It felt odd returning to the confines of his office after several days of running the Court with Cadence. Even his armor, fond of it as he was, felt a bit foreign after going civilian for so long.
Balancing Court and training recruits—or, rather, observing them until Gentle Touch cleared him—left Shining Armor with scarcely any time to actually sit down properly at his desk and do the administrative duties that came with his station. His lieutenants had been kind enough to forward the more important forms to him, giving him the chance to look them over in the privacy of the Royal Suite. But it just wasn’t the same.
He wasn’t there to provide immediate leadership, like a proper officer should.
Sighing wistfully, Shining sat at his desk and let his eyes wander over the almost spartan décor; those pale, sapphire walls, bare save for the single window and his diplomas from the Royal Guard Academy and Royal Canterlot University, mounted side by side on the wall behind him. The clock resting on his desk ticked away, his eyes flicked to the picture beside it: Twily, Cady, and himself, all with broad grins and making the silliest faces they could think of.
Seems like it was just yesterday, girls. Back home, when it was just the three of us. He wrinkled his nose, his gaze flitting back to those walls. So much crystal, I’d almost kill for the old, bleached marble of Canterlot Castle. Shaking his head, Shining chuckled to himself. Look at that, I’m still a Canterlot colt at heart. Best not let Cady find out, or I’ll never hear the end of it.
Décor aside, he was back. He gave a little wag of his tail and sighed in content. “It’s good to be back,” he mumbled, his joy giving way to dismay as he eyed the small mountain of paperwork resting in the “Incoming” tray. “Ugh. I leave the place to Hoofy for a few days, tell him to send the major stuff my way, and he just leaves the rest here. Typical.”
Annoying though it may be, Lighthoof had technically followed his orders; albeit, in a rather literal sense.
Flicking his tail, Shining floated the first over. “Next time, I’m gonna leave instructions in the form of a laundry list,” he grumbled. “It’ll be worth him getting a little pissy.”
It might even teach a certain stallion to use a tad more common sense—or at least, go a bit beyond the literal directive.
Shining shook his head. No, Lieutenant Lighthoof had done him a favor by bringing him those forms. Insulting him—even if he needed to be taught a lesson—was unwarranted.
A little talk, just a reminder that administrative duties were just as important as running drills and barking at recruits, was all he needed. He learns his lesson, and I keep my subordinate relatively happy. A win-win for me.
Turning back to the paper, Shining raised an eyebrow at the familiar emblem of the Garnet Quarter. “Ah, Lord Clear Cut,” he mused, “my favorite verbal sparring partner. What do you have for me this time?”
Settling back into his cushion and bringing the missive to hover just in front of his nose, he let his eyes flit across the page.
“To Prince-Captain Shining Armor:
“I hope this missive finds you well, especially in light of your recent mishap in the Forest of Aurora. On behalf of my constituents in the Garnet Quarter and my family, I would like to extend my sincerest wishes that you make a speedy recovery, My Prince.”
Shining’s brow arched higher. Seems that news travels fast. I wonder who relayed that to the Council; Gentle and Stable are bound by oath and law to keep that between themselves, the patient, and next of kin. He wrinkled his nose, the gears turning in his head. They did bring me in through Garnet, so he could’ve heard from just about anypony—not necessarily one of my guards.
He’d have to check in on the latter, just to be sure that a recruit hadn’t forgotten the chain of command and gone blabbing around town. At the very least, he could stress that it was very improper to relay sensitive information to civilians, especially politicians.
Even more so when it involved an officer being injured or indisposed.
Keep that information within a small circle, then it’s less likely to be exploited by your enemies. One of the first lessons he’d learned in officer training.
While there weren’t any minotaurs, changelings, or, Harmony forbid, anti-UGT factions knocking on their front doors, the Crystal Empire was still in a rather vulnerable position.
And while his injuries were only minimal at worst, it was still best to nip smaller problems in the bud before they got too overblown.
Shining turned his focus back to Clear Cut’s writing, filing the possible breach away for later discussion, and continued on.
“… While it may not be my place to badger you on your recruits’ progress, I would like to inquire as to what you believe the estimated end date of this program might be. We are all quite eager to see the Imperial Guard restored to its former glory, but…”
“Yes,” Shining snorted and rolled his eyes. “You’re eager after you and the rest of the Council tried arguing against it and brought up anything possible to delay its implementation.”
With a flick of his tail, he began the time-old method of skimming through the rest; ignoring the long-winded, political nonsense in favor of the actual substance.
