The World Within the Web

by Lord Max

Chapter XXXI: My Past is Not Today

Chapter XXXI: My Past is Not Today

* * * * * *

In the dark cinema

I held you close enough to my heart

I was a meteor burning up

Catch me before I fall back to earth

Darlin’, I know you can carry two

Help me to go beyond solitude

Holding you on the wave we become

I was a meteor burning up

— “RD/RA,” by SoGreatandPowerful

* * * * * *

Proximo had been warned that Dyren Halforth was in dangerous mood, but he had sorely underestimated just how frightening that prospect would be. Since the Martes had entered the room, the Lord Moderator had not said a word. He simply stared with those flinty grey eyes, his jaw clenched while he listened to what the nobles had to say.

He had seen Lord Halforth displeased before. This was much, much worse. Before, Halforth never held back in expressing his distaste in what he saw, but now there was nothing readable in his expression at all. His face seemed completely blank, dispassionate, but there was something tangible about his rage nonetheless. It radiated off of him like the coldness one feels around a block of ice. Cool, clear loathing was visible in those grey eyes, so palpable that it made Proximo’s hair stand on end. One could practically feel the life being sucked out of the room when the Lord Moderator sat within.

All of that was directed squarely at the Martes while Aureliano tried to stammer out an explanation.

“You must understand, of course, my lord, that I was as shocked about these findings as anyone here,” Aureliano Martes said. He seemed nervous, but that was understandable considering the look that Lord Halforth was fixing him with. “I could never have guessed that men in my employ would have engaged in such behavior towards the prisoners. It was my mistake to put faith in them, but had I known, it would have been halted immediately.”

Aureliano tried to give a convincing smile to Lord Halforth. It died within a half-second.

If Aureliano seemed to grasp exactly what kind of danger he was in, his brother very clearly did not. Arcadio wore that same priggish little smile of his, hanging his arm over the back of his arm and looking as casual as could be when faced with the accusation of torture and maltreatment. “Indeed, brother,” Arcadio said. “I’ve been beside myself about the whole thing. The city watch has been dishonored by having such faithless men in their employ. I only wish I had known—I spend my time in the city you see, and leave the dungeons for others to deal with. Honestly, I blame myself for putting trust in them.”

Lord Halforth said nothing, but Cellia Ravenry, who had been standing off to the side, raised her voice. “You mean to say,” she asked with her arms crossed and a troubled look on her face, “that this unconscionable behavior was no fault of yours? Who exactly do you claim is responsible, then?”

Arcadio seemed miffed that he had to answer to a mere staffer, but produced several files. “Once I heard of these scandalous accusations, I probed the matter right away. I have here six members of the city watch who have confessed to the allegations in full, as it happens. Look at them, if you like. You will see that they all agree that they acted without orders from anyone.”

“They have all been arrested, of course,” Aureliano added, fidgeting with his hands while the Lord Moderator stare. “I, ah, I hope that with this unpleasantness out of the way, we might be able to return to the matter at hand. My lord.”

Proximo had to fight to control himself, seeing what was unfolding in front of him. Arcadio had found a handful of convenient patsies to take the fall, and now he expected to walk away from what he had done.

He could hear that same frustration in Lady Violet’s voice. “How can you possibly sit there and deny it?”

Arcadio chuckled. “Like this.” He gave a smile so self-assured that Proximo had to resist the urge to rip it right off his face.

Aureliano seemed more offended. “It is the truth, horse-lover. Not that you would be familiar with such a thing. My brother is perfectly innocent in all this.”

It was strange how sincere Aureliano sounded to Proximo. He did not claim to be the Warden of Honesty—he had no supposed power of telling truth from fiction—and yet Proximo did not get the sense that Aureliano was lying. Could he really be that blind? Proximo wondered. Could anyone? Or is he just lying to himself as well?

Arcadio continued on with a yawn. “You really have my deepest sympathies, my lady. But the blame of this is squarely on the men who have confessed, not me. What reason have we to reject their testimony, hm? Truthfully, I’m simply torn up about the whole thing. But this is just what happens when you have servants you can’t trust. I suppose,” he said with a smirk to Lord Halforth, “that my lord knows all about how that feels.”

The lie was so audacious that Proximo was almost impressed. Lord Halforth was gripping the arms of his chair hard enough that Proximo thought he might snap them off, and yet he did not blink when he stared at Arcadio Martes. Arcadio kept on smiling blandly, seemingly oblivious. Or, more likely, just past caring.

After a moment of silence, the Lord Moderator spoke again. “If you truly believe that there will be no consequences for what you have done,” Lord Halforth said, talking through clenched teeth, “then you are mistaken. Leave my sight, the both of you.”

The brothers Martes did as they were bid, though not happily. Cellia spoke up hesitantly after the two left. “Your honor, this is the height of falsehood. It cannot—”

“If I had any need of your personal annotations, Miss Ravenry, I would ask for them,” Lord Halforth snapped. He picked up the folders of testimony from it front of him and slammed them down beside him. “You wish to help, hmm? Then read through these. Confessions, they say, with every fact matching and every account squared. These men admit to committing this crime, no doubt on some wind of promise from their masters. Yet can I set them aside, just because I think I can see lies catching in their teeth? Is my ego large enough that I can hold myself above any testimony that is inconvenient to me?” Lord Halforth shot an angry, askance look to his aide. “Well, what is your solution, Miss Ravenry? Do you have one?”

Cellia stepped back, as though she had been struck, and said nothing further. Halforth wore his displeasure openly when he turned away. “I will comb every syllable of these documents to find something that will prove them false. But if I cannot find it? Then the law is clear.”

Lady Violet spoke in a measured tone. “My lord, there surely must be something—”

“If you have such a breadth of legal knowledge that you might conjure me some precedent to support ignoring this testimony, I am eager to hear of it, horse-lover,” Lord Halforth interrupted. “Otherwise, I care very little to hear your sniping. And do not speak to me as though we are on some kind of conspiratorial team together—like it or not, you and your friends are still suspects in this investigation.”

“There has only been one side of this case that has been consistently throwing off the truth,” Lady Violet retorted.

“Now you claim to be some paragons of truthfulness,” Halforth scoffed. He snatched a cup of that hot brown stuff he occasionally would occasionally partake in, examined it a moment, and took a sharp sip. “Tell me,” he said after he finished, “why is it that whenever you come to speak with me, your Warden of Honesty never accompanies you?”

Proximo thought Violet seemed disarmed by the question, but she endeavored to not show it. “He has had other business, my lord.”

“Or perhaps you are afraid of what he might say,” Halforth mused. “I admire your Lord Honesty’s candor. You do not seem to share that sentiment, seeing that you hide him away.” He looked between Proximo and Violet harshly. “What is it you fear he will say, hmm? Perhaps there is some knowledge relevant to this case that you wish not to reveal? I believe you said that there was no lying on your part.”

Proximo almost gasped. How did he know? Surely they hadn’t been obvious in keeping the incident with Sir Alwin and their knowledge of the Changelings under wraps. If Halforth actually had a proven reason to suspect them, he would have already said so. Yet the Lord Moderator seemed completely assured that he was right, drinking calmly as he eyed the two Bronies.

Violet remained focused. “I do not mean to disappoint, my lord,” she said without breaking a sweat, “but my honest friend would have little to say.”

Lord Halforth grimaced. “You choose your words carefully. But do not think of my as some spring-green novice to be deceived—I can see your fictions upon your faces. I do not intend to make the mistake of trust easily again.” He closed his eyes and breathed deep, his face only a moment away from anger. “Perhaps you worry that I shall allow Arcadio to slip away unpunished. If so, you could not be more mistaken. So far as I am concerned, the word of the Martes is now worth less than nothing, and I will not suffer another lie from them. There will be a reckoning for Arcadio and his ilk, just as there was one for the apostate in my charge, even if I have to burn down this entire city to get it. But now I see that there are too many variables at play for one man alone to combat. A new approach is now in order, one that neither you nor the Martes will be able to stand against. Mark this well: justice is coming. Perhaps you had best prepare yourselves.”

Those words worried Proximo. “If my lord should want—” he began.

“Want? Want?” Halforth laughed bitterly, but without any humor. “You cannot be so great a fool as to think that what a man wants matters at all. Do you think I want to be here, in this place, listening to you and them? To hear threats and pleadings and damnable lies every hour, every day?” Halforth half-tossed his cup to the table, letting it clatter down as he stood, his face twisted. “I am tired, horse-lover. I want to return home, and live out what days remain to me reading and contemplating, not bickering with the likes of you. I want that kind of peace. I want to shake my son’s hand and see the smile on a grandchild’s face. I want to see my wife again, alive and whole and both of us free. I want this world to be without pride or sin or evil, so my duty is done. But it is not, and it will not be. So I am here. No, what a man wants does not matter.”

Proximo could practically feel the rest of the room shrinking away when Halforth spoke in reproach. Neither he, nor Violet, nor Cellia dared say a word. At last, the Lord Moderator simply said, “You are all dismissed. I will need time to review these documents.”

They all stepped out gingerly, leaving Halforth alone. As they departed and shut the door, Lady Violet turned aside. “Miss Ravenry?” she asked. “I’m sorry to ask, but are you well?”

Cellia tried to appear confident. “I’m fine, my lady,” she said. She didn’t look fine. In fact, Proximo had never seen her quite so crestfallen. Her ordinary formalness had vanished, leaving her with a look of surprising vulnerability. Her face was downcast, her voice full of doubt.

Truthfully, Proximo had never seen Halforth be so short with one of his subordinates before. Strict, perhaps, but not curt and dismissive as he had been today, and certainly never with Miss Ravenry, his star pupil. Proximo could tell that she was not taking this shift well. She’s wondering what she’s done wrong, he realized sadly. It was not as though Halforth’s anger was any fault of hers.

Lady Violet seemed to understand immediately. “Miss Ravenry,” she said sympathetically, “I can tell that Lord Halforth has simply been under a great deal of stress of late.”

