Fifth Knight
“Hello again, Rarity,” Vice-Principal Luna said. Her demeanor was professional, but her eyes looked a little tired. “Bad dreams again?”
“No... I mean, yes?” Rarity let herself into the room and closed the door, being careful that it wouldn't swing open again. This was a private matter. “The thing is, they weren't mine.”
“That's... confusing.” Luna steepled her fingers. “Were you, and I cannot stress enough that this is not a euphemism, doing strange magical things with your friends again?”
Rarity sat down on the chair. “Afraid so.” She sighed. There wasn't really a good way to ask this question, or a good place for it—but this place was coming close. As much of a standard vice-principal's office as it was—even complete with generic posters of one-word virtues beneath filtered landscapes—Luna's constant calm presence made it a lot easier to talk.
“I'd rather not get too far into specifics,” Rarity said, “but I am here for some advice. Let's say... let's say I have this friend.”
Luna didn't respond; she just kept up her serene gaze. Rarity continued. “And this friend is very very smart, even brilliant, but it only works when she's directing her mind at any problem other than herself. When her problem-solving skills are directed inward, she is incredibly, cosmically stupid.”
Rarity found herself leaning forward, hands on Luna's desk, talking faster. “And suppose furthermore that I've just learned that this friend has been having trouble sleeping, at least as bad as my own if not much much worse, and that she would far rather deal with my own problem than hers. And that she brushed off any attempt on my part to ask her about it this morning, and that now I think she's avoiding me, and—”
Luna held up a hand. “Let me save us some trouble. You're talking about Twilight Sparkle.”
Rarity processed that for a few seconds. Eventually she realized that at some point she'd stood up. “You shouldn't know that.”
Luna looked away, setting a hand on her chin to scratch at her cheek. “You know,” she said, and then stopped. Rarity was reminded of a chess grandmaster planning her next move—reaching out, almost touching a piece, halting at the last moment before she could be forced to commit.
Finally, the move. “You know, part of this job involves a certain level of confidentiality. If a student comes to speak with me about any concerns they might have—for instance, you coming here to talk about sleep, and repeatedly—” the words were spoken with unusual emphasis “—then that student, whoever she may be, is trusting me not to repeat what she says to other interested parties.”
Luna sucked in a breath, closing her eyes. “There are exceptions, of course. I can share information with other professionals, if it's in the student's best interest. And I can certainly act drastically if there is a clear and present danger to the student in question.” Her eyes opened, and she leaned forward somewhat. “Is there such a danger?”
Rarity took a moment to reply. “No, there isn't.”
Luna sighed—almost certainly in relief—and returned to a neutral position in her seat. “Then I couldn't share anything about this hypothetical student unless said student directly gave me permission. Even to a good friend of hers who truly cares about her, even if I have reason to believe that this friend would be able to help her—my hands are tied.” She held out the hands in question on her desk, close together. “I hope you understand.”
Rarity did understand. She perfectly understood, and that was why her hands were curling into fists, why her breaths were coming faster through her nose, why the only color she could see at that present moment was red.
“I can't believe her!” She was on her feet, and the chair was toppling over behind her. “After all the spiel she gave me!” She dropped a bit of the accent from her voice, just long enough for an impression. “Oh, you need help, Rarity! You have to let other people in, Rarity! All while she goes behind our backs, behind my back! All so she doesn't have to practice what she preaches, all so she doesn't have to let anyone else know there's an issue!”
She paced from side to side, barely even noticing the fallen chair or anything else in the office, really. “I mean, at least I talked about it! At least I consistently took advice, even if I was a little slow on the uptake! But her! How can she be so stupid?”
Rarity stomped her foot. “How can someone so smart, and clever, and kind, and lovable, and pretty, I mean actually very pretty, and altogether breathtakingly spectacular be so... so....”
