//------------------------------//
// Meeting the Enemy 
// Story: Seasons Turning 
// by moguera 
//------------------------------//

Chapter 11: Meeting the Enemy

The morning sun had only just cleared the horizon when Blenheim took his leave of Sweet Apple Acres, making his way down the road towards Ponyville.  The streets were nearly deserted, ponies within the town either still abed or only just getting up.  The few signs of life that he noted was the presence of a few pegasi flitting about the sky, positioning clouds in accordance with the town's weather schedule.  He kept a wary eye fixed above, already aware that the colt he was seeking was a pegasus.
Following the directions Mayweather had given him, Blenheim trotted towards the town's library.  The hollowed out tree was nearly impossible to miss.  However, Blenheim's attention was focused on the low wooden building set up next to it.  According to Mayweather, this was the teahouse where she had met Dawn.  Blenheim paused to take in the building for a moment.  It was surprisingly simple in design, its wooden construction making it appear rather unremarkable, which, ironically, made it stand out all the more against Ponyville's thatched-roof houses and the living tree-building that it had been erected next to.  Its walls covered by heavy drapes that served as both curtains and shutters, keeping the chill out during the colder seasons but also able to be opened up during the warmer ones.  All told, from the outside, the teahouse appeared rather homey and welcoming...
...Which only served to make it seem eerily surreal to the Apple stallion.  A sense of foreboding settled into his heart as he contemplated the building, his mind already conjuring images of it serving as a secret meeting place for ponies as they participated in dark rituals and ghastly summonings.  He imagined the ponies he'd encountered during his foray into town the other day, dressed in cloaks and masks, clustered about, chanting dire verses and calling up dark powers...
A vigorous shake of Blenheim's head dispelled his indecision, though not the imaginings that had caused it.  Swallowing hard, Blenheim strode up to the door and placed his hoof against it.  The door swung open easily.  It's unlocked.  Blenheim looked up and noted the hours posted off to one side.  The teahouse should not have been opened yet.  Is it a trap?
Warily, Blenheim stepped inside, his footfalls echoing in the silence of the unoccupied shop.  It took a moment for his eyes to adjust as the lamps had not yet been lit in the place.  With only the light streaming in through the open door, Blenheim had to strain a little to make out the details of the room.  Looking around, Blenheim's eyes couldn't immediately pick out anything suspicious.  The chairs had been turned upside down and were resting on top of the tables, the owner having not yet gotten around to putting them back down on the floor.  There seemed to be no signs of life anywhere.  Maybe he's still in bed and forgot to lock the door.
As he trotted further into the building, Blenheim began to look around, examining his surroundings in greater detail.  There was still no sign of anything suspicious.  However, as he got near to the back of the shop, he noted a dark stain on the wooden floor.  Tilting his head, Blenheim eyed it, his eyes narrowing as he tried to absorb every detail of the fair-sized dark spot on the wood.
"I'm sorry," said a voice from behind him.
Blenheim jumped with a surprised whinny before whirling to confront the pony that had startled him.
A beige earth pony stood at the door.  Blenheim took a second to take in the unknown stallion's details, from his light-brown coat to the darker-brown of his mane and tail, finally, the crossed swords that formed his cutie mark.  The stallion was quiet, seemingly content to let Blenheim study him.
"What were ya sayin'?" asked Blenheim after a moment.
"I said I was sorry," replied the stallion, "I'm afraid you're going to have to leave for now.  I haven't opened the shop yet."
Blenheim looked back and forth, his eyes sweeping across the room once again.  "This yer place then?"
"Correct."
"What's yer name young'un?"
The younger stallion stepped into the teahouse, his tail lashing out to pull the door shut behind him.  "My name is Arkenstone.  As I said, I'm afraid you're going to have to wait until I actually open."  The door shut, closing off the only source of light that had been illuminating the room.  Blenheim felt a momentary sense of panic as the place was plunged into a stygian darkness.  However, that was abated when the beige stallion threw a switch with a click, bringing all the lamps to life and illuminating the space with warm and comforting light.
Blenheim frowned darkly at Arkenstone.  That unnerving feeling returned and redoubled as he noticed that Arkenstone was navigating through the building with his eyes tightly shut.  "If ya ain't ready to open, then why was yer door unlocked?"
"I had gone out to breakfast," replied Arkenstone simply, "Ponyville is not a particularly dangerous town, so I felt rather safe leaving the door unlocked."
"Ah see," said Blenheim, stepping past the stallion, making his way towards the door.