“Months of training… several setbacks… your injury in the field most troubling… fellow Council members are concerned that the program is taking far too long…”
And there it was. Typical political garbage.
“We want our shiny, new toys built properly, but at no cost and finished last week,” Shining grumbled.
Even with those so entrenched in ancient ways, with memories clouded by Sombra’s curse, the basic message was the same.
Fortunately, no pony would see him ball up Clear Cut’s missive, toss it over his shoulder, and mutter curses under his breath. He levitated a blank sheet of paper over and dipped his quill into an inkwell. “Dear collective pains in my rear,” he mumbled cynically, his lips curving into a small smirk. “Oh, if only. Too bad it’d just cause more trouble for Cady than actually get my point across.”
Keeping his wife happy and as stress-free as possible was far more important than getting his digs in.
I’ll just have to bite my tongue and think them to myself.
“To Lord Clear Cut of the Garnet Quarter,” he mumbled, his quill scratching against the paper, “I apologize for my delayed response, but I’ve found myself running between helping Princess Cadence with the day-to-day duties of the Crystal Court, training the recruits and a few personal issues, some of which directly involved the injury referenced in your missive.”
All that and trying to help Cady with her stress. And whatever side project she needed all that red yarn for. Shining barely suppressed the urge to shudder. Something tells me that I know exactly what all that was for.
If he ever found the pony who told Cadence about that silly notion of “the red thread of fate” binding lovers together, he’d give them a good, solid bop on the head. I don’t want to know. I really don’t. And I’m not helping.
Shaking his head, he banished those thoughts to the depths of his mind in favor of finishing his reply. “To your concerns on the time taken to train the new unit,” he continued, “I’m afraid that my answer is simply ‘when the recruits are ready’; this is with respects to my satisfaction with their performance, as well as my officers’. I will remind you that the fear of soldiers, the very same that the Council mentioned when making their case against this unit’s formation, meant that we had to take a far more different approach than what is used in the Royal Guard Academy.
“We’ve focused almost exclusively on field training, with very minimal classroom based learning, and have worked to help dispel the negative relationship between citizen and guard. However, this takes time. I would say that my trainees have certainly progressed well, but they won’t be ready for at least another few weeks—that, quite frankly, is being very generous. I understand and appreciate your concern, but I cannot, in good faith, leave the Empire’s defense to a group of half-trained ponies. They will be ready, simply put, when I am confident that they could meet the physical requirements set to graduate from the Academy. Regards, Captain Shining Armor.”
Shining blew lightly on the ink to dry it, stapling it to the original letter and folding them up with a small flick of his magic. One down. He gave a half-hearted mental cheer as he slid it into the “Outgoing” tray, while simultaneously pulling another from the top of the pile.
He swished his tail, his ear flicking toward the clock sitting on his desk as it ticked away.
The recruits should be doing their laps around the yard right now. And Cady should be settling in to open Court. His scowl deepened. He’d be there in a heartbeat, either standing alongside his fellow guards or sitting with his wife in Court, if he didn’t have to worry about the backlog.
Granted, Court wasn’t very high on his list of enjoyable activities, but it helped ease Cadence’s burden. Training, however, was an entirely different story.
Training and leading his guards was his bread and butter. Paperwork was but a tedious necessity that came with his position; especially when he had two units under his command.
Which reminds me, I really need to appoint a new Captain for the Royal Guard in Canterlot. He gave a long-suffering sigh. I can’t run it properly from all the way up here.
Certainly, the commanders of the respective House Guards were doing admirably well, but they needed a standing Captain. Both in terms of having a single, ranking officer and to give the public more of a sense of unity between the branches.
I’ll have to speak with Celestia and Luna about that. I’m sure they’d like to give input, and they could certainly give me an idea of what they’d like to see going forward.
A knock at his office door jarred him from his thoughts. His ears flicked forward. “Come in,” he called.
The pony on the other side pushed the door open. Autumn Leaf, a slender earth pony mare of auburn coat and fiery red mane, stepped in, her gleaming gold armor clacking and saddlebags thumping against her sides with each step. “Good morning, Captain,” she chirped, snapping a salute.
Eying the papers carried in both pockets of her saddlebags, Shining nodded in kind. “Good morning, Autumn.” He glanced to the clock on his desk and arched an eyebrow at her. “Few minutes late this morning, aren’t you?”
“Late to the office, yes,” she admitted. “Late to work, no. I had to stop by to pick up today’s paperwork.”
Oh, goodie. He forced a smile, though he suspected it looked more like a grimace. “Thinking ahead, as usual. Well, then, let’s have it.”
