>[spoiler]Sister.[/spoiler]
>[spoiler]Awaken, sister.[/spoiler]
>A harsh breath fills your lungs, lucidity rushing into your unconscious mind and bringing your fluttering eyes into focus.
>The first things you see are your down pillows, each shrouded in a dim haze from the darkness in your bedroom and the sleep in your eyes. 
>Above them is your headboard, sturdy, beautiful, and solid redwood, its gentle color slowly reminding your groggy brain of the others.
>Turning, your alabaster and gold wall hangings come into focus in the shadows, reminding you of your location and bringing clarity to the event you’d just experienced, the last words you remember hearing suddenly full of meaning.
>Though you never asked her to refrain from it, since her return Luna has subtly expressed compunctions against dreamwalking you.
>In the past your mind had served as a place of reflection for you both; a quiet meadow where you and your kin could speak in seclusion and elaborate on ideas or desires by vividly painting the extent of them into your dreamscapes.
>You remember with much regret that one of the final interactions you shared before her fall, and perhaps the official lynchpin of your divide, had entailed you barring her entrance to this place by force. 
>Even if you were sure that the eyes clawing savagely at the walls of your mind that night did so with grizzly intent, you often wondered what might have been if you allowed her access, let her explore your most abstract and personal thoughts.
>You wondered how different things might really be if she’d witnessed how deeply your drifting apart was wounding you firsthoof…
>You shake the drowsiness and digression from your head, allowing yourself several seconds before willing your body to stand.
>You can already hear the dull patter of several dual-pairs of hooves approaching your door from the outside. 
>Nevermore with those thoughts; there was no winning against hindsight, and Luna stepping into your mind out of the blue after abstaining so insistently outside of emergency made it clear that there were bigger things to address.
“Enter…” your sleep-roughened voice instructs, seemingly just in time to preempt what would surely have been a terrible racket of metal shoes on wood.
>There’s a stiff pause on the other end, and your sleepy mind sketches a crude picture into your door of a bewildered guardspony standing in the hall, their hoof suspended and suddenly useless.
>”I’m entering.” A feminine voice confirms a moment before your large door slowly swings open 
>Four Royal Dusk guardsmares in full regalia occupy the space on the other end, peering at you from outside as the light from their candles burn into your vision.
>A tad ironic, since you’re the only one present who would need candles to see. 
>Still, after a moment the improvised light serves its purpose, the face of the grandfather clock in the corner of your chambers becoming clearly legible. 
>3:48 AM; a little too early to wake up, even for you. 
>”There’s been an incident,” The guardsmare continues obviously, the meager sight offered from the various lamps held in the mouths of her winged companions reflecting off of her gloomy purple armor, “Our Lady requests your presence at your earliest possible convenience.”
>Earliest possible convenience?
>At least that was comforting.
>Your withers ease slightly, the under-acknowledged tension that had drawn them taught wilting somewhat.
”Are we in danger?” you ask, just to make sure that your sleep-deprived mind wasn’t jumping to unreasonable conclusions.
>”To the best of Our Lady’s knowledge, the situation is under control.”
>The guardmare’s words fight her eyes, all of theirs, worry tainting each globe.
>’Under control’ they say, but each one looks as if they’ve seen a ghost.
>’Flappable’ was the last word anypony you knew would use to describe the guardmares under Luna’s personal command.
>Even now they fought what you were sure was a stirring experience with their practiced composure and emotionless monotone.
>They can’t hide it, though; years upon years of looking into the eyes of your subjects had made you quite adept at searching out their emotions.
>Your horn lights, the tendrils of your mind reaching out to find the articles of your own official dressing.
>A few moments later you are adorned and ready, your own gilded breastplate and crown reflecting the firelight as your mane and tail came to life with honed magicks. 
>Tumbling in the air, their seemingly random movement follows not the stream of any Equis wind, but the lapping waves of the ether itself, each subtle movement synchronizing your spellcasting with its ebb and flow and alerting you to changes in the Stream.
