//------------------------------// // Out of Time (RariLight) // Story: Friends and Lovers // by Donnys Boy //------------------------------// “Out of Time” (RariLight) I loved her, you know. We never made a big deal out of it. There were no grand announcements, no big public declarations. The most we ever really did was hold hooves or cuddle a bit when it was just us six girls together. I asked her about that, once. Back when things were still fairly new, back when I was foolish and still insecure. I expected her to want to yell it from the top of Mount Canterlot, that she was dating a princess. The fact that she didn’t even seem tempted to do so made my chest tighten in a way I usually associated with facing down a particularly brutal exam. She smiled at me, after I had asked. “The important ponies know. Everyone else … well, I don’t imagine they really matter.” She kissed me, then, softly, tenderly. Her breath smelled like the Merlot we’d been drinking. “Besides, I want you to know that I’m with Twilight Sparkle and not just with the Princess of Magic. I don’t want you to ever doubt the sincerity of what we have. The sincerity of what I feel.” I told her that I wouldn’t, and I kept my word. I never doubted again. Not once. I worried about her, of course, being in the Guard. When I moved to Canterlot, she insisted on coming with me--and, quite honestly, I would have had it no other way--and she insisted just as strongly that she serve in the palace as a sentry. I tried to tell her not to. I tried to remind her of her dedication to fashion, but there was never any reasoning with her when she had her mind set on something. “Fashion by day, guard duties by night,” she assured me in that airy tone of hers, “and sleep for after we’re dead.” I frowned at her, but she just laughed. She always laughed off my worries, as we spent quiet evenings together in my private chambers, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes even as she laughed. Something scared yet determined and strangely hard. Hard and cold, like diamonds. It was Spike who told me. He burst into the throne room, his eyes wild and crazy and fierce as fire, barreling past the guards who tried to stop him as though they were just so many ragdolls. I looked into his face, into those blazing eyes, and instantly I knew. I knew. She’d died saving Prince Blueblood, of all ponies. How stupidly, bitterly ironic. I started laughing when he told me that, and I couldn’t stop. I laughed and I laughed, the tears streaming down both cheeks, and my stomach hurt from how hard I was laughing. Spike rested a claw on my shoulder and whispered words soft and sympathetic, but still I couldn’t stop. I think Celestia led me away before I started vomiting, but I’m not sure. I can’t quite remember. Everything after that was a bit hazy, just a fog of endless gray and a heavy ache in my chest that wouldn’t go away. This ache in my chest doesn’t ever go away. But it will. It has to. Quietly I lock the door to my chambers and head for the small, simple desk that stands next to my bed. On the desk lies a scroll, a scroll I’ve borrowed from the palace library, and right now that scroll is the most precious thing in all Equestria. Slowly, reverently, I unfurl the tattered parchment and read over the words I’ve pored over and over again these past few days. By now I know the spell by heart, but I’m not one to take risks. Especially not with this. Satisfied, I set the scroll aside and concentrate. The magical energy builds up within my horn, pulsing like a heartbeat, and I close my eyes. Concentrate. Concentrate on what’s important. Concentrate on who’s important. I hear the flash of light a split second before I can see it behind my eyelids. My fur stands on end, electrified, as energy crackles all around me. I take a deep breath and open my eyes once again. I’m in the palace’s east wing hallway, and with the night outside as dark as pitch, the few torches along the walls provide most of the light. The east wing receives relatively little traffic, as the public courts and throne room sit in the west wing, and the beshadowed hallway feels lonely yet claustrophobic. It’s the perfect place for an assassination. My hooves sound like thunder as they pound the stone floors, as I race down the corridors, as I whip around corners. Finally, after seconds that feel like hours, I see it. I see them. Prince Blueblood laying on the ground, unconscious but breathing, with Rarity standing astride him like a magnificent white Colossus. Her back is turned towards me, and the shine off her golden helmet fills my chest with warmth like rays from the sun. I charge forward, and now I can see a cloaked pony just beyond Rarity and the prince, a dark and dangerous figure wielding a long rapier. Rarity has her own sword out, held aloft with her magic, and it swoops and darts through the air with the utmost grace and the deadliest precision. “Rarity!” I call out, already firing up my horn for a magical assault, ready to join the fray. “Twilight?” She turns her head, glancing back with the tiniest of frowns, and our eyes meet. Even through the dark I can see the sparkle in those deep blue depths, the determination, the cunning, the hidden strength. But then those eyes go wide--too wide--and Rarity’s mouth drops open in a way no mouth ever, ever should. Slowly she sinks to the floor. Behind her, the cloaked pony wipes the blood from their sword on one of the curtains hanging from the wall. White light begins crackling around me, and despite how hard I fight it, I can feel it pulling me. Can feel it trying to force me to return. In helpless silence I watch as the cloaked pony dashes off, leaving the prince and Rarity laying right where they are, and I watch as Rarity struggles to lift her head and her gaze up to mine. There is pain in those eyes, those wonderful, beautiful eyes, and a light that’s fading quickly. But there’s also something else. Something more. Realization. Acceptance. Forgiveness. “You didn’t know, darling,” she whispers and, somehow, she manages a smile. “You couldn’t have known.” And then the hallway’s gone.