Nodding, she reached into the bag on her left hip and pulled it out, placing it into his incoming tray. “This is for you, sir. The rest,” she glanced toward the stack on her right hip, “is mine.”
Shining didn’t immediately respond. Instead, he stared at the now taller stack in his tray, trying his best to glare it into submission.
No such luck, unfortunately.
“This stuff just never goes away,” he sighed and shook his head.
“The joys of administration!” Autumn replied, never once losing her million-bit smile. “Is there anything else I can get for you before I go to my desk? Coffee? Tea?”
A tall mug of cider. He grumped inwardly, a stark contrast to the smile he pasted on his face. “No, I think I’ve got all that I need right here,” he said, jerking his head toward the seemingly endless pile of paperwork in his tray. “Thank you for offering.”
Either oblivious to his irritation or simply knowing better than to comment, Autumn saluted. “Very good, sir. I’ll be right outside if you need anything.”
At his nod, she turned and trotted briskly out of his office, shutting the door behind her with a light kick.
Shining turned his attention back to his stack and grimaced. Might as well get a move on. He glanced over the form in front of him, humming as he read through Lighthoof’s messy script. One of his daily reports.
Drawing in a sharp breath, he scanned the individual comments. “Oh, good,” he hummed, “it looks like Glimmer has made some progress.” His grimace faded in favor of a small smile and a nod of approval. “Good on you, kid.”
Progress, no matter how slow, was still progress. With the crop of recruits he had, Shining would just have to take what they gave. It was a slow process, grooming the first unit of the new Imperial Guard; Honeysuckle had once gone as far as likening it to gardening.
“You can’t just plant the seeds and expect a flower to be in full bloom the next day; you have to water it, feed it, nurture it until it’s ready to sprout, and then make sure you keep all that up and get rid of any weeds that pop up,” she’d said, giving a little wink to the armored stallions sitting at the bar. “But, with you boys in mind, you’ll substitute weeding for running them ragged.”
If anything, the look on Lighthoof’s face as Valiance and Stout Heart snickered at him was well worth the little shot she’d taken. Shining chuckled at the memory and filed the report away into a jam-packed accordion folder with all the rest.
“Hmm, I’ll need to go back and clear out the old stuff,” he muttered, “and get a filing cabinet for that to go into.”
So much to do, and so very little time.
He pulled from the top of the stack again, his eyebrows shooting up as he looked at the familiar enlistment form he’d put together for the Imperial Guard. Enlistees without a recruitment drive? I’m impressed. Word must be getting around.
His muzzle creased into a grin. If the crystal ponies were starting to apply without prompting, perhaps the reputation of the Imperial Guard was changing after all.
Finally.
Half of the stack.
An entire day’s worth of paperwork, he’d even worked through lunchtime in order to get it done, but Shining Armor was only about halfway through the mountain left on his desk.
He sat back and rubbed his eyes. “Hoofy, I take back what I said about giving you a gentle little talk,” he grumbled, pretending as if the stallion he’d been cursing all day was in the room, “I’m gonna make you run laps around the darn city, and I just might let the recruits watch!”
His head pounded, his eyes watered from staring at the endless stack of papers left on his desk. Shining flicked his tail and cursed the bureaucracy he’d been cursed to put up with since the day he’d become an officer in the Royal Guard.
On one hoof, it keeps things organized and flowing smoothly—in terms of my needs with the recruits. Certainly, the influx of applications had been a welcome shift in the crystal ponies’ view on the Imperial Guard. Several ponies filled out the form, with a couple curious teens sending in letters asking for more information on what to expect, and what would be expected from them.
Naturally, he considered the applications as fairly as possible, weighing their abilities and goals in combination with what he knew of the job requirements and answered those who weren’t quite sure yet honestly. Never go in without ample intelligence, and never let a prospective recruit walk through without knowing what they’re about to sign on to.
Still, though, it wore on him. His hooves itched to go out to the training grounds and run. If not running in the wake of his recruits, barking at them to gallop as if Cerberus himself were nipping at their tails, he’d at least prefer taking a couple laps himself.
Shining shook his head. No, he couldn’t do that. Not yet, at least.
Like Gentle Touch said, running in full armor would still cause him quite a bit of discomfort—even galloping without it might give him a bit of a twinge in that cut on his flank, not to mention the aching in his ribs.
