Even the Strong Need Help

by Charlie_K

Seventh Entry

Luna reluctantly placed her right forehoof against the floor once again, preparing to do what was needed of her.

"The verbal abuse he was being mentally subjected to as he struggled to get up. That conjured memories of a superior at the academy. That may be as good a place as any to begin our investigative efforts."

She slid her hoof to the right again, once more distorting their surroundings into an indecipherable mess. But no accompanying transition occurred.

"Is there a problem, Luna?" Celestia asked.

"I am... not quite certain. I am experiencing difficulty calling upon his memories. It is as if I am being met with resistance," Luna explained.

She paused, focused harder, and tried again, adding a bit more force as he dragged her hoof along the ground once more.

"This-" she grunted as he brow furrowed, "this is most unusual. I am not even sure how to properly describe it."

She ceased her efforts and let go with her hoof as she shook it.

"In all the years I have been guarding ponies against nightmares, I have not actually encountered a mind I have needed to forcibly read before," she admitted. "For most ponies their mind is like an open book, and memories will flow freely at the slightest inquiry because they cannot help thinking about them. But in his case, in the case of those memories relating to his time at the academy, it is more like a locked box that does not want to be opened. Either his mind is exceptionally well disciplined, or he has acquired some type of outside assistance to render certain memories inaccessible to foreign parties.

"I... do not know if I can brute force my way through whatever this is. And even if I could, I do not particularly want to try. If he is this protective of something that is private to him, then perhaps it would be best to bring our concerns to him, and try to persuade him to allow us in. Get him to help us so that we can in turn help him."

Celestia didn't need dream magic to pick up on Luna's discomfort over the idea of invading Thunder Strike's memories any further than they already had. And in truth she wasn't particularly comfortable with the prospect either. They might've started off hot, but what they'd already witnessed had served to weaken those spirits. Perhaps to a degree greater than they were willing to admit.

"We can do that if you really want, Luna. But if he refuses, we'll still be faced with the same problem we are now, and will have no choice but to pry," she pointed out. "Will you feel any less guilty if he denies us assistance, and we have to proceed against his wishes?"

"... No..." Luna sighed as she hung her head.

"Surgery hurts, Luna, but it's often needed to save the patient from something far worse," Celestia pointed out. "We'll look around a bit longer, but we won't pry. Whatever memories qualify as in plain sight, we'll skim over and see if it offers us any answers. If we find nothing, then we'll go confront Thunder Strike and see if we can persuade him to help us."

As much as Luna didn't like the idea, she could do little more than nod in response.

"... I suppose we should at least determine the extent of this mental block, and see just what it encompasses..."

And so that was exactly what they did.

---

"I need to get back to the palace..."

This was the one, consistently consistent thought running through his mind as he laid flat on his back on the hospital bed, staring up at the tiles of the ceiling.

He was conscious, and he no longer needed a cast imbued with healing magic as his leg was fully healed, with the bones now able to bear the distributed weight of his frame upon it. He was ready to leave.

And yet he was still here, staring up at the hospital's ceiling, surrounded by hospital-related commotion.

"I need to get back to the palace..."

He didn't need his magical reserves to be completely replenished and topped off to go back to duty. So long as he had enough strength to stand up and stay awake, he could perform his duties satisfactorily.

His armor... he hadn't been able to polish it since before he'd gotten here. It was still sitting on its stand, unattended. It was getting dusty from neglect. It was going to be tarnished by the time he finally got back to it. It was going to take days to restore it back to its proper luster.

If he could get outside and get access to an unattended tree, or a patch of grass, he could accelerate his recovery to the point he'd be fit to be released in an hour, if not less, instead of being here flat on his back, utterly useless to everypony.

Three days. He'd been unconscious for three days. He'd been out of commission for Seventy two hours. He'd been laying here for over eighty hours now.

Eighty hours. That amounted to ten shifts back at the palace. Ten potential shifts that he hadn't been present and available for, because he'd been here the entire time. Lazily laying about when he should instead be up and working. Ten potential shifts going unfilled because he wasn't there. Every hour he laid here was another hour during which work wasn't getting done. Another hour that he wasn't pulling his own weight. Another hour that he was proving to be useless.

"I need to get back to the palace..."

"Well that certainly answers the question of whether you're awake or not."

The sound of a new voice caught his attention and interrupted his thoughts. Lifting his head up to look over to the door, he saw a pony standing in the doorway and smiling at him. A unicorn mare, wearing a lab coat and a stethoscope hanging limply around her neck, with a clipboard currently held aloft in her soft pink magical field.

He immediately recognized her as Doctor Marigold.

"It's good to see you awake, Lieutenant. I must admit, you had us worried for a good while about whether or not you'd make it," she said as she trotted into the room. "How're you feeling today?"

"Like I need to get back to work."

The doctor shook her head. "I think not, Lieutenant. You might be awake, but you're not anywhere near fit for release yet, never mind returning to active physical duty, whatever that might entail."

"I'm a member of the Royal Guard, I have duties that need to be tended to. I don't have time to be laying around."