"Any particular reason you showed up at my door so early?" asked Arkenstone, blithely ignoring the other stallion's apparent discomfort.
"A-Ah was lookin' fer somepony?"
"Any pony in particular...Blenheim?"
Blenheim froze, one hoof off the ground, his eyes wide.  Whirling, he spun to confront Arkenstone, who continued his sedate progress towards the back of the shop.  "How'd ya know mah name?"
"Your scent," replied Arkenstone simply, "I'm familiar with the Apple family, including who lives on their farm.  You smell of the orchards.  Furthermore, your accent is one that is common to the Apples as well, particularly the ones who have settled towns like Ponyville and Appleloosa.  More importantly, your voice is older than that of Big Macintosh, but, ordinarily, there are no males older than him staying at Sweet Apple Acres, except for this time of year."
Though Arkenstone's deduction made sense, Blenheim's mind wasn't exactly eased.  Everything about this situation was strangely eerie to him.  Blenheim didn’t like the way Arkenstone had so easily dissected his origins.
Arkenstone carried on, apparently oblivious to Blenheim’s discomfort.  He stopped by a table, took a deep breath, and then exhaled, smacking his hoof against the floor in a sharp motion at that same instant.  Blenheim felt the floor jump beneath his own hooves, but the effect was even more pronounced upon the table.  The chairs that had been set upside down on top were bounced off the surface, flipping over to land perfectly on the floor.
Blenheim’s jaw dropped.
“I have a little time, so you may as well make yourself comfortable,” said Arkenstone, walking to the back and opening a door that was almost perfectly concealed against the back wall of the room, “I’ll be back in a moment.”
Looking at the table, then at the door in the back, Blenheim entertained the notion of bolting at that very instant.  However, his determination to find out what he sought kept him in place.  Reluctantly, Blenheim settled himself at the table and waited quietly.
He wasn’t kept waiting long.  Arkenstone came back out of the back, balancing a tray on his croup, which was loaded with a teapot and two cups.  Coming up to the table, Arkenstone bent his legs and, in a single smooth motion, both lowered his haunches so that the tray was being held level with the table and slid the tray off his croup and onto the table without so much as a rattle from the crockery on top.  Standing upright again, Arkenstone took a seat of his own at the table…and waited.
Blenheim looked from the teapot to the beige stallion and back again, frowning.  Slowly, he began to reach for the handle.
“Wait,” said Arkenstone, “The tea needs to finish steeping before it’s ready.”
Blenheim grimaced.  He’d always been more of a coffee pony himself.
After a couple more minutes, Arkenstone leaned forward, clamping his teeth lightly onto the lid of the teapot.  Lifting it up, the lid came out, followed by a mesh cup, which had been attached to the lid by a small hook though its handle.  The fragrant, spicy scent of the tea teased Blenheim’s nose and, in spite of the breakfast he’d already eaten that morning, stirred his stomach into growling.
Arkenstone set the filter onto the table, bobbing his head to unhook the lid, which he placed back on the pot before looping a fetlock through the handle and pouring.  His actions halting and hesitant, Blenheim took the cup between his forehooves, feeling the rough texture of the hardened clay against his frogs.  Lifting the cup to his mouth, he took a tentative sip.
His eyes widened as the intense flavor of the tea and the spices that it had been blended with, most of which Blenheim couldn’t even begin to put a name to, flooded his mouth and up into his nose.  Setting the cup down, he paused as he tried to savor the unfamiliar flavor of the tea.
“It’s beverage known as masala chai,” said Arkenstone, “It’s a recipe I picked up in Pachydermia.  The blend of spices tend to vary from maker to maker.  This happens to be the one I like the most.”  He turned his muzzle towards the pot.  “The pot is a made from a particular variety of clay mined in Guoxia.  The unglazed surface absorbs the flavor of the tea over time and builds its complexity.”  He shrugged.  “Of course, that means I can only use this particular pot for this particular tea.  But since it’s my favorite, I think I’m allowed that luxury at least.”
Blenheim slowly lifted the cup to his lips and took another sip.  “Ah take it ya’ve been to a few places then.”
“A fair few,” admitted Arkenstone, “I felt that a solely Equestrian viewpoint was too limiting.  If you approach a matter in only one way, you are blinded to potential possibilities.”
He paused to take another sip before sighing.  “I’m sorry.  I got on a tangent there.  You were looking for somepony?”
Suddenly reminded of his original reason for visiting, Blenheim blinked and sat upright.  “Right!  Ah’m lookin’ fer that colt…Dawn whatshisname.”
