The sun had set hours ago, and in the heavy rains it was often said that only Diamond Dogs and pegasi would go out. The pony who trudged down a lonely road was neither, yet he continued his journey, setting one hoof before the other. The muddy morass squelched underhoof. It sucked at the weary pony’s legs as he plodded along, oblivious to the dark, or the cold, or the wet. As he walked, he thought, and as he thought, he remembered.
He had once been a man, he recalled, even if the memories were unpleasant. Then, he had become a pony. Those memories were happier, and more valued by far. Now he was nothing, and it had been his own doing. He had done the right thing, of that he was sure. He had done the necessary thing. He had decided to tell the truth. He recalled, dimly, an old saying: The truth hurts now, but a lie hurts forever. He was not sure whether or not he agreed.
His orange mane was soaked through, and it clung to his poll and crest. His yellow coat was stained with mud and worse. He still had his saddlebags, and their contents, but some miles back he had lost his glasses. Despite that, he could make out the road immediately ahead of him well enough, even at this hour of the night. Somewhere above the clouds, the moon shone brightly enough to show him the way home.
It was out there, somewhere, in the distance. He was unsure exactly how far, but knowing that it waited ahead drove his progress. He had not eaten for days, and could not remember if he had slept. It would not do to sleep, now. He had too far to go, and he never knew who might be listening.
The stallion crested a rise and, in the filtered moonlight, he saw it: Pasofino. His home. At least, it had been. He hoped it might still be. Suddenly, he found it difficult to move any closer.
“She’s waiting there, Worker,” he reminded himself, his voice barely reaching his own ears in the torrent. “She told you she didn’t care about your past, and Skyshine has never lied to you.” His attempts to reassure himself weren’t particularly effective, but he found that as long as he spoke, he could ignore the growing dread.
One hoof before the other, as he had done for days, he traveled the final mile to the sleeping village.
Skyshine sat up with a start. In the hazy moments before wakefulness, she reached out with a hoof to wake her husband. She remembered too late that he would not be there. Skyshine glanced at the softly-ticking timepiece on the mantle, and groaned quietly. Three o’clock. She had managed two hours’ sleep, at least, which was an improvement.
She slid her legs from beneath the covers, and stood, wobbling slightly as she stretched first one limb, and then the next. Perhaps some warm milk will help, she thought. I’m pretty sure I can manage to heat a pot without too much thought. Deciding against a robe, she nudged open her bedroom door and stepped into the greatroom. She had taken three strides across the floor when she noticed something wrong.
A trail of muddy hoofprints made a looping path across her floor. They appeared from the foyer, then led to the center of the room, then to the bedroom door, and finally returning to the foyer. She poked at one, gingerly, as if it might bite. The prints were still wet.
Hurriedly, she returned to the bedroom and snatched up one of Worker’s lanterns. It flickered alight as she took its handle between her teeth, and filled the room with an amber glow. She turned back to the greatroom and shined the light within. Something glittered on the table near the center of the room.
Skyshine approached it warily. As she did, the lantern’s light revealed the glittering object to be a silvery disc, about a hoof wide. It bore Luna’s emblem, and that of Equestria. She stepped closer to get a better view, and was startled when she splashed through a shallow puddle. She reared back, scrambled away from the table, and angled the lantern’s light beneath it.
A pair of soaked saddlebags, their flaps down but their straps unsecured, leaned against one of the table’s legs. Each contributed a rivulet of muddy water to the growing puddle. Skyshine recognized the stitching. “Luna be praised,” she gasped aloud. “Worker!”
Before she had finished his name, she found herself at a gallop towards the front door.
Worker made his way around the house, towards the impromptu workshop he had built when he was still a man. It would be dry there, and warm. More importantly, it was far enough from the house that he would not disturb Skyshine.
The rain was beginning to let up as he reached the shop’s door, and when it slid open with a surprisingly loud rattle he was sure he had woken the village. He froze, standing outside the shop, and searched the nearby homes for signs of activity. Worker counted to thirty, then sighed in relief.
He entered the darkened shop, switched on one of the lamps in the corner, and found a clear spot among his boxes. He picked up a small heater from a pile of leftover gadgets, set it to its lowest setting, then curled up next to it. He glanced at the still-open door, and the flickering lamp. I should probably take care of those, he thought to himself. A yawn split his muzzle, tensing every weary muscle across his shoulders and up his neck. I’ll get them in just a minute, he pledged, but as soon as he rested his chin on his hooves, sleep rolled him under.