Cellia nodded numbly, but said nothing. “Apologies, my lady, but I… there’s work I should be doing. Good day.” She held her notebook very tightly to her chest as she walked away.

Violet seemed troubled as well as she and Proximo went on their way. He spoke up first, “Halforth suspects us,” Proximo said. They both obviously knew it already, but someone had to say the words out loud.

“He suspects everyone,” Violet said grimly. “If he had anything beyond suspicion, he would have cornered us with it. This is worse than I thought. He is lashing out from paranoia.”

Proximo swallowed. He dreaded to think of what a Lord Moderator enraged might be able to inflict upon them all. “Halforth claimed there would be a new approach to this case,” Proximo reminded her. “I don’t know whether that bodes well for us or not.”

“Clearly he is not willing to let the Martes go unpunished,” Violet replied. “That much at least is good news for us—Halforth shall never let this disgrace go uncorrected. But now I also worry. I should have known that this business with Sir Depravity would affect him so deeply—the two were partners for years. Now we have an enraged Moderator, and there is no telling what he might do.”

“So what are we to do?”

“There is little choice,” she replied. “I know that we are close. I have to believe that. If we can just work through this, it will not matter what Halforth thinks—we shall have the proof we need. All we need is to keep a tight lid upon this business with the Changelings until we have definite proof of Dabrius’ innocence. Then, we can finally put this awful place behind us and bring our friends home.”

Proximo nodded. The rest was left unsaid: the Warden of Honesty would be kept away. Violet would never say it aloud, but Proximo knew that she realized the importance of discretion here, something the Warden lacked. They could not risk revealing too much now, when even the Bronies still weren’t entirely sure what was happening. Good, Proximo thought. The Warden of Honesty would only make things worse.

“At any rate,” she continued, “we have other things to tackle today.” Violet looked forward, as determined as ever. “This is our big moment, I think.”

“We’re still lined up to meet with Sir Alwin?” Proximo ventured. He had to pray that nothing would go wrong.

“Yes indeed. After this day is done,” she said, “we will know if our mission here is still even possible. If Sir Alwin is not convinced, we shall have no chance of gaining the two votes we need. But with him on our side, we can turn all of this around.”

Proximo nodded. “We’ll need to approach this delicately.”

“Without a doubt. I suspect it will require every charm and cajole that you and I can conjure, my dear assistant.” She smiled. “But I know we can do it, all of us. Sir Alwin will be coming to the Brony quarters before long, so you and Honesty and I will—”

“The Warden of Honesty?” Proximo interrupted, alarmed. “You want him there?”

“Yes,” Lady Violet answered firmly. “It will be no surprise to Sir Alwin. Honesty needs to make his own accounting of what he did, and his own apology. It cannot come second-hand from me.”

“The Warden isn’t capable of apologizing, my lady.” Proximo couldn’t understand it. She wants to put Sir Alwin in a room with the Warden again? With so much at stake? The situation was far too precarious to leave such a risk up to someone like the Warden.

“He is capable of more than you realize,” she replied sternly. Violet took a silent moment before she spoke up again. “Do you remember when we spoke in the tunnels? When I told you that there was a time for diplomacy, and a time for force?” Proximo nodded, so she went on. “This is a time for words. I realize that. But Honesty knows that as well. He knew this moment was coming, so he came to me to make sure he did nothing wrong, even though it goes against his every instinct. He trusts in me… so now I am putting my trust in him. I wish you would do the same.”

Proximo fought the urge to scoff. He was grateful that the Warden of Honesty had saved their lives, but that didn’t mean giving him a blank cheque to disturb their progress. The Warden could not and would not change—nothing could be more obvious than that.

They continued to walk silently, until Violet spoke again. “He is not the only one with an important meeting today, as I understand it.”

Proximo nodded morosely. “I’ll be seeing Imelia later in the evening.”

“Will you be alright, my friend?” she asked with a genuine concern.

“Not even remotely, I think.” Proximo knew that this stalemate he had in his heart over Imelia couldn’t continue. He had to make a choice between one horrible option or the other. He just had no idea which. Six save me, how can I possibly explain myself?

He had no way of knowing for himself. Worse, he wasn’t even sure he could trust himself to do what was right, with doubts and temptations weighing down on him. Where could he turn?

The answer to his prayers came in words long written down, that Proximo recalled as though he had heard them yesterday. The Magic Friend: ‘While friendship is about giving of ourselves to friends, it’s also about accepting what our friends have to offer.’

Proximo turned to his friend. “Violet,” he confessed, “I… I’m lost. Imelia, this whole mess.” He sighed heavily. “What should I do?”

He could tell from her expression that this was a question she had no easy answer for. “You are between a Tom and hard place, Proxi. No one living could discount that. I do not have all the weights and measures in my mind to account for every part of this problem, I confess.” She kept her eyes down as she answered. “But there are things I do know. Imelia has suffered a great deal. More than what most people could take without giving up. If there is some greater justice that I could grant to her… perhaps after all this is done I could see that she finds a better opportunity than what she has here.”

Proximo agreed silently. No matter what happened, he intended to make sure that Imelia had a better life after his time in the Dreamweave was done than what she had before. Perhaps she could come back to the Citadel with us, he thought. Would she ever convert? He hadn’t felt it appropriate to broach the subject before, though perhaps she would be open.

“But for right now?” Violet continued. She looked deeply troubled. “I admit, I do not know her as well as you. It might be that I am misreading all of this. But I worry about what another heartbreak would do.” A yellow light from the windows poured in around them as she kept her pace. “Perhaps it would be better that she not know the truth.”

Proximo looked to her. “You think I should lie?”

The question seemed to sit uneasily with Violet. “I have told you before a little about my sisters at home, have I not? Well, my younger sister Varalia was always taken up in some new romantic fancy every week or so. She would be head over heels in affection and sighing lovestruck over some lordling one day, and then the next would have shifted to someone else.” Recounting the memory made Violet smile a little. “At any rate, once she continued pining for one gentleman for well over a month—a new record. So, recognizing rule one of the sibling handbook, I decided to investigate the object of her affections.” She gave a sly look to Proximo. “Turns out that young Lord Battings-Wei was having a dalliance with his valet, so obviously that was out of the question. But I wished to spare Varalia the hurt, so I told her that another handsome gentleman in the local circle had his eyes on her. So my sister got a new suitor, Lord Battings-Wei got to continue debasing himself, and all were happy and none-the-wiser. It was a lie, of course… but not a bad one.”

She bit her lip. “You know what we have had to do with Halforth. It is not… it is not a comfortable position. But don’t you think that sometimes, at least, a lie can be the best for all? If the truth would truly hurt her, and if some words from you would give her a measure of comfort she needs to survive, if only for a moment, then…”

Violet shook her head, and shook the thought away with it. “I truly don’t know, Proximo. This is something that you will need to judge for yourself, and I trust that you will know the best way better than I. But I have always thought that good actions are one thing… and good results another. Just keep it in mind.”

Proximo would, though the advice did little to quell his troubled thoughts. They continued to walk on silently, for a time. Lady Violet spoke again a bit further. “We shall need Honesty for this. Could you fetch him and tell him that our meeting begins soon?”

Proximo did as he was bid, tactfully choosing to keep his further misgivings on the Warden to himself. I suppose I just need to get used to it, he thought with resignation. He dislikes me, and I dislike him, but Lady Violet will have nothing to do with it. Proximo knew that he could put such things past him if he tried. He just hoped that the Warden could prove at least that civilized.

Alone again, Proximo turned Violet’s advice over in his mind. A lie, he mused unhappily, but one to stop some great harm. Would it truly help? If it did, would that be worth it? The moral calculus of it all set him on edge: how much pain did a lie need to prevent for it to be right? Where was the boundary, and where did it end? If I go through with this, what am I giving up?

That last question made him angry with himself. It doesn’t matter what it costs me, he resolved. How can I be a Generous Friend if I cannot sacrifice? Thinking about himself was the last thing he needed to do now. Imelia was the one that mattered… and he had to be willing to do whatever it took to help her. If a lie is all I have at my hands to do that… so be it.

The Warden’s room was guarded by several Honest Eyes, outside a door that was not far down the hall from Proximo’s own quarters. Crispin Peck gave Proximo a happy little wave when he saw the assistant approach, but that did not stop the others from blocking him. Strongshield, only recently out of the sick beds, stood in front of the door, while a blond man with a golden eye printed upon his chest held up a hand to stop Proximo from taking another step.

“Need something, friend?” the blond man asked amiably, though he did not make any move to step aside.

“Lady Violet has need of the Warden of Honesty,” Proximo explained. “May I speak with him, please?”

“The Great Honest One is meditating,” Strongshield grunted, gesturing with her head to the door. Looking behind her, Proximo saw that there was a soft glow coming from below the door. There was a faint sound coming from the other side, almost like the cracking of a fire.

Proximo frowned. “Well, this is urgent. I’m sure he can finish his business later.”

The idea that Proximo would interrupt the Warden seemed to unnerve Crispin considerably, as he shook his head frantically to dissuade Proximo from trying. Strongshield stared Proximo down. “Push him away if he tries to come through, Jon.”

“Sorry, friend,” the blond Honest Eye—Jon, apparently—said sympathetically. “The Warden’s not to be disturbed in his rituals. No exceptions.”

“You will make one for Lady Violet,” Proximo insisted, past his patience.

Strongshield jabbed at him with a sharp finger. “Now listen to me, you pompous lit—”

“Let him in,” came a voice from within the room. The strange sound from under the door vanished.

Strongshield withdrew grudging, while a sweaty Crispin waved Proximo ahead, wearing a smile that was far more nervous than he likely intended. Proximo opened the door and went inside the dark room.

It was a tiny, shadowed space inside. All of the furniture had been removed, save for a small table to the side, with barely anything on it. If there was a window, it had been shut and sealed, because the entire place was pitch black. In the center of the room, however, was the outline of a great crouching form cast in darkness, only barely illuminated around the edges from the light of six dim candles arranged in a ring before him. The Warden knelt, a warhammer across his knees, completely silent and unmoving. He did not turn or acknowledge that Proximo was there.

