~IV~
Of Luna
A story of friendship, written lovingly by writer.

The oats brush against your legs as you canter through the fields, and the rain-like hissing of their thin reeds as they part is a melody to your ears.

Oh, how you've missed the field-before-home. That was the name for the crop nearest the boundary of your home, where every morning and evening you'd trodden. It had always had oats sewn in it, and it was the first crop to be planted after the winter was over, and the first to be reaped when the oats were ready.

A better metaphor you couldn't ask for, with the growing and harvesting of your labour year in and year out so very much like yourself. When you left home at nineteen, the stream at the very edge of that paddock signalled your departure, and when you were very, very little, carefully jumping across the stepping stones that spanned the chilly river was your way of going to school.

The stream. It filled with water that flowed from the reservoir nearby, and in the drier years you could water the plants with it via an aqueduct to the north. It wasn't overly wide, although it was quite deep and fast for such a little stream, especially when you were only a young foal.

The moment you crossed the shallow river, you were just about halfway into town, or so your mother had said. To you, once you crossed through the water, you were more than halfway to school, and friends, and hours of fun. Treading back across the rocks before the day was over would jynx the rest of it, and you never dared try recrossing until the day was over, not for the longest time.

The ritual continued well into your teens, in all your comings and goings. Every jump had its equal and opposite, and every half that was left behind you became another half-day you'd conquered. Because that was what life was to you back then – a series of challenges to be met and expected, and every time you crossed that boundary it was another challenge passed.

In fact, you haven't jumped over the rocks in a long time, now. Not since you were at school, at least, though it certainly felt like a lot longer, especially with the recent happenings in your life.

You pass a familiar tree on your right. It's a eucalypt, the one with the twisted bough that had been there for as long as you remembered, its pale, papery bark and dull, moss-green leaves. By some miracle it hasn't fallen down or lost any of its limbs, and in a way you're slightly thankful. You even smile a little. It seems as if nature itself strives to preserve your memory.

You pass beneath the eucalypt. As you do, you can feel something tickle the tips of your ears. One flitters in surprise, and so do you, blinking and ducking your head out of reflex. Glancing up, you notice the same low-hanging branch that you'd once had to leap to even touch.

The thought rises in your head if your mother will even recognise you. After all, you're so tall now, and muscled, and... army-like. Your armour is informal, but it still glitters with the silver insignia of your station and rank, and at least a dozen service medals.

You canter on. You certainly recognise home. Nothing has changed. It's been kept as perfectly as you'd remembered it. In the distance, the sun's beams caress the auburn crop as it shifts and shimmers in a slight zephyr, and you pass on through the scrub, eager to get home.

Your patience isn't long in rewarding. You spot the little ley-line in the land just over the nearest hill, the one with the long furrow in it that marked the boundary between your farm and the mallee scrub. Coming closer, you can see the sunken shale banks of flat pearly-grey stones that you know better as 'the jump'. The dirt underneath your hooves turns to polished rocks that clack and click as you walk across them, and you descend into the washed-out riverbed.

You reach the edge of the stream and peer down into the depths. As always, the water is clear and swiftly running, its soft burbling whispering secrets of the past into your ear.

This is home, then. This is really it. Your first time back in years and years. What would your mother say?

For a moment, you pause in your stride, and you glance up at the six or seven stepping stones you'd had to walk across once, wondering if you should use them for old time's sake.

You can vaguely remember the first time you crossed the river, with your mother leading the way. The water would've come up to your withers and neck if you didn't stand on the stones, and you were awfully frightened of jumping – after all, you thought you were going to fall in. It was probably very cold, you thought, and it looked rather quick, and it would've made you sopping wet. You gave your mother a plaintive look. She gave you a warm smile.

You made it, in the end. You always did. That was the way things worked on the farm. There was, as your mother said, an I in family, but it was only a little one, and part of something much greater.

Luckily for you, as you became older, you'd learned to be less afraid, and you'd stuck every rock a million times without falling in. It was still a few strenuous years of growing before you were capable of taking all the rocks at a brisk trot, being unafraid of the water.

It wasn't anything you thought of as a particular achievement, but it stood for something.

But the wind brings with it the smell of home. The very idea of it is far too beguiling to put on hold, water or no. So not today.

You take a little breath and wade across the stream for the first time. To your delight, the gently-running water is warm enough to bathe in, and it splashes and banks around your shins eagerly, but it rises no deeper then that, and you cross to the other side unbothered.

You're back on home fields. The fields-before-home, to be exact. You breathe deep the essence of home, sucking up lungfuls of warm, dry air, and allow the dry grass to brush away the droplets water that slips down your legs.

Oh, what a smell it was. The dusty scent of grain fields. The delicious, cherished aroma of fresh bread and baked corn from somewhere over the next hill, making your mouth water.

Hearthfire, a distant voice murmurs in your ear. You smile. It's a spell you remember well. Your mother had cast it so many times, and you know what it looks like. You knew the distinctive huff of the magical fire catching on tinder and wood in your fireplace, and the brightness of the flame as it crackled into life. The smells that followed were just another part of the magic to you.

The auburn oats shift like a sheet of living snow before you, the tapering points of their stalks catching on your coat as you begin to bound through the field. All you can focus on is the delicious aroma of woodsmoke and fried corn that you could taste a mile away.

“Come on in, dear,” the voice says in your ear once more, as you hit the centre of the paddock. “Your father's just finished serving breakfast, and we'll be eating shortly.”

Your breath escapes you in a nervous pant, and you skid to a halt. Around you, the grass follows suit.

The voice is homely. Motherly. Wonderful. It's everything you've ever missed, but that isn't what has you so spellbound.

You press on through the rushes and oats, confused but willing to believe, wanting to believe –

Something nudges you once or twice, just below the nape of your neck. Sleepily, you open your eyes, and you blink a few times at, mumbling incoherently about being hungry.