"And I respect that, Lieutenant. But I also have my own duties to tend to. And those duties include making sure you're well enough to not drop dead while you're carrying out your own duties. I'm sure you can understand that," she stressed. "I admit, I've never been to the palace myself more than once or twice, but I'm sure there's more than enough guards available to pick up the slack if one of you is down."

Pick up the slack... if one was down...

An uneasy feeling was suddenly working its way up his spine, completely displacing the relative comfort of the bed he was laying on. And it was accompanying by an equally uneasy thought. Who exactly was covering his shift? Who was standing watch in his place since he wasn't there to do it himself?

Up until her words, he'd never actually stopped to think about it before. But now that the thought was there, he couldn't tune it out.

"Somepony is having to cover for me and do my work... because I'm not there to do it myself. I'm taking a fellow Guard away from their position by being absent; just like I did when they had to abandon their posts and look for me when I fell in the showers. I'm depriving the palace of resources by being unavailable. I'm compromising the palace's defenses and the efficiency of the Royal Guard by not being there to do my work!"

Biting back on the groan of muscles that'd been sedate for far too long, he pushed himself into a sitting position on the bed.

"I can't be here. I have to leave. Now. The longer I'm here, the more I'm putting others at risk."

The doctor frowned in response. "Lieutenant, you're not going anywhere except back to bed."

"I-"

"Lieutenant Strike! At attention!" the doctor barked forcefully. Far more forcefully than any mare in her size range had any business barking. "If you set so much as one hoof outside of this room I'll write in your file that you left against medical advice. Which will in turn reflect quite poorly on your service record since you weren't conscious to check yourself in at arrival. That will immediately go to none other than Princess Celestia herself. How do you think she'll react to one of her guards acting in such an unprofessional, uncooperative manner?"

Immediately he froze in place at hearing this, all but petrified at her words. And as he sat there, an entirely new sensation was working its way over him. Something that was somewhere between fear and respect.

"I'm sorry. I really am. That was -mostly- uncalled for. I honestly didn't mean to threaten you like that," she apologized in a far gentler tone, as she stepped closer to the bed, and gently eased him back down on the bed with a hoof against his chest. "I get that you're dedicated to your work. I can appreciate it. It's rare to meet another pony who truly understands that a profession isn't merely a job, but a calling towards something that's greater than ourselves.

"I understand how important it is to you, that you get back to work. But it's equally important to me, that you be in good physical health before you're released. If I let you go before you're ready and you keel over dead, then I've done a great disservice to everypony. And you will as well, by making your absence permanent."

Try as he might, he couldn't argue that point. She was right in her position, even if he hated to acknowledge it.

"I've had the honor of meeting some of your coworkers. Especially those who were present when the hospital's records were being audited for evidence of wrongdoing under the command of that bastard. I'm confident the palace is in good hooves, and will be just fine until you return. Which, if you get enough rest, could be as early as tomorrow afternoon," she stated in a far more pleasant tone. "Just give yourself a little more time. You'll be out of here soon enough."

"Tomorrow afternoon," was all he could really say right now.

Just one more day. One more twenty four hour stretch, and then he could get back to work, make up for his absence, and reestablish his worth.

+++

"You're not sick. The Royal Guard does not get sick."

He wasn't tired because he was sick. He simply hadn't gotten enough sleep, what with all of the extra duty he was pulling to try and make up for over half the palace currently being down with the seasonal flu. He was currently dividing his shift into as many positions as possible to ensure as many areas as possible weren't left completely unguarded. That was enough to exhaust anypony.

"You're not sick."

His temperature hadn't actually been one hundred and four when he'd looked at the thermometer this morning. It was a normal one hundred just like it always was, and he'd simply read the device at an angle that made it look higher than it actually was. Mercury was hardly the most scientifically accurate and reliable element in existence.

"You're not sick."

He didn't have a fever that made him feel like he was cooking inside of his own skin. It was simply an unseasonably hot February that none of them had been prepared for.

"You're not sick."

The ice packs tucked underneath his armor were simply there to alleviate the abnormal heat of the day while still conforming to uniform regulations, even though his armor felt like it'd been converted into an oven.

"You're not sick."

The anti-inflammatories he'd choked down dry were simply to head off whatever soreness his hooves would incur from all the walking he needed to do to cover the extra posts that were being left unattended from so many being too sick to even stand up.

"You're not sick."

His stomach wasn't hurting because he was nauseous. It was aching from being empty because he hadn't been able to get breakfast this morning, because he'd been quick to get to work. He refused to idly stand by and do nothing while they were down to less than half a staff, and could easily be invaded. Skipping a meal or two had simply been the price to pay for ensuring the continued safety of the palace.

"You're not sick."

The aches and pains currently plaguing various joints and muscles in his body, making it excruciating to even remain standing were a result of his exercising too hard, and not allowing for sufficient downtime in between.

"You're not sick."

He wasn't presently dripping with sweat. He'd tried a new shampoo last night that'd given his coat a nice sheen before he'd gone to bed, and the light was simply making that sheen shine and caused him to look like his coat was wet.

"You're not sick."