>And what changes there had been.
>The manawind, though gentle now, carried with it the remnants of a violent and recent disturbance, the faint aftershocks of the event still noticeably rumbling by.
“Where does she wish to meet? Escort me there.” you command, setting your brow and looking over them with a determined but calm expression.
>”The dungeons.” The guardsmare replies, the uncertainty in her eyes and that of her companions improving moderately at your show of regal confidence.
>With Starswirl gone it was sometimes easy to fall into routine and simply walk ahead without understanding why, but the mild change in their attitude reminds you how comforting it can be to have counsel and be lead; to know that somepony had the will and the talent to advise your actions in troubling times.
>It was something you’d gone wanting of from the stallion in recent years, but had gained a measure of with the return of your treasured family member.
>Perhaps if your younger sister knew how much you valued her vision and intellect you might still be asleep right now.
>You hoped that was the case, that you being conscious right now was simply a formality or a cautionary maneuver and not because the raw strength of both Diarchs were needed to overcome the threat.
>You want to believe this, but the memory of Luna mentally rousing you was still fresh in your mind.
>We’re safe right now, but you need to wake up immediately? 
>The dungeons?		
>Maybe it was an assassin. 
>The attempt on your lives had failed and the time had come to seriously consider war, or in the very least messy negotiations.
>You chuckle softly as you cross through the boundary of your bed chambers, a few ears turning quizzically to regard you but nothing more.
>A little grim, Celestia.
>Had you gotten so restless that the quiet was making you nervous? 
>The closest thing to a real conflict in the last thousand years had been the Changlings, and that was only if you leaped to count the casualty-less little skirmish during the wedding anything close to a ‘real conflict’. 
>Though they were fairly numerous for such a small-time faction, the weight of their full force could hardly even handle the unsuspecting guards present for Shining and Cadence’s ceremony, and almost a third of them had been stallions.
>It was quite clear to both sides after the fact that subterfuge and surprise would have been their best and only chance for success, and they failed. 
>It would be foolish to simply write them off as harmless, of course, but so too would it be foolish to chatter your teeth every night over Chrysalis as if she were equal to the Alpha-Taur Sharphorn’s and Houndess Grizzlefur’s of yore.
>No, the actions of you and your sister over the centuries had ensured that the enemies of the past would either become allies in good commune, or ancient, grumbling dissidents in poor position to challenge the harmony you had hoofcrafted in your realm.
>It didn’t hurt that your empire had grown large, prosperous and strong at a rate that was unexpected, almost miraculous.
>For the time, at least.	
>How things have changed.
>Now that you’ve all collected in the hall the desire fills you to question the guardsmares at your side immediately, to have them hoof you the conflict so that you could properly face it, but the soft faces illuminated in the candlelight give you pause.
>Not those of the mail-clad guards, no, but those of the loyal servants and the odd dignitary peering at you from the cracked doors of their quarters, their eyes silently questioning their ruler, searching your face for alarm or fear.
>You make sure they find neither.
“Lay your heads down, my little ponies.” You comfort, your voice hushed and gentle as it reaches down the hall, “Dawn will come, but not now. Sleep.” 
>Your tired subjects return you looks of trust and acceptance, and after a time all of the doors ahead of you have drifted shut. 
>Soon you would hear it, but not here.
>They’d already seen you gallivanting in the halls with a party of lightly armed soldiers in the dead of night, you didn’t need to raise any more intrigue before you knew exactly what was happening.
“Come close, we’re leaving.” You whisper to your escorts 
>Luna’s guard draws nearer to you, their fur grazing your legs before you began to reach for your destination. 
>Bland spots of light and fuzzy borders fill your mind’s eye, and in a moment you realize that you overshot your destination.
>It had been so long since there had been any real need of the dungeon, let alone the need to flash there on the spot, that sometimes you forgot ‘exactly’ where it was.
>No matter.
>You try again, being a little more generous with your pathing, and this time you find a large, brilliant sphere, its perimeter reaching out much farther than any others nearby.