Skyshine burst through the front door, her heart racing, her mind consumed with worry. Was that Worker? She couldn’t assume anything, at this point. Who else would enter our home at this hour? Seeing nothing on the stoop but more mud, she scanned left, and then right, seeking a sign of any pony braving the rains.
There! Are those hoofprints? She could not be sure, but even a glimmer of hope was enough to drive her forward. Around the house… the shop! No longer searching the ground, she raced towards the back of the house, where Worker had built a shop to accommodate his… previous…
She slowed to a walk, and then stopped, a few paces from the walls of the shop. His previous form. When he was a… a man. When he… Am I ready to talk to him again? Am I ready to see him? After what he said in court, in front of our friends. After what he revealed about himself?
She took a breath. Does it matter? You made a promise, Skyshine: ‘til death do you part. And you know you’re still madly in love with him. Skyshine walked towards the door, and stopped a pace from the entrance. From inside, a light flickered, and she could hear someone’s low, regular breathing. She lifted a hoof, and rested it against the wall of the building. Let him sleep. Then she turned away and walked back to her home.
Within the shop, the sleeping pony stirred once, and then drifted back to sleep.
Dawn came reluctantly, battling against the overcast sky, but arrived too soon for Worker. An errant sunbeam shone into the rapidly warming shop, glinting off the accumulated tools and devices that were strewn about its confines. Grimacing with discomfort, he blinked himself awake.
He forced himself to his hooves, and immediately regretted the decision. Every joint hurt, every muscle ached, and his senses were flooded by a singular throb that seemed to encompass his entire body. A low moan escaped his lips, belying his stoic expression. Despite the pain, he had the presence of mind to switch off the heater, and as he passed it, the lamp on the counter.
With every step he took, dried mud broke free from his coat and fell to the floor. Once he stepped outside of the shop, he took a moment to shake out his dirt-encrusted mane and tail, then turned to shut the door with his teeth—his head ached whenever he thought about magic.
The pony blinked in the cool morning light, then shuffled across the sodden turf and towards his home, wincing with each step. He did not know what might await him within, but she always woke early, and he wanted to be there when she did. He rounded the house, and stepped into the nearly-empty streets to round his fence. Jumping was out of the question.
He must have looked very strange, indeed. Down the street, ponies stopped, one by one, to watch him pass. They leaned close, speaking conspiratorially, keeping one eye on the odd pony that neared the home at the edge of the village. He marveled at their reaction. Normally, any new pony would be eagerly approached, and welcomed. Today, they seemed content to watch him from afar. Something about it seemed odd, but he couldn’t be bothered with trivialities. He wanted breakfast. He wanted a hot shower. Most of all, he wanted to see Skyshine again.
Sighing, he shrugged off the question, and wished he hadn’t. New knots stitched themselves across his shoulders. Worker pushed through the gate, trudged down the path to his door, and stepped inside. It was darker than he expected.
As quietly as he could, with a throbbing head and stiff limbs, he walked towards his bedroom door. He paused when he stepped on something that crumbled underhoof. Glancing down, he saw regular half-moons of dry grey mud. He’d need to clean those up; Skyshine would be furious at him for tracking mud into the house.
Worker placed a hoof against his bedroom door, and slowly opened it. He peered inside, and found the room empty, and the bed made. There was no pony within. He was surprised at first, confused, but then the pieces began to come together. The staring ponies, the darkened home, the empty bedroom: Skyshine was gone.
He rested his head against the doorjamb, and sighed. “I am,” he said to nopony in particular, “a very large fool.”
“I would have said ‘lummox’,” chimed a voice from the darkness, “but ‘fool’ is a good option.”
Skyshine sat on an overstuffed chair in the greatroom, shrouded by darkness. She held a mug of tea—now cold—between her hooves, and stared at the clock on the mantle, willing it to run faster. The rain had stopped, which meant that sunrise was on its way. Sundown tried to make sure that every day was sunny, even if he did cut the technicalities close.
She heard a low rattling from outside, and moments later the noise of the front gate. There were hoofsteps on the stoop, and then the door swung open. She tensed, staring from the shadows at the unfamiliar silhouette. Whoever the pony was, it entered slowly, as if unsure of its steps. It strode towards her bedroom door after pausing to examine one of the muddy hoofprints on the floor. Finally, it opened the door, and stopped.
Skyshine could tell it was a stallion from this distance, but the darkness that concealed her also hid the stallion’s identity. She could see no glasses, and this pony did not have the wild mane that her Worker did, or his vest. If he enters the room, she promised herself, I will run outside and report an intruder.