She trailed off. Now that she'd run out of steam, there were a couple of things to notice. There was the chair, of course, which she leaned down and righted. And then there was Luna staring calmly at her, but now there was an element of—of waiting, as if for a penny to drop—
Smart. Clever. Kind, lovable, very pretty.
Breathtakingly spectacular.
The penny dropped. It had been in the air since her dance in that dream the previous night, possibly for even longer, and when it dropped it made a noise like the smashing of continents in Rarity's mind.
Her mouth opened in a capital O. Eventually she found enough self-possession to mumble, “I'll be back later,” and let herself out of the office. Whereupon she ran like hell.
“Sunset Shimmer!”
When Rarity found her, Sunset was sitting on the pedestal of the portal, doodling something in her notebook. Rarity ran out the front door of the school, down the front walk, and clambered up onto the pedestal. “I need to ask you something right now,” she panted.
Rarity caught a glimpse of what was probably some upcoming graffiti art, and then Sunset closed the notebook to give Rarity her full attention. “What's up?” Sunset smiled in a knowing way, and Rarity really really hated that.
Rarity pushed past it. “I need you to answer a yes or no question.” She stuck out her hand, ready to be grabbed. “Am I in love with Twilight Sparkle?”
Sunset stared levelly at her. Then she held up her hand, and plopped it down atop Rarity's. There was a brief glow in her eyes, and then she let go. “Yes.”
Rarity nodded slowly. “Oh.”
“Yeah, I don't think I actually needed the geode for that.”
“Oh.” Rarity turned away from her, letting her legs dangle over the edge of the pedestal, and held her head in her hands. Really, it was a bit redundant, but everything seemed so confusing right now that it was nice to have one sure thing. “Oh, no.”
A pause followed, and then Sunset said, “'Oh no?' That's not exactly the response I was expecting when you figured this out.”
“Well, it really makes things far more complicated than—” Rarity caught herself mid-word, and glared at Sunset. “When I what? Have you been expecting this?”
Sunset hummed under her breath. “Well, the short version is that Rainbow Dash owes me twenty bucks. Long version? I've kind of had a feeling about you two for a while.” She frowned. “Huh. Long version wasn't that long. Anyway, back on topic, you're looking pretty stressed out about it.”
“She's been sleeping worse than I have,” Rarity said, “and I don't know for how long.”
There had been a slight humor in Sunset's eyes for this whole conversation. It vanished.
After a few seconds, since Sunset didn't have a response, Rarity continued, “So obviously it would be nicer if I had to deal with one unexpected development, rather than two. And before you ask, no, I haven't just tried talking to her about it because she—”
Rarity cut herself off. A flash of purple had just become visible in the front hall of the school: Twilight herself, walking to a class like she hadn't a care in the world. She'd put her concealer back on, and didn't look the least bit tired.
After a moment, she glanced out the glass doors, seemed to notice Rarity, and stiffened. Then her gaze returned straight forward and she marched out of sight, like she had a lot of cares in the world.
“Because that happens,” Rarity said. “She's been avoiding me.”
“Yikes.” Sunset clicked her teeth and scooched closer on the pedestal. “So. What are you gonna do about it?”
“I don't know! I don't know.” Rarity slumped. “I don't know what I'm going to do about liking her, and I don't know what I'm going to do about her problem. Why must these things be so complicated?”
“They are?”
“Of course they are! I don't even know if Twilight likes me back!”
And Sunset just looked at her.
And Rarity thought about the past week, and how much of it Twilight had spent devoted to her, and of dancing through a clear blue sky. “Ah.”
“Yup.”
“That... is gratifying.” Rarity had always enjoyed a bit of understatement. A pleasant heat warmed her chest, and for the first time that day it seemed like she had some life in her. “And it answers one of my concerns, but not the other.”
“You don't know what to do about Twilight not getting enough sleep.” Sunset shrugged. “What's the best idea you've got, then?”
Rarity sat there for a while, feeling the sun on her face. “I... think my instincts are telling me to give her space. Not to try to push her to deal with this until she's ready. Whatever's troubling her, she deserves the freedom to confront it when she is comfortable with doing so.”