The throbbing in his zygomatic arches was because of the barometric pressure of this unseasonably hot February were out of whack and resonating aggressively inside of the bones in his skull.

"You're not sick."

He wasn't actually hallucinating and seeing the pale horse with piercing blue eyes watching him from down the hall. Said barometric pressure was simply pressing on the sides of his eyeballs and making shadows and light look like something that they weren't during the periods his vision was blurry.

"If you're here to claim me then I apologize, I'm far too busy to go with you right now," he stated. "And if you're here to claim somepony else, then I'm afraid you'll have to go through me first. The Royal Guard protects all who're in need.

"I should warn you, I've taken every advanced combat course that's been offered over the past six years. I won't go easy on you."

A Royal Guard does not get sick. And he was a Royal Guard. He was just fine. That was all there was to it.

+++

Something felt different in the palace today. Something that he couldn't quite put his hoof on; like an oppressive -bordering on demonic- presence was no longer looming over them. The air itself somehow felt lighter, as if the atmosphere wasn't being pressed on, if that made any sense.

Whatever the exact cause was, he really couldn't explain it, he just knew he was feeling it.

If anything, it would only serve to make patrolling the hallways of the west wing of the palace easier, as he didn't feel like his senses were in a heightened state.

It was perhaps for that reason he didn't trot face first into Sergeant Zacharia as he came around the corner.

"Mchana mwema, Sergeant Zacharia," he greeted.

Sergeant Zacharia stopped where he stood and immediately saluted him. And then he stopped as well.

"Is there are problem?" he asked.

Zacharaia shook his head. "No problem. Orders to patrol this section."

The oppressive sensation looming over the palace was gone. But something else had settled in its place, and was alerting him to there being a problem.

First, he'd been saluted. Sergeant Zacharia never saluted him unless they were in the presence of others, or the matter was very important. And even though it was a breach of protocol, it wasn't one he ever chose to push.

Secondly, he knew the zebra worked the afternoon-to-evening shift, so it wasn't out of the realm of possibilities that he was on duty right now. But he'd pulled overtime today, and he knew that this section of the palace wasn't the one he'd been assigned to.

Third, he hadn't been greeted with "Mchana mwema, Lieutenant Strike" in turn.

All added together, it was a red flag that something was wrong. But exactly what, he didn't know; not yet.

"Sergeant," he spoke up slowly, "do you have that twenty bits you owe me from the poker game we played last week? Something's come up and I kind of need it."

The look on Zacharia's face wasn't something he was characteristically known for. If he had to guess, it was one of panic.

"I'll have it for you by the end of the day," he insisted.

"Very good," he replied and nodded. And just as Zacharaia was getting ready to leave, he spoke up again. "Sergeant, before you go. I've been working on my pronunciations like you suggested. Does this sound right? Mama yako anajuta kutokuua kabla ya kuzaliwa."

"... Yes, very good!" Zacharia replied and nodded vigorously. "You speak very fluently for it not being your native language."

"Thank you, it's refreshing to know my practice is starting to pay off," he stated, before raising his right forehoof and offering to him.

Zacharia, in turn, did the same and the two met in a friendly manner.

And then he quickly latched onto the limb with both forelegs and shoved the zebra, pinning him up against the wall.

"You're not Sergeant Zacharia. You're an imposter," he stated simply as he kept the foreleg bent at an angle that was bordering on unnatural. "Now. You and I are going to take a little walk and figure out what's really going on here."

Cooperation hadn't been expected, but the imposter erupting in green flames and being replaced by a pony-sized insect REALLY hadn't been expected.

That momentary lapse of surprise had been all the opening the now-revealed changeling had needed to flip the script and switch their positions, now leaving him pinned against the wall with his legs dangling in the air.

"You're way too smart for your own good, little pony," it hissed at him with fangs bared.

He retorted by quickly tucking in his hind legs and slamming both shod back hooves into the bug's barrel, sending it flying across the hall and crashing into the far wall. Which in turn allowed him to get back onto all fours again.

The palace had an intruder. An intruder he needed to report and sound the alarms about. But at the same time it was an intruder who could easily blend into any crowd. The alarms would have to wait until he could get it restrained/neutralized.

Had he been born an earth pony, the force of the impact might've knocked the changeling out cold. But no such luck as it got up and shook itself off, before being engulfed in a flash of green fire and taking on his visage, right down to his armor. The armor of the Royal Guard.

That... that was just dirty.

"This was supposed to be simple infiltration, not straight up combat," it said in a perfect copy of his own voice. "Now I have to do something that we're both going to regret."

His chosen retort was far less vocal. Focusing his magic towards his back hooves, he lunged himself forward at high speed in a flash of cobalt blue static discharge.

He hadn't collided with his doppelganger, but came within a hair's breadth of clipping its side as he blew past it and connected with the back wall, magically adhering his shoes to the surface just for an instant as he readjusted his position. By the time it turned to look at him he was already using his position as a springboard to leap off at an upward angle, this time actually clipping the imposter's side with his armor and spinning it around and knocking it to the ground as he passed by it, and planted himself against the opposite wall.