He glanced to the stack of paperwork again, his eyes narrowing at the tedious task laying before him. It has to be done eventually. Applicants are a necessity, Lighthoof’s reports on recruit training are invaluable, and the Council will complain to Cady if I toss out their memos. Wrinkling his muzzle, he sighed and stole a glance to the picture on his desk, the happy faces of Twilight and Cadence almost gazing expectantly back at him. Almost like they were waiting for him to finish his homework so he could come play.
“Yes, Twily, I’m doing my work,” Shining drawled, a wry grin playing upon his lips. “And no, I don’t need you to help me check it over—I can sign my name just fine.”
Even a decade later, that cute little face gazing up at him, her brows furrowed and jaw set in a thin line as she held her hoof out and all but demanded that he hoof over his homework so she could check it over.
If Twilight were with him, she’d no doubt sit on the other side of his desk and check over each paper he slipped into his outgoing tray, her eyes darting over each page to make sure he hadn’t glossed over anything important or missed a signature line, all the while telling him about her latest adventure with those crazy friends of hers.
Crazy, but good for her. He grinned, picturing the group of mares from his wedding day. Definitely glad she ended up with them. Though, I’d just about wrestle a timberwolf to have her stay up here for a while. I wonder if I could convince her to spend a little time up here outside of research, a bit of a vacation.
The clock on his desk ticked, tormenting him with the time still left in his day. Shining glanced at its hands and frowned. “An hour left? I could’ve sworn it was a little closer to five…”
With a shake of his head, Shining pulled another paper from the top of the stack—another letter asking for more information on the Imperial Guard. “Quite a bit of interest lately,” he hummed, glancing over the message. Another young stallion wondering if he could apply. “Maybe I should talk with Autumn about putting together some sort of stationary response for these. Just to free me up from writing out individual replies.”
Filing that away for a later date, he levitated his quill and quickly jotted down his response. “To Shooting Star,” he muttered, “I’m pleased to learn of your interest in a career with the new Imperial Guard. As of now, we are in the midst of training recruits to be posted throughout the city, but we are accepting applications for the next round of training. If you would like to visit and watch our current class or discuss the physical requirements, I’d be happy to schedule a meeting with you. Regards, Captain Shining Armor.”
Heh, if I’d gotten a reply from Captain Ironside himself when I was looking into things, I’d have enlisted before graduating. “Cady and Twily would’ve absolutely killed me!” He snickered.
A knock on his office door brought him out of his internal monologue. Quickly adjusting his posture, Shining sat up straight and perked up his ears before calling out, “Come in!”
Autumn Leaf poked her head in. “Sorry to interrupt, sir,” she began, bowing and smiling brightly at him, “but Cadet Glimmering Shard from the Imperial Guard class is outside. He wanted to see if you had a little time to talk with him.”
Shining raised an eyebrow, but nodded in kind. “Sure, send him in.”
“Yes, sir,” she said before ducking out of the room.
There was a bit of an awkward pause as she spoke to Glimmer on the other side, their voices too low for Shining to make out.
After a moment, the door opened to reveal the nervous recruit, chewing on his lip as he gave a salute. “Er, good afternoon, sir!”
“Afternoon, Glimmer. Close the door and take a seat,” Shining gestured to the cushion on the other side of his desk. Steepling his hooves, he leaned back in his own and waited for Glimmer to push the door closed.
Eying the younger stallion’s posture, the way his hooves seemed to shake the closer he came and how his ears lay flat against his scalp, Shining frowned. Oh, boy. This isn’t going to start off happy. “Autumn tells me that you wanted to have a word. What’s on your mind?”
Glimmer sat down roughly, ducking his head almost as though trying to make himself smaller before Shining.
Definitely not a good sign. He let the silence hang a moment, idly swishing his tail while he waited for the younger pony to collect himself.
Glancing up shyly, Glimmer mumbled something incomprehensible toward the floor.
Shining flicked an ear toward him, his muzzle creased into a frown. Needs a little jolt. “Cadet!” he barked, making Glimmer jump up in his cushion. “Take a deep breath and use your words.”
“Yes, sir!” He squeaked before closing his eyes and drawing in a deep breath through his nose, letting his chest fill, holding it in, and then exhaling through his mouth.
“Better?”
“Very much, sir. Thank you.”
“Good, good. Now—” Shining leaned forward and made a show of perking up his ears and waggling them “—what’s on your mind? Everything okay with family? Have you or somepony close taken ill?”