“All right.” The statement was halfway to a question.
“And that would be all well and good except for one teensy thing.” She sucked a breath through her nose. “My 'instincts' have been completely and utterly useless this entire week.”
Sunset frowned in thought, and didn't say anything. Rarity was suddenly reminded of Fluttershy in a way, but just as suddenly she realized there was hardly any comparison. When Fluttershy listened, it gave the speaker license to rant, rave, and monologue her heart out without having to think about it. And this was a very fine thing, but Sunset's listening was active, even probing. It was forcing her to pause, to think, to re-evaluate. To provide more than one side of the argument.
And so Rarity thought. “I would still be having my problem if Twilight hadn't very rudely barged into my dream to deal with it. I'd still be running on not enough sleep, burning myself out. And no,” Rarity added, “she should not have done it the way she did it, but she was absolutely correct to try to help. Even if I didn't feel like I was ready to be helped. Maybe sometimes you can't wait that long.”
Sunset kept looking at her, and then, at last, she smiled. Whatever test that had been, it felt like Rarity had passed. “Thank you, Sunset,” she said, pulling her close for a tight one-armed hug. “You know, sometimes I think you're the smartest person I know.”
“Eh, it's nothing special. Just good old fashioned horse sense.”
Rarity immediately released her grip on her former friend. “Boo. Boo, I tell you!” But Sunset's self-satisfied grin couldn't be denied, and Rarity found it infecting her own face. “I refuse to acknowledge that. I refuse!”
“You know you love it. Anyway, you did all the work. I just sat here and looked pretty.” Sunset winked. “So. What are you gonna do?”
Rarity swung her legs out, and jumped off the pedestal. It felt incredibly easy, like she was lighter than air. “I'm going to go find Twilight Sparkle, and give her a taste of her own medicine!”
Sunset leaned forward. “And if she keeps avoiding you?”
Rarity grimaced. “Then I just have to wait in the one place I know she'll be.”
The school hallways were winding, and twisted, and endless.
Rarity walked resolutely onward, calling out Twilight's name over and over again. How long had she been searching? Certainly long enough for everyone else to have gone on home, that was why everything felt so empty around her, but Twilight was still here. She could feel it.
But then where was Twilight? And where was Rarity? And why was it so strangely dark, and why could she feel the corridors shifting around her with every step, sending her deeper and deeper into a labyrinth of lockers and classroom doors with no exit—
Mm, that didn't quite seem right, did it?
Rarity stopped, and squinted, and walked to one of the lockers. Usually, they were numbered sequentially. Right now, the numerals were quite as unreadable as if she were dyslexic, nearsighted, and concussed all in one. Hadn't she read somewhere, how you couldn't read in dreams?
And then she heard the familiar whinny, and whipped herself around at the sound of galloping hooves that echoed down the hallway. And then they stopped, and she heard a skidding noise, and then they started again. And then another skidding noise.
Rarity tapped her foot. After a couple of iterations of this, she heard an aggrieved shout of, “Why is this place so twisty?” A smile found its way onto Rarity’s face in spite of herself: even after a day spent avoiding her, Twilight still cared enough to find her in her dreams, just as Rarity had known she would.
At long last, Twilight in her armor, riding her horse, skidded around a corner and into view. “Rarity!” she said. “Sorry it took so long to get here, but I kept getting lost. This place is a nightma—” She cut herself off. “Well, obviously it is, but anyway. Hop on, and I'll get you out!”
“Twilight,” Rarity said. “You're just the person I've been looking for. Would you mind staying here for a moment?”
Twilight hinged her visor open. “I, uh... what?”
Rarity slapped the horse on its side, and it evaporated, forcing Twilight to fall to the floor. When she landed, she was out of her armor. “Darling,” Rarity said, taking Twilight's hand, “come with me.”