“Well, that would be the point of breakfast, my little pony,” says the slightly amused voice of Princess Celestia from somewhere to your left.

It takes your sleep-addled brain a few seconds to kickstart itself, but when it does, you jump in fright, falling out of your bed in surprise in an unceremonious tangle of limbs and blankets.

“P-princess?” you stammer, scrambling to all fours in a mixture of panic and adrenaline, your mind racing to all sorts of possible conclusions.

“What time is it?!” You blurt out, feeling your heart seize up in your chest.

The Princess gives a soft laugh, shaking her head. “Oh no, Captain. You're not late. I raised the sun several hours ago on my own, but I just thought you might like something before the cooks stop serving breakfast.”

“I... I see?” you finally manage, as your baffled brain comes to terms with the fact that you hadn't done anything wrong. Your head swims with vague, urgent images of home, and now that your poor chest has unbound itself you find it thudding with a worried adrenaline.

“You were very tired,” the Princess says again, her voice striking clearly through the groggy haze in your head. “You've been asleep for ten hours! You must have been absolutely exhausted by all of yesterday.”

Still lost for words, you make no reply. The Princess doesn't seem to mind, though, and her warm, disarming smile only widens as she casts a cursory glance at your mane.

“...I take it you slept well, then?” she says, the tiniest hint of mirth hidden within the depths of her maternal voice.

Tentatively, you raise a hoof to your mane. Or rather, where it's supposed to be. A little short, recently uncut and most definitely unshorn, it's supposed to be hanging where you'd left it.

Instead, your hoof meets it about an inch into the air, sticking up at a bizarre angle.

Internally, a part of you dies in embarrassment. The other parts swiftly follow as you realise that accompanying your bed hair are your sleep-filled eyes, and that you're standing beside your unmade bed with a pool of sheets around your fetlocks. You feel yourself colouring quite strongly.

You're torn for a moment between raking it down madly and leaving it as it is. You opt for the latter, planting your forehoof back onto the wooden floor with a solid clack.

After the longest of ages of her simply staring at you in a bemused way, Celestia bursts into riotous laughter.

No sooner have your ears received the delightfully lilting notes than your eyes clench in an involuntary wince.

She sounded like she was really enjoying herself too, and that made it all the worse. It wasn't just a giggle, or a quiet chuckle to herself, as one might expect of a mother marvelling at her silly foal. It was genuine laughter, as pure and crystalline as the being that it came from. Her gentle eyes close and her shoulders shake, and she even takes a breath or two throughout the whole ordeal, like she's discovered the best joke in the world.

All of which is to your detriment and embarrassment, of course. Thankfully, though, the Princess does stop, albiet many painful seconds later.

“Oh, Captain!” She manages, still tittering. “Do you have any idea how funny you look right now?”

Judging from the burning in your cheeks and the horrible feeling in the pit of your stomach, you can say you do fairly well. But you shut your mouth, obeying well your mother's old adage:

It's better to close your mouth and look a fool then it is to open it and remove all doubt.

So you stand there rather sheepishly while Celestia continues to giggle. Eventually, though, her laughter dies away, and she replaces the smile with a false pout.

“Still a little weary, I take it?” She says, the edges of her smile still prominent over her high cheekbones. You quickly nod your head in agreement, desperate for a train of thought to go with that isn't 'the Princess is in front of you, and you're looking like a mess'.

“Hmm, maybe you didn't sleep so well after all, then?” she murmurs to herself, still watching you carefully. “Bad dreams? Ah well. They pass, and I think ten and a half hours of rest is good enough for anypony. Now you just have to put up with me and the armourer for another fourteen, and then you can go back to bed again!” A silken smile graces her lips. “Deal?”

Still embarrassed, you nod and stammer out something that might've been “Alright.” The Princess laughs again, and leaves the room, her great mane flowing behind her in a hidden draught.

“Enjoy your breakfast, Captain. Come and find me in the archives when you are finished. Today, you are going to meet my sister, and then we shall decide what your contribution to my guard will be.”

The door shuts gently behind her unbidden. You blink a few times, and look around once or twice, confused, only to espy a tea tray on your tea table once again.

You feel your brain staggering quietly, but with the embarassment of bedmane in front of the Princess still washing over you, it feels dimmed.

You trot over to your dark, wooden tea-table, abandoning your anxiety for a second to contemplate the insanity of that thought. Upon it, the silver tray that had held teacups and teapots now holds several large dishes, all of them a shining silver too.

You lift the cover of one, the modicum of your mind that isn't stunned into silence vaguely wondering if anything Celestia liked to eat off of wasn't silver.

With a small puff of steam, you lift the cover of one dish to reveal a hot plate of roasted corn cobs with butter and fresh bread. That same, small part of your brain adds two and two. You realise that your dream wasn't inspired so much by homesickness as it was food, and the little thought makes you smile. It assuages your anxiety somewhat.

But then, in a tidal wave of astonishment, the more abundant fact clouts you about the head. Celestia really did bring you breakfast in bed.

Either that, or it had been teleported there by a servant of sorts. But you hadn't seen any servants in Celestia's quarters other than yourself or the other guards, and if it had really been a servant bringing it, you know would've heard them and woken up – quiet though they might be, years of surprise dawn inspections by your drill sergeants had taught you to wake up rather quickly, and at the sound of a pin drop. You never wanted to be the last out of bed.

For a moment, you debate that thought. It seems highly unbelievable that you had simply been dead to the world with exhaustion, but the other alternative is that Celestia had bought you breakfast.

Cognitive dissonance demands you put it down to the former. You do so, brushing the matter to one side before leaning down and gently nibbling on one of the golden corn cobs.