“Lightwing,” supplied Arkenstone helpfully.
“Yeah, him.”
“I see,” said Arkenstone, “I’m afraid he won’t be here until after lunch at the latest.  He’ll probably be on his way to school right now.”
“School?” asked Blenheim, slightly bemused (and a little disturbed) by the notion.
“Yes, school,” replied Arkenstone, his tone more than a little sarcastic, “Where young colts and fillies go to develop their minds and learn to live amongst their fellow ponies, an important part of any foal’s life experience.”
“Ah know what school is,” growled Blenheim, more than a little frustrated at the younger stallion’s patronizing attitude, “Ah want to know what that colt is doin’ there.”
“That colt’s affairs are none of your business unless he says otherwise,” replied Arkenstone levelly, “You are not a resident of this town, you are not a member of his family or responsible for his well being.  You have no reason or right to make such inquiries.  Dawn Lightwing is not beholden to you.”
“Ah have a responsibility to mah family,” Blenheim shot back, “And Ah have reason to believe that that colt is a corruptin’ influence over them…and the rest ‘o this town.”
“Your evidence?” asked Arkenstone dismissively.
“Ain’t it obvious!  He’s got them eyes…”
“That is not proof,” replied Arkenstone firmly, “The appearance of his eyes has nothing to do with his character.  You cannot prove otherwise because that supposition is rooted in mere superstition.”
He pressed on before Blenheim could offer a retort.  “He was taken in by the Bearer of Kindness, submitted to the examinations of the Bearer of Magic.  He accompanied the Bearer of Loyalty to Cloudsdale and put his life at risk to battle the tribalists that had hijacked control of the city’s Weather Factory.  He taught a young filly how to fly and, ultimately, helped her earn her cutie mark.”  Arkenstone’s eyelids raised fractionally, revealing the sightless white behind them.  “Where, pray tell, in all of that, is your evidence of his corrupting influence, of the evils that he has supposedly done and intends to do?  Please enlighten me.”
For a moment, Blenheim’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly.  At a loss for what else to do, he raised the cup to his mouth and gulped down his remaining tea, not caring that the still very hot beverage burned his throat a little on the way down.  Setting the cup back on the table, he stared down pensively into it.  “He did all’a that.”
“He did,” replied Arkenstone, “I will admit that Dawn’s integration into life in Ponyville has not been the smoothest of processes, with a few instances where he put others at risk.  However, they can be just as easily attributed to mundane causes as they can to nefarious intentions, if not more so.”
Blenheim clamped his teeth together as he wrestled with his indecision.  "Can Ah meet this colt?"
"You can," said Arkenstone, "As I said, he will be here after lunch.  If you don't mind, you can wait here."  He stood up and stepped away from the table, getting ready to continue making preparations to open for the day.  "You don't have to wait here, of course.  However, do not try and approach Dawn at school.  At the very least, he deserves that small sanctuary of his."
Blenheim looked around, seeing nothing to keep him in the teahouse.  At the same time, he got the impression that if he attempted to defy Akrnestone's instruction not to approach the school, he would be stopped in some way or the other.  On the other hoof, Blenheim couldn't think of anything else to do.  Going back to Sweet Apple Acres and returning after lunch would use up too much time.  With a sigh, Blenheim settled in to wait for what he knew would be a long morning.



Scootaloo took a bite out of her daisy sandwich.  As she chewed it, she cast her eyes around the schoolyard, looking for any sign of eavesdroppers.  There seemed to be no ponies in earshot.  The growing refinement of her wind sense was also telling her that nopony was lurking within range either.
"Alright, we're here," said Apple Bloom as she and Sweetie Belle settled in front of the orange filly, "What're ya callin' us out here for."  The isolated corner of the yard was not the usual meeting place for the Crusaders.  "And why aren't Rumble and Dawn here?"
Swallowing, Scootaloo flicked her gaze about one last time.  "Well...I wanted to have a talk between just us girls."
Bloom and Sweetie froze, their eyebrows rising.  Slowly, they turned to look at each other.  Scootaloo, still distracted by taking the umpteenth opportunity to make sure they weren't disturbed, failed to notice the sly smile that passed between the two other fillies.  Finally, Bloom and Sweetie turned their eyes back to Scootaloo.
"Okay then," said Sweetie Belle, "What did you want to talk to us about."
Closing her eyes, Scootaloo took a deep breath and let it out.  Opening them, she looked gravely at her two best friends.  "I have a crush on Dawn."