>She was waiting for you. 	
>With little time left to lose you chose your location, a spot outside her range of magical presence, and leapt, grasping your companions on the way.    
>You learned the hard way a long, long time ago not to teleport within the range of her aura, not after the time you jumped directly to her side on a warm June morning and the raw energy you entered with sent the poor stonecutter, in your path and behind her veil, up into the air with the force. 
>Razed off a quarter of her coat with the heat.
>She was fine, but you never forgot, and certainly wouldn’t be making that mistake again.
>The deed was done in a breath, the light around you bending swiftly back into focus.
>Your sister’s attendants sway after each of you is successfully inscribed back into space-time, clearly not used to regular long-distance teleportation. 
>Before you, at the far end of the passage, stands your kin and their Diarch, the dark hues of her midnight blue coat and sable mane standing augustly apart from her surroundings, even in the lowlight.
>At her side, statuesquely bookending a familiar set of steel-reinforced double doors, are two of their sisters in arms.
>”Sister,” She welcomes quickly, clearly fretting something as she awaited your arrival, “we have much to discuss with you.” 
>Though she hides it much better, she looks just a troubled as her personal guardsmares.
>You know this not because of your extensive social experience, but because of the bond you share.
“What happened while I was asleep, Luna? What’s going on? Is somepony in the Dungeon?” you ask freely, the number of questions buzzing in your head spilling out of your mouth in an anxious stream. 
>Luna answers by gesturing to the guards with her head, both of whom step forward to unlock the half-door on their respective sides before pulling them open.
>A chilly, musty smell touches your nose as the air within shifts, the cobwebs leading to the falling stone stairs dancing in the stuffy breeze. 
>”We leave thee for the guards below; stand fast here, ensure that no soul crosseth this boundary going OR coming from the stair that does not bear our royal chaplet. Not ONE SOUL, good ladies, and be ready for further instruction lest the future catch you unawares. We dismiss thee to thine posts.” She instructs, the two guarding the portal in question saluting her and snapping their shoed hooves together while the other four fall into place, lining up withers to withers with the previous pair before mimicking their show of respect. 
>Your sister passes you a quick glance before crossing through the threshold, silently encouraging you to follow. 
“I can still feel the ripples, Luna. What kind of magic accomplished such a thing?” you continue, sticking close behind her, deciding then that limiting your questions to one at a time might improve your odds of being answered. “It… it almost feels like…“
>”A failed rift spell?” she answers simply, lighting her horn with magic as the dungeon doors drifted shut behind you, the dark aura creating a soft, unobtrusive glow.
>Now it’s coming back.
>An age-withered memory recounts itself in bits and pieces within your mind.
>A bearded stallion clicks his tongue and asks you and Luna to try again.
>You, tired and frustrated from your failures as a team, (and likely, too, being shown up by an aging male) instead try to accomplish breaching the barrier to Tartarus on your own.
>It was a foolhardy mistake that you regretted almost immediately.
>The opening you had been trying to create was only the size of a pinprick for safety reasons, but the resulting impact from the rebound made you wish it was even smaller.
>You remember being airborne for a harrowing second and a half, the world around you turning upside down and bashing you hard in the side of the head with the ground for your transgression.
>You were younger then, and though you remembered the pain, the magical signature of the failed spell had worn itself vague with the passage of time, especially since you never had the gall to misuse magic like that to any degree ever again.
>That was one question answered, but now there were even more, and the pit of your stomach was starting to sink at the thought of Tartarus being involved in this in any way.
>”Though we, too, could not isolate the intent of the magic at the time, we became worried when we felt such a large amount of it building in your hedge garden. Though we attempted to isolate the source in time, I am afraid our coming was far too late to prevent the displacement.”
>A disturbing thought enters your mind and quickly spills from your mouth.
”The groundsponies-“
>”Remain unharmed, dear sister.” Luna interrupts much to your relief, “Though, as it was OUR watch what allowed this event to unfold, we feel it is our duty to inform you that your sculpture terrace was indeed quite… ‘displaced’ by the rebound…” She continues, offering you a sorrowful look.
