? Not that all the history talk isn’t interesting – it’s great, actually – but I think that’s probably important to take care of the bleeding gash first so I can, uh, persist.”
“You are correct.” The bishop rounded Rainbow Dash, examining her wounded flank all the while; Rainbow Dash squirmed slightly under his gaze. “It’s not as bad a wound as your wing, but it still must be treated as before with a good amount of pressure.”
Rainbow Dash scooted a little closer to him, sticking out her leg as best as she could. The bishop, before starting the wrappings, ran a clean, wet cloth over the wound, then tore open some sort of waxed-paper packet with his teeth, pouring it into the gash.
“Ah!” Rainbow Dash sucked a breath through her teeth, wriggling a little from side to side. “A, uh, little warning would have been nice there, doc.”
“My condolences, but the bolt went through fabric and carried debris with it. The sooner it is sterilized the better.” The stallion ran out a length of the bandage, laying it atop the wound. Carefully, without breaking contact with the surface, he ran his hoof, roll in tow, backwards in order to wrap around the limb. Unfortunately, as he rounded the cleft of the cheek he found his progress impeded by the presence of a tail and other leg, which has snapped shut as his hoof trailed backwards. “Miss?”
“Uh, sorry.” Blushing, Rainbow Dash looked pointedly towards nothing in the distance. “It’s, a, uh, reflex. Sensitive things back there, y’know?”
“Understandable, but you will have to move so I can continue.”
“No, yeah, obviously, but, uh, just gimmie a minute, okay?” Rainbow Dash bit her lip. “Is there a mare who can do this?”
“No.” The bishop raised an eyebrow. “Unless you would prefer for your friend to take over, that is.”
“No, gods no, she’s hopeless. With her hooves she’d probably miss the whole leg.” Rainbow Dash shook her head. “It’s just that it’s a, uh, little uncomfortable, y’know?”
Deadpan. “It’s a wound, ma’am. They tend to be.”
“No, not that!” Rainbow Dash huffed. “It’s uncomfortable because you’re, like, having to feel me up to do this!”
The bishop, puzzled, momentarily stopped his efforts, cocking his head. “Feel you up?” he asked, puzzled.
“Yeah!” Rainbow Dash nodded. “And you’re, y’know, a stallion? Kinda awkward?”
The bishop paused a moment, then, dropping the roll of cloth, busted out into laughter, howling in that same high, tinkling little laugh as before. “Ha! Feel you up?”
“Uh, yeah?” Slightly miffed, Rainbow Dash eyed the cackling stallion. “Dunno what’s so funny about it.”
“What’s so – pffft!” With a snort, the bishop wiped a tear from his eye. “No, that’s – I assure you, miss, that, much like with your friend’s rock pile, my personal assets, or lack thereof, have rendered me quite uninterested in that.”
Similarly puzzled, Rarity butted in. “Personal asset – okay, firstly, that’s a horribly distasteful way to talk about one’s wife, and secondly I’ve found many a supposedly ‘taken’ stallion to still lech and leer, so I really don’t think that discounts her suspicion.”
Shocked out of his laughter, the bishop cocked his head. “Er, wife? I don’t follow.”
“Pray tell, then; what did you mean by ‘personal assets?’”
The bishop snorted a laugh. “Ah, no, contessa. I most certainly did not mean that for my ‘lack of assets.’”
“Then what did you mean, then?”
“I meant, contessa, that I am uninterested in your friends femininity in a much more basal sense; I am, due to my lack of assets, quite biologically uninterested.”
Rarity and Rainbow Dash merely stared dumbly back, clearly not getting the squat little stallion’s meaning.
“Assets, mistresses.” The bishop explained, drawing out his words like one would to a small child. “I am clearly a gelding.”
After a moment of realization, both mares stepped back, wide-eyed. “A what?”
“A gelding,” the bishop started, “I have been … liberated of my–”
“No, I-we know what it is, but–” Rainbow Dash shook her head, cutting a quick glance at a still dumbstruck Rarity. They indeed did know what it meant, but not in the immediate “I am familiar with this” sense: like “beriberi” and “trepanning,” the definitions came easily, but actually associating dusty textbook passages with what they saw in front of them was another thing entirely, one which was not an easy feat in the slightest.
“But you’ve never actually encountered it?”
“Pretty much,” Rainbow Dash nodded. “Is it, uh, like, a punishment or something, or were you like a soldier, or…?”
“Nothing that exciting, I assure you.” The bishop shook his (conspicuously un-scruffy and rather baby-fattish, now that they really looked at it) head. “Out customs can be somewhat peculiar here, but we don’t geld as punishment, nor have I ever found myself in the employ of an army.” He gestured towards the triumphal portrait of Celestia at the head of the room. “I presume, by your second guess, that you’re something of a student of history? You must be referring to High Celestia’s ancient proclivity to, ah, fix favored prisoners into stewards?”
“Yeah, the, uh, whole ‘griffon bureaucrat’ (while not an exact usage of the word, historians typically applied the term to Celestia’s faithful corps of neutered griffon toms that once stamped and signed Equestria’s borders into existence from the battlefields of conquest) thing was where I knew it from.” Rainbow Dash gave a few slow blinks; not exactly her favorite historical moment to recall. “So, then, uh, why did you get, uh–” Rainbow Dash made a cutting motion with a foreleg “–y’know?”
“Not exactly how it works, but I’ll spare you the details.” The bishop gestured with a foreleg for her to come closer. “But, now that I think I have shown I do not possess ulterior motives, we should continue, no?”
With a still-dazed nod, Rainbow Dash once again offered her leg for mending; with a few more wraps, then a final tug to cinch it snugly against the surface followed by a dollop of some sort of paste to hold the end in place, the bishop finished his task. “There. That should hold for about a day, after which you should change the bandages and bathe yourself in as clean of water as you can manage. The fit takes precision; do you have somepony who could help you besides your friend? A unicorn would be best to limit the harm of untrained hooves.”
“No, I–” Rainbow Dash realized that there actually was a plucky lad of a unicorn who was apparently destined to be her friend’s lackey “–yes, actually, I do have somepony who can help.” She gave her back leg an experimental shake; a little tight, but not too bad. “Uh, thanks for, uh, y’know, helping keep the blood in me. Apparently not a guarantee around here.”
“It is not, and you are certainly welcome.” The bishop gave cursory little bow. “I generally try and avoid directly communicating with my peers and the agents thereof for my own preservation, but I would never be dissatisfied with doing too much good in the world. Regardless, you are by no means the first victim of petty violence I have treated, nor will I be the last.”
With a weak smile, Rainbow Dash gave another nod.
A silence descended across the room.
After a few more moments passed, the bishop gave a perfunctory cough, “You are welcome to ask me anything you like, of–”
“Oh, okay.” Rainbow Dash cocked her head. “What happened to your balls?”
Shocked from her still-heavy thought and compelled to action by the sheer force of social inelegance occurring next to her, Rarity screeched in horror. “Rainbow! Rainbow, you cannot just ask him that!” She whipped her head around, wig askew, as she attempted to stutter out an apology. “My sincerest apologies, sir – my friend can be dreadfully uncouth.”
The bishop raised a forehoof. “It’s not the bluntest way I’ve ever been asked anyway.” He turned to address Rainbow Dash. “To answer your question, they were removed when I was an older colt, hence my decidedly un-chiseled jawline, among other things.”
“How?”
Rarity once again looked as if she was going to explode.
The bishop’s expression hardened slightly. “Ah. That I will not answer.”
“Right, yeah. Kinda personal. Maybe, uh, why?” Rainbow Dash offered.
