Earlier that same day…
In the faraway land of the Crystal Empire, in the largest room of the highest tower of the castle, Shining Armor prayed for the smallest pause in existence. It was denied from him, not by an outsider, but by his sense of duty that would have him read and approve the season’s applications for the Crystal Guard before the day’s end, even if it meant staying up until the very last minute of it. Right now that was hours away, but the pile of paper on his desk was thicker than his horn was tall. Thus he worked, for there was no other way out. Not until the front door opened, at least.
“Shining Armor is not present at the moment,” he said mechanically. “Only His Majesty, the Royal Rubber Stamp, is, and he is very, very busy.”
Cadance, walking by the red carpet that led all the way to his desk, smiled sympathetically. “You know, there is no disgrace in delegating. You’d be doing the clerks a favor, really: they take great pride in their position.”
“Some things I must do personally, even if there is no practical difference in who uses this damned thing,” he said, imprinting yet another “Approved” to an application with a rubber stamp. It made a noise like tsak. “I’m the pony who's supposed to lead all these other ponies, should the need arise. Their trust must be met with something more concrete than a few minutes on some clerk's desk, even if that something is just a few minutes on my desk.” Another stamp, another dull tsak echoing in the high room. “It’s a military thing.”
Cadance shook her head, but left it at that. “Could I then perhaps steal my husband from the Rubber Stamp, even if just for a moment? I find myself in a need of advice.”
The paper on Armor’s desk suddenly lost even the shadow of interest it might’ve had for him. Armor looked up, his tired eyes suddenly regaining some of their sharpness. “Of course. What is it?”
Cadance coughed and produced an opened envelope, which she floated in front of him. “It’s from Ponyville,” she explained. “Arrived just a while ago, sent by Spike.”
“From Twilight?” he asked, pulling the letter out.
“You’d think, right? No, it’s from Rainbow Dash.” She thought something for a moment and said: “It’s better that I don’t try to explain it first. You’ll find it complicated enough as is, I believe.”
Armor gave her a look and resumed by reading, which at this point resembled breathing for him. The letter had been written with some haste, that much was clear with a glance. There weren’t many words as such, which was a shame, for there definitely was a demand for more. He finished it quickly enough, but only on the third attempt did he really get to the heart of the matter.
“Is this a prank?” he asked, looking at his wife.
Cadance shrugged. “If it is, it’s not very funny. I’d except it isn’t, based on what little I know of Rainbow’s sense of humor.”
Armor looked stunned. “So she is seriously asking guidance from you with a ménage á trois, the likes of which you usually find for a couple of bits in those stands at train stations?”
“Why she shouldn’t be asking from me?
“No, don’t take it that way… I’m wondering why she’d be asking this from anypony?”
Cadance’s frown only deepened. “Why shouldn’t she?”
“You read the letter, right?” After her nod, he continued: “It practically solves itself! A lovesick stallion who’s so afraid of rejection that he falls in love with another mare? A mare so shy that she falls for anypony who loves her more than she does herself? And finally Dash herself, who clearly has some weird hate-love relationship to Thunderlane? They should split up and continue like they used to, however that was. I’m sure Dash knows this, too.”
Cadance gave him the type of look she had hoped would be uncalled for now that they were married. “Is that it, then?”
Armor recognized that look well enough. “I suppose not?”
She sighed. “Dash clearly wrote this letter mostly for herself, to support the course of action she feels right. The depiction you just gave is how she sees it, or how she’d like to see it. The fact that she turned to me with this means that she does have genuine doubts, although they may be deep enough that she doesn't hear their call, but only sees what she wants to see.”
Armor looked at her with round eyes. “Oh.”
“I came to you with this mostly to see if you could spot that,” she said quietly, pulling the letter and envelope back to herself. “The situation itself is clearly complex enough to demand a full exposition, not a colored perspective like this. I’ll write her back with an offer for an encounter, in the case it really is advice that she seeks.” She turned away, and made it casually towards the door.
In Armor’s mind, a particularly long fuse burnt out. “Hey, wait! Were you just testing me?”
“Oh, don’t pretend you don’t like being tested,” she said over her shoulder, smiling playfully. “Keeps you sharp, doesn’t it?”
The door closed with a thud. For a moment, the room was quiet.
Tsak!