Glimmer shook his head, still keeping his eyes downcast. “No, sir, nothing like that. I just… I don’t know if, um—” for the first time since saluting as he entered, he raised his head just enough to meet Shining’s gaze “—I’’m not doing well with the training sessions. I-I just keep messing up and making Lieutenant Lighthoof mad. And then, there was the thing in the middle of Shining Square… and again in the Forest of Aurora… I’m just so slow.”
“Ah,” Shining hummed. Not something he could easily refute; the stallion before him was, to put it bluntly, the bottom of the class. Still, he was coming along, if a bit behind, based on Lighthoof’s report and what Shining himself had seen.
But if Glimmer was concerned the least he could do was listen.
“So this is about your progress,” he began, slowly considering how best to address the issue, “It’s not out of the ordinary for a recruit to have doubts, especially one as young as yourself. In fact, I had similar issues early on at the Academy, but I digress.” Shining placed his hooves on the desk and folded them. “Why’s this eating at you so bad, Glimmer? You’ve been in the program for a while, so why bring it up now?”
Glimmer shifted in his cushion, dropping his gaze again. “I don’t know! I just… I don’t think I’m cut out for this,” he choked out. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a disappointment, sir, but I’m just not getting any better and… everypony else is leaving me behind.”
Shining held up a hoof. “Stop right there, Cadet,” he said, his tone taking the same edge he used on the field. “We’re guards, not race ponies. These things take time; no pony’s writing you off or leaving you behind.”
“In terms of skill they are!” Glimmer blurted out. His eyes went wide, his ears pinned back as he realized just whom he’d spoken out against. Ducking his head again, he hastily added a sheepish, “… sir. Sorry, sir.”
His nostrils flared. Shining swished his tail, a frown marring his muzzle. “I’ll chalk that bout of insubordination up to stress—but we’ll talk about that later.” Relax. He’s young, he needs reassurance. How would Cady or Twily handle something like this?
“Patience.” Cadence’s voice echoed in his ear. “We’ll show them that they don’t have to be afraid anymore.”
Show through action, don’t tell with words, as his mother would say. Glimmer was young, perhaps just a couple years older than he’d been when he entered the Academy all those years ago.
An idea hit him like a bolt of lightning. Shining lit up his horn and picked up the stack of progress reports. Quickly rifling through, he came across Glimmer’s and pulled it from the group.
He cleared his throat and began to read aloud, “Progress Report for Cadet Glimmering ‘Glimmer’ Shard,” he paused a moment to allow the younger stallion to jolt up and prick his ears forward. “Cadet Glimmer started out rough, his nerves causing his performance in the training sessions to lag—notably in combat scenarios. Admittedly, he is still somewhat slow to pick up the skills, but he has made progress and demonstrates a willingness to accept corrections and learn from his mistakes. In terms of his interaction with the public, his involvement in the incident in Shining Square seems to have root in the ways of Sombra’s old unit—something shared by most of the crystal pony recruits until Captain Shining Armor corrected the issue. That, I will write off as cultural. At this point, I would recommend that he be closely watched and guided. He has met minimal requirements, but I expect that he’ll catch up due to his readiness to learn.”
Glimmer’s jaw dropped. He worked his mouth wordlessly before finally managing a weak, “I’ve… huh?”
“That’s Lieutenant Lighthoof’s report,” Shining said with a little shrug, “if that means anything to you. Just thought you should know.”
“But I—why?” The young stallion stammered. “Every time I mess up, he’s right there to shout at me and tell me to pick myself up and move!”
Chuckling, Shining shook his head and grinned. “Lighthoof likes to push his trainees—we all do, really, but he’s got more of a personal reason. Care to take a guess at what that might be?” Seeing Glimmer shake his head, he continued, “I went through the Academy with most of the officers here—I’m pretty sure Stone Hoof, Stratos and Cirrus are the only exceptions. Funny thing about that group: Wind Runner and I were the top of the class, Lighthoof was, quite literally, just a point away from being sent home at the end of first year.”
“What? But he’s an officer now! How did that happen?”
“Well, there’s a bit more to it. We got grouped together for a field exercise and I saw him in action. He was brilliant! Turns out, Lighthoof’s problem was the written portion—he doesn’t test well. He’s more of a ‘hooves on’ type of pony.” He sighed wistfully and drummed a hoof on his desk. “Anyway, I pulled him aside afterward and told him that he was gonna study with Wind and me. We grilled him pretty good.”
“I see…” Glimmer mumbled. “But what does that have to do with me?”
