Loyalty is such a funny thing.
Sometimes it goes to the highest bidder, other times it goes to whoever holds the most power. It can be given out of fear, or an eagerness to please. It’s earned through hard work and strong leadership, or used as a deadly weapon to hurt the ones you care about. Loyalty is something hard to earn, but easy to break.
It can also go to somepony you fall in love with; a pony who knows loyalty better than you do.
I thought I knew what it meant to be loyal, but I clearly didn’t.
Years ago, I swore an oath to defend the Lunar Confederacy and her Queen at any cost. Since then, I’ve had to do very terrible and unforgivable things; things that had to be done for our survival.
Sacrifices had to be made.
However, I realized far too late that I had made one too many, and now I’m about to face the consequences.
Queen Luna’s army will be here in two days, and Equestria is assembling their forces to retaliate. They’ll destroy each other and every other living thing caught in the crossfire, and it’ll be my fault if that happens.
I think I might have an idea on how to stop this entire mess before it even starts, but I don’t know if I have enough time. Worse still, I’m not sure if it’ll even work. It’s all I’ve got to go on though.
Whatever they’re worth, I’ve left you my journals in case anything goes wrong. They’ll tell you what happened, how this all started, and who you can blame for the mess you may or may not be in. I might have betrayed my country, but maybe I can do at least one thing right to earn some forgiveness, even if I don’t deserve it.
Like I said, loyalty is a funny thing.
Good luck, you’ll need it.
-Ashen
A copper-colored unicorn clad in a grey overcoat stood beside the liquor cabinet in his office, leaning against a counter as he took a few sips of scotch, something he reserved for nights of therapy that could potentially be, or had been, bad.
This was one of those nights.
Doctor Archer had a lot on his mind, which prevented him from taking the time to organize his messy desk to prepare for his next appointment sometime within the next couple hours. He had become so lost in his thoughts that he’d lost track of the time, but judging from his yawns and the fact he hadn’t woken up too long ago, it was probably around ten at night. This was further evident from the many flashes of city lights through the open blinds of his window that partially illuminated his dim office, indicating that it was quite active outside his building’s thick walls.
While the dim lighting from the world outside and the small lamp on his ornate wooden desk were paramount to maintaining an atmosphere for complete concentration between him and his patients, it also served as a good way to sink himself deep into his thoughts. At least it prevented him from being able to see the ugly abstract painting in the back of the room he’s still not sure why he bought for six-hundred bits, or the cheap, fake plants that helped to decorate the room along with the dull blue carpet and tacky tan-and-white walls. The only thing he needed to see was the large red sofa in front of the desk, where he would seat and converse with his many, many patients, one of which in particular was on his mind right now.
The stallion took one last sip of his glass for the night before his absent-minded gaze locked onto the wall of cabinets just behind his desk and short brown chair. A thought entered his mind, one which made him decide to step away from his counter by the liquor cabinet, and cross the room to open one of the large wooden containers.
Inside were shelves holding several stacks of white reels, each wound with magnetic tape containing audio recordings of his many sessions. His horn and two stacks of reels glowed yellow, allowing him to levitate them in front of and around him. He glanced through each of them until he found the ones he sought, taking three of them before returning the rest to their corresponding stacks. Archer shut the doors behind him as he returned with the spools to his desk as he sat down and began affixing the spool onto the small metal audio box. Once he wove the tape onto a smaller, empty spool on the device, he pushed one of the large buttons, and with a “click,” the spools began to spin up and the box started talking while he began organizing his mountain of paperwork.
“Date: October 27th, year 1010 of Her Majesty’s reign. Today I’m interviewing Commander Artemis Greywing about one of my patients, Ashen Nightwing,” came the past voice of doctor Archer through the small box, while the doctor himself glanced at a description form about Greywing he found buried on top of his pile. A picture should have been clipped to it, but it must’ve been lost somewhere under all of his documents.
Name: Artemis.
Surname (if applicable): Greywing.
Race: Nightbreed.
Age: 41
Occupation: Military
Doctor Archer skimmed through the remainder of the unimportant details on the page, the main focus of his attention on the black box as it began to speak up again.
“Good night Commander. I’m glad you could come in to speak with me on such short notice. From what I understand, you’re the new head of Dragonlands expeditions, am I correct?”
“Good night to you too, doctor, and yes, you’re correct; I was just assigned the position last week, thank you,” replied an older, experienced stallion’s voice, one with a calm demeanor that was soothing to the ear, accompanied by the sound of hooves connecting together and shuffling; sounds accompanying that of a hoofshake. “I’m hoping I can be of some help. Ashen’s been a close friend for years.”
