Chapter 10: In Which Some Resolution is Found, But Not All Sins Forgiven
There are a great many studies, undertaken by ponies. A catalogue of ologies, ranging from the simplistic to the absurd, all of which are considered ultimately vital to the answering of the big questions of What’s Really Going On Here, at least by those embarked upon them.
Today, let us consider the study of doors.
A portologist could speak at length about the door that stood before the Night Watch, now, for all that, to the untrained eye, it greatly resembled the ones blocking immediate entrance through the apertures dexter and sinister. Heavy oak – reinforced with metal bars, with a tendency to swell in its frame in the damp. A peephole, itself on hinges, set into it. Suffering a trifle from woodworm, but sufficient in bulk that generations of the worms could live long, happy lives before the structural integrity was in any way compromised. This was a door that, in its inception, had been envisioned as a stalwart bulwark against the ravages of the outside world. And perhaps, in a kinder (or far, far crueller) world, it might well have been.
Corporal Sticky Wings of the Night Watch was not a portologist, and cared little for heavy oak, reinforcement, intentions or indeed woodworm. Her description of the door was, if less detailed, shorter, and considerably more grounded in the realm of the practical.
“It’s in the way. Get the ram.”
Although not exactly eloquent, this command did allow any amateur portologists in the region an opportunity to ascertain an additional factoid about the door. It did not have long for this world.
It was generally known by most unicorns that magical auras were unique to the caster. Indeed, they would have to be; a magical aura is the substance of a unicorn’s ability to work their will upon the world. Any unicorn that had been granted education in even the basics of magical theory would be able to cite a few sources and a great deal of empirical evidence, as understanding one’s own magical nature was key to casting any spell more complex than simple telekinesis.
What was less well known, even to those well conversant with magical theory, was that such auras leave residual traces. Tracking them is generally impractical, for in the natural places of the world, wild magic, which determines the seasons and the movements of the animals absent equine intervention, would surely interfere. Trying to track an aura through the streets of Canterlot on an average day (or night) would be like trying to find a needle in a needlestack.
But – aha – when the streets had been swamped with dark magic, the golden glow that Icy had been able to prize from the tome that Sticky had discovered had stood out in the night, scintillating yellow threads hanging in the air like flax from a distaff. True, there were signs of other magical auras, here and there, but the hoof traffic that would otherwise have so occluded such a mechanism of tracking had stopped shortly after the dark rain had begun, and so it was difficult but quite possible to follow the threads as they went along their merry way.
If the task was difficult, it could at least be said of the hunters that they were motivated.
And the tracking had led them here, to this door, an unassuming property that Gawain was able to say with confidence was held by a property management group, of which one Lord C. House was the primary shareholder. And while coincidence certainly was no stranger to the denizens of Equestria30, this was all but confirmation for the squad that they were in precisely the right place.
And thus, a huge, barrel-chested ram, head lowered and prepared by virtue of a good run-up, smashed the heavily reinforced and purpose built door straight off of its hinges, which were anchored into a frame significantly less security-minded than the door it purported to support. Because, realistically, there was no reason for anyone in the middle of downtown Canterlot to require a door that sturdy for any practical purpose, and because someone had just seen it on auction and decided it fit the aesthetic of the small house that they had been building.
The effect was somewhat like putting a vault door on a paper bag.
The ram, now thoroughly through the door, stood, dusted himself off, and gave Sticky a pleasant smile. Then, he adjusted his hat, and went back to the small shop down the street where he made his living.
“Thank you, M’sieur Bélier!” The ram didn’t look back, but gave a little nod of acknowledgement.
“We were fortunate that he was still up.” Gawain commented, looking at the devastated door. “We’d have been all night if we’d had to hit that thing with a log.”
Within, the building was dark, but there were lights coming from a room further in. No one seemed to be responding to the sound of the front door being taken from its hinges, but Sticky still signalled for quiet, as the members of the Night Watch filed in to the dark room. They crept along the hallway toward the source of the light.
Ice Pick shook his head. “If they didn’t hear our entry with the racket that we made, they’d have to be deaf, or dead, or...”
They rounded the corner. “... drunk.” Sticky’s diagnosis was an informed one; in addition to the irregular snoring, the scattered bottles, and the pair sitting in the back singing slurred and half-remembered songs, there was the distinct smell of alcohol.
Icy put up a hoof. “I’d like to note that they’re dead drunk. Half points to me?”
“So noted.”
* * *
It was an evening for portologists. Another door barred another path, apparently not having gotten wind of the scuttlebutt floating around the dread portal community about the fate of truculent doors. This was indeed unfortunate for lovers of heavy oaken doors, as it meant that the objects of their affection were growing increasingly collectible.