There was silence as Sweetie and Bloom shared another glance before looking back at Scootaloo, as though waiting for something more.  With a sigh, Scootaloo spoke again.  "I mean I like him, like really 'like' like him."
Once again, Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom looked at each other before turning back to Scootaloo.  They answered in perfect unison.  "Is that it?"
"What do you mean 'Is that it?'?" exclaimed Scootaloo.
"Um...No offense Scootaloo, but we knew that already," replied Sweetie Belle.
"Huh?"
"Eeyup," agreed Apple Bloom, nodding sagely, "It's been clear ya've had it bad fer that colt fer a while now."
"Wha-what!  I have not!"  Scootaloo's protest was a feeble one and her crimson blush was plenty visible against the bright-orange of her cheeks.
"When he got back from Cloudsdale, Ah thought ya were gonna kiss him," said Apple Bloom.
"Or when you went to him after he beat that scary mare," added Sweetie.
The two of them shared a conspiratorial grin.  "Or when you tackled him to the ground after getting your cutie mark.  We thought you were going to start making out right there in front of everypony."
"What!"  Scootaloo's startled exclamation echoed across the schoolyard.  Fortunately, a few curious glances were the only response they attracted.  "N-no...That's  ridiculous!  I'm not all mushy like that!"
"Ah come on Scootaloo," protested Bloom, "There ain't anythin' wrong with bein' a little mushy.  Rainbow Dash was gettin' all mushy with that Wonderbolt after all.  She ain't any less cool is she?"
"Uh...no..." admitted Scootaloo, somewhat reluctantly.
"We're happy for you," said Sweetie Belle, "You should ask Dawn to be your special somepony!"
"Really?" asked Scootaloo nervously, "But what if he says no?"
"Aw don't be silly Scootaloo," chided Apple Bloom, "It's pretty obvious he likes you too."
"H-he does?" stammered Scootaloo, her wings fluttering.
"Yes he does," agreed Sweetie, "Though he probably doesn't know it yet?"
"Why not?"
Yet again, Sweetie and Bloom looked to each other before turning back to Scootaloo.  "'Cause he's a colt."
"Colts are kinda dumb about stuff like that," clarified Bloom.
"Yeah," said Sweetie, "As a male, it's his prerogative to be oblivious to a filly's feelings."
"Preroga-what?" asked Apple Bloom, glancing sidelong at her unicorn friend.
"Prerogative," said Sweetie, "You know, a right or privilege..."
"Oooh," said Bloom slowly, nodding in comprehension.
"What are you a-"  Scootaloo's voice was cut off as Sweetie Belle shoved a hoof in her mouth and gave the orange filly a glare so harsh it could have peeled the paint off of one of Applejack's barns.
"If you make that joke one more time, so help me, I'll pluck all your feathers and give them to my sister to use on her next dress."  Sweetie's tone was terrifyingly harsh as she gave Scootaloo a look that showed, in no uncertain terms, she meant exactly what she'd said.
Her mouth still plugged, Scootaloo could only nod wordlessly.
Sweetie Belle's cheerful expression slid back into place so smoothly that it was virtually impossible to tell that she had been utterly enraged only a few seconds earlier.  "Wonderful," she said, lowering her hoof, "Now, as I was saying, Dawn's a colt, so it's obvious that he has no idea how you feel about him.  Besides, he's been living in that forest for so long, I get the feeling he has absolutely no idea about romance."
"That makes sense," Scootaloo groused, thinking back over numerous instances where Dawn had said or done something that seemed outwardly romantic, only to apparently mean nothing by it later, apparently not having grasped how colt/filly interaction went, particularly when a pony's feelings were on the line.
"So, Ah guess that means yer just gonna have to tell him yerself," said Apple Bloom.
"Or you could give him a nice big smooch," suggested Sweetie devilishly, "Especially if he's as dense about this stuff as we think he is."
Scootaloo's blush redoubled.  "I-I couldn't do that..."
"Well, if like him, then yer gonna have to tell him sometime," said Apple Bloom, "And the sooner the better.  Ah think Dinky might be schemin' to make her own move if ya take too long."
"No way," scoffed Scootaloo, "Dinky's way too young to be Dawn's special somepony."
Bloom gave Scootaloo a look that could almost be called pitying.  "Ah wouldn't be so sure if Ah were you.  That filly's downright scary when she gets her mind set on somethin'."