You exit your room a short while later, satiated, robed in your shining armour and well-groomed, but slightly unnerved. You were hardly into the day and already you'd had enough bewilderment for a week. A very untoward part of you wants to stay in your room where it's safe, but it is swiftly overridden, as it always has been, by obedience.

All at once, you are beset with the task of finding Celestia, but thankfully, and in what appears to be a rare twist of fate, she is hardly difficult to find. Despite the immense size of the archives, the aisle the sun Princess has chosen to deposit herself in is only a few rows from the staircase in the centre of the room, and you spot her after only a few minutes of trotting around the archives, her great head slowly turning as she scans the shelves intently.

You expect the second part to her statement, but when it never comes, you're overcome with the urge to facehoof in stupidity. Of course she was looking for a book. You ask uncertainly if you can help her.

The Princess's answer is more hospitable this time, and she turns to gaze down at you, her smile still warm.

“Oh, no, I don't think so,” she says dismissively. “I was just looking for one particular book that I'd put here a while ago, and...” her gaze returns to the shelf. “Confound me, it's vanished. I think I might have lost it. I'm sure I'll remember where it is later, but...” she passes an effervescent grin to you. “Don't you just hate it when that happens?”

“Yes, Princess,” you say obediently. You politely inquire as to the title of the book, but to your surprise, the Princess' face turns down into a thoughtful frown.

You blink stupidly for a bit, feeling the slight flicker of helpfulness leave you. How are you supposed to find a book with no title? You voice your concern aptly. Celestia, though, only shakes her head in reply.

“It was just a particular book I wanted to show to my sister,” she says, giving the shelves one last, cursory look. "But don't worry, Captain. I'm sure it will come back to me in good time.”

You suddenly remember that you're set to face the Night Princess, and immediately you're unsure again. Your gaze turns to the carpeted floor.

You aren't nervous. But you are just a little bit uncertain. After all, it was less than a year since her rather abrupt return to palace life. You had quickly surrendered any doubts about her in favour of Celestia's unquestionable judgement, which had ruled her to be 'awoken' from her nightmare, but there were still doubts and whispers upon your mind. Whispers that weren't your own – you'd heard tell of her great and terrible power muttered in the mess hall for weeks after she'd returned.

As stony still as ever, you give away nothing, not even a glimmer of your thoughts – but something inside you lurches in fear as you realise that you might not be safe from thinking such things, even in the security of your own mind.

You quickly look back up at Celestia, and with good timing. She is just turning to face you, and she doesn't appear to have noticed your momentary lapse. She does, in fact, look rather impassive, as if something has sapped her usual warmth for a moment.

“Anyway,” she says, trotting past you. “I think I'll show you to our dear sister sooner, rather than later. Just to get it over with.”

You nod and turn sharply to follow her, though for the second time in two days you find yourself pondering the meaning of Celestia's words.

Only this time, her attitude seemed far less... ponderable, if that was the right word for it. It was even slightly negative, and that disturbed you.

Celestia leads you down the library, past the towering staircase and to a magnificent set of stone doors. With a glow of her horn, Celestia parts them, and you enter into a long square corridor.

“My sister enjoys a somewhat cooler atmosphere to her quarters,” Celestia says, looking around the hallway as she trots down it. “I don't often come here, you know, and certainly not with guests.”

“We prefer to meet in a more pleasant location, and I respect that. My little sister does prefer her privacy,” Celestia says, gesturing to the drawn, dark blue curtains. "Aside from her and her guards, almost nopony else asks to see her. My, it is very dark in here, isn't it?”

Almost absent-mindedly, Celestia's magic kicks into life, and all of the corridor's long curtains throw themselves open unbidden at once.

You had never bothered with magic beyond some advanced telekinesis, which seemed to come naturally to all unicorns at any rate. Not to mention the fact that Spellbooks, school, and the quill were never your forte. All the same, you take some awe in the fact that Celestia has just bunched two dozen sets of cloth curtains together, while simultaneously tying fourty-eight ropes into elegant knots, as well as walking and talking to you.

Such immense telekinetic power, at the merest of thoughts. You stare at her for a moment in awe. She smiles back at you hopefully, as if to ask if something was the matter. Quickly, you blink once or twice, bringing your eyes front and chiding yourself.

Amazing or not, you forget yourself sometimes. It's not the first time you've happened to just stare at her, though, and you wonder why her eyes are so irresistible to look at, to smile at. It isn't magic.

Celestia doesn't even appear mildly bothered by the immense telekinetic burst nor your curious gaze, and she continues to chatter amiably as you trot down the hallway.

“...Yes, these windows really do need a clean,” she says, wrinkling her nose at the motes of dust that illuminate themselves in the blue half-light. “I hadn’t touched Luna’s room in a hundred years before she came back. I hadn’t even been into this hallway since I found myself missing her, just around the time of the war with the gryphon kingdoms. But when she settled back in, she refused my offer to help her clean them. I think she prefers it this way, to be honest.”

You look around once, silently thoughtful. The hallway is nothing if not ancient, and the stained glass depicts various events from Luna's life – no doubt a testament to her rule prior to her banishment. But while they are smaller and perhaps less artisan than any of the tall, glittering murals of Celestia that stand in the palace's throne room, they are far, far older. Tinted in shades of dark blues and greys you can’t even name, the ample light that flows through them dims and tints itself to an opaque, seawater blue, as if the sunlight has been distilled into pure moonlight.

You trot as you walk, and before the idea of Luna's past can occupy your mind, you’re before Luna’s great, throne-room doors. Like Celestia’s, they are very tall and broad, engraved with dozens of pictures of the heavenly bodies their deities represent. But they themselves are not made of any metal. They are merely a smoothed stone, as cold and grey as the figures that suddenly prostrate themselves either side of the doorway.