Co-equal in leading the charge were Sharp Salute and Shining Armour. The former had returned to the palace as soon as the trail of mystical breadcrumbs had led to Lord Clearing House’s properties, for both moral and tactical backup. The latter had been present, helping to maintain the palace’s mystical defences against the dark rain, and had been more than happy to lend a helping horn as soon as the enervating downpour had ended.
The two stallions were nothing like social equals; in addition to having been a Captain of the Guard, Shining Armour was also officially the prince consort of the Crystal Empire. When deciding who was going to be first through the door, this had mattered little if at all, as Shining Armour still had an inclination to defer to the senior sergeant that had been instilled when he had been beginning his training, and which had never flagged due to Sharp Salute’s retirement before Shining had risen in rank himself, never mind that he certainly didn’t fall into the same command structure as the earth pony now. There hadn’t even been any argument; neither pulled rank or respect as deciding cards. They would go through the door together.
And Luna Implaccibilis, once a warrior queen and now simply one of the semi-divine rulers of Equestria, was going to be following shortly thereafter.
The former guard captain and sergeant had both argued against it, as best they could, but the truth of the matter was, there wasn’t much by way of a leg to stand on for such an argument. True, raiding Clearing House’s personal estate could be risky, but Luna was, as near as anyone could tell, just this side of immortal. It required a sternness of character, but there she was hardly lacking, and if raiding the home of a peer of the realm would have political ramifications, it would be difficult to argue that the Night Watch’s actions wouldn’t reflect on her anyway, acting as they were in their capacity as her royal guard.
Besides, Luna had an axe to grind. Indeed, it was a double-bitted battle axe, which had been borrowed from the castle’s armoury.
The door never knew what hit it, but only because, as an inanimate object, it had no capacity for knowing things.
* * *
“Robes, hoods, weird iconography. I think ‘cult’ is a pretty straightforward extrapolation here.” Zorada shook her head. “I can’t say that I recognize any of the symbols though. Something local to pony lands?”
Ice Pick frowned, and looked around. “A large golden shovel?” He squinted at an altar set up near the back of the room. “Oh for the love of... it’s a Breakfaster cult.”
A cartoonish Celestia image, printed on cheap box cardboard clearly trimmed from a cereal box grinned mawkishly at the squad. In an artist’s rendition of her telekinetic aura, she bore two golden scoops, filled with the raisins that the lettering promised were in every box of fibre-enriched cereal. Ice Pick was pretty sure that the proportions were off (unless the artist had intended to convey raisins the size of Celestia’s eyes), but he recognized the branding from his foalhood. The marketing imagery had somewhat foundered in Canterlot, but the regional serial brand had still been fairly popular, once upon a time.
Then again, Canterlotians still remembered the Breakfaster cults, and the collision between having a ‘good’ breakfast and ponies being ‘good’. Adding in sun-worship to a breakfast theme had more or less guaranteed that there would be a mixed reception at best.
“O-kay...” Hot Streak looked around. “What do ancient unspeakable evils with unpronounceable names have to do with having a balanced breakfast?”
Gawain snorted. “What, is that some kind of zen thing?” The gryphon shook his head. “Nah. If we want answers, oh happy day, we have a building full of drunk ponies to shake it gently out of.” He glanced around at the liquor bottles scattered around him. “I’m pretty sure if we wait for their hangovers to kick in, they’ll give us all of the information that we need in exchange for a bottle of stomach medicine, a couple of headache pills, and a tall glass of water.”
“It’sh for the divine commandmentsh, offisher~!” One of the singing unicorns had broken off, seeing that they had guests, while the other seemed to have companionably fallen asleep leaning against her. The more alert of the two – and this was, it should be understood, an extremely low bar under which to limbo – was just sober enough to recognize that the company that had arrived were members of the Watch, but not quite lucid enough to realize what that entailed, being far enough into the bag that she seemed to have forgotten her own status as ‘one who had just broken several laws, and possibly sinned against nature’.
Icy glanced at Sticky, who shrugged. He turned back to the inebriate. “Divine commandments?”
“Yesh...” The unicorn swayed slightly in her seat. “There ain’t enough’ve them! It’sh hard to maintain a good head’a shteam when your holy book is three pagesh long...” She hiccuped.
“So all of the dark magic was... for what?”