Proximo did not focus his sight on the Warden, however. His eyes were on the small table, and on the familiar things that rested upon it.

There was an ugly little sack thrown atop it, but the rest of the articles were laid out neatly, as though they were holy relics out in a reverent display. A golden medallion, inlaid with a amethyst star that bore six points. A white dagger, with an orange gem in the hilt. Proximo’s mind flashed back to a day weeks in the past—the day that they had all left for the Dreamweave. The gifts from Lord Mars and Lady Wright, Proximo recognized immediately. There was another thing as well: a simple piece of paper, rolled up and loosely wrapped with a pink ribbon. It was strange to see those things there. But Proximo was gaping at something else, the very last of the things upon that table.

It was right in the center. A little shrivelled thing, brown and dead. There was nothing left of it but a mere stem now, with the ragged ruins of half a petal or so still on it. All its original color had gone: it had curled and blackened and fallen apart. Yet there it still was.

‘It is not much,’ Proximo remembered Lady Lillian Semmer, the Warden of Kindness, saying so long ago. ‘But you’ll keep it with you, yes? And I’ll have something nicer when you come back.’ The Warden of Kindness had given Violet and Proximo a flower each, as a parting gift… and she had given one to the Warden of Honesty as well. When Proximo saw that shrivelled, blackened stem, he knew exactly what it was.

He kept it, Proximo thought, shocked. The Warden kept it all this time. Violet and Proximo both had discarded theirs the moment that the flowers started to wither, but the Warden of Honesty has stored it like a treasure, never letting it go. Proximo was so taken aback by the thought of Warden valuing the little thing so highly that he had no idea what to think. For no particular reason, he felt himself reach his fingers down to the dead flower, as though to see if it were actually there. His fingertips brushed against it lightly.

The door slammed shut behind him.

Proximo’s hand shot back, and he looked forward, startled and unsure whether the door had been slammed by the Honest Eyes outside, or by something else entirely.

“M— My lord?” Proximo ventured. He was not sure if the Warden even knew that he had entered.

“We are needed,” the Warden stated, still turned away. It was not phrased as a question.

“Lady Violet has requested your presence, my lord,” Proximo replied uneasily.

“Speaking with the knight,” murmured the Warden.

“Yes.” There was a long, pregnant silence between them, until Proximo could bear it no longer. “Will you come, my lord?”

“A moment,” the Warden grunted. Another moment passed. Then, silently, the Warden swept his hand over the six candles in front of him, snuffing them out in a single motion. He rose to his feet and turned. “We are finished,” he said as he went for the door.

“What were you even doing?” Proximo could not help but wonder.

“Asking for help,” the Warden replied without further explanation. “We go.”

So they did, with nothing else being said between them. The Warden dismissed the Honest Eyes standing guard and proceeded with Proximo towards the appointed place, with Proximo only barely keeping pace with the Warden’s huge strides.

They reached the room in good time, but Proximo paused before they entered. There were distinct voices coming from within—ones that he knew immediately. Lady Violet is already there, he thought, and Sir Alwin is with her. Proximo muttered a curse: he had hoped they would have more time to prepare. Now or never.

Proximo turned to face the Warden, determined to say his piece before whatever happened. “We’ve only one chance at this,” he warned in a low voice. “And we both know your own actions are what put us here to start with. Before, you made airs of never stooping to meet with outsiders, let alone apologizing to them. So what changed?” Proximo knew it was absurd for him to try and talk down to the Warden, but he needed the assurance nonetheless. “Do you understand what’s at stake? Do you even know what to do?”

The Warden looked down at him and said nothing, at first. He murmured after, “While friendship is about giving of ourselves to friends, it is also about accepting what our friends have to offer.”

“Excuse me?”

The Warden shifted his gaze forward, toward the door. “We know what to do,” he answered quietly. “Lady Madelin Wright. Knew there was uncertainty. Before departure, she told us. Tactical plan, for situation. One like this. ‘Universal rule of advice.’ ”

Proximo cocked his head. “That being?”

“ ‘Do not screw it up,’ ” he replied flatly. The Warden pushed his way inside without another word. Proximo followed behind, after a moment to determine if he had heard that correctly.

Lady Violet was seated, and looked up when she saw her friends enter. Next to her was Sir Alwin. The knight tensed when he saw the Warden of Honesty enter.

Proximo tried to not show his nervousness, and pulled up a seat across the table, next to an overly-large chair that he guessed was procured for the Warden of Honesty’s benefit. Proximo half-expected the Warden to stubbornly remained standing, but was surprised when the giant obligingly took the seat instead, sitting down silently.

Lady Violet seized the initiative. “I would be a fool if I thought that every problem could be solved simply,” she said. “But before we go any further, there is something that must be said.” She looked to the Warden. “My honest friend?”

The Warden said nothing, at first. Proximo took a breath and prepared for the worst.

He was surprised again. The Warden stirred and looked to Sir Alwin. “This one apologizes,” he said. “Actions it took were incorrect. Antithetical. Unworthy. Our friends have shown us this, and it was wrong to assail you.”

Sir Alwin seemed to chew on those words. “I am not...I am not blind or deaf to justice, my lord,” the knight said haltingly. “A moderator is not meant to forgive easily. If it were Halforth in my place, he would say the law demands reprisal. But if we’re to be sincere,” he continued, “it was me that wronged you first, when I went along with what Borlund and Blair had planned.”

“We do not make excuses for what we did,” the Warden said, seeming uncomfortable that Sir Alwin would try to defend him.

“No, and I’m not making any for you,” Sir Alwin admitted. “But I can’t excuse myself either. Perhaps…” Sir Alwin looked off, thinking carefully. “I never wanted to be a knight, you know. It was a tradition I found myself wrapped up in. If I had a choice, I wouldn’t be here now.” He gave a rueful laugh. “I might get my wish. If Halforth has his way, I’ll be stripped of my rank and carted off before long. So much for knighthood.”

Sir Alwin leaned away and rested his head on the back of his chair. “But until that happens… so long as I am a knight, whether I wanted it or not, I do not intend to disgrace that office anymore. That much I do owe to my family, and to everyone depending on the Authority here. It cannot continue.” He turned his large eyes up to the Warden of Honesty. “Perhaps it’s enough that we both say we were wrong, and move on. There’s more at stake here than either of us.”

The Warden of Honesty nodded solemnly, letting the agreement stand quietly.

Lady Violet smiled proudly at her handiwork, and at her friend. “Now then,” she said to Sir Alwin, “what happens next?”

Sir Alwin thought about that. “I still have the third vote in this case. I intend to use that vote justly—you needn’t worry about having two Sir Borlunds on the bench. But at the same time…” He gave a troubled look to Violet. “Light of life, this case is a mess. The evidence against the diplomats is circumstantial at best, and I cannot see how it would convict your man Greenglade, considering what testimony you have. But at the same time, that evidence is all the court has. We’ve all been searched high and low for weeks, and haven’t turned up a single other suspect. What’s the alternative theory? Who else could be behind it? It doesn’t help that your other man, Dabrius, has refused to offer an alibi.” Sir Alwin looked between the three Bronies seriously. “I still do not believe that Sir Harald or his squire were killed by your friend, but if you cannot find another explanation, there is only one verdict possible.”

“Leave that to us,” Lady Violet replied. “Sir, I swear to you that Dabrius Joh is not responsible for this crime, nor anyone else from this fandom. I cannot claim to know who the guilty party truly is, but I can say that if we have a little more time, we will summon the proof we need.”

“I hope you can. Sir Borlund is set to vote guilty no matter what, I’m afraid, but you might still be able to convince Halforth of your innocence. Though I’m not sure of even that,” he said unhappily. “It seems I have the blame for that as well. Ever since he learned the truth about the prisoners, Lord Halforth has been treating everyone with suspicion, even his own Peacekeepers.”

“We’ve noticed that much,” Proximo said. Truthfully, he suspected now that, with Sir Alwin brought back into the fold, Lord Halforth might now be their greatest obstacle to success. If he cannot judge this case objectively any longer, Proximo worried, is there any guarantee that he will take our side even if we have proof?

Lady Violet seemed to read his concerns. “Do you believe it likely that Lord Halforth will dismiss whatever proof we might bring?”

Sir Alwin shook his head. “I truly do not know. Lord Halforth is nothing like Borlund, but I cannot predict at all what he might do now. Betrayal from the people he thought above suspicion has affected him more deeply than I would ever have expected. You will need to be careful.”

“That I can do,” Lady Violet nodded. “I thank you for this, Sir Alwin. Not every man would be able to move past what we have all done.”

“It is truly the least I can do,” Sir Alwin said with a weak smile. “I have been a poor knight indeed, my lady.”

“You are a better one than you realize, sir,” she assured him. “Thank you.”

With that, it was done, and Sir Alwin took his leave. For all the doubts, the meeting had gone as well as Proximo could have hoped.

It was exactly that which Proximo found so confusing. He looked at the Warden of Honesty with uncertainty. “I thought,” he ventured, unable to shake his skepticism, “that you didn’t believe in apologizing to outsiders?”

The Warden rose from his seat. “Not about ‘believe.’ An instrument is used. Does not believe.” He fixed Proximo with a serious look. “What this one said was true. So this one spoke.”

Lady Violet laid a hand on the Warden’s huge arm. “You did well, Honesty.”

“Thanks to a friend,” the Warden replied. Violet smiled, but after that Honesty turned and looked at Proximo instead. “Not the only truth to say. We know what you fear. The girl. Kohburn.”

Proximo stiffened. “I did not ask f—”

“This one spoke… hastily. In last conversation. About her,” the Warden said carefully. “Situation tenuous. This one did not account for that. It apologizes for misjudging.”

Proximo, taken aback, tried to calculate exactly what the Warden was trying to accomplish. Is he truly apologizing for offending me earlier? he wondered. It was not something he thought the Warden would ever think to do, but no other explanation came to mind. Proximo answered cautiously. “Very well, my lord.”