Skyshine leaned forward, preparing to bolt, when the stallion finally spoke.
“I am a very large fool,” he said, and it took every ounce of Skyshine’s will to not scream with delight. It’s him! He’s come back, alive and well, and… still without explanation, she recalled.
Steeling her nerves, she replied from her seat, “I would have said ‘lummox’, but ‘fool’ is a good option.” She instantly regretted it—she missed him terribly, and did not want to put him on the defensive so soon, but...
“Skyshine?”
“Yes, Worker. It’s me. You remember me, don’t you?”
“Skyshine, I—“ Worker turned towards her voice and took a hesitant step forward.
“Decided to stay for the week?” Her words were cruel, she knew; she mocked, she taunted, and yet she could not stop the torrent, or restrain the tone. “Decided not to write me, or ask the princesses to send a letter on your behalf? Decided that perhaps you were better off?”
“I was afraid—“ he began, tossing his mane.
“Afraid?” she hissed. “What do you know about afraid? I’ve been sleeping alone, in this empty house, for a week! I’ve been dealing with the whispers and the inquisitive stares of the entire town, for seven days! I can’t even help the mayor any more—I draw too much attention!—and you want to tell me you were afraid? Afraid of what, Worker?”
Something glittered in the darkness. She had only a moment’s warning before her chair, with her in it, slid across the floor and came to rest in front of Worker. His horn sparked with energy, and the chair glowed in the same mystical hue.
“Afraid of you, Skyshine!” he shouted in a fury. “Afraid of all my friends, who came to support me at the trial, and who I rewarded with the truth! I was afraid that they had abandoned me, that you had abandoned me, especially after you left the courtroom! Afraid that you didn’t… that…”
She could see his tears welling, illuminated by the glow of his horn, and the paths they cut across his mud-caked cheeks. She saw the weariness in his face, and the condition of his mane and coat, and the hope that flickered as it died, deep within his eyes.
“…that you didn’t love me anymore, Skyshine.” His voice gave out, and he dropped his gaze to the floor as he sobbed, each breath wracking his body. His horn’s glimmer faded, and so did whatever strength he possessed. “That you were better off without me.”
The stallion dropped to his knees and buried his face between her hooves, pressing his filthy head against the chair’s fabric. “Please don’t leave me, Skyshine,” he begged, barely audible through his ragged breathing. “I can’t do this alone. Not without you, my wife. The rest of the world can burn, but I need you.”
She winced at the ferocity of his words, briefly imagining Equestria in flames. Shaking the vision away, she gingerly reached out with a forehoof, placed it on his head, and stroked his stringy mane. The details could come later. He needed her now. “You are a lummox, Worker. You are a fool, and a dunderhead, and a great many other things.” Her husband looked up at her, confused, bewildered by the contrast between her words and her tone. She smiled, and felt the tears well in her eyes. “Especially if you think I could ever stop loving you.” Then, she bent down, and kissed him—first tenderly, and then more deeply—without a care for dirt, or tears, or reasons.
The two lovers rested, limbs intertwined as they lay on their bed, holding one another as close as they could. Worker’s mane and coat were still damp, despite the use of a towel and curry-comb, and Skyshine played with the heavy curls that dangled in front of her face. “We should try braiding,” she suggested.
“You can, dearest,” he replied with a kiss. “I rather like my unruly look.”
“Savage.”
“You love it.”
Skyshine buried her muzzle in Worker’s neck, sighing, and then asked, “Worker? Why were you so late in returning?”
Worker thought for a moment, and then kissed her on the cheek, before rolling over onto his side so he could speak more comfortably. “Equestrian law is strange.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I know. I’m getting to it.” He studied the wall behind Skyshine for a moment, and then answered, “On Mobius, before…” He sighed, and continued. “In my experience, if the victim of a crime is unwilling to press charges, then the crime is, for the most part, ignored. There are, of course, exceptions. Some laws were written to reflect a certain severity, in that the commission of the act was a crime itself, whether or not there was a victim at all. Here, it seems that all formal law is written in such a manner.”
“I don’t understand.” She rolled over onto her stomach, and rested her head on a bunched-up pillow. “Wouldn’t you want all laws to be treated the same way?”
“Ideally, yes. A universal code, if it works, is far simpler. That’s what the princesses had designed: an ideal system of law.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“Whether or not I felt victimized by my changes, the law made no exceptions. The penalty for using physical transformation magic on another without their consent is exile. The way that spell was written, it eliminates the possibility of consent. It can also be fatal, if cast too quickly. Thus, the law treated all applications as forced.”