Your eyes widen. You hadn’t noticed either of them. Their tall, purple forms seem to blend well with the darkness, and you would not have even been aware of them if they had not bowed to Princess Celestia.

In tandem, the two unicorns ignite their magic, and a strong purple glow encases stone doors before you rumble. You swallow yourself and tense your body, the imminent anxiety of meeting her majesty surging through your veins like hot oil.

The stone double-doors click and groan before opening slowly, granting you a view of how very thick the slabs of stone are.

The room is dark, to say the least. The broad sconces on the pillars crackle with a magical blue flame that you neither hope to understand or cast yourself, but the light that they carry does not illuminate anything beyond the silver-gilded carpet between your hooves. You know there must be an end to the room, though the darkness conceals it from you as you trot side by side with Celestia through the threshhold.

Though you can see no guards, you know of their presence. The battle-sense required of a unicorn guard comes easily to you, and as you walk deeper into the room you feel a number of sets of eyes lock onto you. It would have usually given you the jitters, but having ponies stare at you was part of your training. You had to deal with that discomfort, and so you do nothing but stare straight ahead.

Even if they were the dreaded nightguards, wreathed in their cloaks of ebony, their blades edged with the energy of a thousand stars. Even if one pair of those eyes was Princess Luna herself.

The only other source of light in the room is a broad, arced window. Like the stained glass outside, it deceives your eyes by dying the light a gentle blue, and against it is silhouetted a curved, metallic throne. It glistens in the half-light in a way that no mere silver could. The brightness from the window does not seem to reach farther than the throne, though, and you find yourself wondering if it's really darkness that surrounds you, or merely a forced absence of light.

It is to the centre of the black silhouette that you find your eyes drawn inevitably, where they meet something - a presence of some sort. You cannot see it, though you can certainly feel it.

You do so unbiddenly, touching your muzzle to the floor in reverence. You hear four metal-shod hooves tap at the black granite in turn, and the shifting of feathers on fur as two long wings are flapped.

“Hello, Luna,” says Celestia, from somewhere behind you. Her voice carries with it a tone of politeness and sternness, and you're almost sure she's warning her sister for some reason. But you daren't raise your head to look with your own eyes, nor dwell on the thought too long - there was no telling what powers the Princesses were capable of.

“Our dear sister,” Princess Luna says. “To what do we owe this pleasant surprise?”

Her voice sends shivers down your spine. Like Celestia’s when she felt the need, Luna’s voice is a step beyond fluid, a resonant tone that seems to demand attention despite not being particularly loud.

“We may not see eachother simply because we are sisters?” Celestia inquires from beside you.

You hear the ruffle of fur on fur as she pauses before you, just barely within the shadow cast by her throne.

“My, my,” Luna says, her voice dripping like quicksilver into your ears as she paces a slow circle around you. “Thou art so young.”

“He is still a knight,” Celestia replies. “My knight, if you must insist.”

“Hah! We think not. He is greener than the grass, and no knight maketh him. We know this one is merely a foal...” her voice trails off rather abruptly. “But nevertheless. We command thee, ser. Gaze upon me.”

You feel a cold chill settle in your chest. The air hadn't seemed anything but brisk when you entered the throne room, but now it swirls around your lungs and throat with a dry, icy itch.

Unlike her sister, she was young for her age - far younger than you'd been expecting. She could have been a teenager, and she was as tall as you but twice as sleek. Her gracefully preened feathers and fur were dyed the most elegant shade of midnight blue, and her hooves were tipped with silver shoes. You could see all the loveliness and beauty upon her youthful features - her thin lips that were so gently pressed into a cold smile, and her dark, dark eyes that softly, irresistibly beguiled you to obey. But while she was young and beautiful, you could feel the power radiating off her. She was a sinister mistress, a night-goddess fit to rule, and where Celestia was grace, love, and patience, you could see instantly that Luna was far more imperiously cold.

Suddenly, Luna bursts into a fit of giggling. It shatters all the frozen nerves in your spine.

“Oh, sister!” she says, an amused and arrogant grin lifting her dark features. “Our dear sister! Your new colt is a coward.” She casts her gaze down to you. “Look at him! He trembles like he fears the darkness.”

You double-check your body to make sure everything is still frozen. Had you shivered? It was cold, but not cold enough to elicit that. You were nervous; and that you couldn't help – did you perhaps let some sign of your emotions slip?

You knew the question was rhetorical. There was no way Celestia could not have heard Luna's stinging remark. Indeed, other than the sound of Luna's hoof-falls, the room was as quiet and eerie as the blackness of night. You were certain you could hear the thudding of your heart in your ears.

As if sensing your anxiety – no, revelling in it – Luna's mirth continues, a glittering, white smile emerging as she glances up at her sister.

“He is fairly craven! See?” She says, before bringing her full stare back to you.

The night Princess's eyes freeze you. You are forced to gaze into her eyes, unblinking, and you can feel her bores into your soul.

Before you can even brace yourself for it, your mind panics. Your stomach twists itself into a knot, and internally you beg for self-control, not even daring to let your eyes flicker. With a level of unreal, perfect discipline, you manage to keep your breath steady and slow by gritting your jaw and tensing your chest.

You can feel her presence inside you. You can see those eyes, and you know they would continue to gouge deeply into your mind even you even if you looked away. But you do not dare think. You do not dare blink. You merely lower all your defenses, allowing her to probe your thoughts.

“Brave enough to face you, it seems,” Celestia remarks, after a few, awfully long moments.

You imagined that the idea of being feared might admonish Luna, but instead, she giggles once more, placing a silver-shod forehoof to her lips.

“We see,” she says, before leaning forward slightly. “Then tell us, brave colt,” she half-whispers, her sleek voice slipping into your mind, probing with every word. “Dost thou fear the night as it settles deep upon the world? Dost thou cling to the lantern's light by dusk, like a babe to his mother?”