She led them through the nearest door, and the next thing Rarity knew they were seated at chairs inside a cramped office. Luna's office, maybe? Rarity was behind the desk, and Twilight was in front. “Now, Twilight,” Rarity said, steepling her fingers, “you know why we're having this discussion.”
“What?” Twilight's grin was a pretty terrible disguise, now that Rarity knew it for what it was. “I can't say I do.”
“Oh, I very much think you can.” Rarity leaned forward. Her voice wasn't playful. “How long have you been unable to sleep, Twilight?”
“No, I don't know.” Twilight shoved herself to her feet. “It looks like you're doing okay, so I'll be going now, have a nice—”
Rarity stood and grabbed her wrist. “Don't lie to me,” she said, very quietly.
Twilight turned around, and saw that there was no longer a door, and flinched. “I told you already,” she said, not meeting Rarity's eyes. “I stay up late building stuff. It's the truth.”
“And you can give it up any time you like, is that it?” Rarity's lip was curling. What a curious thing: she knew she loved Twilight, had emotional and even empirical proof, and knew she wanted nothing but the best for her—and the knowledge only made Rarity even more furious. “I believe you were building things while you were staying up. But you're not going to convince me that's the sole reason you weren't letting yourself go to sleep, Twilight.”
“I'm asleep now!” Twilight slapped her hand against the wall where the door had been. “Happy?”
“I'm not happy!” Rarity forced herself forward, through the space where the desk had been; she needed it out of the way and so it was gone. “I'm very mad at you, Twilight, because I don't think you're asleep at all! I saw you this morning, and you looked exhausted! And it makes me wonder if you're not getting any sleep at all while you use the Helm!”
“I'm unconscious in my bed! What do you call that other than sleep?”
“I don't know!”
They were face to face now, inches apart, close enough that if they had been breathing air, Rarity's breaths would be fogging Twilight's glasses.
Finally, Twilight growled and turned away, yanking her wrist from Rarity's grasp. “I can handle it.”
“You haven't been handling it.”
“It's not your problem.”
“Not my problem—Twilight, it's my obligation! When you've been neglecting yourself to help me?”
Twilight reached out a hand, and Rarity saw a glow, and then the section of wall ripped itself apart in front of her. “I'm leaving,” she said.
“But you don't want to.” Rarity laid a hand on her shoulder. It wasn't a grab. It was just a touch. “And I don't want you to either.”
Twilight laughed a little, as the dust cleared where the wall had been. “What's it to you, anyway? Why do you care so much?”
“Why do I—why do I care?” Rarity walked around her, and looked her in the eye, and said, “Twilight Sparkle, I love you!”
And the reaction Twilight had to that was to gape like a dying fish.
“I love you. And yes, I mean romantically.” Rarity reached down, held Twilight's hand in hers. “You made it very easy to do, being all gallant like that. Now all I want is for you to let me be the gallant one. Just let me in, Twilight.”
Twilight's jaw kept working uselessly. Finally she managed to say, “You... you?”
“Yes. It was very sudden for me as well.” Rarity smiled.
And Twilight looked at her, like a drowning woman at a life preserver.
And then she looked down and grabbed her head and said, “No. Oh, no, no, no.”
“Twilight?” Rarity remembered how she had said something similar after Sunset's confirmation. But Twilight's voice wasn't tired, or confused, or any such thing. Twilight's voice was panicked. “Twilight, what's wrong.”
“No, this is all wrong.” Twilight was talking to the floor: Rarity might as well not have been there. “You weren't supposed to—I didn't want you to—I mean I wanted it but this isn't right, you shouldn't—”
Tick.
Twilight froze. Slowly, she and Rarity turned their gazes toward the hallway.
Clocks. Everywhere, along the top of every wall, side by side by side. Clocks, all in time, all reading 11:50, and ticking away the minutes like they were seconds. Tick, and it was 11:51. Another tick, and 11:52.
“No,” Twilight said. “We need to—I need to—”
Tick.