“A better question, although it is one I still do not really know the answer to. I was the eighth of eleven foals; with five older brothers, continuation of my father’s baronial bloodline was not exactly predicated on my viability. Supposedly it was a medical treatment for a particular kind of hernia – that was what my mother always said at least.”
Slightly pale-faced (more-so than usual of course) Rarity grimaced. “You treat hernias with that here?”
“At one point in time it was a reasonably common strategy, although I am quite a bit older than I look. Whatever the case it is not an effective method, so it is not practiced anymore.”
“How old are you? ‘Cause you don’t look, like, that old.” asked Rainbow Dash.
Rarity, fully surrendered to her fate, merely sighed. “Rainbow, we must have a conversation about appropriate conversational transitions.”
The bishop continued unabated. “Would you believe just over sixty? We castrati tend to age well.”
“Well!” Rarity exclaimed, genuinely impressed by, and more than a little jealous of, his remarkably smooth complexion. “You look excellent for your age, then.”
“Yeah, totally.” Rainbow Dash agreed. “You, uh, said ‘supposedly’ before. What did you mean by that?”
“That I don’t believe them. Once upon a time, and still even today in some more … traditional regions particularly skilled and clear voiced colts would be relieved of that which would ruin their voice into a pedestrian tenor. The lucky ones end up in the finest opera. The others do not.”
“They mutilated you for opera?”
“The odds are greater than half, I believe. I do remember quite a lot of vocal training in my youth, although I was never exceptional. Whatever the case, I certainly did not end up with the kinds of vocal cords necessary to find myself on stage, despite their efforts; personally, I think they catastrophically misunderstood my name.”
“Dove, right?” Rainbow Dash asked. “Is there another part? Because doves aren’t really songbirds.”
“No, they are not, despite what my parents thought, and yes, there is. My full name is ‘Rock Dove.’ Do you know what a rock dove is?”
“A pigeon,” Rainbow Dash correctly stated, ornithology once again proving itself relevant, “like the ones you see in cities.”
“Precisely. I believe that they thought it was the name of a melodious bird, but I have found that the Spirit of Harmony’s plans actually referred to my desire to immerse myself into the urban life much like the flying rats I share a name with. I have found myself in a city ever since I had the agency to do so; my native Salmareno first, then Roan, Trottingham, Mareseilles, Canterlot, and finally here.”
“Canterlot?” Rarity interjected. “You’ve spent time in Canterlot?”
“Before my ordination as a bishop, yes. All of us spend at least some time in Canterlot in study; even if our ranks in the Old Country are running quite thin, study at the closest sites to our magical past is still essential.”
“Do you mean ‘us’ as in your job? Or ‘us’ to mean stallions affected with your particular condition?”
“Unless they’re the same,” Rainbow Dash added, cocking her head. “Are they the same?”
“No,” the bishop chuckled, “they are very much not so. I am a rare bird, pun intended. There are a few short of five hundred bishops, and I am the only gelding. I have met a few others in the lower ranks, but by and large we are but a sliver between two already tiny circles.” A shrug. “All of us in the service are sworn to celibacy regardless, so I’ve always found it to be a serendipitous fit.”
“Right.” Rarity shook her head. “But, ah, Canterlot? Really?”
“Yes, and Trottingham. I spent some number of years on your side of the ocean.”
“Explains the accent. Or, uh, lack of accent, actually.” said Rainbow Dash. “You must have spent a lot of time there to lose your own.”
“About a decade in total. My first exposure to your tongue was from a Canterlot instructor, so I managed to avoid the flaws in diction one picks up from an imperfect teacher. That was not the only thing I managed to pick up, of course; quite a lot of my education was spent in the Old Country, and I think it is likely that my continuing disillusionment with the state of affairs here derives mostly from that experience; put another way, from a knowledge that things here are distinctly not normal.”
“Not normal?” Rainbow Dash scoffed. “I think you’re being a little too generous with that one there, bud.”
“I am inclined to agree.” Rarity nodded, clearly deep in thought on how to phrase something delicately. “But, ah, I do have to wonder about the, er, general lack of clothing in Canterlot, insofar as it relates to potential questions about your, shall we say, condition?”
Rainbow Dash rolled her eyes. “Oh, now look at who’s being ‘indelicate!’”
Rarity shot her a look; she hadn’t spent that much effort in phrasing to be chastised.
The bishop chuckled. “Ah. No, wearing of the habit is mandatory at all times, fortunately. I have never had to have that conversation in the less … modest parts of the world.”
“Right. It must be supremely awkward.” Suddenly feeling quite naked upon her understanding of the bishop’s subtext, Rarity blushed. “Speaking of, ah, modesty, are my friend and I currently in violation of social convention?”
“A little, and within the confines of this cathedral you would generally be expected to to cover up, but considering the situation I shouldn’t think anypony would have a problem. I can have a pair of cloaks brought if you would like. They’re simple things, rough-spun and undyed, but–”
“Don’t apologize.” Rarity shook her head. “I would be loathe to criticize any act of charity, but especially not now. We graciously accept.”
“Plus,” added Rainbow Dash, “the plainer the better. We did just burn down a house, so it’s not like we’re exactly trying to advertise ourselves out there.”
“Underst – burned down a house?” The bishop raised an eyebrow from under the brim of his ridiculous hat. “Do tell?”
“Oh, no, we didn’t burn down a home,” Rarity jumped to assure.
“You didn’t burn anything down?”
“Well, we burned something down, that’s true.” Rarity nodded. “But it’s probably best that you skip that topic of conversation if you try and avoid talk about your, as you said, contemporaries.” A moment of thought. “Or, at least, skip it until we find ourselves suitably disguised.”
“Understood.” A nod. “You needn’t say more; I’ll send for them at once. Anything else you believe you might need?”
“No–”
“Yeah, actually.” Rainbow Dash cut Rarity off. “You got anything for pain? Because I’m pretty sure I’m running out of adrenaline here and I’m starting to hurt pretty bad.”
“A few. How badly?”
“Well, besides the pair of crossbow bolt wounds I think I managed to pull my left wing out of socket when I fell on it.” Rainbow Dash attempted to give it a wiggle from where it hung limply; the fresh hit of pain convinced her that was probably a bad idea “It went back in, but, uh…”
“I understand.” A wince. “Our stock of prepared drugs is low, but I can have a preparation of willow bark made. Not exactly as good as Hay-Ern tablets, but effective enough.”
Rainbow Dash shook her head. “That will up the bleeding. It’s also not, uh, like, very good.” A slightly impish cocking of the head. “You got anything … better?”
“I believe I have few bottles of a weak tincture of opium.”
Rainbow Dash tried her best to hide her not-totally inappropriate enthusiasm.
“Normally,” a grumble, “we try and preserve that for the most dire of situations, but I suppose on a certain level your ability to be effective may very well be of dire importance. I’ll send for some.” A frown. “On the other hoof, I don’t have very much, so I will have to be rather stingy on the dosage.”
“I’d usually object to our usage of your scarce resources for our decidedly nonurgent needs, but I shouldn’t think she should require very much anyways,” Rarity interjected. “She only weights as much as a slightly pudgy pubescent filly from any other tribe, so, what, three teaspoons of standard laudanum two hours apart? That should keep her pretty much comatose for a night or so.”
Rainbow Dash shot her a questioning look, impressed by her roughly correct dosage but somewhat concerned by her ready knowledge of how much laudanum it took to knock out a filly almost exactly the same size as her sister.