An errant pause fills the air. Her ethereal mane billows in an unearthly wind, a sea of midnight, her eyes like flecks of perfectly cut jet as she watches you with a pathetic, simpering expression.

“Ah, little foal,” she cooes. “Many things flourish by moonlight. Thou dost not need fear the wisdom and learning, the magic and delicate beauty of the moon.”

To you, fear is a drunk stallion with a broken bottle and jeering friends, and you with your back pressed into the wall. It's all the worry for your mother, at home on her own running the farm. But not the darkness. You do not fear the night, and you never have, not even when you just were a child – because you knew that the comforting embrace of the sun was only over the horizon.

But you fear Luna. There is something about the shadow she herself casts that is beyond dark, and the very delicate power with which she rules over it fills you with dread.

Luna trots a tender step forward, bringing her ebony muzzle in close to your right ear. You freeze as you're offered a intimate moment with the night princess. Her voice feels like liquid ice upon your ear's over-sensitive tip.

“Yes, we see it within thee. Mortals are easy to read, with or without some magick to their impassivity. You deny it perhaps, but you fear us, hmm? And the dark, too, and all the promises you cannot find there. You live on in the light. You linger on for our sister's light. But fear not. We promise thee that no ill shall come from our hooves.”

Luna pauses for a moment, and you can almost hear the smile on her face as she speaks again, causing a chill to slither down your spine. You can sense a hint of glee hiding in amongst her opulent drawl.

“...Hmm-hmm...” She giggles again. “Would that we could show thee the extent of true darkness, foal. Mayhaps then thou would have cause to fear the things that lurk there.”

Celestia's repimand is harsh and authorative, and Luna retreats somewhat, though her smiling gaze continues to bore into you. She only breaks her look after several long seconds, glancing up at her sister undaunted. You take the opportunity to breathe.

“Yes, dear sister?” Luna says, her voice once again assuming its sweetened tone.

“Are you quite done?” Celestia's tone is a little firmer than you're used to hearing. With the careful stress on her words, you can tell that she's had enough.

Luna's false admonishment vanishes, and is replaced by the malicious grin again.

“We must keep ourself amused. We were expecting thou must have thought the same, to take a foal so green.”

You hear Celestia's gilded hooves ring against the cold marble as she trots up beside you.

“I assure you, Luna,” she says softly, surveying both you and her sister with equal calm, “That my choice in the Captain is no joke, for your benefit or mine.” The white Princess pauses slightly. “And no, there is not any particular reason that I have asked him to serve me. Unlikest thou, I do not pick guards to wait on my every need. They only protect me, and assist me as I might require an extra pair of hooves. Everything else I do for myself.”

Luna gives a petulant sniff, her amused smirk now replaced by a look of blasé indifference. Evidently, Celestia's usage of the old tongue stirs her thoughts. She says nothing, though, and Celestia continues.

“Your guards are not your slaves, Luna. I, for one, treat my guards as among my closest of friends. They offer their lives for us. My friendship is the least I can do to repay them for their service.”

“But sister, our guard are our friends,” she says softly. “Indeed, some of them are much more then that.”

She turns, pauses, and clears her throat with a light cough. “Young Pippin?” she calls, raising her voice slightly. “Your mistress desires you.”

You hear the briefest of flitting noises from behind you, and suddenly, your party of three becomes a party of four. On your right, a dark earth stallion prostrates himself, the coal black of his armour glinting dully in the half-light. You blink in surprise, half-wondering how on earth he could have teleported without magic.

“You summon me, my queen?” he says in a youthful, Trottingham accent, without raising his head. You notice his curious usage of the word 'queen', and the way in which he kneels on all fours, not even daring to gaze upon the fair mare before him.

“Pippin, my most treasured servant,” she says lovingly. “Who dost thou serve?”

“How deep does your loyalty run?” Luna asks. Again, the guard speaks without pause or hesitation.

“As deep as all the caverns of the earth, as solid and certain as the moonrise.”

His words fill you with a chilling apprehension. Somehow, you don't think that they're uttered for the sake of melodrama.

“Very good,” she says, lifting a forehoof from the earth. “Thou may kiss our hoof.”

The guard acts quickly and precisely, raising one of his solid forehoofs to cradle her own, dipping his muzzle to peck her on the tip of her polished silver shoe.

“And thee with thine service,” Luna replies softly. “Now leave us, my love.”

The guard gets to all fours, and trots backward into the darkened avenues of pillars that line the long hall on either side, all the while with his head still bowed.

You can't help but pass a look at him as he retreats, leaving you baffled and slightly anxious. You'd seen and known discipline through honour and fealty, but that sort of loyalty? His reactions were immaculate, his body unquivering in the chilly air of the grey throne-hall. The way he took her hoof so delicately in his own, and kissed it without fear... the way he'd left with such reverence, returning to the darkness he had been standing in for goodness knows how long. It was as close to fanaticism as you'd ever seen.

You wondered for Luna thereafter. What kind of relationship did she share with her night guards? It seemed to resemble a kind of love-without-love, a cold and incomplete replica of the strongest bond imaginable, and the mere imitation frightened you unabatedly. The rumours that she was a lonely Princess with no court and a determination for the old ways – you had expected them to be false in some way or another. But was what you had just seen confirmation? It was small wonder that modern ponies spoke ill of her and her guards, though you doubt that anypony outside of the palace guards had ever seen Luna's night guards at home.

“That is what I expect from my servants, dear sister. And what of you, ser?” Luna says, pulling you back to the world with a harsh bump. “How deep does your loyalty run?”

You pass a look at Celestia, though you don't know why. The movement of Luna's guard had freed up your nerves a little, so maybe you're looking up at her for some inspiration. Deep down, you're praying that it would never have to come to that.