“Ah, yes, I’m sure you will. I just want to say that I am very grateful that you found the time to speak with me despite your new post.” There was a pause accompanied by the sounds of squeaking chairs. “I’ll admit, I wasn’t sure the Greywings were as hospitable as your reputation claimed. Most, if not all, of my nightbreed clients haven’t been as… ‘polite,’ shall we say. No offense.”
“None taken. My kin and I are soldiers; it’s what we’re good at and have been good at, for the past thousand years since our creation. It’s nothing personal, doctor. We live for Her Majesty in the royal guard or defending the southern border from dragons. Most serve for life, after all. While the other nightbreed lines, those damn Bloodwings especially, aren’t known for being civil, my family just does what they can to keep the peace and provide counsel whenever it’s needed.”
“I understand, and I’m not holding anything against you or your kind. I just don’t meet many hospitable nightbreeds.” Sounds of drawers being opened and paperwork being stacked were heard. “However, I’m not one to complain about that kind of thing. None of us would’ve survived the Dragon Wars or made it past the Founding and Seizing of the Twenty-Six Territories and countless other conflicts if not for all of you.”
“That was 200 years ago doctor. We were just doing our duty then.”
“Oh don’t be so modest. I, for one, am grateful for how hard you and your kind work, especially in defending the southern border. I thank the Three Goddesses every day for you all.”
There was a pause.
“Oh, I apologize. I forgot nightbreeds don’t share our religion.”
“It’s quite alright. While we believe in our Queen and Creator, I have nothing against your religion.”
“Most do,” Archer commented. “Especially most of the separatists in that uprising of theirs two years ago.”
The box went silent again.
“Is… something wrong, Commander?”
“No, just… ever since that day, Ashen hasn’t been the same since,” came Greywing’s solemn reply. “I can’t even begin to imagine how much he went through, especially at such a young age….”
“Actually, that’s why I asked you to come in today. I wanted to talk with you about what he was like before then. He’s… proven to be very difficult to work with.”
“I see. What can I do for you then?” Greywing asked.
“Well, he hasn’t told me much about his life before the… incident,” Archer said. “I was hoping you could fill me in about what he was like earlier in his military career. Is that okay?”
“Oh, yes, of course.”
“Alright, so, first question: How would you describe Ashen when he was first put under your command?”
Archer remembered that when he had asked that question, the other stallion’s smile stretched ear to ear. He set the document down and slumped against his desk as his entire focus was diverted to listening to the recording.
“He was eager; naïve, but very eager, and determined, like he wanted to prove himself. Never complained once; in fact, I don’t think I’ve ever met anypony else who volunteered for duty on South Watch, or even the expeditions.”
Archer remembered looking up at Greywing in disbelief at this statement.
“Forgive me, but… he volunteered for the expeditions?”
“Yes,” replied Greywing with conviction.
“Nopony volunteers for the expeditions.”
“Well, Ashen did.”
There was a brief pause, before the sound of scratching of a quill writing notes down was heard from the box, before the Doctor’s voice spoke up again.
“You say he wanted to prove himself? Who was he trying to prove himself to? The Queen?”
“I’m not sure, actually. If I were to guess, I’d say his father.”
“The previous Law & Order Representative?” Archer asked.
“The same. He often spoke poorly about him, how his father thought he was worthless, and that he wanted to prove him wrong. I’m assuming that’s where his ambition to become a member of the Royal Guard came from. Either way, he was very loyal to Queen and country, no matter what was asked of him.”
“Yes… that would explain a lot….” Archer said to himself.
“What do you mean?”
“Sorry, but I can’t discuss anything about my conversations with my patients, including Ashen. Patient confidentiality agreement and such.”
“Oh.”
“I apologize Commander, I know he’s a close friend-“
“No, no. That’s quite alright.” Greywing hastily interrupted, his tone understanding.
The black box was silent once again, save for the sound of the spinning spools and a scribbling quill. A moment later, Archer spoke up again.
“Would you say he was… lonely?”
“I’m… not sure. He hasn’t given me that impression.”
Quill scratching was heard once again during another brief pause.
“You said earlier he was naïve. Could you tell me why?”
“Ah… yes… he… he was one of those recruits who felt like they were some kind of noble hero or paragon or something. He had a very kind heart though; he was selfless. He never once thought of himself as he stood and defended the south border, or when he rescued ponies from thieves, rapists, and other criminals here in the streets of the Capital. Whenever other ponies were in danger, he’d put himself in harm’s way to protect them, especially fellow soldiers.”
As Greywing spoke, the subtle sound of the scratching quill accompanied his voice.
“You should’ve seen him the first day,” reminisced Greywing. “He thought he would be the first one to find fertile land in the Dragonlands expeditions and singlehoofedly save the country. Such fire he had in his eyes back then…”
The quill stopped, creating an uncomfortable silence in its wake.