“But we were not wrong,” the Warden continued firmly. “Friendship cannot be without truth. Lies evil. Help no one. Will only hurt more.”

Proximo considered the Warden’s words warily. “Why are you telling me this? What has it to do with you?”

“You are concerned for her. We see this. Offer help.”

“Yes, but why?” Proximo asked, exasperated. It made no sense to him at all: why should the Warden care at all? He and I cannot stand one another! Proximo reasoned. Why is he trying to make me feel better? “What do you have to gain from this? Why should you care what happens to her or me?”

The Warden of Honesty gave him a look of profound confusion. “Because you are our friend,” he said. The Warden spoke as though the answer was incredibly obvious.

And in an instant, a cloud cleared over Proximo’s mind, revealing something he had ignored all along. For all this time, Proximo had assumed that the Warden disliked him just as much as Proximo did the Warden. He had never known how far that was from the truth until that moment, while he weighed the words in surprised silence.

The Warden turned to leave, but not without a parting word. “Season of Keys, twentieth episode,” he said as he departed. “Keep it in mind.”

Proximo and Violet were left alone together. Lady Violet looked at her assistant expectantly. “So?” she merely asked.

“He never hated me,” Proximo said, a bit dazed. More than that, actually. “He never thought of me as anything but a friend.” But we’ve been arguing with one another this whole time! Proximo thought, still confused. We’ve never said a kind word to one another. Why wo—

Lady Violet seemed to read his thoughts. “All that Honesty is, all that he does,” she said softly, “he does for others. He doesn’t even think of himself as a person at all. Do you truly think he would ever care about the way he is treated, or what others say to him? The only person in the world he truly hates is himself.” Violet sounded immeasurably sad when she described her friend. “But for all that he says about not feeling anything for his own sake, I know that isn’t all true, even if he doesn’t realize it. He doesn’t just protect us because he has to—he does it because the Collective is the only family he has. Because he is a man, and a man who cares. A generous friend, as well as an honest one.”

Proximo could only nod. Part of him felt quite foolish, knowing that he had been holding onto a one-sided grudge all along. It was a great deal to process, all at once.

He asked for permission to take his leave, and went back to his own room. It was a small space on the far end of the quarters allotted to the Bronies, not too distant from the Warden of Honesty but largely removed from anyone else. It was a bit lonely, but in truth Proximo valued the silence—he had been having more sleepless nights than usual of late, and being amid noise would scarcely have helped. He felt oddly tired when he arrived in his room, drained after the events of the day. Stepping inside, Proximo laid down on his bed, resolving to rest his eyes while he considered all that had happened, and all that he had heard.

He had only a few hours before his meeting with Imelia. It was time to choose. Proximo thought carefully as he shut eyes.

‘Perhaps it would be better that she not know the truth.’ The advice from Violet, his lady, his master, his closest friend. Always caring, always compassionate. She had never led him astray before. And she thought that he should lie. ‘But don’t you think that sometimes, at least, a lie can be the best for all? If the truth would truly hurt her, and if some words from you would give her a measure of comfort she needs to survive, if only for a moment, then…’

‘It is cruel.’ Those words came from the Warden of Honesty. Hard, harsh, and uncompromising. Incapable of changing himself at all, viewing all who disagreed with contempt… or so Proximo had thought, until that day. ‘Friendship cannot be without truth. Lies evil. Help no one. Will only hurt more.’

He could hear his sister taunting him. ‘The choice,’ she said, the scorn practically oozing through, ‘is entirely your own.’

‘Your own…’

‘Your own…’

Proximo took a sharp breath, and looked around him. His room was gone—instead he stood in a dark, shapeless void. I’m dreaming, he realized right away, still lucid. Already he picked up on the familiar features of that recurring nightmare, the one often had of the duel years ago.

Around him was the featureless crowd of onlookers, little more than mist. Before him was his opponent, sharpening his blade on the whetstone. In Proximo’s hand was the familiar sword.

But there was something wrong.

Proximo knew the dream well—he could not count the number of times he had conjured it up on restless nights. And yet now there were details changed and twisted, altered in a way that even Proximo’s hazy perception could count. The man—the man who had ended his old life, the one meant to strike Proximo down—was all wrong. His face wasn’t the same, nor his clothes—his very shape and outline seemed foggy, warping subtly as he moved. And all around him, the eyes.

Yellow, hateful eyes peering out, watching the scene before them with cold regard. None of the dark figures in the crowd had faces to speak of, but all of them had the eyes. And all of them were fixed on Proximo Hart.

“Ready to die?” Proximo heard himself say. But the voice was not his own—it was a different pitch and tone, older and far more cruel. Still only half-thinking, Proximo thought for a moment that he sounded just like Arcadio.

There was a soft murmur from his opponent, a whisper that Proximo could not decipher. But in front of him, the man’s shape was changing, blurring and collapsing and forming again, until it looked like someone else entirely. A young woman in green, looking up in hope.

Imelia was staring at him, the same youthful face, the same dusty clothes, the same sad prettiness. But her lidless eyes were yellow, like all the others, locked on Proximo with an implacable hold. “Save me…” she seemed to whisper.

Proximo felt his sword arm raise, and his feet take a step towards her threateningly. No, he thought wildly, stop! But he couldn’t control his own body—it moved on its own, jerking forward like a marionette. Proximo strained himself trying to halt, but choked and found himself looming over her, the sword pointed to her throat.

“Save me…” she repeated, pleading desperately. Proximo wanted to scream for her to run, but found himself still trapped inside his own body, unable to act.

The silver blade in his hand rose higher, then slashed.

As Imelia fell, a red line being drawn across her throat, Proximo heard himself scream. But behind him, as he fell to his knees, he heard another voice.

“You never fail to disappoint, Hart,” it mocked, as the pitiless yellow eyes watched on.

Proximo sprang awake in a start, chest rising and falling fast as he struggled to breath. His head was pounding, his eyes bleary, and his heart racing as he tried to make sense of where he was. A quick look around told him that he was indeed in his quarters, which alone was enough to make him breathe easy.

His hand trembled as he clutched at the bedposts. A thousand times, he must have had that dream, but never… never like that. His mind was still clouded with a sense of disgust when he realized something more important. How long was I asleep? he thought in a panic. Had he missed the meeting with Imelia?

Going to his pocket in a flash, Proximo yanked out a watch and opened it to check the time. It was only after he pulled back the cover that he realized it was the watch Jestin Jen had given him—the one that was broken. Proximo cursed, set it aside, then went to his nightside table to find his normal watch, glimpsing the hour. He breathed a sigh of relief—still fair time before the moment with Imi. He settled himself down a bit.

Proximo tried his best to collect his scattered thoughts. His hands still shook a bit, but after a moment he calmed himself down. Going to the small wardrobe, he began picking out clothes to ease his nerves.

While he tried on a vest, his eyes went down to the bronze watch, the gift from Jestin Jen. On a whim, Proximo picked it up and ran his fingers over the winged-tiger on its lid, feeling the cold metal underneath. Opening it, he saw the hands of the tiny clock still frozen in place, broken.

He turned the watch over in his hand, but caught sight of something. There was a etching on its rim, small enough that Proximo hadn’t caught it before. A name—’Cabrio’ it read.

Proximo thought back, and suddenly remembered something Jestin had told him before he had left for the Dreamweave. ‘Ask around for someone named ‘Cabrio Temley’ while you’re there… he’s an old friend, and I’m sure he’d love to help you out.’ Proximo had completely forgotten those words after a month in the city, much to his shame.

Jestin had made a friend here, even in this place, when he visited last, Proximo mused. Proximo tried to think of Jestin, the Warden of Laughter, friend to everyone he met. Always smiling, so seemingly carefree, and yet with an odd wisdom underneath it. He clutched the watch tightly in his hand. What would you do, Jestin, were you in my place?

Proximo thought about that for a long moment. He raised his hands to his face, steepling the first three fingers on either hand before his mouth as he prayed. Generous Friend, Honest Friend, Six and One… what should I do?

Only one answer came to mind, in the words of the Warden of Honesty. ‘Season of Keys, twentieth episode.’

Proximo walked to meet with Imelia, donned in fresh clothes—a white shirt, a purple vest, and a gold chain around his neck with the symbol of three pointed diamonds at the end. It might have been token, but it eased him to have his Element close to his heart now. Following the new protocol set up by the Wardens, he covered himself in a cloak and proceeded down to a side-exit of the Palace, where a small team of guards awaited him. Surreptitiously, they all departed the manse and proceeded to High-Hill Lane, where Imelia lived. Drawing himself up to the yellow door of her building, Proximo opened the door with a spare key and proceeded up, leaving the guards in the foyer below.

Summoning his courage, Proximo knocked on Imelia’s door, and waited a moment. She only took a moment to answer, opening the door and greeting him with a smile. “Evening, Proximo!” she said as she beckoned him inside. Her hair was drawn up into a pretty bun, and she wore a fine dress that was a verdant green, matching her eyes. She had dressed up considerably to meet him.

“Come in, I’ve got some new information to show you,” Imelia said excitedly as she sat down on the couch in the living room. There were scattered papers sitting atop a small coffee table in front of her seat, and she began sifting through them to find what she was looking for.

Proximo took a seat beside her. “How have you been?” he asked as he settled down.

She smiled. “Just fine. Busy, though. There’s been a lot to do, considering all that’s been happening recently, but I’ve managed.”

Proximo nodded. “I hope we’re not putting too much on your shoulders,” he said. “Your help has been much appreciated, of course, but if you think the demand is—”

“Oh no, not at all,” Imelia assured him. “Honestly, it’s nice to have something to do—I never really had a job like this before. Aha!” she exclaimed, pulling out a few bound sheets of paper. “Here’s the ticket—take a look.”

Reading over the page, Proximo saw immediately that it was a registry of names—more than he could count, all arranged in no evident order but with a series of check marks next to the names of some. Proximo read a small paragraph at the top of the first page, then looked back to Imelia. “A list of guards at the Palace?”