“So, wait, was Luna exiled?”
“No. And it was because of her history that she was not.” He turned to look into Skyshine’s beautiful eyes. “Do you remember, back when we journeyed to gather my things from the cavern, how you told me about the moon? About the events that were marked by Luna’s changes?”
“Yes?”
“Do you remember when you told me about Nightmare Night, and how Luna was rescued from the Nightmare? How the holiday, which used to be a warning about monsters, is now a celebration?”
“Yes, I do, but I don’t see how that matters.”
“Do you remember when you told me about the Elements of Harmony? How they were instrumental in defeating the Nightmare, and rescuing Luna? How they defeated something called ‘Discord’ soon after?”
“Worker,” she said, exasperated, “stop leading me on.”
Worker grinned, and flopped onto his back, raising his hooves in defense. “Fine, fine. I’ll cut to the chase, but you can’t go telling everyone. I don’t think the princesses have shared the full version; in fact, I’m pretty sure they haven’t.”
“Tell me, or I’m going to get up and take a shower.”
“Killjoy,” he chuckled. He closed his eyes, and continued. “Luna was Nightmare Moon. Same pony. She wasn’t rescued so much as freed. Changed.” He opened one eye, watching Skyshine’s expression. “One might say she was ‘transformed’.”
Skyshine blinked, trying to assess the information. “Wait. Wait. The Elements transformed the Nightmare—Nightmare Moon, you say—into Luna?”
“Yes. And I can safely say that whatever else was going through Nightmare Moon’s head at the time, she didn’t want to be transformed. She didn’t consent. And yet, the Elements of Harmony were neither exiled, nor even punished. In fact, I understand they have great stained glass windows displaying their courage in the palace itself.”
“So that speech you gave, where you listed those... horrible things?”
Worker sighed. He knew what she was asking, but he couldn’t give her that peace of mind. He rolled back over to his side, and reached out with a hoof to stroke her cheek. “My love, I told you, before I came to Equestria, I was different. I was… not a good pony. Everything I told the princesses that day was the truth. You cannot lie to either of them, Skyshine. Celestia can see through any falsehood, and I think Luna can feel them being woven. They are, very much, two sides of the same bit.”
“I… see.”
“But that made it easier. I proposed that Luna had not cast a spell on an unwilling traveler. I proposed that, instead, she recognized a threat—a villain, as it were—and defeated him, revealing the true pony within.” He smiled despite himself. “Luna was no criminal. She was a hero, who alone could see and vanquish a looming danger!” He finished with a vaudevillian flourish.
“That’s not funny.”
“No,” he agreed, his voice gentle once more. “It’s not.”
“So you’re a looming danger?” Her tone shifted, rising with impatience. “Is that how you see yourself?”
“Not anymore, my love,” he soothed. “The idea was born in a burst of creativity, but the more I think about it, the more I realize that it’s true. I am a different pony. I am your pony, and I will never again be Julian, or Robotnik, or Eggman.”
“So many names. Were they all bad?”
“After a time,” he said simply, “yes.”
“What of Worker?” She watched him with an unreadable gaze, searching.
“Ah, he’s a special case.” He reached out and stroked her cheek, then folded his arms across his chest. “He has someone who loves him, after all, and who he loves just as much.”
Skyshine blushed, and then met his gaze once more. “So you gave everyone—all three of you—a way out. Why did it take so long to return?”
He frowned, his ears flickering. “There was a small celebration, and a formal welcoming to Equestria,” his voice lowered in embarrassment, “and a title, but...” Worker cleared his throat. “I told you the truth this morning. I was afraid. I needed time to think, so I elected to walk, but all I did on the entire journey was worry.”
“And you didn’t ask the princesses to send a letter ahead of you?” She did not sound pleased.
“No,” he admitted, ashamed at his lack of foresight. “I didn’t know what to do, and so I chose to do nothing. I didn’t want to face the possibility of receiving a letter in reply, telling me I was not wanted.”
Skyshine crawled across the bed and swung a leg over Worker’s chest, pinning his shoulders under her forehooves. She leaned in close and kissed him soundly, sighing deeply at the touch of his lips. “You are a lummox, my dear Worker.” She smiled down at him, a fire in her eyes.
“I know,” he replied glibly, smiling back. “But if I can be your lummox, Skyshine, I think it will work out just fine.” He reached up to her , and pulled her close, kissing her again and again as he channeled the lights out.
“Darling,” Skyshine prompted in the cool darkness.
“Yes, Skyshine?”
“The town will be wondering.”