“It must be so hard to believe now, I’m sure,” came a miserable-sounding comment from Greywing.
“What do you mean?”
“Ever since Operation Specter.”
Silence lingered from the box, before the scratching noise was heard again, and the doctor cleared his throat.
“I’d… like to change topics,” started Archer. “Was he always prejudiced against unicorns, pegasi and earth ponies?”
“Well, he didn’t like Equestrian kind before. Never told me why. After Specter though-”
“I… think I get the idea, Commander.” Archer interrupted. “So on that note, he has more kinship with other nightbreeds, especially yourself, am I right?”
“Sort of.”
Another pause.
“Could you elaborate on your affiliation with him?”
“Sure. I took him under my wing just after he was recruited. A year and a half later I brought him with me on most of my expeditions. I even trained him myself.”
The sound of opening drawers accompanied by rustling paper came from the box.
“Ah, yes. Says here Ashen is one of a few ponies certified with Runeblades and CrystalTech. You trained him with these?”
“Yes.”
“I’m told Runeblades are difficult weapons to master.”
“Indeed they are, as are any CrystalTech weapons, gear, and machinery which are even more challenging to use efficiently.”
“Would you say Ashen is adept with these?”
“Very.”
“Okay…” mumbled the doctor as more scribbling was heard. “So it’s safe to say you carry a mentor-student relationship?”
“Something like that.”
It was quiet again for a few seconds.
“Is there more to it?”
“Ashen… is like a son to me, really. We took care of each other in a lot of close calls with wildlife over in the Dragonlands. There were times he was scared, or angry, or sad, but never showed it. Back then he didn’t approve of our strict laws either, being as strict as they are. I tried to be there for him all those times he was in doubt and needed somepony to confide in, and let him know there’s good worth fighting for, despite our harsh laws and the blood we have to spill to survive. I suggested once that he should try working to become a member of the Queen’s council; follow his father’s hoofsteps and try to change things for the country. Told him I’d even vote for him, heh…”
Scribbling was heard once more.
“How’d he respond to that?” asked Archer.
“He… was against the idea.”
“I see,” responded the doctor, flatly, as he was heard scribbling a few more notes down. “Would you say that he respected you just as much?”
“I guess.”
“You ‘guess?’”
“I couldn’t tell you how he might’ve felt. He confided in me though, so I suppose I should say yes.”
Quill scratches and scribbles again.
“So… after Specter, have you two kept in contact?”
“…Not exactly. We rarely talk anymore.”
“Is it because of your different postings?”
Silence reared its ugly head once again, for a brief moment.
“No.”
“I thought as much,” said the doctor as a few more scribbles were heard. “I have one last question.”
“Go ahead.”
“When was the last time you spoke with him?”
“…probably three months ago.”
“What did you talk about?”
“…Work, I guess you could say; his and mine. In the rare instances we talk, that’s about all we discuss. Rest of the time we quietly drink, him more so than me,” he said, before a long and uncomfortable pause. “…Much more.”
There was a bit more scribbling heard, then the sound of a small object being set down.
“Alright, well, I’d like to thank you for your time Commander. Hopefully our talk tonight might help me significantly with my case.”
“I hope so too. If you need anything, just-”
*Click*
Doctor Archer stopped the recording, letting off a deep sigh as he brought the half-empty glass over to him with his magic, took another sip. He’d heard enough for the time being. He set his glass down and stared vacantly up at the ceiling, leaning back in the chair and propping his hind legs up on the desk.
He often dwelled about this particular case. It even robbed him many nights of sleep. The unicorn had dealt with a few PTSD cases in his many years of experience, but he hadn’t dealt with anything like Ashen before. It was probably why he took this case so personally, especially since he’d been working on it for the past year and a half. He had taken it upon himself to do everything in his power to help him, despite how little progress he’d made. When he’d asked Greywing to come in that day over a year ago, it was out of desperation for results, for answers, and it’s a tactic he normally wouldn’t utilize.
However, Ashen was definitely his longest case as well as his most challenging. After spending that long with him, he was determined to cure him, not solely for the sake of his job, but also because he wanted Ashen out of his life after taking up so much of it. Since his talk with Greywing though, he looked at his case with a new perspective, one that contained a level of sympathy he hadn’t had from the outset. It also became a major goal, almost an obsession, even, to help his patient, no matter the cost. If there was one thing he needed after all this time, it was closure. He doubted he could even help many other clients until he had done so with Ashen.
Doctor Archer glanced at a small, neat stack of papers near the edge of his desk piled under various other ones. He figured he had a long while still before his patient would show up. The stack of papers was something he had read through a dozen times already, but he would search through them a dozen more times if it would help him find answers he sought.
He thought this over for a moment.
I’ve got time. Might as well.
The stack of papers levitated over to his lap, and he began to read.