A shiver went down Scootaloo's spine.  She didn't know why, but she didn't get the feeling that Apple Bloom was exaggerating.  "S-so I just tell Dawn I like him and that's that?"
Bloom opened her mouth to give an affirmative, only to be cut off by Sweetie.  "Of course not!  If you're going to make Dawn your special somepony, you need to take him out on a date!"
"Wha-what?"
"Rarity's always saying how important it is to set the mood for these things," explained Sweetie with a somewhat haughty tone, "What you need to do is go out on a date with Dawn, get the atmosphere just right and then let him know how you feel!"
"I c-couldn't do that," stammered Scootaloo, "That's way too mushy.  Besides, I-I don't know the first thing about going on a date."
"That's perfectly alright," declared Sweetie, "Leave it to us.  We'll come up with a  plan that'll knock Dawn's socks off...you know, if he wore socks that is."
She and Bloom grinned at each other before turning to face Scootaloo, both of them grinning from ear to ear.  "Cutie Mark Crusaders Matchmakers Yay!"
Scootaloo cringed back away from her oldest friends, her ears going flat against her skull as she was suddenly weighed down by the sense of impending disaster.  At the same time, she came to a sudden realization.  So that's what it's like for the older ponies whenever we did that...No wonder they always looked so terrified...



Scootaloo wasn't the only one who was suddenly beset by a premonition of doom.
"I have the feeling that something bad is about to happen," muttered Dawn, his eyes roaming the schoolyard for the source of his inexplicable uneasiness.  He and Rumble were reclining in the usual spot, having been left there by the girls when Scootaloo had pulled them over to talk privately.
Rumble gave Dawn a sad look.  "Does it have anything to do with those ponies from that crazy cult?"
Shaking his head, Dawn directed his bewildered expression upwards.  "That's not exactly it," he said, "It feels like a threat more immediate...closer to home."
"Oh," said Rumble, "It's probably girls then."
"Huh?"
The gray colt sighed.  "Get used to it.  When you're friends with fillies and the girls suddenly decide to go off to talk by themselves, that's always a bad sign."
Dawn stared at Rumble.  "It can't be that bad, can it?"
"Trust me," said Rumble gravely, "Girl talk always means bad things for us guys."
Dawn blinked...and blinked again.  "I'll...take your word for it."



Blenheim looked up from the book he'd been reading to glance at the clock.  It was a little past one in the afternoon.  In all likelihood, if the colt wasn't at the teahouse yet, then he was probably on his way.
After Arkenstone had gone through the process of setting up the teahouse for the day, Blenheim had realized that he'd only be getting in the way, as well as taking up a table that somepony else could be using.  Instead of waiting for Dawn in the shop, he'd instead opted to go over to the library, where he at least figured he could find something to wile away the hours until the opportunity to meet the colt came along.
Upon entering, he'd been surprised to see a purple dragon working amongst the shelves and generally tidying up.  While Spike (as he'd introduced himself) had been helpful, he'd treated Blenheim with a surprising degree of wariness.  He'd helped Blenheim find a book and gotten back to work while the Apple stallion settled in to read.
Blenheim studied the clock, idly wondering if he should head over to the teahouse, or perhaps even see if he could intercept Dawn Lightwing while the colt was approaching.  Blenheim had no reason to suspect that Arkenstone would go back on his word to let Blenheim meet the colt.  However, Blenheim's intention was to get the clearest evaluation of the threat the colt presented as possible.  Ideally, that meant confronting Dawn in a situation where he had nopony else to cover for him or give the colt a reason to moderate his behavior.
Get him alone without anypony keep his act up fer and then we'll see what he's really all about, Blenheim thought sagely.  His heart set, he closed the book and got up to head for the door.
The stallion blinked fiercely as he emerged into the light of day.  Looking around, he noticed that traffic around the library had increased considerably.  Everywhere he looked, ponies were going about their business, many of them returning from their own lunches to wherever they worked.  Slowly, Blenheim stepped out into the road, trying his best to remember which direction the schoolhouse was in.  He'd seen it the other day when he'd been going around town.
Narrowing his eyes, Blenheim finally spotted his target in the distance, a red building with a prominent bell tower.  The green stallion started walking in that direction.  However, he stopped before going past the teahouse, mindful of Arkenstone's warning.  Blenheim's ears twitched as they picked up the faint sounds of giggling laughter, the sounds of foals, approaching him.  Squinting, he was able to make out the form of the approaching ponies.