Another springboard maneuver sent him hurtling straight towards his target just as it caught a glance of him, utterly slamming into his doppelganger with his right foreleg extended to clothesline the changeling around the neck. From there it was simply a matter of redirecting that forward momentum to allow him to swing around and put his opponent into a headlock as he stood on his hind legs.

He then teleported the both of them to the top of the hallway ceiling, where they dropped to the ground with him landing on top of the intruder as he planted both back hooves on its back, yielding a hearty crunch on impact.

The imposter beneath him groaned before going limp against the ground, showing no signs of shaking that one off. Good.

He climbed off as the changeling lost its disguise and reverted to its normal appearance. Then he prodded at its side with his hoof, just to see if it was playing possum.

"What's going on here?"

Turning towards the new voice he saw his fellow Lieutenant, Piercing Lance, come galloping up to the scene.

"Are you okay? What happened?"

"Changelings," he grunted as he turned back to the intruder, once again prodding its side to try and elicit a reaction from it, and failing. "We need to alert Princess Celestia at once. Can you go do that and sound the alarm while I secure the prisoner for transport and interrogation?"

"Yeah. Yeah I can do that," Lance replied and nodded. "So what gave him away?"

"Sergeant Zacharia didn't recognize his own language, and he's the one who's been teaching me Zebrican," he explained, before summoning two sets of hoofcuffs for restraining the changeling.

But then he stopped and looked up.

"Wait, how did you know this changeling is a male-"

He was blindsided and floored before he ever got the question out. In an instant he was the one who'd been bound and restricted, unable to do anything to counter as he found himself stuffed in a cocoon.

"You really are too bright for your own good, Lieutenant," Lance said with a sneer, before disappearing in a flash of green flames as another changeling revealed itself. "If more ponies were like you, we might not've gotten as far as we did at the royal wedding."

He frowned at the backhoofed compliment, before making ready to retaliate with a lightning rod spell. But despite his best efforts he couldn't actually get his magic to work, and was left with nothing but a sensation of his horn throbbing. Was the cocoon interfering? That definitely wasn't good.

He tried to pry himself loose from the structure, but was getting nowhere. All he could do was watch as the one changeling walked over to the other and kicked it in the side, immediately bringing it around with a startled snort.

"What happened?" it asked.

"You got found out because you don't speak Zebrican. Moron," the other grumbled, before reassuming Lieutenant Lance's appearance. "Get back in disguise before somepony else spots you. And this time pick an easier cover!"

The changeling grumbled, before once again taking Strike's appearance and claiming it for itself.

"It's a good thing we got this one caught if he's that observant. He might've spotted the others and ruined everything," it commented as it tried to rotate its right foreleg and groaned. "Oh scrag does he hit hard!"

"Obviously not hard enough if you're still alive, polyp brains."

+++

The "Red Eye" spell was restricted for good reason. And if any Guard used it then they had better have a very good reason for doing such. It was no different than smashing the glass panel on an emergency box to gain access to the fire extinguisher and pickhead axe housed inside.

The importance of this fact that was repeatedly hammered into them, both at the Academy and beyond. It was not something that was to be used lightly. A Guard had no business using the spell to compensate for the sometimes long hours they might have to work in the course of their duties.

They were less than three weeks away from the one thousandth Summer Sun celebration. To him that seemed like a good enough reason to be using it.

If the old adage about all legends having a grain of truth held true in this case, this occasion would mark the return of Princess Luna from one thousand years of banishment to the moon. And he intended to be ready for such a development occurring.

"First word of the Old Ponish language. Hello is... hallo."

He had nine hours until the morning shift started and he was on duty. With the spell he could get about eight hours of studying the old language in without feeling tired even if he was. From there he could take a cold shower to snap him back awake and alert, down a few cups of the most potent coffee the kitchen had in stock to fuel himself up, and attend his duties without raising any suspicions.

He honestly didn't want to think about all of the horrifying implications that could be had from a one thousand year culture shock. He was desperately trying not to think about them. At the very least the language barrier alone would be quite bad. In the very best circumstances that he could think of, Princess Luna would only have her sister to communicate with for an indeterminable amount of time.

"Good evening is... guten abend. And good morning is... guten morgen."

A Guard must always be courteous to those they interact with. And he would be hard pressed to think of anything that was more courteous than providing a pony in need with somepony else who could understand what they were saying.

"How can I help you... wie kann ich dir helfen?"

+++

The pegasus maid by the name of Shammy, who was presently leaning on him for support as they walked, was much heavier than she looked. Being down to three legs as one was slung across her back to help keep her steady wasn't exactly helping the matter any, and he had to strain just to keep upright and moving.

"It's alright. We're almost there..." he mumbled as she moaned.

Her body was extremely hot, practically radiating heat like a blast furnace. If he had to guess her fever was really bad at this point. Just holding onto her so she didn't toppled over was proving to be borderline excruciating. How was her fur not getting singed?

The ice packs he'd been keeping tucked under his armor were almost completely melted at this point and amounted to practically nothing, but the gel inside still had a little bit of cool left to it. At seeing just how bad she was, he hadn't even hesitated to pull them out and drape them on her back, knowing that she needed them far more than he did. Even if they were limp and in need of being refrozen, they would still be better than nothing right now.