>Though you do love, or, perhaps ‘loved’, that garden, the pain of its loss would have paled in comparison to Sprout Green’s, or Tulip Shell’s, or even grumpy old Mint Julep’s. 
>The fear you felt for them just now had put the destruction of any statues or bits of shrubbery into meaningful perspective.
“So… somepony failed a rift spell? In the field?” You ask, your fatigued mind trying to unite the pieces before you into the most reasonable outcome.  
>”Succeeded, sister…” Luna corrects gravely, her brow hardening as you approach her from the side. 
>She was staring straight ahead now, the sounds of your twin pairs of shoes clinking dully against the stone steps taking the place of your conversation for a while.
>You follow her gaze below and spot a distant light, one that surely marked the end of several more questions.
>In the momentary silence your mind fills in the blanks, and you realize that you were not going to meet a reckless soul that had gambled with dangerous magicks near the home of her princesses and lost, but the being or beings that reckless will had brought to your doorstep.
“Luna?” You question in a whisper, your voice returning to you in hushed vowels from the enclosed space.
>”When I and my guard arrived at the scene of the destruction on wing, we overlooked a great crater engraved in the heart of your labyrinth. As we descended, we found that one of your field-workers had come to investigate the sound as well. It wasn’t hard for him to reach the void; the chaos had torn open a path to their quarters, sparing the wood for the glass in their windows, all shattered.” Luna recounts, her face turning grim.
>’Him’. 
>It had to be young Sprout Green.	
>He was the only male groundskeeper under your employ.
>He helped Tulip tend to the rose bushes. 
>”Before we could warn the fair thing of the peril, we saw it.” Luna went on, her eyes narrowing slightly at an unseen foe.
>”A sinister thing rose from the crater, sister!” she began, her tone deadly serious and voice low, the words she recounted only for your ears, “We almost mistook it for a Minotaur, but we realized our mistake quickly. It’s features were… wrong, as if somepony of GREAT menace had fashioned it purely to strike an ill cord in us. It looked into us and we could not speak, could not act. Such-such cowardice consumed us in that moment, Celestia—!” 
>You crane your neck and press your cheek gently into the spot in between her neck and shoulder, slowing her to a stop as you reached the end of the stairs.
>The steps had given way to flat stone which stretched on for a short time and broke into a wider room, and the walls on the way cracked occasionally as small weeds, vines, and clumps of dirt invaded the sub-Equis prison.
>In the distance you could see the outlines of several Dusk guardsmares lining the wall on the left side, the right cleaved by tall, metal spokes that harshly divided the class and title of those it separated.
>They were a powerful, oppressive sight, one that you hadn’t looked upon personally in years.
>You stop her here, in the connecting corridor, and she willingly stays, not wanting to continue her loss of composure in front of her personal wards.
>Not only that, but the confusion, guilt and vulnerability you felt in your kin as she fumbled away her official style of speech inspired you to interject.
“… I can’t see any injuries. Were you hurt?” you ask softly, taking the opportunity to lay your neck entirely over her withers, embracing her fully and ignoring the discomfort of your stifling plate pressing into your chest.
>You feel her shake her head ‘no’ against your coat, staying with you a while before breaking away.
>”None were harmed in the confrontation, not even the creature, though I fear that our incompetence nearly caused a great tragedy.” She laments, facing her back to the lit room ahead and focusing her gaze on you. 
>“It rose suddenly on hind legs, its cruel eyes falling on the innocent that had drawn unknowingly to the epicenter. It took a step forward and I saw it’s hand-claws unravel from its paws, long, slender things; the scream of the young colt strikes me from my stupor. We flew to his aid, cutting ourselves between he and it.” 
>Your sister leans up on her hind legs slightly before crashing her shoed hooves down onto the slabs below aggressively.