The unicorn looked evenly at Icy, or as evenly as could be managed under the circumstances. “Well, when we last had a big ol’ crish... crisish, we gotta new princessh, right? Sho... we were hoping that if there’sh another big ol’ problem, another one of those bearersh of the Elements of Harmony would become a princessh! Hopefully the apple-based one. That’sh got ‘new food-related commandments’ written all over it!” Wicked scheme somewhat explained, at least to her own satisfaction, the drunken unicorn leaned against her fellow in mutual support, and began to snore.
“Wow, what a stupid plan.” Sticky wasn’t aware that she had spoken aloud, but there was no one sober enough to take offence. The larcenous pegasus rubbed her temples. “Threaten the lives of thousands of ponies, in the hopes that a very specific hero would arrive to stop them? Who are these ponies, anyway.”
Zorada trotted over, pulling hoods off of slumbering cultists. “It would appear to be... a number of third and fourth children of noble houses. Well past the ‘heir and spare’ mentality. A lot of ponies with a great deal of money behind them, no clear purpose, and more resources than sense. I can see them falling into bad company, but frankly, most of them would appear to be too stupid to set up something of this magnitude.” Her eyebrows knitted together. “In other words...”
Gawain finished for her. “In other words, we sent Sharp Salute to exactly the right place.”
* * *
Strictly speaking, a raid on the personal home of a Peer of the Realm was strictly circumscribed, in big red angry letters, by the constitution of Equestria. It wasn’t impossible – if the right warrants, including a royal warrant could be acquired, it was actually quite doable. But the fuss that it would kick up would likely end the career of any magistrate that signed the warrant, and any officers that sought one.
Justice Stone Heart, of the Celestial Court, was not particularly concerned about his political career. He was, first among all things, a justice of the law, and under the circumstances, he was quite confident that he had the support of the Princesses, both of whom had personally requested the warrant. Luna wasn’t concerned about the political implications – or, it might be more accurate to say, was less concerned by them than she was about the fact that a peer of the realm was implicated in a scheme that had endangered the lives of thousands of her citizens. Shining Armour was assisting in the raid, but was likewise fairly confident that his role as the leader of the army of a technical foreign power was pretty secure, to say nothing of his role as Prince Consort.
The pony that stood to lose the most in the resulting debacle was Sharp Salute, but at seventy-six years old, he was blissfully unconcerned. Tough as nails, and still able to hold his own in a fight - and to Tartarus with anyone who said otherwise – but if the past couple of months had taught him anything, it was that there came a time to retire, and his had come and gone. Only a fool would seek to dispute his courage, audacity, or professionalism, but even the toughest earth ponies had to stop sooner or later. It wasn’t giving up; it wasn’t giving in. It was simply the realization that you couldn’t fight forever.
It was hard. But, conversely, it was liberating.
When he knocked in the door with a mighty buck, the bones in his hips and legs sang the discordant tune of arthritis, but that wasn’t new. Pain when he moved, got up, walked around – he had kept up with the squad, but he likely wouldn’t be able to say that in a few months. It had taken a lot out of him, getting them up on their feet. Now, he would be serving them best by acting as their aegis against political blowback.
As the door went down, and he bellowed that this was an official raid, the valet who had been standing in the hall froze, and Sharp Salute gave him the look known to all guardsman of a certain era, that said ‘if you consider moving, I will consider stopping you with all possible prejudice’. Feeling the figurative hoof on his collar, the valet barely breathed.
They blew through the main entrance hall, a pair of bailiffs from the Night Court following along in the wake of Princess Luna, making arrests as they went. Eventually they came to the study, and this door was taken by Shining Armour, an azure telekinetic bolt splintering the door.
“On the ground, hooves behind your head, and if your horn so much as lights up, I shall make you swiftly wish that it had not!” Princess Luna, Sharp Salute decided, almost had the instincts of a sergeant. In his mind, there were few higher compliments, despite the slight disparity with her traditional rank.
“What the Princess said. Lord Clearing House, you are under arrest for involvement of the Incursion Event of this evening, formally lodged in the records of the Night Court as the Night of Dark Rain. You are not obliged to speak, but if you do so, understand that everything you say will be taken into consideration when you are tried for this crime.”
Clearing House sputtered. “This is an outrage! You can’t just barge in here! I’ll end your career!”
Sharp Salute gave a crooked smile. “Oh dear. And here I was, just negative sixteen years from retirement. However shall I acquire a pension now?”
Shining Armour was less glib. “Lord House, we have evidence of your involvement. You aren’t a cultist – we would know. EIS runs frequent background checks on all peers of the realm. Why go to all of this trouble?”