"We're almost there..." he repeated as they trudged along, entirely uncertain if he were saying it to her or himself at this point.

She groaned again as she shifted. Not that he could blame her. The way his stomach was roiling right now, he wanted to do the same. But he refused to do so. Who would believe the pain that came from not having anything to eat since last night could possibly be this bad?

Finally, after what could've been minutes or hours at this point, they arrived at the infirmary and pushed past the swinging double doors.

"Doctor, a little help here, please," he grunted.

"Sweet Faust, not another one," Doctor Mandibular Malar exclaimed around his mask as he and Nurse Goodwill made their way over to the duo.

Shammy might've been helped over to one of the available cots, but it still felt like her weight was resting on his back. And his armor was feeling unbearably hot by now. But he needed to get back to his post, as ponies were counting on him to do what he did best.

"Doctor," he panted, "does the infirmary's freezer have any ice packs that could be spared? Any at all?"

"We're fully stocked on ice packs, Lieutenant. Take as many as you need," Doctor Malar stated as he helped Nurse Goodwill get Shammy situated and looked over to confirm what was already known about her condition.

He nodded, even though the gesture made his head hurt more and likely wasn't seen, before making his way over to the non-perishable freezer standing in the room.

Opening the door, he was met by an arctic-cold wave of air that felt absolutely divine against his hot frame, and for a brief instant he didn't feel like he was about to burst into open flames. It was almost enough to make him want to just stand there and bask in it. But he knew that wasn't an option, and instead focused on trying to focus his eyes and find what he was looking for.

Ice packs. So many ice packs. There must've been as many as a hundred of them on the shelves in all various sizes, just waiting to be used by anypony in need with a sprain, or otherwise unable to bear this excessive heat. He could only imagine the cooling potential that even one of the bigger ones would have to it. For a brief moment he contemplated the notion of simply crawling inside and just swaddling himself in the lot of them.

He slowly became aware of Doctor Malar's magic being in the area as two of the large ice packs were levitated off the shelf. And then he saw the doctor standing off to his side and looking at him.

"Take them, you obviously need them," he instructed.

It took him more time than he wanted to admit, for his mind to process the sheer level of generosity he was being showed right now. He would've been satisfied with just the small ones, but this was far more than he'd ever expected.

He fumbled with his cuirass and nearly dropped it, before quickly catching it and setting it down gently so he could lay the packs on his back and get them situated. As he did he'd been forced to bite back a sigh of utter relief as the sweltering heat that was threatening to consume him was temporarily banished.

"Lieutenant," Doctor Malar spoke up, "I know you're dedicated. And I appreciate you helping so many ponies here when they could barely make it on their own. But you're not doing yourself any favors by keeping your armor on while exerting yourself. Your fever's not going to break if you keep carrying on like that."

"I don't have a fever," he objected as he placed his cuirass. "It's an unseasonably hot February."

"It's fifteen degrees outside and snowing," Doctor Malar pointed out and frowned behind his mask. "You're sick, Lieutenant, just like so many others. You need rest. You were standing with the freezer door open for five minutes before I intervened."

"A Royal Guard does not get sick," he protested.

Even if there were a grain of truth to Doctor Malar's statement, he didn't have time to be sick. They were down too many for him to be laying around. A Royal Guard does not get sick. A Royal Guard does not grow tired. A Royal Guard does not express weakness.

"Well for not being sick you're certainly doing a marvelous impression of a sick pony," Doctor Malar quipped, before reaching out with his magic and plucking his helmet off his head. "You look like you're half dead. You can barely even hold yourself up with how much your legs are shaking. Just how long have you been awake?"

He paused as he tried to recall just when he'd gotten up, but at the moment he didn't even know what time it was. Ever since everypony started getting sick, time just sort of seemed to stand still.

"I don't know," he eventually admitted. "What day is it?"

Malar looked like he wanted to facehoof in response. "That question alone tells me all that I need to know. When was the last time you even had anything to eat?"

The mere mention of food had been enough to send his stomach roiling again, worse than it'd ever been before. He tried to will it into calming down, tried breathing to settle it down, but it was having none of it. He could feel what he'd been trying to stave off for the last six straight hours threatening to happen, he knew that it was going to happen, and there was nothing that he could do to head it off.

"Doctor I-" he gulped, trying to swallow back the creeping feeling that could no longer be suppressed. "I... I-I..."

Doctor Malar said nothing, simply pointing past him over to the wash sink.

"Doctor if you could please look the other way for a min-"

He ceased his borderline frantic plea for privacy/discretion and all but galloped to the station, gripping the edge of the counter for dear life as he leaned over and retched with all of his might, tightly clenching his eyes shut in an effort to not look and see what was coming up as he violently heaved.

A brief interlude, and he desperately tried to breathe after the initial wave had ended, only to cough as another foul wave followed immediately after to assault his throat and violate his taste buds, as his treasonous body made the executive decision to perform a complete upper gastric purge. A purge that continued through several violent waves of continuous vomiting, until finally there was nothing left for his system to actually kick out. A purge that left him coughing and heaving even afterwards, until his stomach was finally convinced there was nothing left actually to purge and gave up on its efforts.