It was a group of five foals, all presumably approaching from the schoolhouse.  In the lead were a trio of fillies, followed by a pair of colts.  In the center of the trio was an orange pegasus, doing her best to control her emotions, but failing to hide the near-perpetual blush on her cheeks as the white unicorn on her left whispered into her ear.  On her right was Apple Bloom, also giggling as she leaned in to add her two bits to whatever the conversation was about.  Blenheim went stiff with surprise.  He hadn't expected his young niece to be there.
Behind the fillies came a pair of colts, both of whom appeared to be watching the conversation in front of them rather dubiously, the classic expression of those who were plainly being kept out of the loop and who knew it.  They were both pegasi.  One was a light-gray colt with a dark-gray mane.  He watched the fillies in front of them anxiously, clearly expecting no good to come of their hushed conversation.  As for the other...
It's him!  Blenheim's legs began to tremble at the sight of the jet-black colt walking alongside the gray one.  In contrast to his coat, the colt's silvery mane was striking.  However, that paled in comparison to those eyes; with a vivid turquoise color and dominated by slit-shaped pupils that gave the impression of a dragon or a cat.  Those eyes, combined with the neutral, almost bored expression of the colt's face sent chills down Blenheim's spine and made his skin crawl.
How can they do it?  How can they talk and laugh like normal when he's right there among them?  Blenheim couldn't believe what he was seeing.  Even if the ponies of this town weren't members of the Order, they had to find something strange and unnatural about those eyes.  And yet, the colt attracted nary a sideways glance as he made his way down the street in broad daylight, his eyes on full display without even the slightest attempt to conceal them.
This then, was Dawn Lightwing, the colt whose presence had caused Mayweather such distress, which had gone on to shake her faith in herself and the Order.  This was the colt living with the Element of Kindness, who apparently considered him to be a son to her.  This was the foal that the proselytizers warned about in their preachings, that the old texts described in such dire terms.
Blenheim stared unabashedly at the colt as he approached, unable to take his eyes off.  As though he sensed the stallion's gaze, Dawn's head swung around and his deep bluish-green eyes met Blenheim's dark-orange ones before running over to zero in on the apple-laden branch that decorated his flank.  Blenheim shivered as the colt's gaze pierced him like a dagger, seemingly passing right through his coat and skin and looking into his very soul.  Weathering that intensely penetrating gaze only served to further harden Blenheim's resolve.  This colt ain't somethin' born 'o ponies.
And then his gaze passed, the sudden absence of its pressure leaving Blenheim with a sudden urge to gasp for breath, the old stallion having temporarily forgotten how to breathe.  He briefly considered trotting around a nearby corner to try and regain his composure.
"Uncle Blenheim?"  Apple Bloom's voice threw Blenheim from his reverie and he looked up to see that Bloom was watching him now, looking less than happy to see him there.  There was also a sense of trepidation in her tone as well.
Both signals led Blenheim to one conclusion.  She knew...she knew about him and she hid it from me.  Mah own kin...
"What are ya doin' here?" asked Bloom.  Once again, the nervous quaver of her voice betrayed the fact that she had a very good idea of the reason he was there.
For a moment, Blenheim wasn't sure of what to do.  All his scenarios had been prepared with the notion of encountering Dawn alone.  He hadn't expected to encounter the strange colt in the company of a group of other foals.
The part of him that recalled his relationship to Apple Bloom, namely his status as her elder and her family, furiously demanded that he order her home, send her away to keep her away from the colt's influence.  However, the more rational part of his mind discreetly pointed out that her presence and her behavior indicated that she knew full well where he stood and was rebelling against it.  Such an order was likely to only make things worse.  Furthermore, there was still the matter of the other three foals attending the conversation.
"Ah, you're here."
They all looked over to the source of the voice to see that Arkenstone had emerged from a door at the rear of the teahouse.  "Come on inside and get ready.  It looks like it won't be too busy today."
The five foals moved towards the door, hastening to obey the beige stallion's instructions.  However, Dawn stopped and stood still, turning halfway around to look at Blenheim again.  Once again, Blenheim shivered under the piercing gaze of those eyes.
"Dawn?"  The orange filly had paused as well and was looking over her shoulder at the ebony colt, her eyes heavy with concern.
Dawn turned and gave her a smile that looked surprisingly gentle.  "Go on ahead," he said, his voice soft, yet resonant, somehow clearly audible in spite of its low volume, "I'll be in soon."
When the orange filly continued to hesitate, Dawn slowly reached out with a wing and brushed his primaries over her back.  The move seemed to console the filly, who nodded, though she still looked nervous as she turned and went inside, leaving Dawn and Arkenstone alone behind the teashop.