“The Martes keep them for their payroll. That one there is supposed to be all of the guards currently employed in the city watch,” she explained. “Except that it isn’t right.”

She held up another sheet of paper, one with other names written on it. “My friend in the guards says that, ever since the riot, these ones haven’t been showing up for their rounds. No word of transfer, not a hint they were leaving the service—just gone. When he asked around about it, no one could say where they were.”

“Perhaps they were killed during the riot?” Proximo asked, starting to put things together.

“Not officially, at least. Arcadio reported who the casualties were after that day—these men weren’t among them. They keep being listed on the books, but they seem to have vanished off the face of the Web. And that’s not all.” She pointed to a few other names on the list. “A week or so before the riots, my friend started noticing new people hanging around the guard quarters. They were in plainclothes, but they were receiving training in weapons only guards usually had. Like crossbows.”

Proximo picked up on what she meant immediately. “Who were these men?”

“No one recognizable, though apparently a few were Animen. They claimed to be new recruits. My friend asked for their names, and they gave them, but when I cross-referenced the ones they gave with that roster there, not one of them showed up. Completely off the record. And then, after the riot… gone. He hasn’t seen them since.”

Proximo started to piece together the scenario in his mind. A small group of guards, easily explained away, are pulled aside. Then, a group of outside operators—with no official ties to the guard—start receiving training in arms. Then both of them vanish right after the riots, the same time that a team of assassins sent after our friends were killed.

There was one piece left. “Did you learn anything about the weapons?”

Imelia nodded. “The people you had looking at the finances mentioned a sudden delivery of unmarked items to the Palace, yes? Well, my friend couldn’t be certain, but he seemed convinced that they were the weapons you spoke of. It’s just as they said—right after those crates arrived, new equipment started appearing. It would be all too easy for some to land in the hands of the assassins.”

Just as we suspected, Proximo thought. But there was a problem already digging at his mind. “This could be invaluable help,” he began, “but only if the Lord Moderator can hear it for himself. Do you believe your contact is any more willing to testify now?”

Imelia looked downcast. “I’m sorry, Proximo. I just don’t see how he could, even if he was willing. He could bring it out, but there’s no guarantee that it would be enough to put Arcadio away. And even if it was, what would happen to my friend then? He’d be hounded for the rest of his life by Aureliano and Pilara at the very least.”

“But what if this is our chance?” he asked. “We may only have only opportunity to finish all this—with Dabrius, with Arcadio, all of it. But if the moment slips past, and we no longer have any shot at justice, what will we do?” He gave her a pleading look. “There’s no way we can force your contact to testify for us. But there must be something we can do to sway him, if you ask. I’m sure we can make accommodations for him, after the trial is done.”

Imelia mulled over the idea. “What kind of accommodations?”

“Passage to somewhere else in the Web, if he desired. Or a place at the Citadel, as well. We are Generous Friends, after all, and we don’t abandon those who help us.”

She considered the idea carefully. “I cannot promise anything, of course. But I’ll see what I can do.”

Their talk was interrupted by the sound of shuffling feet behind them. “Imi, dearie, do we have company again?” came the voice of an old woman.

Imelia sighed. “Yes, grandmother, it’s like I told you. Proximo is visiting again.”

Lady Kohburn, every bit as wizened as ever, hobbled into view, smiling at the two of them. “Oh, how nice! It’s wonderful to see you again, young man! Where’s the little orange gentleman who was with you?”

It a moment for Proximo to recall who she was referring to. “You mean Crispin?” he asked, remembering that the mute had accompanied him to Imelia’s house last. “I’m afraid he couldn’t join me this evening.”

“What a shame, such a little gentleman!” Lady Kohburn took a look at the piles of papers on the coffee table, and pointed a shaky finger at it all. “Now what’s all this mess, Imi? Are you scrapbooking again?”

“No, grandmother, it’s that new work I was telling you about,” Imelia explained patiently. “The one I’ve been helping Proximo with?”

“Well, it’s just all over the table, dearie! Be sure you don’t leave it out.”

“Alright, grandmother, I promise I’ll cl—”

“I know,” Lady Kohburn said with a vacant smile, “why don’t I make you both some tea, while you clean it up, Imi.”

Imelia cringed. “No, Gran-Gran, you truly don’t need t—”

“I’ll be right back!” the old woman announced, making her way to the kitchen haltingly.

Imelia breathed deep and ran her hands through her hair as Lady Kohburn shuffled away. Proximo touched her arm and said, “I’ll go help her.”

Imelia gave a thankful smile, and Proximo went to aid the lady.

The kitchen was a small space, but thankfully Lady Kohburn didn’t need much room. She was making her way around and picking up needed supplies when Proximo cleared his throat. “Pardon me, my lady,” he said, “would you care for any help?”

Lady Kohburn gave a gummy smile in return. “Oh, how kind of you! If you don’t mind, yes. It gets a little hard for me to carry everything.”

Proximo obliged and started putting everything together for the tea. While he did so, Lady Kohburn spoke up again. “So what do you do for a living, dearie? I’m not sure Imelia ever told me.”

“Assistant Warden of Generosity, my lady,” said Proximo, conscious that Imelia probably had, in fact, already told her grandmother all this. “A servant of the fandom.”

“Ooo, how exciting! Which fandom do you work with here in the city, then?”

Proximo hesitated, just as he was getting out cups. Did Imelia want her to know I was a Brony? he wondered. Proximo doubted that the little old woman would hold it against him, but considering most others he had met since coming to the Dreamweave…

Proximo pushed that doubt from his mind. This city is getting to me, he had to admit. “I have the honor of serving the Brony Collective, my lady,” he said with a bow of his head, “and the Six Friends with it.”

Lady Kohburn had a little jump of realization. “Oh, that’s right, Imi told me that! Sorry, I hope you forgive a mad old woman for forgetting. I barely remember to keep my head on, these days.” She still smiled, but seemed just a bit more absent. “So, are you new in the city, then?”

“Well, I have visited the Dreamweave before, but that…” Proximo swallowed. That was before the duel. He felt a shiver across the scar upon his chest. “Well, this is the first I’ve visited and been in such good company as yours, my lady.”

The lady gave a little cooing laugh. “Such a little flatterer! Well, you’re always welcome in my home, dearie. It’s wonderful to see Imi with friends again. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

They worked in silence for a minute or more, until the tea was ready. Proximo took a cloth in his hand and picked the kettle up by the handle, turning to rejoin Imelia. But before he left the kitchen, a hand pressed on his chest and stopped him.

“Just a mo’, before we’re done,” said Lady Kohburn. There was a smile on her face, but one strangely more serious than before. She kept a light, but steady hand to keep Proximo in place. “A word, quickly. You know that I’m a mad old woman, don’t you?”

Proximo was about to protest, but Lady Kohburn cut him off. “Now, don’t try to lie about it, really. I know that I’m a mad old woman,” she said sadly. “Everyone’s known for some time now. It can’t be helped, I’m afraid. I meant what I said earlier: I don’t know what I’d do without my Imi. She’s the only kin and friend I’ve left, and she’s given up so much to take care of an old bat like me. I’m not… I can’t always remember everything, but don’t think that I do not know her. I can see what see thinks of you.”

Lady Kohburn poked at him with a bony finger. “You be kind, you. Whatever it is that you do, you be kind to her. She deserves that much, from mad old women and from young men alike. Just remember that, Regiano.”

Proximo regarded the words carefully, then bowed his head. “I will, I promise. And it’s Proximo, actually.”

“Oh. Sorry, dearie, I forget.”

They returned to Imelia together, and sat a while with their drinks. Save for soft thanks and a few quiet words, they drank in silence, sitting together in the antiquated apartment. Eventually, once Proximo’s tea was reduced to the remains of leaves at the bottom of the cup, he felt Imelia’s hand on his arm. “Would you like to walk back to the Palace?” she asked.

Relieved as he was for a chance to talk in private, Proximo whispered, “Will your grandmother be well if we leave her alone?”

Imelia gave him a look and pointed over to the chair Lady Kohburn was sitting in. The ancient woman was sound asleep, mouth hanging open just a bit as breathed heavily.

Proximo had to smile, despite himself. “Well then, shall we?”

They departed in good order, the guards Proximo had with him tailing the two on the short walk back to the Palace of Aureliano. They crossed the square and stepped up the stairs, side-by-side, attracting glances from the Dreamweavers but nothing more. The hour was growing late, and yellow daylight was turning subtly to a ruddy-orange glow overhead. At last, they reached the doors of the Palace, and Proximo waved the guards away—he did not care to have a shadow the whole evening, not when there were private words to say.

He and Imi had been left alone. A small gap of silence lingered, until she looked out at the city below. “Quite the view,” she said.

Proximo looked out, as she did. He had been up on those tall stairs a dozen or more times over the course of the long weeks they’d spent in the Dreamweave, and every time he saw the city stretched out before him. For some odd reason, though, it seemed more significant when she pointed it out. Down the stone steps, there was a whole city unfurled—grey streets and squares, fountains living or else dry, buildings standing still or else fallen down, docks and walls and taverns and parapets all alike, with people wandering aimlessly between them. There was something different, now. He could see the burns on the Dreamweave’s face—streets and homes burned to blackened ash, left behind by the riots. No one had bothered to try and clear them away—the crumbling smears of dark soot had been allowed to remain like spots of indelible ink.

Proximo breathed deep. “It is,” he replied. “I believe I need to sit.”

Imelia looked at him, amused. “What, here on the steps? Best be careful: they might drag you off as a vagrant.”

Proximo planted himself down. “They can just try. A criminal mastermind, I am—I’ve a list of loitering offenses long enough to make a Moderator blush. Someday, all that standing around will catch up with me. But not today, I think.” He shot her a smile as he settled down into his seat.

Imi laughed. “Such a rebel. Mind if I join you? Strength in numbers, and all.”

Proximo made a sweeping gesture to the spot next to him, and so she sat down as well.