“Twilight, stop!” Rarity yelled. Twilight was already running, right down the hallway, past the millions of clocks, but then another Tick, and the lights at the end of the hall shut off. Twilight skidded to a halt, and turned around, trying to run the other way, but she slipped and fell, and Tick, the lights at the other end of the hallway were off too. They were trapped in a prison of darkness.
“Twilight!” Rarity rushed to her, held her, got her to her knees. Twilight was hyperventilating, looking past Rarity, so Rarity grabbed her face—Tick—and forced her to focus. “I'm here for you, Twilight! I won't leave you!”
Tick. The darkness was closing in.
“It's happening,” Twilight gasped. “It's happening—I can't—”
Tick. Only one tiny patch of light left, barely large enough for the two of them. Only one clock remained visible, and it read 11:59.
“It's okay, Twilight!” Rarity grabbed her tight, the tightest hug she could muster. “It's going to be okay!”
Tick.
The light vanished. They were blind in the darkness, and Rarity clutched Twilight close with all her might, and Twilight and their panicked breaths were all there was in the world.
And then, a voice.
“Well, we all know that's a crock of shit.”
Twilight spasmed. Rarity felt that she was staring at something behind Rarity's back. And now, where there had been only inky blackness, there was a poisoned blue glow. Rarity saw their shadows in it.
Slowly, she turned her head.
And there was Midnight. “But then again,” said Midnight Sparkle, and she looked just like she had in Rarity's memories, “a lie that ridiculous is really what you deserve, Twily, isn't it? I mean, that's what you've been giving her. Acting all selfless, acting like a knight in shining armor?”
Her horn, her glasses, blazed blue. She glided toward them, wings beating with a span so broad that they would never have fit in the corridor—but Rarity could see now that the corridor was gone, and the only thing around them was darkness. “Twilight,” Rarity whispered.
“Pathetic.” Midnight sneered. “You and I—you and you—both know the real reason you attached yourself to her, like a puppy dog.”
“Twilight, look away. Plug your ears.” Rarity let go of Twilight and stood. “Close your eyes.”
Twilight didn't do any of those things. She just trembled.
“Ooh, here's the new girlfriend!” Midnight laughed, pausing for a moment in her slow approach. “Can't say I have high hopes for the length of the relationship, though. Not once you learn how badly she’s screwed up with you.”
Rarity snarled, “Get away from her, you thing!” and forced herself between Midnight and Twilight. She shook her hand, and imagined a sword in it—anything to defend herself, to defend Twilight—and nothing appeared. She raised her fist instead.
“Here’s an interesting factoid for you.” Midnight smiled. “Love didn't bring Twilight Sparkle into your head. The only reason Twilight ever went into your dreams, is because every second she spent in yours was a second she didn't have to spend in hers. With me.”
That was enough. “I said, get away!” And Rarity hauled back, and lunged forward, and punched Midnight Sparkle in her stupid lying face—
The fist went through, and then Rarity went through, as if Midnight Sparkle were nothing more than a ghost. “But now Twilight really screwed up,” Midnight continued, floating onward as Rarity tried to regain her balance. “Didn't you, Twily? Because it wasn't ever supposed to get this far.”
“Stop it,” Twilight whimpered. She was still breathing fast, still transfixed as Rarity looked around.
“Oh, you hoped she'd be happy. You even hoped she'd be grateful, that would have been great! But she wasn't ever supposed to fall for it—or should I say, fall for you.”
“Shut up,” Twilight said, a little louder.
“And now she's stuck with you. Like you're a pair of concrete shoes.” Midnight leaned forward and tapped Twilight on the nose, and Twilight didn't even flinch. “She could have been so great, but now she’ll be trapped trying to fix you till the end of time. Just another reminder of what happens when you get careless, Twily.”
“I said shut up,” Twilight said, and Rarity saw the tears in her eyes, heard her voice shaking.
“Actually.” Midnight hummed, and scratched her cheek. “On second thought, maybe she's not as great as you think. If she'd been that amazing, she'd have known better than to get tied up with someone broken. Someone—like—you.”