"Do you feel ready for this?" asked Arkenstone, a note of quiet concern in his tone.
Dawn sighed.  "Not as much as I hoped.  But that might have been too much to ask for."
Arkenstone nodded and smiled.  "I shall see you inside then."  He froze and his ears wiggled slightly.  "So to speak."
With that, Arkenstone went back into the teahouse, closing the door behind him.  Now Dawn and Blenheim were alone in the space behind the shop.  A deep silence fell across the colt and the stallion as they looked at one another.  Dawn once again met Blenheim's gaze with his eerie, draconic eyes.  After a second, the colt averted his gaze, almost bashfully, and looked down, slowly scuffing his forehoof against the ground.
"So..." he said, "Here we are..."
"...E-eeyup," was all Blenheim could manage to say at that moment.
All of a sudden, the building resolve that had been growing inside of him ever since he first laid eyes on the colt began to crumble and dissolve.  There was a heaviness, a weariness to the colt's voice that suddenly made it seem as though Blenheim was looking at somepony who'd lived much longer and been through far more than he could ever dream of.  The world-weary tone reached past Blenheim's original determination and struck a chord deep within his soul.  It echoed of tiredness and loneliness; of someone who had clearly had the conversation that he thought they were about to have a hundred times over, who knew every one of the words and phrases that they were about to exchange by heart, not through some supernatural premonition, but with the overpowering weight of experience and repetition.
"I take it you are Blenheim of the Apple Family then," said Dawn softly, looking up at the old stallion, his voice hardening and his expression betraying nothing.  Yet again, Blenheim shivered at the feeling of those strange eyes watching him.
"That's right," said Blenheim, "And yer Dawn Lightwing then?"
"I am," said Dawn.  He looked away, a quiet, cynical chuckle bursting out in quick snorts from his muzzle.  "It's funny.  I've been worried about this since we found out you were here in Ponyville.  And yet, we're already off to a better start than I got with Applejack."
"What are ya talkin' about?" asked Blenheim.
"The first time I saw your niece," explained Dawn, "She was trying to buck me straight to Tartarus.  The second time we crossed paths, she put me in the hospital and laid me up for around a week."
"Mah AJ did that?" asked Blenheim, his heart beating faster, torn between confusion and pride.  His niece had found out about Dawn and had acted so decisively, compared to Blenheim himself, who was now standing, mostly at a loss for what to say and do.  And yet, now Applejack was firmly on Dawn's side and had deliberately avoided telling Blenheim about the colt's presence in town.
"She did," replied Dawn, "However, that is in the past.  We made amends and moved past it.  What concerns me more is what you intend to do now."
"Ah...Ah..."  Blenheim's mind was working furiously, trying to work out just what to do in this unexpected scenario.
It was the best opportunity he could hope for.  Here the colt was, right in front of him, waiting for a response.  They were essentially alone, which was the situation Blenheim had been hoping for.  If Dawn Lightwing was hiding his true colors, then the best chance of bringing them out was when the ones he was hiding them from were no longer around to see.  And yet, Blenheim wasn’t sure about how to bring the colt’s true nature to the surface.
Dawn quietly raised an eyebrow at the stallion’s hesitance.  “If we could move this along,” he said, “I do have things to do.  I suspect you do as well.”
“Ah honestly don’t know what to do anymore,” Blenheim admitted.
The admission seemed to take Dawn aback.  “Why not?”
“Ah want to believe yer just an ordinary colt, but seein’ those eyes ‘o yers, Ah just can’t,” said Blenheim.
“It sounds to me as though it’s the other way around,” observed Dawn, a note of frustration in his voice.
“Come again.”
“It’s not that you want to believe that I’m an ordinary colt,” said Dawn coldly, “From the moment you’ve laid eyes on me, you wanted to believe that I am exactly what you feared I was.  Isn’t that why you wanted to see me alone, without anypony around?”
Blenheim flinched back, shocked that this colt had divined his intentions so easily.
“You figured that if I had nopony around to keep up my ‘act’ for, then I would show my so-called ‘true colors’ and give you the evidence you wanted to condemn me,” said Dawn, his eyes narrowing, the pressure of his gaze intensifying.
“How’d ya know that?” demanded Blenheim.