The bishop did a little mental math. “That’s about right, yes.” He took a step back. “Please excuse me for a moment while I fetch some things.” With a prompt about-face, he was off.
Rarity and Rainbow Dash watched as he paced away, vestments gliding smartly just above the floor. Rainbow Dash spoke up first. “Huh. That went better than I expected, honestly.”
“I suppose statistically speaking some of the urban wildlife must be of good moral character,” Rarity deadpanned. “That being said, I will still be giving whatever he brings back here a sniff to make sure it smells right and not like, say, bitter almonds.”
“I think I found myself pretty much convinced by his arguments, Rares. What kind of pony would bandage a mare before throwing her in front of a hired bow?” A half-shrug, careful to avoid any wing movement. “Plus, y’know, he’s giving me free drugs, so that’s pretty rad.”
“Not usually a sign of good moral character, but considering the circumstances I suppose…” Rarity shook her head. “I see what you’re saying.” She shot Rainbow Dash a side eye. “I do presume you know about the nature of this particular poison, right?”
“Whew! More than I’d like to, yes.” Rainbow Dash stared off into the distance, evidently now deep into a flashback. “When I was about Sweetie Belle’s age I took classes on advanced acrobatics at Immelmare’s, the big flight academy, right? Well, anyway, one time while I was flying through the course one time somepony forgot to check if the cloud cannon was clear before firing and launched a sandbag they used to cover the muzzle up at me at, uh, pretty damn quick speed.”
“What happened?”
“Not sure. I was flying straight, and then I was in a hospital bed strapped to a bunch of supports and covered in a cast.” Rainbow Dash gave her right shoulder a rub, eyes still forward. “Apparently I got hit broadside by that sandbag. Shattered my clavicle, broke a few ribs, dislocated and fractured my humerus, the works.” Rainbow Dash turned her head to face Rarity, eyes uncharacteristically hollow. “Spent two months in there, then another half year re-learning how to walk. Part of the reason why I don’t do it when I can.”
“Really?” Rarity shook her head, mildly surprised. News of Rainbow being horribly injured in the past was still news, but not exactly shocking: like another case of mild food poisoning from Pinkie’s shop, it came with the territory. “I never knew. Forgive me for all – ah, about half of my moaning on the subject, please.”
“Forgiveness halfway granted.” Rainbow Dash rolled her eyes. “But of course you didn’t know. I never told you. Never told anypony, actually. Except Fluttershy, of course, because–”
“–she always figures out anyway?”
“No, because she came to see me almost daily in the hospital.” Rainbow Dash smiled, some of her good humor returning. “But also yes, she does always figure our your secrets.” Those puppy-dog eyes were irresistible when they needed to be. “Anyway, the point is is that I woke up in that room hooked up to a full drip bag of grade-A morphine and stayed that way for two weeks. So I’m very aware of what this stuff will do you, for worse and for worser-worse. On the other hoof, I’m also very aware that I’d like to spend as much of the next twelve hours as extremely unconscious as possible, so I’m gonna suspend my fear of extreme constipation for a while.” She gave Rarity a suspicious look. “The better question is why you have exactly how much dope it would take to knock out your sister memorized?”
“I don’t have that memorized, I have the formula memorized, because I needed it for her fellow Crusaders too.”
Rainbow Dash took a step back, genuinely shocked. “Rarity, you didn’t!”
“You’re right, I didn’t.” Rarity smirked. “But after the second hour of ‘attempting a cutie mark in Sardineighian throat singing’ I sure thought about it. Incidentally, it’s an extra spoonful for Apple Bloom and a half dose for yours.”
“You thought about it hard enough to memorize the formula? That seems … unlikely.”
“I may not have the pure mental grunt of some, but I have great recall, Rainbow, especially when presented something in writing, which I was.”
“Recalling … the back of a bottle?”
“Goodness no, Rainbow. Me? Regardless of one’s own desires and needs, to keep that around the house? Where Sweetie Belle could get it?” Rarity scoffed.
“Fair enough, but I think she’s probably old enough to know not to – actually, on second thought, she probably would do something bad, yeah.”
Rarity chuckled. “I was about to say, Rainbow. Them? Not do something stupid? Given the opportunity she’d probably try to get a Mark in illegal pharmacology by infusing my cigarettes or something of that ilk. I’d rather not take a drag one day and find myself deep into an opium house.”
“Infusion? I don’t know about the other two, but Scootaloo’s not that, uh, smart. She’d probably just try putting a bottle – uh, a whole intact bottle that is, still sealed – into a pie or something.”
“Also a good point; perhaps worrying about unprompted amateur compounding was expecting too much.”
Rainbow Dash snickered. “I mean, I’m not really sure you can expect too much out of them, but I get the idea.”
“Right.” Rarity gave a cough, already looking away from Rainbow at the previously noticed stained-glass window. It was awfully easy to notice. “Speaking of worrying…”
“Uh-huh,” agreed Rainbow Dash, likewise noticing the window. “You, uh, notice that the thing Celestia is about to stab in that window looks a whole lot like her sister?”
“I did.” Rarity furrowed her brow. “Which is frankly a little weird, because – well, two reasons actually.” She raised a hoof. “One is that, despite all the times I’ve read or heard about that little sibling spat, I’ve never actually seen it depicted.”
“Right, yeah, same.” Rainbow Dash cocked her head in thought. “Which, like, I guess she could have had the windows and paintings changed over the years or whatever, right? I mean, it’s not like either of us spent a whole lot of time in Canterlot before our, uh–” Rainbow Dash took a moment to figure out an appropriately respectful and weighty word for their magical empowerment “–elemental embiggening.”
“I had been once, but I wasn’t exactly paying attention to the windows; with how small I was, I don’t think I could have physically looked that far up anyways,” Rarity agreed. “I suppose we could ask Twilight if there had been some sort of historical prohibition, but…”
Both mares separately reflected on the size of that lesson.
“…No thanks.” Rainbow Dash shook her head. “But, more importantly, ol’ Sunbutt up there is, like, a second away from putting a lance through her sister’s head. Now, I don’t know for sure if alicorns operate like normal ponies or if there is some kind of hydra thing going on, but usually when a spear goes through a pony’s head they, uh, kinda die. Immediately.”
“Which is a problem, because Luna very much didn’t die.” Rarity took a quick look around the cathedral for any other depictions of the lunar princess; none were immediately apparent.
Rainbow Dash raised an eyebrow. “Luna not dying is a problem?”
“No, the – for the narrative, Rainbow. It’s a problem for the, if a window and my castle’s steward’s apparent beliefs represent the region at large, predominant narrative. I certainly don’t have a problem with Luna being around. I think she’s a sweet girl and smarter than she appears, if a little, er–”
“Kind of a pussy?”
“Well I wasn’t going to say it, but go on.”
“I mean, look, I get trying to fit in after a literal thousand years is going to be hard, and yeah you trying to kill your sister is pretty bad, but she could stand up a little bit more, y’know?” Rainbow Dash absentmindedly shrugged, drawing a wince. “It’s – ouch, that was dumb – like, I don’t have siblings, right, but I once saw Applejack and Big Mac get into a frying pan fight over the right way to make apple compote. If there’s anypony you need to have some fire with, it’s your family.”
“I would agree,” said Rarity, greatly amused at the mental picture of the usually so reserved Big Mac deep into a sparring match with kitchenware. “A, er, frying pan fight?”
“Oh yeah. Full contact, full force, sparks flying.” Rainbow Dash raised a hoof. “And before you ask, the answer is nopony. Nopony wins a frying pan fight.”