>” ‘Beast!’ we cried, ‘Keep away!’. It stayed it’s advance, twisting it’s face at us. One of our guard, prepared for the need of incarceration, threw their cuffs into the air for us to claim with our magic. It flinched away violently as we ensnared its wrists, but then simply stopped and stared at the chains. We thought it might try to shatter them, but it did not. It merely widened its eyes at the steel and froze, unmoving, as if its will to resist had been stolen away by a spell. We thought it might be a rouse to bedevil us, so we bound it further and surrounded it on all sides with our self and our guard. It followed us into the dungeons without incident.“ She recounted finally, a bewildered expression painting her face as she looked away.
>”It HAD to follow us, or be drug; we tried to grip its body with magic, but it kept-kept… eluding us, as if our mind was grasping at smoke in the wind…” Luna said, obviously disturbed by this revelation.
>What a thing to happen in the middle of the night, and the mysteries only kept piling up.
>You lift a gilded hoof and press the cool metal against your warm head, the details of the story having riled your body to warmth even in the cold, sunless depths beneath the castle. 
>Magic of a forbidden nature being triggered in the capital, quite possibly by an un-captured culprit, and causing unspecific amounts of property damage.
>Innocent ponies endangered, including a young colt, and by a monster foreign to perhaps even the likes of the Everfree given your studious sister’s incapability of identifying it with any great clarity beyond ‘looks like but not’s.
>All of this before sunrise; around 3AM if you had to place things.
>If you were as superstitious and sensational as the journalists who were going to lampoon your guards in the papers tomorrow—ah, today that is, you’d also take into consideration the timing.
>You could already see the headlines:
>’Unholy Creature Penetrates Royal Security and DESTROYS GARDEN During the Witching Hour!!! Read more inside!’
>Ahh, you’d forgotten about the press storm until just now. 
>Lovely.
>Well, at least you had all the details, and if questioned you could make a make a vague, boring statement and play things off as business as usual.
>’There was an issue, but I believe our overly-energetic Daily Sun may have exaggerated things a tad. Everypony’s fine’.
>That was what the papers would hear, of course.
>Internally, things would be a bit more complicated, and just when you thought you were starting to wrap your head around the situation, a voice interrupts your thoughts.   
>”Princess Celestia? My Lady?”
>Luna quickly turns to regard a little gaurdsmare that had approached her from the rear, her expression souring from the possible eaves dropped on your private conversation. 
>The guard’s ears flatten slightly, her eyes bouncing between you, “I’m sorry to interrupt my lady, but I feel you should know…” She begins, turning her head to trade uncomfortable looks with a mailed sister down the hall, “It’s begun, well… it’s talking to us.” She finishes.
>What?
>”What?” your sister asks immediately, stepping toward the mare and flashing you an incredulous look.
>”It was mumbling, mewling something, holding its head and looking all around its cell. We thought it might’ve just been dazed and whining about it’s injury, but then he, well, it sounds like a ‘he’, looked Gray Gables right in the eyes and spoke. Asked her what was happening, in clear Equish and everything.” 
>Luna’s eyes the mare for any hints of deceit before turning to you, baffled.
>”It spoke no words to us on the way, not once. We-we thought it was merely a… a simple—” she tries, stopping short to knit her brow and at the ground in contemplation.
>”Gables didn’t say anything. Me either, we figured, uh… “
>At first you thought the creature might’ve been averse to metal.
>You hypothesized that perhaps its strange behavior was linked to some magical or biological reaction, but now a new thought was coming to mind, one that was quickly gaining traction in likelihood.
>That being, the shackles hadn’t made him docile because of the material or any sort of affliction it imposed, but because they had been used to capture him and he was surrounded. 
>He was surrendering. 
“Lead us.” You command with new vigor, your sister lifting her head and following close behind you as you set off.
>You weren’t sure what you’d find in the cell at the end of the room, but you knew you had to finish with these secondhand accounts.
“Injury?” you repeat, more to the guardsmare on your right than the relative quickly drawing up your left, not entirely able to hide the accusation in your voice.