“As you or your niece might say, this isn’t my first rodeo,” replied Dawn, “All my life, I’ve had to deal with ponies like you, ponies who insisted that I was some monster in hiding, waiting to pounce; ponies who wanted, with all their hearts, for me to be what they feared I was, because that was more convenient than admitting that they or that precious religion you follow could possibly be wrong about something.”
“What about you?” Blenheim, “If yer so innocent, then why don’t ya prove it?”
In that moment, the air around Blenheim grew heavy, as though he was suddenly beneath the burden of a couple of tons.  The sheer force of the sensation nearly made him sprawl across the ground.  The force of Dawn’s gaze redoubled and, when Blenheim looked at the colt again, Dawn was practically radiating fury, his wings partly spread, his body tensing, as though he was getting ready to attack.
Then…after a very long, terrifying moment, Dawn took a deep breath and his body relaxed.  The intense pressure that had nearly cut Blenheim’s legs out from under him faded away and the stallion straightened back up, briefly amazed by how close to death, or at least serious injury, he had come.
“There it is,” said Dawn softly, his voice still carrying plenty of anger, “That logic I so despise.”
“What logic?” gasped Blenheim.
“That it is, for some reason, my job to prove my innocence to you,” answered Dawn sharply, his voice dripping with rage, “That I am under some obligation to offer proof to my accusers that I am not some sort of monster, that I am not what they fear me to be.  I actually used to try, you know.  I tried to prove that I was nothing more than a normal pony, that I wasn’t a demon.  But I know better than to bother now.
“I have nothing to prove to you.  I am not required, by the laws of Equestria or by the laws of decency to offer you anything.”  Dawn turned away from Blenheim and began walking towards the door to the shop.  Reaching up, he rested a hoof against the door.  Letting out a sigh, he directed one last glare back at Blenheim, this one dismissive and condescending.  “I’ve been told that it’s almost impossible to prove that something is not, as opposed to proving that something is.  But that doesn’t matter now.  I could offer all the ‘proof’ you could ever ask for, but you wouldn’t change your mind, because you’ve already made your decision.  It’s not worth even trying.”
Turning back to the shop, Dawn pushed the door open.  “We’re finished here.  I have nothing more to say to you.  Do what you will.”  The colt stepped through the door, letting it swing shut behind him.
Sitting silently in the open behind the teahouse, Blenheim stared at the door, not moving an inch.



As soon as the door closed behind him, Dawn slumped to the floor, his legs feeling like rubber as the tension suddenly bled out of him in the familiar humid confines of the teahouse’s kitchen.
Not far from him, off to one side of the door, a series of stoves held pots of water at different temperatures, each one set for a specific type of tea.  On the opposite wall was a set of cubicle shelves, each one holding a canister that held a specific blend.  Between them was a table, laden with a few teapots, ready to receive both tea and water.  Nearby was another set of shelves, this one stocked with cups and other teapots, as well as the trays that they were carried on.  On the other side of the door was a table with several empty canisters stacked on it, as well as various instruments for measuring ingredients.  It was at that table that Arkenstone prepared his blends, measuring the spices and tea leaves that went into each batch, as well as experimented with new blends.  Behind the table was a door that led down to the storeroom, where the burlap sacks of spices that Arkenstone imported from abroad were stored, sealed away into their own individual spaces to keep them fresh and to keep their aromas from interfering with each other.
Dawn loved this place.  The scent of tea, the soft hiss of the stoves, the low gurgle of bubbling water, all combined to sooth and relax him, especially after what he had just been through.
As relaxed as he was, that didn’t stop Dawn from flinching at the gentle touch of a hoof coming to rest on his shoulder.  “You did well,” said Arkenstone softly.
“You were listening?” asked Dawn, glancing up at the Knight.
Arkenstone smiled and shook his head.  “Part of helping you grow is allowing you to fight your own battles, giving you trust, even if it is difficult.  However, it was hard not to sense your anger.”
Dawn gulped.
“But you held your temper, retained your composure, and stood your ground.  You have nothing to be ashamed of.”  Leaning down, Arkenstone gently ran his muzzle through the colt’s mane.  “I know your Master would be proud.”
Dawn’s lips curled up in a smile.
“More importantly, I know your mother will be proud of you too,” added the beige stallion.
Dawn’s smile widened.
Lifting his hoof off Dawn’s shoulder, Arkenstone stepped away.  “Come now,” he said, “You have work to do.  You don’t want your friends to worry.”
Nodding, Dawn stood back up and gave his entire body a shake to regain his sense of stability.  Smiling, he stepped towards the door leading to the teahouse proper.  It was time to get to work.