All you find waiting for you, though, is a pair of curious magenta eyes, gazing down on you with warm reverence.

“Captain,” Celestia says, with a sad smile. “Please answer my sister from your heart.”

You pause, thinking of something suitably majestic to say. But before you can open your mouth, you are overcome with an urge to confess what is on your heart. So you do.

“I live to serve, Princess,” you reply, your words successfully navigating the lump in your throat. “It is a great honour... your trust in me is all the reward I will ever need. And your friendship, too,” you hurriedly add. “I will learn to defend them both with all my heart.”

Celestia smiles only when you mention the word 'friendship'. You wonder if she would have been as pleased if you'd neglected to mention that.

Luna appears mollified by your answer, though she still maintains the look of a royal Princess – a mixture of uncaring complacency and regality.

“Average,” she says to her sister curtly. “by your standards, of course. We suppose he may make a proper servant yet.”

“He is not one now?” Celestia says questioningly. “I should have thought a loyal heart such as his was all one needed.”

Luna flutters her wings a touch, her bottom lip pouting in thoughtfulness. “A fair point,” She replies, after a long pause. “But we are still confused. Prithee explain, why else hast thee chosen him, dear sister? We see that he boasts no great strength, and his mind is as average as a peasant farmer's foal could hope to be.”

“Then you did not look at the one thing that will make him great,” Celestia replies. “He has certain affinity to his magic.”

Luna sighs a little. “A potential then, just like the little Twilight filly? We did not think to look at that. If it had been of significance, we would have felt it, surely. He is to be another one of your seemingly infinite students?”

Celestia shakes her head, smiling. “Oh no, no. He is no Twilight Sparkle. She is rare for a set of entirely different reasons. And what do you mean, 'infinite'? I may only take one student at a time. That is what we agreed upon, yes? - only one prodigal pony for either of us at a time. That way there's no chance of...” the sun alicorn pauses for a moment, suddenly taken by a thought. “No chance of old times repeating themselves.”

“Yes, we remember well.” She says coldly. “We hath not taken a student since then.”

“My guards are only a few friends,” Celestia continues warmly. “Just like the dear Captain here. He is merely a friend – my friend, if you must, sworn to me by loyalty, and who I might advise.”

“Well, Shining Armour did ask me to take a look at him. I find the commander has an unusual aptitude for hoofpicking soldiers, don't you?”

“Shining Armour has a talent for defensive magic, of course, but that is his own little ace,” Celestia continues, trotting forward a little to enter your vision and looking down upon you. “He is widely skilled in seeing some sort of potential, and such is the case now. I feel a pony of the Captain's... somewhat unusual and untapped nature could do with a polishing. Don't you?” She offers her sister a kindly smile.

“We do not doubt thine ability to polish," Luna says coldly. "But forgive us for failing to believe that Commander Armour wants thee to create gemstones out of gravel. We had thought better of his talent as a general.”

“I seem to recall somepony taking a young orphan from Trottingham under her wing all those years ago. He was quite small for his age, wasn't he?”

“Pippin is... different,” she says, briskly. “That is all I will say of that. And as for your friend, we didst see his magical prowess,” she adds somewhat scathingly, “But we did not think him worthy of your time. It is as I said before, dear sister. There is nothing to this guard, shy of –”

Luna stops speaking, her mouth half-ajar in thought. Without moving an inch, her eyes flick to you for a moment. Then, they slowly crawl back up to her sister.

“No,” she mutters softly, a wicked smile curling her lips up. “No, no, no. Surely not...?”

You turn your head slightly to glance at the expression on Celestia's face. She is impassive as ever, and you have no chance of reading her.

“Oh, Tia!” Luna says, her sentence broken by foalish giggling. “Thou... thou still remember? That is why? Why, we had not thought –”

Luna suddenly flinches, breaking off, her eyes widening in something akin to shock. For a moment, she appears flabbergasted by something, but it is only a short moment, and she soon returns to her elegant, arrogant state.

“It is more important to me to avoid the old times then anything in the world, Luna,” Celestia says, breaking the deathly quiet with her soft voice. “But you will not insult me by finishing that vastly incorrect thought. Or I will grow angry.”

“Very well then,” Luna says angrily, before snorting softly. “Play thine game. Move thine pawns as thou see fit. We cannot see anything special about him, and if thou wish to conceal it, then we do not know why thou hath bought him here."

Frowning, Luna turns to you for a split second, somewhat confused. You meet her gaze, and are immediately awash with vulnerability once more as she searches through you, looking for something.

"I was hoping to tell you myself," Celestia adds dryly. "You could have just asked me what he was."

A flash of venom emerges from Luna, and she breaks the gaze with you, wheeling on her sister.

"Thou speakest of avoiding old times, dear sister, and yet you chooseth he for your guard?” she points an accusatory hoof at you. “We see now why thou hast picked him. And we are highly unamused.”

Celestia blinks. “There has not been a unicorn capable of such magic within the palace walls for over a thousand years, Luna. Not since the last one was killed.”

“His purpose will be peace. That was ever their intended purpose. But I will not pretend that his presence makes you and your own uncomfortable, Luna. That is why I have come to show him to you, in hopes that you will approve of his training.”

And without waiting for an answer, she throws her head back haughtily, turns her back on her sister, and trots back into the darkness cast by her silverlike throne.

Somewhat stunned, you quickly look at Celestia again for an explanation, but nothing has changed about her demeanour. The sun princess still continues to stare at her sister's retreating back.

You quickly understand that whatever has transpired is far above you, and avert your gaze straight forward once more.

With the rumble of stone on stone, the doors close behind you, and you exhale slightly. Your nostrils flare a little as you suck down lungfuls of warm air, but you don't care. You just want to get rid of that horrible, awful frost that had settled like a dense fog deep within in your chest.