By the time it was finally over, and he no longer felt like an internal organ or two was going to become external, he felt ready to collapse. He was vaguely aware of the sound of running water in the sink, but he didn't remember turning on the faucet. Nor was he going to open his eyes to verify. He then felt something soft being held up to his muzzle.

"Blow your nose, please," he heard Nurse Goodwill instruct from behind.

He did as instructed, inhaling through his mouth and forcing as much air through his nostrils as he could manage, while trying his best not to topple over in the process from suddenly getting lightheaded.

"I apologize," he mumbled as he slowly climbed down, before retrieving his helmet and placing it back atop his head.

"Lieutenant, you can't be planning on going back to work in your condition," Doctor Malar objected.

He had no verbal response to offer, outside of a mere grunt, as he slowly made his way to the doors. He couldn't afford to be down. Even if he was sick -and he wasn't- he still wouldn't have time to be down. Who was going to ensure they weren't invaded if he wasn't there to keep watch? Who was going to help ponies to the infirmary when they were dropping like flies in need of medical attention?

"Lieutenant."

His departure was halted as Nurse Goodwill spoke up softly.

"I really don't feel safe here, with just Doctor Malar and I to keep an eye on all the medicine we have on hoof. Ponies may start panicking and get desperate enough to try something if they think this flu is something much worse. And we took an oath to do no harm, so if anypony broke in we wouldn't be able to do anything. Do you think you could stay and guard us? Please?" she asked him.

A plea for help had been made. And he was duty bound to honor it, even if it seemed suspicious all of the sudden. But a plea for help was still a plea for help regardless.

"... The Royal Guard is always at the disposal of those in need," he replied as he turned away from the doors, and nearly went tumbling to the floor as he did. It was only because Doctor Malar intervened and caught him, that he didn't topple over.

He found himself more or less being escorted over to one of the cots in the room and directed to sit down on the edge, before his helmet was once again plucked off his head and set aside. Aside somewhere that his vision couldn't currently detect because of how blurry and undefined everything was proving to be.

A cold damp cloth was brought in from... somewhere... as Nurse Goodwill gently wiped down his face and around the corners of his mouth to clean him up as he just sat there, vaguely aware of something cold and rigid that'd been in his mouth and under his tongue, only becoming really aware as it was removed.

"One hundred and six. My oh my..."

"I'm sorry..." he mumbled. "I'm sorry that I threw up..."

The blur that he assumed was Nurse Goodwill made a motion like she was shaking her head from side to side.

"There's nothing to be sorry about, Lieutenant. It's not your fault you're sick," she said in a reassuring tone.

"I shouldn't even be here. I'm putting you and Doctor Malar at risk of getting sick too," he mumbled. Did he try and push himself up to leave? He didn't know.

"The entire palace is experiencing an outbreak, the risk is there regardless," she explained. "Such is the price we pay by being a first responder. We save ponies in need, even if it means putting ourselves in harm's way. Just like you being a guard."

"A Guard... thinks not of themselves..." he mumbled, or at least thought he did.

"Well be that as it may, it's all the same. Now then, can I get our guard anything while he keeps us safe from medicine marauders?" she asked.

"I'm forbidden from asking," he replied.

"Oh pish-posh! Just say what you want, Lieutenant, let us worry about whether or not it's possible," she insisted. "Come on, now. One first responder to another. What is it you want? What would help make you feel better?"

He groaned as he tried to remain upright, tried to remain strong in the face of temptation. The nurse in front of him was practically offering him whatever he might've wanted, all but promising him he could have whatever he desired regardless of what it was. This wasn't the first time he'd been presented with such an offer... with such a bribe in the course of his duties. Nor would it likely be the last time such a promise was made.

He needed to be strong. He needed to be strong and remain that way. He was a Royal Guard, and a Royal Guard wasn't supposed to let their own interests interfere with the execution of their duties. A Royal Guard wasn't supposed to curry favor in exchange for services rendered. A Royal Guard wasn't supposed to be weak and let themselves get sick like a foal! A Royal Guard wasn't supposed to vomit their guts out in front of other ponies for all to see!

But so help him, he just couldn't push it away anymore. His strength was rapidly failing him, both physically and mentally. And in a moment of weakness that he would kick himself for if he had the strength for even that, he shakily leaned forward as he tried to keep himself upright, leaning closer to where he was vaguely certain she was, aimed for what he could only hope was her ear, and whispered the answer to her question.

Her blurry form looked at him and maybe blinked, marked only by the contrast in color between her coat and her eyes, before rearing up on her hind legs and gently pulling his face to her barrel while wrapping her forelegs around his back as she held him close.

And in a moment of weakness that he should kick himself for, he allowed himself to slowly sink into the embrace and close his eyes, making no effort to resist the comforting touch as she gently hummed a melody he didn't particularly recognize.