It was at that moment that Proximo became conscious again of the weight in his pocket, and what he had placed there to aid him. Reaching in a hand, he fished out that same bronze watch that Jestin Jen had given him, the one that he had meditated on earlier. It made him remember clearly what he had promised his friend before. “Imelia, do you know of a man named ‘Cabrio Temley’?

Imelia gaped at him. “How did you know?”

Proximo blinked. “Er, I suppose that’s a ‘yes,’ then?”

“I thought I had been so careful!” she cried, not acknowledging the question. “I don’t see how you could hav—” She stopped, and looked at him sternly. “Proximo, have you had people spying on me?”

“No, no!” Proximo said quickly, taken aback. “No, Imelia, I just know the name from a frie— I would never sp— oh, here, just look.”

He handed over the watch, which she eyed suspiciously. “My friend Jestin Jen—the Warden of Laughter—gave me that. He said that he’d gotten it from a man in the Dreamweave named ‘Cabrio.’ See there, the inscription on the side.”

Imelia looked over the watch carefully, and saw the name etched into the bronze casting. “Jestin Jen the Bard Errant?” she asked, looking seriously at him.

“Yes, actually,” he answered. “You’ve heard of him?” Proximo hadn’t thought of it before, but it made sense: Jestin had travelled all across the Web before he converted, including the Dreamweave. It was only natural that someone would recall him.

Imelia sighed. “Yes. Well, only a little. It was years ago, but I remember that there was some hullabaloo with Lady Willburm over a Tropeadour named ‘Jestin.’ Cabrio has mentioned him now and then—your friend left quite the impression on him.”

“Jestin has that effect on people.” Proximo thought for a moment, and put the pieces together in his mind. “He’s your contact in the guards, isn’t he? This Cabrio fellow, I mean.”

That earned him a mildly reproachful look in response, but she answered regardless. “I suppose there’s no keeping it under wraps now. Yes, that would be him. So much for secrecy—I’m not sure how cut out I am for this politics business.”

“Imelia,” Proximo ventured, “since the metaphorical cat is already out of the bag, do you think…”

“... that you could meet him in person?” she answered for him. Leaning back, Imi considered the idea carefully. “That depends,” she eventually said. “If I say no, will you go talk to him anyways?”

Proximo figured the truthful answer was best. “I wouldn’t if you weren’t inclined to allow it, but I cannot promise that my other friends would hold back.”

“Well, then I’d prefer it was you. But I need to talk with him about it first. And if he agrees, you need to do it alone, and discreetly.” She fixed him with a serious, pleading stare. “We can’t let Arcadio get wind of it, understand?”

Proximo bowed his head. “Discretion is my task and trade, Imi. I’ll take every precaution. Assuming, that is, that he actually agrees to meet in the first place.”

“It would hardly surprise me if he did. He isn’t one of Arcadio’s goons, I swear. He would help anyone if he could.” For whatever reason, talking about made Imelia look forlorn. “He’s been a good friend to me, Proximo. One of the few I have left, and better one than I deserve.”

“Whatever do you mean by that?” Proximo asked, puzzled.

Imelia looked unhappily out at the city, seeming loath to discuss it. Proximo was about to add that she needn’t tell him, if it was too private or too difficult to speak of, but she preempted him. “I used to run in all the right circles, you know. Pilara and her friends used to keep me around, and I’d laugh along at the right jokes when they did the same. Cabrio was a family friend that I knew well when I was young, not even half the same. Too earnest for jokes, but he always meant well, and was never anything but kind to me.”

Proximo could see Imelia’s small hands ball up into fists. “Well, I got older, and I let us drift apart. Had to stay in the right circles, you see, and Cabrio wasn’t fashionable anymore. He tried reconnecting every now and then, but I didn’t show him the time of day. And so I stayed in better-bred company until…” She put a hand on her stomach. “Well, until all this. The circle closed, and I was outside of it. Suddenly, I didn’t have friends any longer.” Despite what she spoke of, she gave a small smile. “Except that Cabrio came back. It was like he’d never even noticed I had left, like I’d never cast him off. He was the only person I had who could help me, at least until you came. And after all that he’s done for me now,” she continued sadly, “I couldn’t be more ashamed of all that I did to him. Of everything, really.”

In that moment, Proximo saw far more clearly why Imelia was loath to ask anymore of Cabrio Temley than he had already given. Even more, though, he saw that, despite a distance of time and circumstance, that he and Imelia were not altogether so different. “Imelia, I’ve never had occasion to tell you before, but I was the same way. You would not have wanted to meet me, before I converted.” There was a dull worry in his heart about what might happen if he told her all of it. Would she turn away, if she knew how bad I was? It was an irrational fear, but one that stuck nonetheless—he strived to push it away. “I was Arcadio, really.”

Imelia bristled at that. “Not Arcadio, no. I don’t believe that for a moment, Proximo.”

“It’s the truth,” he confessed. “Spoiled and empty and sad, that’s all I was.” As he remembered, he felt that familiar sensation snake up the scar across his chest, like a line of cold fire from his shoulder to his gut. “I never lived for anyone, save for myself. My family would try to help me, but that only made me all the worse, the way an animal hates being chained up even when it’s for its own good. I’d spend and drink and fight, and when I returned back I would curse and fling whatever abuse I could find, so long as it would hurt. It distracted me from myself.” He clutched at the stone staircase hard, as though trying to stay steady as bad memories came writhing back up. “I remember once… there was an old woman, who blocked my way in the street. I kicked her down, and ran off while she was crying there. Six save me, Arcadio, just as I told you. I’ve tried to leave it behind, but what if it’s still lurking underneath me? Sometimes I can’t help thinking that same way again, and I wonder if I’ve really changed at all.”

Proximo sat in grim, stony silence, wondering if he had said too much. He’d never spoken this much about his fears before, save to Violet, and his little sister once. Just when he worried that Imi would turn away, though, he felt a hand on his. “So what happened?” Imelia asked softly. “It took being cast out for me to realize what I’d done. What did you need, so you could see?”

That feeling biting at the skin of his chest lingered. “A duel,” Proximo replied. “I didn’t even know his name, but he left me lying in the mud, half-dead. No, wholly-dead, in truth. I died there, all at once in the mud, and then slowly in a hospital bed for three months.” He still tried to avoid thinking of it. The grinding, half-conscious agony of his recovery was a thousand times worse than the pain of the sword-slash itself. Weeks of pain, fluttering on the boundary between life and death, life barely on a thread even after the worst danger had passed. You never fail to disappoint, Hart. “It has a way of clarifying things, going through that. I don’t know if it’s right to say that I found the Collective, or if the Collective found me, but I joined because I needed to be better. To do more. So I see something other than that dead man in the mirror.”

Imelia squeezed his hand, and smiled just a little. “There you have it, Proximo.”

“Have what?”

“The difference,” she explained. “Arcadio would never admit he was wrong, Proximo. I never knew you before, but I know you now, and I’m glad that I do. You’re nothing like the rest of them, planting themselves up there in the Palace. They wouldn’t even try to change… and you have changed.” Imelia’s words were comforting, but there was something troubled in the way she looked. A slight sorrow in the way she carried herself, sitting there on the stairs. Doubt dancing in her eyes. “You’ve done better than me, Proximo. We, the both of us, saw well enough what we’d done. You managed to turn everything around. I wonder if I’m not changing for the worse.”

Proximo regarded her words, aghast. “You can’t mean that, Imelia. You haven’t done anything that w—”

“It’s not about what I’m doing, it’s about what I feel,” Imelia said, her mouth twisting just a bit. “Every day, it’s as though…” She bit down on her lip, searching for words. “It’s like everything in my life is just taunting me, every moment. Arcadio, Aureliano, Pilara, Withins-Bei, Gran-Gran, and… and this baby. It’s like they’re ripping the ground out from under me, and laughing, until I have nothing left. And I can’t stand it, Proximo. It makes me so angry that I can’t even think, that I want to rip out my hair and pull out my teeth, that I… I just don’t know what to do.”

She pulled up her legs, and balled them closely to her chest, her eyes growing wet with tears. “I hate them, Proximo. I hate them, and I’m so ashamed of it. Gran-Gran and this baby, they didn’t do anything wrong! But all I can think about is what I’ve had to give up for them. I’m supposed to take care of them both, but I feel like they cursed me.” Imelia was shaking, quivering, clutching her legs more tightly as the words came tumbling out. “How can I be so selfish to think things like that? I don’t want to feel that way, I don’t understand it at all, but I just can’t stop it. How can I be a better person now, if I still carry something like that inside me no matter how hard I try to force it away?” Her eyes were wavering, and a choke was in her voice. “How can—”

Proximo drew her into a hug before the first of her tears fell. Imelia was gripping him closely, like a drowning woman clutching at wreckage to stay afloat, but amid all of this Proximo found the way to speak. “Imelia,” he said with all the resolute confidence of a man trying to convince a friend, “you’ve never been selfish. I’ve never seen you hold back anything you could give to help someone else. And you’re only human. Don’t judge yourself on feelings you can’t control, not when your actions speak to something else entirely.” He drew himself back and looked square in her reddened eyes. “I might be the one in purple and white, but I cannot think of a soul half so generous as you. Never forget that.”

Imelia gave the best smile she could manage, and wiped at her eyes with her sleeve. “Thank you, Proximo. For everything, I mean. I… I haven’t said it enough before, but so much has changed for me in the past few weeks, and it’s all been because of you. I don’t know where I’d been, if you hadn’t come here.”

Proximo looked out, out to the west, and saw that the sun was dipping down past the horizon. A light wind went past, hinting at the calm warmth of a summer that was only starting to retreat. The colors in the air waxed and waned and changed, as the sky began to turn to orange and gold, and the darkling clouds faded away in the light.

Something stirred in him that moment, something that he could not explain. This is the time, Proximo thought sadly. He was not sure what possessed him to think this, but he knew somehow that the hour had come for the truth.