But no sooner have you skipped out of the frying pan then you're tossed back into the fire. Celestia turns to you and bows her head humbly.

You're pleasantly surprised, but you can't help but frown just a little. Celestia appears deeply unsettled by something, the perfect arches of her cheeks falling into a demure scowl. She seems genuinely upset, and you assume the change in her usually smiling appearance is down to her sister's rather erratic behaviour, though you can't garner much more then that – Celestia's eyes remain as impenetrable as ever, like jewel-clad guards to the secret privy of her royal mind.

“I'm very, very sorry about that,” she says ashamedly, confirming your suspicions. “Forgive my sister.”

The apology is immaculate, brief, and momentary. But you're bothered nonetheless. Again, Celestia is apologising to you. Again, it's for something she didn't do, and it's as if she feels somehow responsible for her sister's actions. Again, it's as if she thinks she even has to be held accountable for her actions at all, let alone somepony else's, and especially not to her loyal servant.

As if that's not bad enough, you're now overcome with the almost insatiable urge to accept the apology. You feel like she was being more earnest and heartfelt than usual, or at least, as far as one day of knowing her could tell you. She even looked a little weary, as if the minor clash with her sister in the throne room had drained her.

You notice that the guards that stood either side of the door have vanished. You decide to press your luck.

“If I may speak out of place, your majesty?” you say tentatively, your voice a little strained against the still-chilly air.

The Princess's grimace lifts slightly, and she affixes you with a saddened look. A moment of awkwardness ensues - you wait to be granted permission, and Celestia continues to stare at you.

“You need to ask?” she says wearily, her voice quiet and without its usual warmth.

Another strenuous silence follows. Clearly sensing that you aren't willing to speak, Celestia eventually sighs and nods her great head.

“I would not question your will, your majesty,” you say, doing your best not to let your voice falter. “But I am only your servant. You need not apologise to me.”

The Princess looks amused while you explain yourself (you're finding that this is almost always the case), and no sooner have you finished than a chirruping burble of laughter escapes her lips.

“Well, try telling that to the senate,” she says, her voice tinged with good humour. “But thank you, Captain. It's very kind of you to say so. But that does not change my sister's behaviour, nor the nature of my apology.” She passes a glance back down the corridor. “Luna can be... difficult, at times. Even with things as they are.”

You notice she places a careful stress on the word. You don't inquire as to why Celestia's sister is the way she is. The very question eats away at you, but you smile and nod obediently all the same.

For a moment, the Princess remains lost in her pensive stare. You follow her gaze down the passage to the moon-rune doors, which are now firmly shut.

“...Is there anything else on your mind?” Celestia asks, without missing a beat.

The smile falls like an autumn leaf in the breeze. Of course there are. You want to ask so very many things, starting by asking the same thing to her. Celestia seems troubled by her sister. You want to assuage her worries, and to ask more about the strange night-guards, and Princess Luna, and the library archives, and the castle itself, and the nature of your job, too, and what Luna had alluded to before your departure. But do you dare open your mouth to speak?... for a moment, you're torn between answering her question honestly and everything you'd ever known about obedience and discipline.

In the end, your shake your head. You daren't open your mouth to confirm Celestia's suspicions, and it would be rude of you to pry.

Again, you're lying to her. You feel extremely remorseful about that, but you're consoled somewhat. You weren't lying in mean spirit, you just didn't want the Princess to worry. It was more of a deception than a lie outright, or so you tell yourself – and as before, Celestia gives away no hint of knowing any better. But her gaze does flicker slightly as she ponders her sister's rooms.

You blink once or twice, not entirely sure how to respond to the non sequitur. You politely ask her to repeat the question

“That's the second time you've kept the truth from me,” she says, in a somewhat unbothered fashion.

Your eyes widen in shock, and you yank your head back up so quickly that you rather painfully crick your neck. The Princess's weary appearance is unchanged, but her eyes now bore into you instead of the carpeted floor.

“You did it yesterday, too,” she adds, with a thoughtful pout. “While we were having tea. I asked if you found your fellow officers amiable, and you said yes, but you really meant to say no. I was just wondering if you actually meant to.”

You stammer an apology once or twice, before closing your mouth, totally ashamed.

Caught red-hoofed. Of course, neither instances were malicious. They were more half-truths than lies. But they were lies to anypony else. Internally you berate yourself. You'd suspected yesterday that she was quite aptly clairvoyant, even though you were somewhat stunned at the time. Now, though, you're sure of it.

Celestia sees the chagrin and dismay on your face, and to your surprise, offers you a warm smile. You're astonished even further when she speaks to you sedately and pleasantly.

“Would you like to know how I knew?” she says, her voice filled with a genuine calmness.

You're totally unsure how to respond. Your mind, hardened by years of military service, says 'trap'. Any high-ranking diplomat or senior officer would have snapped into a furious tirade by now, or at the very least sent you packing without an ear-bashing, disgusted. But your senses tell you that Celestia is both interested and amused. She's watching you for a reaction, you're certain – but she doesn't appear to be angry, or even remotely upset. What is she looking for?

“I told you yesterday that I was not all-knowing, and I meant it,” she says, putting a golden shod forehoof to her chin reflexively as she watches you. “But after a while in politics, you learn how to tell what ponies are thinking. Sometimes, you can see regret in their eyes, or sadness, or maybe even a little bit of anger. That the one thing Luna was right about, really – mortals are certainly very easy to read... but it is not due to our own powers that we find ponies readable, and it never will be.”

At this, she turns to you fully, cocking her head curiously so that the light catches off the jewel around her neck, causing it to glint and flicker.