---

For an indeterminable amount of time, the sisters browsed through Thunder Strike's memories, peaking respectfully through what presented itself in order to get a general summary of what was to be had, in the hopes of finding what they were looking for.

But the more they dug in their search for answers, the less they ended up liking what they found. A matter that wasn't helped by the fact the memories came in no specific, sequential order that would indicate what came first or last.

By the time they reached a memory of Strike helping Lieutenant Fire preen her wings, and her subsequently turning to jelly from his careful machinations as she laid under his oblivious frame, neither one of them really wanted to see anymore.

"So..." Luna started slowly as their snooping finally came to an end. "What have we learned here from this... snoopery that was insisted upon?"

"A great deal more than I was initially prepared to encounter," Celestia reluctantly admitted. "He apparently taught himself Old Ponish inside of three weeks."

"Er, yes, amongst other things," Luna replied as she cleared her throat.

Not that she hadn't appreciated the gesture, but that wasn't the point right now.

"But at the moment I am more interested in what we did not see as we browsed," she continued. "First, I have not seen any memories from before he graduated from the Academy. Secondly, in all of the memories that we saw, I did not see anything relating to Thunder Strike the pony. Nothing related to hobbies, relaxation, relationships, or even desires outside of simply doing his job to the best of his abilities. It was more like a... compulsion as it were.

"I did not even see anything relating to either resentment or contentment with his profession. It is like he has learned how to turn his mind off and simply not think about anything that is unconnected with his work. Or we simply did not dig deep enough to find those memories. And I honestly do not want to dig any deeper to see which is the case. I would much rather speak with him direct."

"Agreed," Celestia stated and nodded. They'd tried things her way, and she hadn't liked the results. Now they'd try Luna's way and hope that something better, something more informative, could be achieved from speaking with Thunder Strike directly. "We could be here all night trying to navigate this maze on our own, and still not be any closer to the answer of what compels him."

---

The trip out of Strike's memories and back into his dreams was as short as it was simple. And as they saw, the dream had changed while they were away.

Instead of standing guard in the hallway, he was presently keeping watch in the courtyard. If not for the occasional blink, and the sporadic movement as his eyes scanned the area to track any little movement, he might pass for a statue in such drab surroundings.

"Seeing how he dreams, I almost want to introduce an unaccounted for variable, just to see how he might respond," Luna admitted. "Perhaps a succubus-grade trollop that is able to seduce any stallion. Or maybe a hammy villain with delusions of world domination."

"Tempting, but I'm almost afraid to see what sort of reaction we might provoke from him in the process," Celestia admitted. "Let's see if talking to him does any better."

Luna nodded as she two began walking in his direction, before her horn flashed and they were rendered the same dull and lifeless style the rest of their surroundings were cast in. Almost immediately he caught sight of them, and stood even more at attention than previously as he saluted them.

"At ease, Thunder Strike, there's no need for that right now," Celestia stated as they approached him. "We're only here to talk to you, that's all. No saluting, no formalities, just simple talk among equals, so we can help a pony that's badly in need of being helped. A pony who doesn't even realize just how badly he needs help."

"The Royal Guard is always at the disposal of those in need, Your Highness," he stated as he lowered his hoof again. "How can I be of assistance?"

"You can start by telling us about yourself," Luna spoke up. "Tell us about the pony that is behind the armor."

Despite his best efforts at maintaining a neutral expression, it was easy to see the stoic veneer he tried to convey wasn't as disciplined as he aimed for. Right now he was doing a very good job at demonstrating just how confused he was by the request.

"I... I don't understand the question," he eventually admitted.

"Tell us about yourself," Celestia said, repeating Luna's line. "Tell us about your thoughts. Your feelings. What your hobbies are. Tell us about your life outside of your work."

"I... I don't understand the question, Your Highness," he repeated. "I don't understand how learning about me can help somepony in need."

"Because YOU are the pony in need, young Thunder Strike," Luna clarified. "You may not realize it but you are dreaming at the moment. I was alerted by the night staff that you were found sleepwalking in the halls. I carried you back to bed and tucked you in myself."

"I-I apologize for my unprofessional conduct, Your Highness, it won't happen again!" he stated quickly.

"Oh please, you cannot be held accountable for what is done when you are unconscious," Luna stated dismissively. "It is not even your sleepwalking that is at issue, but what was done while you were sleepwalking. You apparently got up, retrieved your armor, got suited up, and proceeded to assume a station to stand guard at, all while unconscious. Had you not picked a station that was already being guarded, you might have been standing there all night."

Celestia nodded before speaking up again. "Just to be clear, you're not in trouble for violating any orders. You didn't intentionally go and disobey by sleepwalking your way onto duty. But you are putting your health at great risk by not allowing yourself the necessary time to recover. And if you don't stop soon your heart could fail from the strain it's being put under."

The look on his face as he listed did wonders to convey the fact he didn't understand what she was saying. At this point he didn't even need to voice his confusion for it to be understood.

"Standing for too long a period without adequate rest can cause cardiac arrest, amongst other health problems. The doctors at Canterlot General warned that if you hadn't collapsed when you did, it was only a matter of time before you dropped dead; they estimated you were only about three days away from your heart failing completely.