“Simply put, he sees you going along the same path he did. Wind and I pushed him, so he’s pushing you along.” Shining stood, an act the younger stallion scrambled to imitate. “Personally, I don’t think you’re unqualified or unskilled at all. I think your problem is up here,”—he tapped the side of his head—“the mental side. You put on that armor and think of Sombra’s guards—that much was evident in the Square.”
Rubbing a hoof against his shin, Glimmer gave a shaky nod. “I didn’t mean to, but that’s all I remember of them. Just fear.”
Aha, there it is. “Well, there’ll be none of that, I promise you. Not while Princess Cadence, myself, and any of our own sit on the Throne,” Shining said with a firm nod. “As for you, if you still think this isn’t working out, I won’t stop you from leaving.” The younger stallion looked up, staring uncertainly. “Your enlistment was entirely voluntary, so there won’t be any hard feelings on my front.”
“… But?”
He shrugged. “It’s all up to you, Glimmer. I’d like you to stay on, but I won’t make you. I need ponies with the heart, the drive to protect and serve as Imperial Guards—if you don’t have it, then it’s best you speak up now. I’ll sign your release straight away and you can go about your life.” There you go, an easy out. Now, will you take it?
Glimmer pinned back his ears and glanced at the report sitting on Shining’s desk, flicking up to Shining himself and back again. “I want to serve…” he mumbled, “but I don’t want to let anypony down. I just don’t know if I’m good enough… And all the mistakes I make just… I’m just not good enough.”
Still uncertain, huh? Shining sighed, nodding resolutely as he pulled back from Glimmer. Looks like you just answered for me. He turned and trotted back around the desk to take his seat again. “If that’s your answer right now,” he began, pulling out a blank sheet of paper and levitating his quill, “then it would probably be for the best that you take some time to figure things out. For now, I’ll sign a release,” he held up a hoof to forestall any protest, “a temporary release—that means I expect you to come back within a certain period of time and give me your final answer. Say, a month? Two?”
“I, uh, well—I hadn’t really thought of that…”
“Let’s call it two months, just to give you a little time. If you want to come in for a chat earlier, that’s perfectly fine,” he hummed and quickly jotted down a memo, glancing once at the date to make sure he noted the correct start and end. “So, sixty days is your maximum time without contact. After that, you’d be AWOL—you remember what that is, right?”
“Away without leave,” Glimmer mumbled, his ears laid flat against his scalp as he tucked his chin into his chest, “which is punishable by imprisonment.”
Shining had to bite back a curse. And two steps backward. “Yes, that’s true,” he began, “but I have full faith in you—you’re not gonna make me come knocking on your door to find you, right? There’s no reason to be afraid of coming to me and saying that you don’t think you’re cut out for this.”
A non-committed groan, a glance from Shining back down to the floor. Glimmer chewed on his bottom lip in thought, his anxiety hanging thick in the air. “Okay…” he nodded shyly. “Two months and then I come back.”
“And talk with me,” Shining added, tapping a hoof against his breastplate for emphasis. “I won’t lie to you, Glimmer, I can be just as mean and nasty as Lighthoof when I want, but I’m not going to let a colt suit up if he’s not ready. I’m in the business of protecting and saving lives, not throwing them away.” He smiled warmly and signed off on the release form with a flourish. “You’re a good colt, Glimmer. I’d rather you find something that makes you happy than send you off to do something you weren’t meant for—so, think on it. And think hard.”
He stood and floated the form over to Glimmer. “Take this out to Autumn, she’ll see to it that it’s filed correctly.”
“Yes, sir,” the colt replied, instinctively snapping a salute. A tiny smile graced his muzzle, he dropped his hoof to the ground and bowed his head. “Thank you, Captain—er, or is it Prince since I’m technically on leave?”
“Military business, call me Captain.”
“Oh, er, then thank you, Captain! I’ll, er, see you soon, then.”
“Good colt. You’re dismissed, enjoy your leave.” He watched as Glimmer turned on his hooves and marched from the room, head held high and ears standing at attention.
A nervous wreck as he entered, but confident and proud as he left.
Hopefully, he finds what he needs. Whether that’s with us or outside the Guard, is up to him. Shining sighed and took his seat again. Not the outcome he would’ve preferred, but, as he said, better for the colt to find his calling than end up in a hospital bed.
Or worse.
Shaking his head, he fixed a smile upon his muzzle. “Silver lining, Shiny. Find it,” he whispered. “He’ll find his way and he’ll remember that you weren’t the cruel ogre he was afraid of.”
A small victory, barely an advancement on the field of battle, but a victory nonetheless. One solved with kind words and understanding. Cadence would be quite pleased.