“It is merely that mortal ponies bleed the truth,” she says softly. “And after you live as many moons as my sister and I have, you become more acquainted with the wound of lying that ponies so often inflict upon themselves.” She pauses pensively. “You don't like lying, do you?” she asks, after a brief moment.

You catch your breath. Her words pierce you through your heart with ease, and you say nothing, feeling ashamed. The Princess tuts once or twice.

“I didn't think so,” she mutters quietly. “You do frown a bit when you lie, after all. Not much, but just enough to let me know how you feel.” Your surprise at having a visible tell quickly dwindles into a pained wince, as you become aware of what exactly having one might mean.

“So, Captain,” she says rather evenly, taking a step towards you. “Do you feel I shouldn't waste my breath on common soldiers? Is that the reason for your deception?”

“N-no, your majesty,” you say, mentally back-pedalling as fast as you can. “I would never presume such things. It's just that –”

“Or maybe you feel I've made a mistake by being so commodious to you?” The Princess says, her voice growing in sternness, continuing to grow bolder and taller as she slowly closes the distance between you.

Now you're really panicking. You can feel the hotness building up underneath your uniform.

“No, no!” you say. “I... I just don't want you to be uneasy on my behalf!”

“And why, pray tell, is that?” says Celestia, her soft voice edged with something you can't quite pick, but can feel. The coat on the back of your neck prickles in anxiety.

Celestia towers over you in stature, the slight frown on her face burning you with shame. Your eyes close involuntarily, and your head droops to face your polished shoes. You feel like a foal, and in many ways you are a foal. How could you be so stupid as to lie to Celestia? How could you ever even think that was okay? You'll probably be dismissed now. Kicked out of the guard, on his very first day, and you know Blueblood will probably revel in that. You can almost imagine the slight, wry smile on his face, his stupid faux laugh, and the snide murmuring in only a half-joking fashion.

So you aren't expecting something warm to brush along the back of your neck. You raise your neck instinctively, but your horn hits a metal something with a soft clink.

You open your stunned eyes. All you can see is white, and all you can smell is a fragrance you can't quite describe. It's sweet, but not overbearing, unlike any flower or fruit you've ever known. You would have stayed confused, but the itching on the tip of you nose lets you know that the wall of pure white before you is chest fur. The cool feeling of something tapping against your horn gives you chills. It's something metallic. Gold, even.

Slowly, you add one and two together, still not entirely willing to believe you were being comforted by a Princess.

Celestia draws you tighter into her gentle embrace for a few moments longer, the smooth fur of her muzzle brushing against the side of your neck. The delicate nudge of her chin against the back of your head brings it all home to you, and your heart skips a beat in astonishment and panic.

“You meant well, my little pony,” she says, her gentle voice humming hypnotically against your ear, full of warmth and kindness. “I know you meant well. And I know my sister said awful things, and I know you must have so many questions. But please, you need not be afraid to ask me things, and more importantly, to tell me the truth of your heart. There are so very few ponies that come to know me as my guards do. You don't have to lie to keep me happy. I promise I will never ask you to do that, and I promise to never go back on that promise.”

Her voice tapers off. The weight on your neck lifts, and you feel the tip of her slender muzzle brush up your neck, and past the roughened tufts of fur around your jawbone.

The Princess's face emerges back into your view. It's calm, commodious, and welcoming. A pair of opalescant eyes, and a slight smile. Her wings are tucked leisurely against her body, and her long neck is lowered to be at the same height as you, such a vast contrast from the fierce, imperial figure you had dared to defy only moments ago. Her horn glows softly, and she brims with the same, glowing power that had so stunned you in her throneroom, only a day ago.

And... she's immensely enthralling. You're far too blown away in awe to stop yourself from being totally captivated by her stare, and your mind swims in the sweet scent around her neck.

She's like a majestic swan with her brood of cygnets, or something else you can't put your hoof on. There's something caring about her, something that, far from making your heart race in excitement, makes it thud heavily against your chest, like your blood has thickened at her very touch.

“I only wish to be your friend,” she whispers with a smile, her magenta eyes imploring you.

You wouldn't say no. You daren't disappoint the Princess now, and not because you'd been told otherwise, or disciplined for servitude for years and years.

“Good,” she says again, her smile still radiant. “Now come. We will take a trot to the armoury, back in the main castle, and see if we can find something suitable for you. Let us walk and talk!” She rises and turns, her prismatic mane whirling in the light as she does so. “After all, you have an appointment to keep!”

Shocked, stunned, stupified and shocked. Four words that can accurately describe how you feel right now. The electric current of Celestia's touch and the unearthly fragrance around her neck makes has left you slightly giddy.

You pine for that moment in your head thereafter. Her scent caresses the inside of your muzzle. It's as much her as you'd imagined.

Your senses rekindle themselves, and you blink once or twice, becoming painfully aware that the Princess has turned her head back, and is now waiting on you.

“Coming?” she says, politely. “I know you have a question or two for me. You did just admit it, after all.”

Kicking your deadened legs back into life, you take a few speedy steps forward to follow her down the hallway, back to the archives and your quarters. But in doing so, you see the Princess's long strides slow, and she falls alongside you to walk two abreast as you come to the base of the stone tower steps.

You pause for a second, glancing up at the Princess. Perhaps sensing your discomfort, she gives you another warm smile.

You step through the door. And as you do so, a weight lifts from your shoulders. The Princess suddenly seems less intimidating. Scary, certainly, but you know she's approachable. You feel like you can take on the world – and your new post – provided that she's there, whispering encouragement in your ear.

You feel safe knowing that much. And for the first time since you've arrived, you feel a little more at ease.

Something new has come over you.

Seek Guidance

A spell made by Clerics to speak to the dead.
Display more guidance from other worlds.
The voices of the spirits vary greatly from good to evil.
A balance of faith and wisdom is required.

The Golden Rule

by B_25

IV – Of Luna