"They managed to repair most of the damage with a large infusion of healing magic. But they warned that it still might not do any good if you push yourself before you're ready. If you try to return to duty before you've had adequate time to recover, you could quite possibly tear your heart apart. If that happens you'll bleed to death in three minutes, and they assured me it would be a very painful death if that happened," she warned sternly.

At this point even Strike was unable to maintain a completely stoic, neutral expression in light of the news. This time around he actually did blink at least once.

"Now, with that in mind, I'm going to ask you one very simple question. You don't have to answer it right now, simply think it over. Know that whatever that answer may be, good ugly or indifferent, I'll respect your wishes. But I want the answer to come from Thunder Strike the pony, not from Lieutenant Strike the Royal Guard," Celestia stated calmly. It was only after he nodded in understanding, that she continued. "That question is, do you want to die?"

To his credit, or perhaps against against his credit, he didn't immediately answer. Rather he looked like he was deep in thought at the question, before he ever spoke up again.

"... No, Your Highness, I... I don't," he stated, his words coming slowly but his voice was firm as he spoke. "I am a Royal Guard. I swore an oath to the Guard, to the Diarchy, and to Equestria. I'm willing and prepared to lay down my life in the performance of my duties and in the defense of others. But I don't want to die. And I apologize if I've done anything to give you the idea otherwise."

"Thank Faust," Luna sighed. "I only wish that could be the end of the matter. But I know from experience that it will not be. So now I must ask a most pressing question to you, Thunder Strike. And I would appreciate if you would show me the same level of honesty you showed my sister."

Strike nodded. "I will, Your Highness. A Guard is loyal to command and comrade alike."

"I am glad to hear that," Luna replied as she smiled. "Now... what is it that possesses you to work to such a compulsive degree? You continually push yourself as if the fate of Equestria itself hung in the balance of you doing your job. You consistently work more hours than just about everypony at the palace, as we have plainly seen. Even your dreams seem consumed by thoughts relating to your profession, and I do not understand why."

Strike didn't speak up in response.

"In all the times I have looked in on your dreams while performing my duties, I have seen absolutely nothing that indicates you having a life outside of your profession, and that fact concerns me greatly," Luna continued as she slowly but surely began to grow more agitated. "I have not seen a single dream or memory relating to anything from before you became a guard. Not a hobby, nor evidence of a love interest, nor even a stray thought about what you might do when your shift ends. I have not seen a single thing that would suggest Thunder Strike the pony ever even existed in the first place!

"Everything that we have witnessed in our endeavors to find an answer, everything is Lieutenant Thunder Strike of the Royal Guard, as if that is all there is to you! What I want to know is why is this!? Why, just... just why? Why... why... why do you treat this damnable job like it were the most important thing there is to be had in your life?"

"Because it's all that I have!"

The statement had been short, succinct, and carried far more force than even the Royal Canterlot Voice. Partly because of just how blunt it had been, but mostly because it'd been Thunder Strike who'd made it.

Thunder Strike was not a pony who was well known for raising his voice or displaying visible signs of agitation during his career. If one were to ask anypony who worked with him, they might be told how every word spoken was in an even, measured tone of voice. Every facial expression -limited as it may be- was deliberate. Everything related to how he expressed and conducted himself always gave off a feeling of purposefully weighed and measured, with noting ever left to chance.

There may or may not have been a pool amongst some of the palace staff, to see if it was possible to get a rise out of him, and what it would take to do just that. But it was more a rumor than anything as proof was hard to come by.

So for him to suddenly start shouting was definitely a surprise. One that left the sisters standing there stunned, as that carefully crafted veneer of professionalism seemed entirely absent and replaced with a strained, displeased expression as he panted.

And to watch that expression evaporate and be replaced with a look of realization at what he'd actually just said out loud, was painful to observe.

"It's all that I... that I have..." he repeated, almost sounding horrified by the words that were coming out of his mouth. And even more horrified by the fact that they were impossible to take back at this point.

Comments

[Bandit1990]

I like where this is going. I feel bad for Thunder Strike, I did kind of see coming that he doesn't have a life outside of his job. I'm interested in seeing more of what happened to him.

I am curious about how he got away with that for so long. Even if nopony was looking into him, there should be records indicating that he doesn't have a residence outside of the barracks, and that he basically never leaves the palace.

[Bronycommander]

What a Twist and cant blame the doctor, its sometimes nessesary. But you quite surprised me with the german

[Fireeaters]

I don't see many stories where the usual latin equivalent is german. Neat

[ramdom_player201]

I wonder if there are any family members referenced in his file, specifically parents. I'd assume there must be something of his past existence in his file when he first joined: school, parents or guardians, place of birth, whether he was from an orphanage. If those can be found, then the investigation could potentially move to there at some point. But it seems he has begun to open up by the end of this chapter. He's been operating on lockdown, and that's finally been cracked, he seems to have come to a realisation about his life. Still, I'm curious how the story will actually go, there's still plenty to uncover and I have been enjoying it so far.

[ChakatRedstripe]

Good chapter