“I’ll take your word for it. Violence aside, I’ve whined and pouted my way around enough petty nonsense to know that Luna would be working from an immensely stacked deck. Celestia being domineering? Simply refuse to lower the moon as the punctuation of a hissy-fit of epic proportions. What’s she going to do?”
“Uh, she’d just lower it herself before, apparently, killing you with a spear in the brain?” Rainbow replied.
“Oh, right. I suppose we’ve seen what the aftermath of such a hissy-fit would be already,” admitted Rarity sheepishly. “Maybe just a little pouting then.” She shook her head. “Anyway, I do have to wonder why an entire city would apparently reject Celestia’s own account of that night.”
“Oh, that? That’s easy,” scoffed Rainbow Dash. “That’s because it sounds like total bullshit.”
“I beg your pardon?” Rarity raised an eyebrow.
“Oh, yeah. Come on, Rares, you never really thought about it?” continued Rainbow Dash. “Look, if I took, say, Cloudkicker, for no particular reason, into a ravine and came out three hours later covered in blood and with her very much not present and I told whoever found me that she had been ‘banished to the moon’ I would be swinging from a gallows by the morning because that is clearly bullshit and I definitely just murdered her with a rock or something.” Rainbow Dash snorted a laugh. “I mean, hell, if I hadn’t seen Luna with my own eyes, I might kind of agree with the whole city, y’know?”
“Not the whole city, Rainbow Dash.”
Both turned to the voice. The little bishop silently closed the distance down the main aisle, a bottle hung around his neck by a rope and a pair of folded, hooded tunics across his back.
Rainbow Dash blushed in embarrassment, hopeful that addressing one of Equestria’s diarchs as “kind of a pussy” didn’t count as some kind of blasphemy. “How much of that did you hear?”
“I came into earshot in the midst of a discussion about a ‘frying-pan fight’ involving, if I recall correctly, another one of your fellow Aspects of Harmony.” He held up a presumptive hoof. “I am under no pretenses that any of you are in any way infallible, so please don’t be embarrassed.”
“If the worst you thought about us was that we sometimes get into bouts of cast-iron carnage you would have a much better opinion than most.” Rarity likewise held out a hoof. “I’d quite like that cloak, if you don’t mind; I’m feeling rather naked, and I’d rather get her–” she gestured towards Rainbow Dash “–dressed before she loses her faculties from what you have around your neck.”
Rainbow Dash huffed. “I am perfectly capable of dressing myself, Rarity.”
Rarity, a foreleg already laden with the requested cloaks (she was always amazed at the ability of Earth Ponies, especially as she was so conspicuously lacking in those skills), smirked. “Really, you’re small enough that I could probably manage with you totally unconscious, but that would be really rather demeaning for you.” She leaned in towards Rainbow Dash. “Take it from one cripple to another, Rainbow – under the circumstances, pride isn’t worth it. Take the help.”
Rainbow Dash rolled her eyes but nevertheless held out a forehoof. “I never thought I’d be lectured by Rarity about the sin of vanity, but here we are.”
Rarity rolled her eyes, nevertheless looping the correct arm-hole around Rainbow Dash’s extended foreleg, then the central hole around a ducked head. Once threaded in, Rainbow Dash stepped through the remaining hole, whereupon Rarity tossed the rest of the cloak over the pegasus, resolving to deal with the top of her dress at a later date. Satisfied, Rarity stepped back, swiftly donning her own vestments while watching Rainbow Dash for any sign of difficulty. “There! I would wager that we both look like the very picture of monastic fashion.”
“Not quite,” interjected the bishop amusedly, “as the colors are not quite right for a habit – these are for the occasional layponies.”
“I will defer to your knowledge, sir–”
“‘Father’ or ‘bishop,’ please. In this tongue, ‘sir’ is a title to which I am not entitled.”
“–bishop,” corrected Rarity, finding the whole “father” thing a little weird, “as my talents for fashion do not include the sacred.”
The bishop waved her off with a foreleg. “I should think with either of you two involved the ‘fashion,’ as it were, becomes inherently sacred.”
Both mares looked at each other uneasily. Rainbow Dash was wont of occasionally half-seriously proclaiming herself a demigod of sorts, but it was always with tongue in cheek, usually in order to irritate Fluttershy who found it immensely annoying. That being said, that was not to say that all forms of religious appellations were without seriousness; the Bearers had occasionally encountered certain ponies who would praise them to their faces in the most devotional of terms – something that even Rarity and Rainbow Dash found more than a little uncomfortable. Rarity, decidedly interested in nipping that in the bud, spoke up first. “Ah, Bishop, I’m afraid that would be an incorrect belief. There is nothing “sacred” at work here; we are, plainly, not gods.”
“Of course you are not gods.” He barked a laugh. “Ha! Gods. Nay, insofar as there are gods-in-persons, you are clearly not one of those.”
Rainbow Dash chimed in, confused. “Then why would you use the word sacred? Sort of hard to be that without, y’know, the god part.”
“No, that word is ‘divine.’ Different meaning.” He shook his head. “And that aside, just because you two are not gods does not mean than you two are not touched by a higher power. That is what I meant.”
“What do you mean, higher power?”
The bishop, rather than answer, merely pointed up at the sun-drenched stained-glass depiction of Celestia high in the air above the two, a goldenrod-yellow halo resplendent above her head.
“Celestia?” asked Rainbow Dash with plain incredulousness. “I mean, I guess I’ve touched her at some point, but…”
“It didn’t seem particularly remarkable, really, except for the minor burns which might have resulted with prolonged contact” Rarity mused. “Still, I wouldn’t say that being touched by the Princess, her own divinity notwithstanding, would inherently confer any kind of sacredness.”
“Not High Celestia, at least not in an essential sense.” He moved his foreleg higher. “Look past the picture. Look at the sun, the halo, the perfectness of the form. Feel the touch of the sun’s rays, the tranquility of this space.”
“The Sun?” Rarity mocked. “I think that would generally be called sunburn, not–”
“Harmony, Rarity” Rainbow Dash cut her off, unusually perceptive. “He’s talking about Harmony.”
“Precisely. Precisely!” the bishop emphasized, smiling broadly.
“Harmony isn’t a higher power, it’s what I sing whenever we have one of our big sing-a-longs,” said Rarity, suddenly aware of how strange that sentence was. Truthfully, the long history of spontaneous public song was indeed probably evidence of some kind of higher designs, although, considering the effect of the average pony’s singing voice on Rarity’s trained ears, that deity was likely a sadist.
“Not ‘little h’ harmony, Rarity. Big ‘H’ Harmony. Like the Tree, y’know?”
“Crystalline flora is not a higher power either, magical power notwithstanding,” Rarity deadpanned.
Only the slightest of eyebrow twitches gave away the bishop’s well-hidden irritation, but it was enough for Rarity to notice – and enough for her to tone down the flippancy a little, if only out of a desire to not offend her host. “Ah, sorry for my wording if I have offended you. This sort of thing is, ah, quite alien to me; I would not consider Ponyville a hotbed of, ah, harmonious sentiment, and where my parents came from far less so even than that.”
“It would take more than that to offend me.” The bishop waved her off with a foreleg. “I recognize for some it can be an unfamiliar presentation. By the lilt in your voice which you are almost hiding behind your manufactured diction, I would guess you are descended from Hightops stock, no?”
Wide-eyed in surprise, Rarity took a step back, rather shocked. True, a distinctive bit of twang would eek out around her usually impenetrable High-Culture tones, but only very occasionally. “Ye-yes, that’s correct. How–”
“With as many tongues as I command, one picks up an ear for that sort of things,” the Bishop explained. “I would presume, then, that they are–”
It was Rarity’s turn to cut him off. “Ante-Apotheosis Creationists? Yes, and quite staunchly.”