>”We told you no lie, sister. No blows were struck, it was injured when we found it. We were going to send for an acolyte but we weren’t sure who might be trusted or qualified for… to deal with… whatever they are.” She intercedes defensively, a look of mild hurt in her eyes.
>You believe her, and though you feel a little guilty, you had to ask. 
>No further words are spoken for a while, the three members of your small group passing by sentries and empty cells until you spotted a hole in ranks; an empty spot where pattern demanded another body.
>The mare you believe to be Gray Gables turns marginally from the bars before her, and you can physically see the sigh of relief that runs through her body at your arrival.
>The winged pony on your left scuttles forward and takes her place in the gap, snapping her spear back into place and resetting the look of stony aplomb that was expected of a pony in the Dusk corps.
>They both stare forward now, looking deeply into the glorified cage where your target was being kept. 
>You turn your head expectantly, fitting your expression into a dignified mask not unlike their own as you finally catch sight of him.
>It is at this moment you become sure that the first thing you’ll remember from this experience in the future are the goosebumps that tickle your skin when you find his eyes already on you; shocking, cold things examining your form from the darkness.
>You found them instantly, even in the gloom of his stone and steel box.
>He shifts, the rear legs drawn close to his chest widening slightly as his gaze explores you.
>Unbidden, the muscles in his legs flex and lift him from the ground as you stop before his personal gate, the clothes on his back scraping against the dirt and dust on the wall.
>The chains binding his limbs rattle ominously, their tinny chirps rounding the enclosed space as he came to his full height, a stature that peeked above even yours, if only just.
>A mess of straight hair crowns his head, and somewhere within the locks a wound seeps crimson in a dark line that travels down his cheek and across his slender neck.
>As you stare at him, unmoving and silent, you try to imagine him surrounded in wreck and torn earth, the low hum of the event coursing through your magic-sensitive mane.
>You wonder if you could have mustered your sister’s great restraint when it moved on the brown and green field worker, his soft, masculine voice crying out for protection.
>An apology may be in order. 
>The coal-blue Alicorn once again stands at your side, exchanging you an understanding look before following your gaze back into the cell.
>Where to begin.
>If they could truly comprehend speech, then asking what species they were as an introduction would be quite rude.
>You could ask what means they used to get here, but that would assume their—
>”Where… am I?”
>A vivid, rich voice cuts through your conundrums, its quality setting itself apart instantly from the other voices you’d heard today.
>”I know… I KNOW you can understand me…” The creature continues with your absence of reply, its eyes and tone becoming desperate, despairing, “I know you can. Please, say something. What’s going on? Where… ?” 
>His exposed, fearful tone surprises you somewhat.
>How something that looked like him could be afraid of… anything, rang so odd to you.
>The pitch of his voice might be abnormal, but there was no mistaking its emotional content.
>Or its gender, for that matter.
>“Thou art in Canterlot Castle, in the heartland of Equestria.” Your sister replies, the speed of her response deterring your own.
>”Canterlot? Equestria…” He parrots, puzzled, frowning at the stones beneath his peculiar feet.
>If his reaction could be believed, then the possibility of this being intentional on his part was becoming much less likely.
>You wait a while, allowing him to ponder the names.
>In any other situation that action might have been strange.
>After all, who was so estranged from the world as to be ignorant of Equiestria or its capital?
>A competent answer, if a little fantastical and vague, would very much BE a foreigner that had wrenched his way through a ground-shaking alien rift who’s power you’d yet seen equaled in FAILURE, let alone success.
>Fantastical you say, and yet that very exception stands before you.
“Can you tell us anything about the magic that brought you here? What can you remember before arriving?” you ask, deciding it would be best for him to fill in the blanks where appropriate instead of playing guesswork.
>”M-… Magic?” he repeats again, his voice soft as he takes a hesitant step closer, now standing in the center of his personal room and re-examining it, searching for answers forlornly in the foundation, “I-I can’t… I can’t remember anything.” He whispers, defeated and lost.