“Let them. We’ll answer their questions later,” he replied. A warm breath sounded in his ear, followed by a nibble. “Mrrr,” he rumbled, “make that tomorrow.”
In the darkness, the lovers—once again entangled in one another—giggled happily.
“Tia,” Luna complained, stamping a hoof against the kitchen’s tiles, “you’re taking forever. We were supposed to leave half an hour ago!”
“Look who’s suddenly worried about schedules,” Celestia taunted. “I just wanted to make sure everything was packed.” She levitated a large hamper towards the back door.
“Fine, fine. Lentils has everything squared away, like she always does. Can we go?”
“We can go. I’m sure the countryside is still there, awaiting our glorious picnic.” She opened the door, and the pair strolled out of their kitchens, and out of the palace.
“It really is a wonderful idea to take a day off, Tia,” said the younger pony, feigning self-importance. A fan appeared out of nowhere, snapped open, and floated before the suddenly demure alicorn. It waved lazily, more for appearance than function. “I’m glad I thought of it.”
“Mm.” Celestia paused, tapping her chin with a forehoof. “You thought of it, did you? I was unaware. I could have sworn the arrangements bore my signature. Have you been forging my name again?”
Luna stuck out her tongue in reply. Her fan, as if shocked at such a vulgar display, vanished in a puff of blue smoke.
For a few minutes, they walked together in silence, and stepped through a small sally-gate set into the city walls. On the other side was a simple platform carved into the mountainside.
Celestia set down the hamper. “Still,” she said, grinning impishly, “I agree. It is a wonderful idea. We should make this a regular event. Canterlot can manage itself one day a month, don’t you think?”
Luna peered over the platform’s edge, surveying the rolling, grassy plain below. She turned to her sister, nodded in agreement, and then pointed towards a copse of trees near a winding stream. “There.”
Celestia smiled. “That looks lovely. Shall we?” She stepped to the edge of the platform, levitated the hamper, and stretched her wings wide.
Luna, not waiting for decorum, leapt from the edge, screeching with glee as she dove towards the rocks below.
“Oh, no you don’t!” shouted Celestia, powering after her sibling.
The two sisters soared down the mountainside, exulting in the feel of the wind, banking to and fro over the green fields below. Luna laughed, hooting and hollering with unbridled joy as she looped and climbed. Celestia glided effortlessly beside her, allowing herself an earnest smile in the mid-morning sunlight.
It was the first time they had flown together in over a thousand years.
It was going to be a wonderful day.
Epilogue: Old Enemies
Two of the three remaining Freedom Fighters stood about a massive machine which held a single glimmering Emerald in its depths. Their expressions were grim, yet their eyes shone with hope.
A pink-furred hedgehog clad in tattered overalls sat hunched over a series of controls. She pushed her hair from her face, and rubbed at her eyes. I’m getting too old for this, she thought. She looked to her left and nodded to her partner. “Give me a status on the Emerald?”
A hulking red echidna squinted through smoked glass and tried to make sense of the glowing crystal’s pulsations. “I think we’re ready, Amy.” He smiled at her reassuringly. “Let’s try again.”
“Sonic!” Amy shouted. “We’re firing it up. Get to the launch platform!”
“On my way,” a voice called in reply. “Go ahead and start the sequencing!”
“You know I can’t do that while you’re outside the—” A chime sounded, indicating pressure on the launch platform. “—platform. Of course. Starting the sequence now, Sonic!”
“Roger that. And Amy? Knuckles? Thank you.”
“You make it sound like a funeral, hedgehog,” Knuckles replied.
“C’mon!” he chided playfully. “This is me we’re talking about. I’ll come back just fine.”
“I hope so,” Amy called back. “Return to the same spot in two weeks, and we’ll reopen the portal. Don’t forget. The Emerald’s taken a few hits, and I don’t know if we’ll have another chance.”
“Two weeks,” he acknowledged with a nod. “I’ll be there.” He pressed a large red button next to the platform. At his command, the machine powered up with a whine that increased in pitch, and was soon out of the range of hearing. Every hair on the hedgehog’s body stood on end, and the air around him began to darken. There was a rending noise, like thunder being sucked into a bottle. A web of electricity was followed by an explosion somewhere deep in the machine, and it ground to a halt.
Amy raced to the top, while Knuckles peered into the Emerald’s chamber.
“It’s still in one piece, Amy!” he called out.
Amy searched the platform, finding nothing but the metal pressure plate and the red button. “I heard you, Knuckles,” she replied, peering over the railing to the echidna below. “I just hope he is.”