“Ah. ‘There is a Creator, and it created all other gods – Celestia included.’ Not a traditional position among those who recognize Harmony in the way I do, but not incompatible. Clearly an attractive position for those for whom High Celestia commands unfortunately little love.” He cocked his head towards Rarity. “And you?”
“I suppose so as well, although I never got into the dogma or ceremony of it; that was well above my intellectual interests as a foal,” Rarity explained. “Still, the basic principle seems plainly true to me at least. I have a pretty good idea of how old Celestia is, and I know exactly how old the gemstones I dig out of the ground are – my talent, you see – and the second dates considerably before the first.”
“I would not put it quite so simply as that, but I would not argue against you in those terms either.” He gestured to Rainbow Dash. “And you?”
“Uh,” started Rainbow Dash confusedly, shocked out of rubbing her wing joint under her cloak with a wince. “I, uh, guess my parents were into the old Pegasus goddesses and stuff. I never really got into that stuff; I like the serious history a lot more.” She pointed towards the bottle still suspended from the Bishop’s neck. “Speaking of, uh, getting into that stuff, do you mind? The adrenaline is really starting to wear off not.”
“No, of course not! My apologies.” The bishop passed his cargo over; Rainbow Dash, after a moment of thought and examination of the bottle’s size and potency, pulled out the cork with her teeth and took a measured swig. “I’d hate to let my discussions of theology prolong your suffering.”
“I was enjoying it, actually. Not something I’ve ever really thought about.” Rainbow Dash recorked the bottle, passing it back to the bishop who stashed it somewhere in his robes. “Just not enjoying it enough to, y’know, distract me from the serious injuries.”
“Nor, I hasten to add, were you inflicting suffering on me,” added Rarity. “I can be overly sarcastic sometimes out of proportion with my actual feelings. Despite my upbringing, it’s not that I inherently disagree with you, it’s just that I’m a little, ah, skeptical of the specifics.”
“Understandable. For those so inundated with its presence, it would be difficult to see the limits of Harmony’s presence; the fish cannot look up and see the end of the water.” The bishop shook his head. “If desired, I could offer explanations and apologies for hours, but I fear we do not have hours.”
“You’ve got about five minutes,” corrected Rainbow Dash, eminently aware of how much of a lightweight she was. “But I’m interested. What can you do in that?”
“Well, I’d usually go into a spiel about the nature of the Celestial Mother, but for those who have had such prolonged contact with she, the flowery language is going to fall quite flat.”
“It would indeed.” Rarity grumbled. “Celestial or not, she is certainly not any kind of perfect.”
“No, she is not,” the Bishop agreed. “And even the old Scripture-Epics would agree; Equestria was wrought with a fiery sword, but it was not wrought without mistakes.”
“I meant in the present day, Bishop.”
The bishop raised a forehoof. “Yet, even at that you have come face to face with the mysteries of the sublime!”
Rainbow Dash, with a yawn, interjected with uncharacteristic politeness. “…Explain?”
“Certainly.” He trot towards the center of the cavernous room towards a central circle of stone, beckoning the mares to follow. “As you have both observed, Celestia is, despite her status and deeds, a mare of flesh and blood, no?”
Both mares joined him in ambling towards the circle. Rainbow Dash, after some hobbling, took a seat on a wooden bench nearby. Rarity answered his question. “Among other things, yes.”
The bishop seemingly ignored her comment. “Yet, despite her essentially mundane substance, there is clearly some other nature which is present. She is fundamentally fallible, fundamentally not immune to harm – yet, at the same time, there is unarguably some component of her person which is not mundane and ordinary. Her connection to the life-giving sun, her longevity, all that which made her different to all those other ponies in the age of bronze and petty polities.”
“And that’s … Harmony? Big-H Harmony?” asked Rainbow Dash, attention rapt.
The bishop nodded. “The presence of it, yes, it is.”
Rarity, with a raised eyebrow, was not quite so convinced. “I suppose that there indeed must be some unusual component of her ‘nature,’ as you put it, but there are lots of unusual things out there. Twilight once told me about a place in Canneighda wherein one must check one’s path with thrown pebbles lest one stumble into a pocket of wild magic and have one’s flesh melted from one’s bones. I would find the description of that as ‘Harmony’ to be rather dubious.”
“Of course it would be, nor would I attempt to explain it in that way.” The bishop shook his head. “But consider this; why isn’t the whole world like that?”
“Why isn’t the whole world ocean?” Rarity shrugged. “I don’t follow your line of questioning.”
“I – never mind. It is a minor question at that.” He pointed at the mares. “But do not become fixated on High Celestia alone. Consider, instead, yourselves, and your own particular connections to Harmony.”
“And the Elements thereof?” Rarity asked. “Because if it is I must admit that, despite my earlier rant which you overheard, I have only a very tenuous grasp on what the true nature of the, ah, ‘blessing’ bestowed upon us.”
“Yeah, me too.” Rainbow Dash agreed. “I asked Twilight one time and she spent the next fifteen minutes talking in circles. I just, like, resigned myself to only kinda-sorta getting it.”
“Understanding! Heavens, no, I wouldn’t dream of asking you two for real understanding. I doubt even Celestia fully understands Harmony fully.” The bishop shook his head, voice raising into the crescendo of his argument. “And yet, you both fully recognize that there is now some greater component of yourselves which is not of yourselves. You are not just the ponies you once were, you are, inextricably, part of your Aspects. Not gods, not divine, but you are, perhaps unlike all other ponies but those blessed with the gift of the Alicorn, the three forms in one, essentially linked with Harmony.”
Rarity continued her steady visage of being unimpressed. Rainbow Dash, albeit tinged with some understandable sleepiness, bore a look of at least moderate interest. She gave a polite cough. “I, uh, yeah, that makes sense I guess. As much sense as what Twilight told us about what the Elements meant to us for our future.”
“Which was?”
“That they were gifts bestowed upon us by a particularly garish tree.” Rarity answered. “I, for one, was not aware that trees possessed enough capability for executive decision making to really bestow anything, but I am not of the right tribe to make that call, I suppose.”
“Applejack says they do,” added Rainbow Dash. “And I trust her opinion about plants, ‘cause, y’know, Applejack.”
“They do not quite, but there is indeed an essence of a connected being there,” confirmed the only Earth Pony in the room, “the interconnected nature of which is precisely the kind of–”
Rarity cut him off. “–thing which proves the so forth and so on.”
Rainbow Dash raised an eyebrow. “Oh, now look at who’s being uncouth.”
Rarity, with a light blush, hastily added an apology. “Sorry. Just attempting to keep things moving – limited time, of course.”
“I understand.” The bishop gave a small nod towards Rainbow Dash. “I suppose I was treading on familiar ground there; I’m sure you have your own questions.”
“Thank you.” Rarity tapped a forehoof, looking askance at nothing in particular. “I, er, suppose that you are … probably on the right track as far as the whole mixing of essences goes. Even ignoring my earlier statements about the effects I have noticed on my psyche, I fear there are some physical changes as well.”
“Really? That-that’s at the very heart of the mystery of the alicorn, of their unique nature!” The little bishop’s eyes lit up in excitement. “Please, do tell!”
“I, er, can’t speak to the applicability of my own situation to something as vast as that, but–” Rarity rubbed at her horn through her wig “–I certainly feel like I have become a more potent unicorn; not more skilled, mind you, but more potent. Even besides the ‘lighting my face on fire’ thing–”
The bishop cocked his head to the side. “The what?”