Clearing House snarled at the former captain of the guard. “To stop her!” He pointed a hoof at Luna. “The Breakfasters had a silly little plan about trying to engineer another alicorn ascension. If we water down the title of Princess enough, who will give a damn about it to follow?” He crossed his hooves. “Things might have gotten out of hoof, but that was simply because we got caught up in the power that the ritual afforded us.” He favoured Luna with a sickening grin. “We were ‘corrupted by power’.” A common phrase to describe the rise of Nightmare Moon, thrown into the mare’s own face.
Luna’s smile was sepulchral. “Ah, ‘power corrupts’. Now there’s a familiar tune.” The smile, silky and sickly at best, vanished from her face. “Allow me to clarify something, for the benefit of the record.
“Power does not corrupt, Lord House. True, a great many ponies have heard the saying to that effect, but few have paused to consider from whence that aphorism springs. It is not, as many believe, a warning against acquiring power, but a justification of the corrupt for their own actions. Normalizing them, because surely, in their place, all ponies would have done the same.
“Power does not corrupt. Power reveals. If morality and empathy would stop you from pursuing wicked ends, then they would do so regardless of your station, or the might you could bring to bear. If all that is stopping you is the capacity for ponies to stop you, then that is revealed when you believe yourself to be above them. I know the temptations of power better than many; indeed, my own fall is so well known as to be apocryphal. Do not believe, Lord House, that you will score any points by hiding behind that little seed of commonly held wisdom; it bears no fruit for you.”
Shining Armour was applying the manacles, and Sharp Salute looked at his sovereign, with different eyes than ever before. “That was.. quite the speech, your highness. A bit of a sore point?”
Luna looked down at the geriatric guardspony. “Sore? Perhaps. One that I am reminded of with passing glances and errant words, like a tongue finds a sore tooth. But also the benefit of earned wisdom, and so not lightly dismissed.” She gestured to Clearing House. “Have him thrown in the dungeons, until a court may be convened to try him at our leisure.”
“The dungeons? But we haven’t used the dungeons in years, your highness!” One of the bailiffs objected. “They’ve got the gift shop in them!”
Luna shook her head, suddenly tired. “Then arrange for dungeons.”
Clearing House objected again, demonstrating his lack of understanding for power dynamics in which he did not hold the winning cards. “This isn’t over!”
“Yes, my little pony.” Luna’s tone held no sympathy, nor threat, merely finality. “It is.”
30Just earlier that week in Canterlot, a single pegasus – one Extreme Outlier - had won the lotto, been struck by lightning, made a hole in one, and spontaneously combusted. At least, if one believed the Weekly Equestria News.
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>the battering ram
I'm sorry, "common phrase is somepony's name joke", you have competition.
Yes, it fell dormant for a time, but dammit, this is still gold. Just needed a bit of a shine and it's good as new.
I'm sorry to see this story get finished, but it's been a great ride as I have consumed chapter after chapter of your story. It's always such a bittersweet experience when you get to the end, or almost to the end of a story that you were having a real blast reading.
I can only hope that somehow the Night Guard will one day live on in another story
8421146
There will yet be an epilogue. It's under production even now, but I only just finished Chapter 10. One last semi-hurrah yet to come.
8421154
Well sure we have anther epilogue, but still bittersweet. I mean it seems like we won't be able to see our lovely cast of Night Watch in any stories in the future after this next chapter.
Still, I am happy that you got a nice writing gig for yourself! Every fanfic author's dream on here I assume!
8421284
I can more or less day that there is at least one more story in the Night Princess cycle yet to come, and that some of the Watch will appear, as characters from the Night Princess cycle have appeared in Night Watch. It hasn't been reciprocated as yet, because the Night Princess and stories have heretofore taken place prior to the events of Night Watch.
It's over?
Alondro just stares for a moment... then rainbow blood begins to pour from every orifice of his head... he gurgles one final utterance before collapsing, "My god... it's beautiful..."
Alondro rises from being dead to comment, "AT LAST!! Someone else besides me understands!" He weeps for joy, then dies again.
His narrator then continues, "This line of thinking is akin to the notion that those best suited to bear power are those that do not seek it, but find the mantle thrust upon them by necessity; and to their own surprise, they find they can bear it well."
I've had similar days to this...
(Aren't you dead?) Feh, when has that ever stopped a fanfic or anime character! (Touche...)
I demand a correction! The Weekly Equestria News failed to note that—prior to spontaneously combusting—Extreme Outlier also:
A little disappointed that you didn't make light of the footnote being marked by a typical number instead of Roman numerals.
Perhaps a footnote footnote saying why xxx is not an appropriate footnote.