“Imelia,” Proximo began, “there’s something I need to tell you.” He could feel the weight of her green eyes pressing down on him, as temptations often do. “I’ve been worried… I’ve been sick thinking, actually, for some time now, that I might have hurt you. That… that I could have been—”

“Proximo,” Imelia interrupted, her voice small and sad, “I know.”

Taken aback, he turned to see her face in equal parts sorrow and reassurance. “I knew from the start, I think. I knew I couldn’t keep you. That night we met… I could never help myself from seeing you that way, but that doesn’t force you to lie to keep my peace of mind. We can be honest with each other.”

His stomach twisted into a tight knot. Proximo put his head in his hand. “Imelia, I’m so sorry.”

“It isn’t your fault,” she replied simply. “You did nothing but help me, Proximo, and I know you never wanted anything in return. I know it because…” Imelia gripped his hand more tightly. “Because you told me so. Do you remember when we danced? You said you didn’t need a reason to join me then, when no one else would, and now I know you wouldn’t lie. I was the only one that kept that fantasy going. I hope you’ll forgive me for that.” She looked out forlornly at the city, keeping his hand in hers. “You know, my grandmother doesn’t always see things the way they really are. I’ve always wondered if she ever drifted into those delusions willingly. Like some waking dream she slipped on, because the real world was too much pain to bear sometimes. Perhaps that’s what I’ve been doing too, all this time with you. Maybe I’ve been a madwoman as well. I suppose it’s time to wake up.”

Proximo felt her head resting on his shoulder. “But could you blame me, Proximo, if I wanted it to last?” Imelia asked quietly. “For just a moment longer?”

It was a question that needed no answer, and the rest they left unspoken. The warm, golden light of summer rested lightly on Proximo Hart, as he breathed out old troubles and breathed in new ones, as he always had and always would.

The Dreamweave below stretched on and on, ending only at the edge of Proximo’s vision, as though the distant walls and more-distant horizon were one and the same. It was a place that could be beautiful, but those black scorch-marks remained, the burns of riot and violence and old sins lingering even long after the damage was done, like a brand. Like scars.

They stayed there, two people holding hands, above that dying city.

* * * * * *

“...we must never forget, of course, that the friends we have must be protected. They must be cherished, and aided, and supported however we can, whenever we can. But aside from preserving the friendships we already have, we possess at the same time a duty to see our horizons expand. To find new connections, and new people to share in this journey of life.

“It is too easy for us to become boxed within our own cliques—to forget all that lie beyond our in-group, and thus make everyone else an ‘other’ to be avoided. There is power in solidarity, but not in isolation: that is the path of stagnation and decay. If you know only one thing, then you will have no solution to problems that lie outside your meager experience. We must seek the new and untried, the possibility untested… and the perspective that has not yet been considered.

“I once saw a green land, bathed in color. A white city on a blue mountain. A rainbow booming over a wide expanse. A town of friends… a world of friendship. A six-pointed star. We have all seen this. Now it is our task to live up to that vision.

“Everyone, within the fandom and without, has a purpose and a place, and when they join that talent with our own in the bonds of fellowship, we are all made mighty. And if we are ever to build that green land in our own time, we must reach out and gain the trust and love of every person we can manage.

“In short, the fate of Equestria indeed does depend on us making friends.”

— “Lecture on Equestria,” by Lord Feylen Mars, Warden of Magic

Comments

[Seraphem]

Better timing on this one! Also very good timing, was just thinking about poking you to make sure everything was okay! So now... Lord Moderator knows just how fucked up the martes are, has kicked out second worst Mod, Third worst Mod is right on the brink of maybe redeeming himself. The Bronies have ever growing initiative and a lead on what to do next. This is turning out SO AWESOME..... it's all going to come crashing down soon isn't it?

Also... ohhh nice title, so.. whose going to reform and put their past behind them?

— “RD/RA,” by SoGreatandPowerful

Okay so bit of a song from him again. Does make me wonder, if this is meant to be in 'verse music as well, how they know what a 'cinema' is. Still think I see how it fits into a theme the title has going, helping someone become better..... so eager to see where this goes.

Proximo had been warned that Dyren Halforth was in dangerous mood, but he had sorely underestimated just how frightening that prospect would be.

Yeah, he strikes me as quite that type. Keeps his emotions in check, but once you finally push him to far and piss him off... the phrase 'minimum safe distance' comes to mind.

his jaw clenched while he listened to what the nobles had to say.

Ohhhh this is going to be good.. how are they going to try ans weasel out of this one?

but there was something tangible about his rage nonetheless.

And this makes it all the worse, he still keeps control. Still holds himself restrained, channels the anger. For all just raw, unrestrained anger and rage can be impressive and terrifying. It is nothing compared to how bad Tranquil Fury can be.

Cool, clear loathing was visible in those grey eyes

Ohhhhhhhh... yeah he might see the bronies as all falling under of guilt by association for having 'red zone' type material in their fandom.... but now his dislike for these assholes is a lot more personal.

All of that was directed squarely at the Martes while Aureliano tried to stammer out an explanation.

And this makes me so happy. It couldn't happen to a nicer bunch of people that deserved it more!

“You must understand, of course, my lord, that I was as shocked about these findings as anyone here,”

Wait.. going to try tossing Arcadio under the bus? Of course they'll try to blame this all on something else.. even after Halforth made clear following the riot that ain't gonna fly. He is very, very much a believer in 'The buck stops here."

I could never have guessed that men in my employ

Seriously? Going to try and claim that it was all on the men, none of you knew anything about it at all......

Hard to make that claim when one of the mods saw Arcadio actively trying to prevent what was in there from being seen. Seriously... how stupid do they think the mods are? Oh right... very, because they are smack dab in the Dunning-Kruger Effect.

his brother very clearly did not.

See, there is not knowing, which I don't think Arcadio is THAT stupid. Then there is just not caring because you think you will always find a way out and have plans to just make sure everything lands on someone else. Guessing Arcadio is the former, that this is all just one smaller part of what the sees as a massive scheme he will pull off.

Or he's just such an elitist, privileged, spoiled asshole he is incapable of seeing anything going any way but what he wants.

Honestly, I blame myself for putting trust in them.

Either way, can't wait to see someone knock a few teeth out.

You will see that they all agree that they acted without orders from anyone.”

And that is totally going to fool anyone. They really are conceited assholes.. just... this is whole new levels of smug asshole.

Proximo had to resist the urge to rip it right off his face.

Really need to bring Honesty to these meetings......

Could he really be that blind? Proximo wondered. Could anyone? Or is he just lying to himself as well?

Likely both. That idiotic, short sighted and stupid. Plus just that desperate to believe his brother.

seemingly oblivious. Or, more likely, just past caring.

Keep going.. it will just make all these scheme crashing down around you all the more delicious to see.

“then you are mistaken. Leave my sight, the both of you.”

Oh yes... yessss, very good. Halforth is way to smart to fall for this. Yet also possibly a bit to Lawful and hidebound to be able to do anything without enough direct proof to hold up in court. At least directly. All kinds of ways I'm sure he can make them regret this while being fully by the book.

Cellia spoke up hesitantly after the two left. “Your honor, this is the height of falsehood. It cannot—”

Also, YAY Cellia!

I would ask for them,” Lord Halforth snapped.

Not cool Halforth. Not cool. We get you are pissed, and rightly so, but taking it out on her is just not right at all. Even if just being so fucking pissed you can't help but lash out is understandable. Hopefully once you calmed down you'll apologize.

“Well, what is your solution, Miss Ravenry? Do you have one?”

And yup, just as I thought. He knows what the truth is, yet has to stick to the Law, can't see how to get around the presented facts. And that infuriates him. He knows what is right, and what the law allows, and possibly for the first time in any major way is forced to confront how those two and not one in the same. The classic "To be Lawful or Good" dilemma. Going to be very interesting to see how he ends up working past this. How this revelation might cause him to grow.

“why is it that whenever you come to speak with me, your Warden of Honesty never accompanies you?”

OHHHHHHH yes, yes, please do so, please. Seriously Honesty might be the one person left on this island Halforth fully respects and will trust. They really do need to get those two interacting more.

How did he know? Surely they hadn’t been obvious in keeping the incident with Sir Alwin and their knowledge of the Changelings under wraps.

Likely, doesn't mean Halforth isn't smart enough to know something is being hidden. And yeah.... seriously, get honesty into all of this!

I do not intend to make the mistake of trust easily again.

ouch... and that one victory might just make further ones harder. They did well in making sure he distrusted and loathed the martes, but did not do them any favors in getting them to take their word either.

There will be a reckoning for Arcadio and his ilk, just as there was one for the apostate in my charge, even if I have to burn down this entire city to get it. But now I see that there are too many variables at play for one man alone to combat. A new approach is now in order, one that neither you nor the Martes will be able to stand against. Mark this well: justice is coming. Perhaps you had best prepare yourselves.

Oh fuck... this is both epic...... and epicly fucking terrifying.

I want to see my wife again, alive and whole and both of us free.

Wait..... 'alive and whole'? Does that mean? Oh.... ohhhhh boy....

I want this world to be without pride or sin or evil, so my duty is done. But it is not, and it will not be. So I am here. No, what a man wants does not matter.

This.. this whole scene just... just holy FUCK! He is just plain terrifying when he is pissed, and given how driven, disciplined, willful he is..... and just how sure of himself... He does come off as a decent man overall, one who wants to do the right thing, but given how he holds that obeying the law is the best thing possible.... this has shades of him possibly being on the verge of slipping into full on Knight Templar mode. Not anything that he IS, but warning signs that this could lead to it. Yet, at the same time, it could lead to him growing from it, coming to see that The Law is not the end all and be all of what is good. It's really going to come down to which path he wishes to take.

But still that scene was just awesome in the most literal sense of 'inspiring awe'

“I’m sorry to ask, but are you well?”

Yes, yes, go on, spread the love and compassion of the Six. She could really use it right now.....

She’s wondering what she’s done wrong

Yup, to young and to naive about things to see the larger picture and just... given she brought all this to light, likely a bit of added blame on herself....... Crap.. I think we are not needing a Twilight tier friendship speech at this point....