“Another time. It is as it sounds.” Rarity resumed her explanation. “As I was saying, even besides that I have noticed that I, for example, cut into the table beneath a cloth I was rending in two, something I would have been incapable of before, or turned a light toss of a doll back to my sister into a volleyball spike directly into her face, or any number of things like that.” Rarity looked back over herself, curves hidden under the loose cloak. “And I think I’m putting on weight.”
Rainbow Dash snorted a laugh. “That’s just because ‘Rarity’s emergency stress ice cream’ is now ‘Rarity’s every day ice cream.’ That’s not magic, Rares. You’re just getting fat.”
Rarity rolled her eyes. “Remind me to kick you once you’re less crippled. I’d hate to be cruel.”
“Just make sure to aim away from anything delicate. All that mass in one place like a wing? I’d be in trouble.” Rainbow Dash shook her head. “I think you’re right about that though. I know Twilight has put on a ton of weight recently too.”
“Really?” Rarity, ever the hound for gossip, was instantly at attention. “How much?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Rainbow Dash’s grin was appropriately shit-eating. “About two wings worth?”
Rarity, enthusiasm crushed, sighed. “Remind me to kick you twice, actually.”
“You’ll have to catch me first. Maybe lay off the chocolate for a while.” Rainbow Dash chuckled, turning her head towards the clergypony as she stifled another yawn with a hoof. “So, is being part of Harmony or whatever just something for us and the wings-and-horns squad? Or is it in every pony? Because I don’t think I’d be very motivated to ‘venerate the great Harmonious force’ or whatever if only like ten ponies get to have it.”
“Certainly not.” The bishop emphatically shook his head, ridiculous hat wobbling too and fro. “Not all are as touched as they and you are, but all are touched – pony, tree, and everything in between as well.” He pointed straight upwards. “Look up, on the roof.”
They followed his point. There was, in the roof of a circular dome set into the vaults, a painted-on sun disc, the fiery tongues of which cascaded down the sloping walls. Below the ledge of the dome was a row of fifteen windows, each with an illuminated pony bedecked in scales of armor and long mail and decorated with colorful caparisons – invariably a unicorn or Earth pony, never a pegasus. Below sat another row of windows, this time all pegasi, and with all of them dressed in a lighter and more archaic set of feathered cuirasses and ridged helmets with transverse crests of hair, each dyed to match its wearer.
Notably, one of the pegasi bore a striking resemblance to the pegasus currently seated in a pew, that pegasus’s dye-job nonwithstanding.
The clergypony did not wait for comments. “When this building was built all those years ago, it was with intent. Witness how the sun-disc – the symbolism of which I am sure is obvious – cascades around the windows, and their position high in air; these ponies, perfectly mundane ones at that, are elevated by Celestia’s presence into their status.”
“Literally, I see,” Rarity mused. “And who are those ‘mundane’ ponies?”
“Celestia’s Companions. Farther north they would be called ‘paladins.’ Mighty warriors each, and all lieutenants of the host when this land was conquered. These here are–”
“No, wait, I actually know this one!” Rainbow Dash, ever the fiend for historical tales which met her threshold for badassery, sprung back from the brink of slumber with a final bit of wind. “It was family line kind of thing, and it was crazy old – some of them were clans from before Equestria.”
The bishop looked suitably impressed. “Correct on all counts, Miss Dash.”
“I know my stuff.” Rainbow Dash cocked her head. “Except if these ponies were supposed to be around when Bitaly was founded, that’s, like, several hundred years too late for any paladins to be around.”
“For most of them to be around, not all. Do you recall what happened to the paladins?”
“Uh…” Rainbow Dash scratched the back of her head. “Not really? That was after the cool part.”
“The paladins, Miss Dash, persisted past the ‘cool part’ of the epics and campaigns of antiquity. They stuck around long enough, in fact to almost be annihilated in the great muster of the levies upon her sister’s rebellion.”
Rainbow Dash raised an eyebrow. “I feel like I would have read about that.”
“You would not have. Celestia quite directly instructed chroniclers to omit that detail, as the ‘immortal companions’ faced such horrible losses largely because no small number of them found themselves on the other side. Would have been bad for the mythos and the realm as a whole.”
“Uh-huh.” Rarity pointed upwards. “And these are the blessed … survivors? Victors?”
“A subset. After quelling the rebellion Celestia set her sights across the waves. The somber historian would state that, having broken the rust from her scabbard and with her paladins pressuring her for rewards for their loyalty, she set to conquering the pony-lands across the waters.”
“A somber historian as opposed to what?”
“The folk-memory of the events here, especially by those inclined to look for Harmony’s presence. To them, Celestia was a liberating crusader who voyaged over the seas to justifiably exterminate a society which habitually sacrificed foals to a horned cow-god.” The bishop shrugged. “The winners write the story, but I have seen the little skeletons in the catacombs of Roan. I am inclined to sympathize with the second.”
All present shuddered at the thought of that.
He continued. “Whatever the case, after the campaign concluded Celestia installed what remained of her companions as members of the nobility – hence their depiction. The comital lines of the region are descended, however distantly, from those steadfast ponies.” He pointed at one in particular, a white-bearded stallion draped in a checkerboard of green and white. “That one is the progenitor of the now-extinct line that ruled Mareanello.”
“Noble and steadfast?” Rarity scoffed scornfully. “Apparently, in light of the descendants, the ‘presence of harmony’ does not extend through the ages. How the mighty all have fallen.”
“It does, but even those touched by Harmony the most can turn to wickedness. That is the lesson to be learned from The Nighmare, Luna Apostasa, not that Celestia is all-conquering. That High Celestia did not commit sororicide is a key element of the story, an element which was unfortunately swiftly forgotten in the centuries.”
“I’ve never asked Luna about the details, but I would guess she would agree.”
“Is that so?” The bishop raised an eyebrow. “I must admit that it would be among the first things I would ask, politeness disregarded. To settle such a classic theological debate so easily is an opportunity too sweet to not be taken.”
“I think you’ll find that Luna’s word carries less weight than you might guess, Bishop.” Rarity looked back at Rainbow Dash, her being uncharacteristically silent. Both of her eyelids were fluttering shut; as simple an answer as any. “I’d be happy to discuss the matter of Equestria’s nocturnal princess at some other point, but I’m afraid we must be wrapping things up, or at least pivoting towards more practical conversation. I’ll be needing to start carting my sleeping ward back to our meager housing soon.”
“N-not sleeping yet.” Rainbow Dash, with one eye barely cranked open, gently raised a forehoof in protest. “’Still got a question.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah.” Rainbow Dash pointed to the rainbow-maned pegasus in the windows above. “I’zzat Arcobaleno?”
“Arcobaleno’s grandmother Folgore, yes. The great pegasi were the paladin’s champion-attendants; Thunderbolt, Lighting, Storm Bird, and the twins Sabre Typhoon and Sabre Tempest are among the names you have likely heard of. As for Folgore, I think that pegasus served under…” a moment of thought. “It might have been Mareanello’s line, actually.”
“What perfect synchronicity,” mused Rarity, eminently aware that coincidences usually meant that deeply magical nonsense was afoot, something she had entirely too much of recently.
“Perhaps.” It was the bishop’s turn to cast his gaze away. “The champions have a more, er, checkered record. Arcobaleno’s line were rather infamous for–”
“Being so bad that everyone is still scared of pegasi today.” Rainbow Dash closed her eyes again. “Read that part of the book already.” A slight smile as her head relaxed. “…still pretty cool to be related, though.”