Rarity circled around, mind racing—what could she do to stop a foe she couldn't even touch?—and made it far enough to see Twilight's face. And then she stopped. Because Twilight didn't look panicked anymore.
Twilight looked enraged.
“I told you to shut UP!”
And she leaped forward and tackled Midnight to the ground, and wrapped her hands around Midnight's throat, a throat that Twilight seemed perfectly able to touch—perfectly able to crush. “Get out!” Twilight shrieked, her eyes bloodshot and staring like they intended to bore holes into Midnight's skull. “Get out of my head!”
Midnight made strangled, choked sounds. “Nowhere—else—to go,” she gasped. The blue of her glasses, of her horn, was getting brighter.
“GET OUT!”
And Midnight gurgled, and her eyes rolled back, and the glow grew brighter, and brighter, until Rarity couldn't see them, and then she couldn't see Midnight, couldn't see Twilight, couldn't see at all. She shielded her eyes with a hand and yelled, “Twilight!”
And then—
And then—
Rarity bolted upright, gasping in her first waking breath.
She was in her bedroom. And it wasn't her bedroom.
She looked around, bewildered. Parts of it were right for her bedroom—her bed, for instance—but on the other hand, there was Twilight's workbench in the corner. Some of the wall had her own floral wallpaper pattern, and then again there were blotches of the dark blue from Twilight's room, and blotches where there were inset bookshelves instead of wallpaper.
Mouth slowly falling open, Rarity stood from her bed and walked forward. She touched a boundary between the two wallpapers, and felt it—felt it ripple beneath her fingertips, like she'd disturbed the surface of a pool. “What,” she whispered.
“Rarity!”
She jumped. She looked around. Twilight was there, standing in front of the window, silhouetted by a strange glow that was not the morning light. “Twilight?” Rarity said. “Do you—are you seeing this?” She gestured at the patchwork wall, and another thought occurred to her: “Are we still dreaming?” She pinched at her arm, and it felt painful enough, but she didn't know if that was a reliable check or not.
It was hard to tell, but as Twilight looked at her, she seemed to be smiling—even beaming. “That's not as simple of an answer as you think. Come and see.”
“Come and see what?”
“Just come and see.”
Rarity walked obediently to the window. Twilight, who was absolutely beaming, winked at her and stepped aside, and let Rarity see her hometown.
What was left of it.
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Dang, way to ratchet up the tension to 11.
Not sure if the alt title is an Eagles reference. Either way, another good chapter! Excited to see what's next!
9884148
Thanks! It's appropriate, since the next chapter has the climax.
9884149
It most assuredly is: all of the alternate chapter titles are a song name, with "Knight" instead of "Night".
"Ahem."
"Well, yes, other than you, but it's the principle of the thing!"
"Again, ahem."
"Oh, you know what I meant."
In any case, yeah, this is why you should be careful when tinkering with dream magic. This could get worse before it gets better.
9885273
Oh yeah, things just got worse in a big way - but it's definitely the precursor to a possible solution.
9897818
Thanks! It was difficult at first to figure out the right tone for the dreams, but I think I managed to do pretty well eventually.
And Twilight is indeed due for an earful after Second Knight.
9898448
Huh, it totally is a Cinderella move. I didn't really think of that, and now I can't believe I missed the connection because it's super obvious.
Excellent stuff! You've an excellent handle on Rarity and Twilight, the dream sequences are nicely done, and you've got a good, light touch to the humour throughout as well. Looking forward to the rest.
9905506
Thanks! I'm making steady progress on the next chapter, which is where the climax will happen, and I'm aiming to get the story finished before the end of October!
Nice. Looking forward to the next chapter.
9905727
Thanks!
Great job with this story. Rarity and Twilight are written wonderfully, and you do a good job exploring their issues.
oh yeah, this is so exciting! :D
Getting serious Paprika vibes from the end, there.