All we need is to keep a tight lid upon this business with the Changelings until we have definite proof of Dabrius’ innocence.

Fair enough... but you really might want to bring honesty in with you, to try and prove to Halforth how little you have to hide. Have they just totally not noticed the way Halforth gets along with him?

the Warden of Honesty would be kept away.

The Warden of Honesty would only make things worse.

Mods are not the only ones making the wrong decision for logical reasons in this story......

I suspect it will require every charm and cajole that you and I can conjure, my dear assistant.

I get what she means, but all I can think about is that the way it's worded... she's just covering her basis in case he's straight, gay, or even bi so one of them can get work on him.

Honesty needs to make his own accounting of what he did, and his own apology. It cannot come second-hand from me.”

Makes sense. Also, having him around to passive intimidate Alwin might not hurt.

The situation was far too precarious to leave such a risk up to someone like the Warden.

Proxy.... this Warden not-quite-hate is getting really old......

He trusts in me… so now I am putting my trust in him. I wish you would do the same.

Proxy.... fucking LISTEN TO VIOLET ON THIS FOR ONCE!!!!!

The Warden could not and would not change—nothing could be more obvious than that.

I need a more powerful emote.......

Six save me, how can I possibly explain myself?

be honest, and again, make sure she knows you will get her the fuck out of here.

The Magic Friend: ‘While friendship is about giving of ourselves to friends, it’s also about accepting what our friends have to offer.’

Trully, in times like this, seek the great Wsidom of the Ponies. Now what lesson could apply to him and honesty?

Dragonshy? Never count a friend down or think they can't handle something? Applebuck Season? Don't be a stubborn idiot?

You are between a Tom and hard place, Proxi

Okay story, all that annoyance at Proxy's view of Honesty.. all gone for now, very well done.

perhaps after all this is done I could see that she finds a better opportunity than what she has here.

See, once again, Violet gets it.

Perhaps she could come back to the Citadel with us, he thought. Would she ever convert?

After all you've done for her and how well the bronies have shown her Friendship, I would not be surprised in the least.

Also, good thinking Proxy!

It was a lie, of course… but not a bad one.

So they need to divert her affection to another Brony then?

Oh Co-in! We have yet another job for you.

But still, white lies, lies to help a friend... makes sense, still, this is a case where leading her one might cause larger issues later.

If the truth would truly hurt her, and if some words from you would give her a measure of comfort she needs to survive, if only for a moment, then…

But what about after that moment?

But I have always thought that good actions are one thing… and good results another. Just keep it in mind.

So... The ends justify the means? Not a very good way to see things overall.....

He dislikes me, and I dislike him, but Lady Violet will have nothing to do with it.

I don't know if he dislikes you.. and maybe take the damn hint and get over yourself about your own crap with him.

If I go through with this, what am I giving up?

Do lie the dilemma he's finding himself in though and how he's struggling with the right thing to do.

How can I be a Generous Friend if I cannot sacrifice?

Well, those two aren't the same... you want a member of the order of the Lightbringer for that one.

If a lie is all I have at my hands to do that… so be it.

And fair enough, this does make sense, and is rather sweet. Just seems potentially short sighted.

Proximo saw that there was a soft glow coming from below the door. There was a faint sound coming from the other side, almost like the cracking of a fire.

Seriously...... if that is not an actual meditating before a fire... what the buck is going on!?!?!?!?!

“Now listen to me, you pompous lit—”

HEY! No fighting amongst each other, you have big enough problems right now!

The strange sound from under the door vanished.

So not a normal fire then....

He kept it, Proximo thought, shocked. The Warden kept it all this time.

Yup... again, you really need to get over yourself with him.... Realize just what is really going on and that he is not what you think.

“Asking for help,” the Warden replied without further explanation. “We go.”

Does not mean he is not cryptic as fuck though.

“While friendship is about giving of ourselves to friends, it is also about accepting what our friends have to offer.”

OHHHHHH very well said.

Do not forget Proxy, he is a Warden of the Six for a reason, he is a devout follower of their teachings. Even if he does need a reminder now and then.

“ ‘Do not screw it up,’ ”

Okay that.. that is bucking perfect.

He was surprised again.

Only because he refuses to not doubt, dismiss, and think far to little of his friend.

It cannot continue.

Oh hell yes way to go. Turning him around, and giving him a bit of sympathy. Tossed into a situation he was not ready for, that he never wanted, just trying to muddle through... yeah... you are now off the 'worst mod' list.

“Perhaps it’s enough that we both say we were wrong, and move on. There’s more at stake here than either of us.”

And surprisingly to the point and smart when he's not paralyzed by fear.

I cannot see how it would convict your man Greenglade

Well, small favors there. Plus so far not one scrap of evidence linking the Wardens or anyone aside from Dabrious to anything, So another small bonus. Still, not good till he's out too.

is there any guarantee that he will take our side even if we have proof?

Ehhhhhhhhhhh.... will depened on just what that proof is.

“You are a better one than you realize, sir,” she assured him. “Thank you.”

And hence we see the power of the bronies at work. Come to the Pony side Alwin.... we have cupcakes!

“What this one said was true. So this one spoke.”

Yup, proxy really does not get how honesty thinks.

“Friendship cannot be without truth. Lies evil. Help no one. Will only hurt more.”

And he is not fully wrong.... I am mostly with him on this. Tell her the truth, but in the gentlest way possible.

He and I cannot stand one another!

Someone is projecting hard.

And in an instant, a cloud cleared over Proximo’s mind,

FINALLY!

“Season of Keys, twentieth episode,”

Not looking it up right now.. but guessing that's the AJ Key episdoe... good advice.

Part of him felt quite foolish, knowing that he had been holding onto a one-sided grudge all along.

Where's RD when you need her to clap him upside the back of the head for this?

It was time to choose.

And do like both wardens are telling him different things, but both with good reasons. This is a well done dilemma.

“You never fail to disappoint, Hart,” it mocked, as the pitiless yellow eyes watched on.

Well.. that is one hell of a nightmare.. and still wondering just what else the Eyes might be meaning. Have some ideas, but several options are open.

he began picking out clothes to ease his nerves

Definitely takes after Rarity.....

What would you do, Jestin, were you in my place?

Find a way to enjoy this and have fun, while keeping everyone's spirits up rather the sliding into feeling sorry for himself.

When he asked around about it, no one could say where they were.

Oh ho ho.. every scrap of evidence counts.

though apparently a few were Animen.

Not surprised.

He’d be hounded for the rest of his life by Aureliano and Pilara at the very least.

Not if he got far enough away from this place.

Did Imelia want her to know I was a Brony?

Does she even know what a Brony is?

“Well, this is the first I’ve visited and been in such good company as yours, my lady.”

Very smooth.

You know that I’m a mad old woman, don’t you?

Ohhhh? maybe not quite so mad as she appears?

I can see what see thinks of you.

Okay, so yes, but aware of it and trying to not be a burden as best she can. Very nice.

you be kind to her.

That.... will never be in doubt.

No one had bothered to try and clear them away—the crumbling smears of dark soot had been allowed to remain like spots of indelible ink.

A dying city.. slowly, more and more, no one eager to replace that which is lost or destroyed.... very good symbolism.

Imelia gaped at him. “How did you know?”

Found her baby-daddy I guess?

It was only natural that someone would recall him.

Doubly so if he made friends here with the guy that knocked her up.

He’s your contact in the guards, isn’t he?

Oh!..... Well that's even better. Bit more of a chance to talk him into doing the right thing then.

“I wouldn’t if you weren’t inclined to allow it, but I cannot promise that my other friends would hold back.”

Fair enough answer, and to the point.

It was like he’d never even noticed I had left, like I’d never cast him off.

Okay, yeah that guy, totally needs to get brought into being a Brony, he's already halfway there.

“Not Arcadio, no. I don’t believe that for a moment, Proximo.”

I'm with her.... I get the idea but... yeah bit to extreme.

“Spoiled and empty and sad, that’s all I was.”

See, you left out 'sadsitc sociopath' totally not the same.

Arcadio, just as I told you.

No... not quite. Bad yes, but he's still worse. By far.

They wouldn’t even try to change… and you have changed.

And she gets it. Seriously story, DO NOT SCREW HER OVER!

I just don’t know what to do.

Proxy... hug her. NOW!

Proximo drew her into a hug

her voice small and sad, “I know.”

So does get that he isn't in love with her. She is quite sharp and, well this is going better then could be hoped for.

“But could you blame me, Proximo, if I wanted it to last?” Imelia asked quietly. “For just a moment longer?”

No, not in the least.

They stayed there, two people holding hands, above that dying city.

All of the d'awwwwww

This was just.. just.. so sweet, and so glad she was able to take this well. Might be a bit of a cheapening of the build up to have it all be for naught, but was still a great set up and great conflict... and never did outright say which choice he had gone with either... though I'm thinking honesty.. I hope.

Still, one mess dodged, one step closer to answers... and Proxy....... still noting no one has outright told her she is free to come with them when they leave and get out of this hell hole.

Still very sweet moment and just.... the feels....

“In short, the fate of Equestria indeed does depend on us making friends.”

And then this.....

Wow... just... wow. That was... that was just..... damn. So perfectly said.

Sorry this one was a bit briefer then normal, most of the stuff rather spoke for itself, great progression plus really tired, been churning out way more reviews then normal. Still, nice twist of Halforth being driven far enough he's a wild card now, all while they get Alwin on their side. So still progressing, but not making everything TO easy. Very well done.

[Yami Vizzini]

Well, that's another potential problem or two cleared up by Proximo and Imi.

On the other hand, sounds like the Dreamweave is going to get a much bigger "peacekeeping" force soon....

[werewolf435]

this has shades of him possibly being on the verge of slipping into full on Knight Templar mode. Not anything that he IS, but warning signs that this could lead to it.

"Traitor, Xeno, heretic they are as one to us; we will purge them in the fires of our machines devious~"

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-Lord Moderator Halforth