“Did you say related, Miss–”
A snore informed him that his question would go unanswered.
“…And there she goes.” Rarity chuckled. “Surprised she made it that long, poor thing.”
“Quite,” the bishop agreed, inspecting the sleeping pegasus. “With all the blood she must have lost at her size and the depth of that gash, I’m surprised she could still walk at all.”
“She’s tougher than she looks, partly because she habitually launches herself into hillsides and homes alike.” Rarity joined his gaze. “But it’s also because, in her mind, big-L Loyalty means always being there for your friends, for better and for worse. If that means putting on a brave face in the here-and-now and breaking down later, that’s just part of the cards she’s been dealt.”
“Are the Aspects really that forward in your mind?”
“Very literally indescribably so,” Rarity answered firmly. “None of us have been turned into slobbering wrecks yet, but all of us have had the wonderful experience of part of our previously-concrete psyche ripped out and replaced with a billboard commanding obedience to a particular concept. She probably takes it the best, if only because of an ego so enormous as to crowd out virtually all other aspects of the self from her mind, but I do catch her struggling occasionally.”
“And yourself?”
“You’ve already seen that. I manage.” Rarity turned back to the bishop. “To round us out, Kindness frets about it constantly; understandable, as it’s a nearly impossible thing to pin down for every encounter, Honesty does just fine; probably because she is a simpleton, and Laughter … has her ways.”
“And Power–” the clergypony shook his head “–sorry, Magic?”
“Twilight Sparkle was always a slobbering mess, so she does not count.” Rarity allowed herself a smirk before turning back to Rainbow Dash’s sleeping form. “I was not being figurative about that cart, by the way – I am literally going to have to cart her home. Do you have something like that?”
The bishop smiled. “I’m sure I we can scrounge something up.”
The little courtyard behind the building was really a very pleasant patch of grass, even if the little outbuilding in the corner did have a certain stench of death to it.
Rarity figured the gravestones over fresh earthen mounds adjacent to it turned it form “worrying” to merely “foul.”
The kegs of beer removed from the simple wooden cart by a hooded and eerily quiet figure (which the bishop helpfully informed Rarity was indeed a monastic and thus provided evidence to his earlier correction about her fashion knowledge), Rarity finished cinching the simple draw-bands across her breast and barrel. “I’m not exactly sure how I’m going to maintain a low profile dragging a cart behind me with a pony in it, but I’ll try my best.”
“It just looks like you’re moving a corpse. It happens all the time around here.” The bishop spun a forehoof around. “Especially from precisely here.”
“In a beer cart?”
The bishop shrugged. “There are only so many carts. Pragmatism is a virtue.”
Rarity at once decided to stick to wine from henceforth.
“In your habits, nopony will bother speaking to you anyway. Vows of silence are absolute.”
“Right.” Rarity looked at the rough wooden bed of the cart, then at the still peacefully slumbering Rainbow Dash who she had moved to a bench in the courtyard with an inelegant carry. “Do you perchance have anything with which to cushion–”
That same hooded figure rather unceremoniously dumped Rarity’s dress into the cart, then topped it with a layer of half-disguising, half-cushioning hay.
Rarity looked impressed. “I suppose all those layers should be put to good use anyway.” She turned to the two other ambulatory ponies present. “Would you mind helping me get her into the cart?”
The monastic took a step back, shaking his head under his hood. The bishop likewise refused.
Rarity raised an eyebrow.
The bishop preempted her question. “The monks will not touch a mare. Part of their vows.”
“And you?”
“Not much for strength at my age.”
With a roll of her eyes, Rarity trotted over to Rainbow Dash. With a bit of awkward shimmying, she managed to get Rainbow Dash onto her back – she was truthfully very light – and, with some unsteady steps over uneven stones, rolled her into the cart. Her ending pose did end up being rather corpse-like, so that was good news for the disguise at least.
“Suppose–” a huff “–that’s it, then.” Rarity moved to the front of the cart. “Can you at least help strap me in?”
“That I can.” The bishop joined her at the front of the cart.
With a squat, Rarity presented herself for fastening; deftly, lines were connected and buckles fastened. She looked over herself, inspecting the craftsmanship for any potential pinch-spots. “Every time a unicorn gets fastened into a yoke, I think Princess Platinum rolls over again in her grave.”
The bishop chuckled. “I think you will manage, tribal affinities aside.”
“We’ll see.” Rarity likewise chuckled before turning to address him. “I, er, suppose I should thank you. For saving her life, for–”
The bishop held up a forehoof. “It is the least I could do.”
“What do you mean, least?” Rarity asked, incredulous. “I’d say you went well above and beyond the realm of normalcy!”
“No. Anypony who stumbled into my church so grievously wounded would have received aid. That’s normal. But that does not matter, because this was not normal.”
“Violence? That seems quite normal here, bishop.”
“It is.” He shook his head. “But two Aspects of Harmony entering my care is not normal.”
“Bishop,” warned Rarity, “I thought I made my opinion on ‘undeserved blessings’ quite clear.”
“You did. But there are more important things than your feelings, such as ensuring you two do not perish and, instead, succeed on your quest.”
“Quest? What quest?”
“I am not sure yet” the bishop stated, looking into the distance, “but two Aspects of Harmony do not travel across an ocean for no reason. You two are here for something important, something with great weight.”
“It is important. We’re here for some ungodly amount of money to which Luna is apparently entitled but is inaccessible to her due to some intricacies of bureaucracy.”
“By what means?” The bishop continued to look away.
“By my assumption of the title of Duchess of Marelan.”
A sharp intake of breath, then the bishop turned to lock eyes with Rarity, pale-faced and wide-eyed. “Your what?”
“I, likewise, have come to understand the gravity of the situation I am in,” Rarity grumbled, smiling in a show of wicked gallows humor. “It managed to sink in while I ran for my life about fifteen minutes ago, so the initial shock has mostly worn off.”
More stammered gasps. “T-that’s a suicide mission, a roundabout execution.”
“I truly believe that Princess Luna did not know enough to know that,” Rarity said. “At least, she better not have known better, or I will personally kill her in the unlikely event I survive long enough to see her again.”
A long pause followed.
The bishop, after a few slow blinks and some carefully paced breaths, managed to compose himself enough to turn his questions into something more than just incredulous babbling. “We-were you instructed as to how you were intended to accomplish this?”
“Not really, no.” Rarity attempted to shrug, but mostly just succeeded in jostling the cart she was yoked too. “I, upon assignment, had prepared to do nothing more than sign my name upon a sheet of parchment, the comital title being nothing more than a prerequisite for a rubber stamp; I, in other words, had prepared no plans.”
“And now?”
“Now? It’s coming together.” Rarity looked over her cargo, eyes lingering over the lumps in Rainbow Dash’s cloak where her wings sat limp beneath. “The only other Countess I have interacted with tried to immediately kill me, so I can only assume that’s the best way to, as you stated earlier, remove competition. I figured that I should just try that first.”
“That’s not – no.” The bishop shook his head, suddenly steeled with a previously unseen resolve. “No, you cannot do that.”
“Do what? Kill all of my competition?” Rarity asked. “I mean, it seems unlikely we could get through all of them, but I am quite crafty when I need to be, and she–” Rarity gestured towards Rainbow Dash “–is dangerous even when she is not intending to be, so I figure we’d make a good run at it.”
“No, signora (his diction had slipped with the news, Rarity noticed, a sure sign of its impact), not like that. I do not disagree that you could kill, or even that some of your, ah, peers would, for those inclined to vengeance, be deserving of it.” He shook his head. “But you are not here to simply murder. You are not here to darken this city with your presence.”
“I never claimed that, bishop,” Rarity frowned. “And I already stated what the reason for this voyage was.”
“You are not here for that money, Contessa.” He shook his head again, this time with more gusto. “Not in totality. That was the just the reason for the start.”
“Spare me the prophecy, please.” Rarity’s frown deepened. “I’ve had more than enough of that for a lifetime.”
“Prophecy ceases being prophecy in the present. Then it is just reality.” The clergypony removed his hat and wiped his brow. The close-cropped mane beneath the hat was heavily speckled with white hairs. “Ha!” A rueful bark of a laugh. “Of all the ways for Harmony to answer my prayers. ‘Mysterious ways’ indeed!”
“Answered prayers?” Rarity stamped an irritated back hoof. “Bishop, we are not–”
“Of course you are.” The bishop cut her off. “Of course you are! The duchy is not just a paycheck, contessa, a duchess is a solution to this place, this … decay.” He began to pace. “Every year I have been alive, this city has been without a ducal voice, and every year that passes the counts and countesses and all their hired blades and horns will continue to annihilate what remains of this city. A duchess ends that.”
“Ends ‘that’ how?” Rarity scoffed. “Unless a duchess also grows wings, I fail to see how the presence of a titular ruler would do anything.”
“Because titles have structure. A duchess could command the Carabinieri, could call a tribunal with enough power to try even a count, could demand a legion of Royal troops.”
Rarity raised an eyebrow. “Have you seen the Guard in a fight?”
“Presence is enough. Even a count or countess could not strike a Royal officer without punishment.”
“I’ll remember that next time I feel the need to punch a tax collector.”
“This is no joking mann–”
“Look.” Rarity, suddenly serious, interrupted his next line of spiel. “I accept that all that may indeed be true. But I am, for a number of reasons, almost supremely unsuited to whatever hypothetical crusade you have decided is necessary. I may or not be touched by Harmony or fate or something of that sort, but I am, as I stated so emphatically, a seamstress, not somepony fit for ruling.”
“And your peers would be?”
“A fair point,” Rarity granted.
“You needn’t do it all yourself, or even most of it yourself. Appoint a marshal or call for a Royal Governor to rule in your stead. But your ascension to that throne is destined, if not for the benefit of yourself, then for the benefit of all those ponies of which you so emotionally spoke.” He pointed a forehoof. “What finer form of Generosity could there be than to place oneself in a position wherein one can–”
“Don’t lecture me on Generosity!” Rarity snapped, this time stamping a forehoof.
Cowed, the bishop took a step back, ducking his head. “Sorry. I was not trying to overstep the bounds of–”
“No, stop.” Rarity shook her head, her tone softened. “Look, it is absolutely not that I am lacking in empathy for this city, for the ponies of this city. I made that clear.” She drew a line in front of her in the air with her hoof. “But my first and second duties are keeping her and myself alive – that’s it. That’s for selfish reasons, because I quite like us both being alive and would like to keep it that way; for national reasons, because she and I are, I don’t know if you remember, assets of the Crown who, seemingly, have to save the world every few weeks; and for your own survival, because if she and I ended up dead at the hands of some two-bit mercenary or some puffed up countess Luna or Celestia or, indeed, even the newly-minted Princess Twilight would turn this city into a crater full of pillars of salt.”
The mention of the potential consequences seemed effective; once again ashen-faced, the bishop ducked his head. “You are right. I will not begrudge you to stay.”
“That is not what I said. I do not plan on running away, bishop,” Rarity corrected. “I was given a job to do, and I do intend to do it.”
“Because of the money?”
“Well, I do intend on keeping a little bit.” Rarity allowed herself a bit of a smirk. “But no, not really.”
“Then why?”
“Because, unfortunately, I think you might be right about ‘fate’ or ‘destiny’ or something of that sort. I remain unconvinced of a worldly and otherworldly ‘Harmony’ in the sense that I believe you possess, but–” she bit her lip, rubbing her forelegs together “–if there is something like that, some force pushing the world away from Chaos and evil besides just the whims of a crystalline tree? I figure it would be in opportunities like this.”
The bishop tried to contain his smile.
Rarity raised a forehoof. “But that does not mean that she and I won’t just slaughter our way through the countesses and counts, however.”
“I would prefer if you did not, but–”
“But?”
“–you could likely get away with a few, at least ethically.” He shook his head. “But I think you will find that most of the Electorate, or what is left of it, rather, very well may agree to some negotiation, or at least a more … creative approach.”
“Such as?”
“Try the one up the road again. This time, skip the pleasantries and go straight to the contessa.”
“I’ll think about it.” Rarity, looking up, noticed the descending sun. “I’d better start on my way back.” She turned to the bishop one more time. “Thank you, truly. For all of this.”
“It is the right thing to do.” He nodded. “Stay safe and stay vigilant. You know where to find me.”
“You as well.” Rarity took two steps, then stopped. “Oh, ah, one more thing!”
“Yes?”
“You are a member of the Electorate, are you not?”
“Technically, yes.”
“Swell.” Rarity nodded. “If necessary, would you vote for me?”
“I do not foresee that being necessary.”
“Yes, yes.” Rarity nodded. “But would you?”
A lengthy pause. “… Yes. If I were to be able to, I would.”
After a moment of thought, Rarity was satisfied with that answer. “Thank you. That’s a start.” With that, she set off, after a look side to side, through the gate of the courtyard and onto a street, headed back towards her castle, slumbering cargo in tow.
After the last sign of the unicorn’s red tail dipping around a corner, the hitherto silent figure also present in the courtyard spoke up for the first time. “Shall I prepare your casket now, Father?”
The bishop, removing his hat, ran a forehoof through his thinning mane. “That depends. Do we still have any of the fancy enameled and velvet-lined ones? I should like for my closed-casket service to still have some pomp.”
“I commend your sense of gallows humor, Father,” the figure grumbled. “Father, I am quite serious.”
“Of course you are, brother. This is the first time you have spoken to me in years.”
“Because you have signed your own death sentence!” The monk shouted, vocal cords grown lax in misuse squeaking like a pubescent colt. “Have you forgotten what happened to your predecessor?”
“Beaten to death on the doorsteps of this building for the sin of picking a favorite count?” He guffawed. “As if I could! I pass his remains going to my domicile.”
“And yet you persisted in not just speaking to that mare once you learned of her status, but actually recommended a course of action?”
The bishop’s tone darkened. “Might I remind you, brother, that ‘those mares’ were Aspects of Harmony?” He turned to address the monk. “Do you recall the object of our adoration and study?”
Suitably admonished, the monk dipped his head; a sign of supplication that communicated enough meaning.
“Of course I know I am dead, friar. That conversation was by no means ‘contained.’ I would not be surprised if some skulking agent of Galloparte hiding in the rafters had already reported my treachery.”
“Then why?”
“Because it was more important that I save those ponies, both literally and spiritually, than anything else. If that entails my demise, so be it.” He turned back towards the church, beckoning for his attendant to follow. “I can think of no more important a task I’ve ever encountered than guiding an Element of Harmony towards her destiny.”
The monk did so. “Always ready to sacrifice.”
“We are all called, friar, but this is not such a big sacrifice, really.” The bishop opened the side door of the church located on the end of the transept. “I have lived long enough anyway. If this is how it ends, so be it.”
A sigh. “I only hope you live long enough to see how it ends.”
They both went in.