>Drat.
>That would have been helpful.
>Still, things were moving a lot more smoothly now that you had the other witness in front of you, even if his presence was a tad… daunting.
>Though you didn’t show it in speech, you still felt quite comfortable being on this side of the bars, even now, after you’d opened a dialogue.
>You glance briefly at Luna before turning to study him again, pondering which query of hundreds you could inquire would suit efficiency of time.
>He’s looking at you again, scrutinizing your shape, and you have to look away.
>”What are… did I… have I been drugged?” he continues, muddled.
>Clearly he was just as used to seeing ponies as you were to seeing… whatever it was he was, considering how unabashedly he stares.
>You doubt the effects his intense eyes had on you were nearly as profound as yours on him.
>He experimentally lifts a forelimb, and for a moment you think that he’s going to try and touch you.
>He pauses when you stiffen and retreat marginally, and instead hovers it slowly upwards into his mane, flinching slightly when he finds what is likely to be a nasty bruise.    
>As he pulls his mino-like hand away, he begins to stare into IT for his answers, his digits each tipped with a coat of fresh… 
>FRESH blood?
>…
>You're a fool.
>You lean forward slightly, your snout barely peeking in between the bars.
>You ignore your sister’s hiss for caution as you observe him, his sharp eyes drifting listlessly, scanning the spaces in between his fingers for nothing.
“Look at me.” You command, your eyes narrowing with focus.
>He returns your gaze, if with some difficulty.
>You ignore the unkind tingle that rides your spine as he zeros in on you.
“Where are you, right now?”
>”Where… ?” he returns with confusion, and you notice a fresh rivulet trickle down the side of his head, following the path set by the dried coagulant that came before it.
>"I-I'm, uh… this is…"  
>Suddenly the creature sways dangerously, his forelimb reaching out sideways to find a wall that isn’t there.
>”… W-… where am I? Please, say s-suh—some… I… I want to go home.” the poor male whimpers, his voice stained with a mix of dread and misery as the lights in his head start to go out. 
>You force the lock on his cell door open with magic and viciously yank the slide open as he begins to topple.
>You move forward, realizing at the very same time you lit your horn to hold him that you couldn’t, and extend your wing just in time to cushion his head from any further collision, this time with the stone in the dungeon. 
“Luna! Get—get—!“ you exclaim ineloquently, turning to your flustered and paralyzed sister, the male’s eyes searching the ceiling of his cell fruitlessly before drifting shut, the alabaster feathers now cradling his head speckled a stomach-churning red in the flickering lamplight.
 
 	____________

>The soft clack of shoes against the royal blue tile under your hooves plays filler to your conversation for a while, your eyes lingering on the sunlit stained glass windows you pass by in the throne room.  
“Hm, is that really all?” you ask with only mild interest, your brow rising.
>”Uhm…” the milk-yellow unicorn hums, the sounds of shifting paper and befuddlement buzzing up from your right.
>”Cost of-… hrm… this… mhm.” She murmurs fastidiously, the tiny white curls on either side of her head bobbing in step with her hooffalls, “Uhm, yes ma’am. With all the work that’s been done, plus the amounts quoted to us before, the repairs to the garden should cost approximately two-thousand, three-hundred and fifty bits. Erm—”
>She chances a quick glance back at the papers floating in her canary yellow aura, her likely-colored and lensed eyes scanning the contents before returning to you, “Yes… allegedly.” she, well, mostly confirms, pushing her head-sized glasses farther up on her snout. 
>There probably wasn’t anypony in all of Canterlot that was as dedicated to the numbers as the pony walking (well, trotting) beside you, and she never seemed unassured of that possibility herself.
>The books were always fickle though, and Eggnog wasn’t the sort of mare to be called wrong in hindsight. 
“I… see. Well, that isn’t too bad. I suppose we could start charging a Bit for entrance over Fall and Spring.” You reply thoughtfully, pulling open the door ahead preemptively with your magic as the two of you approach.
>”Five bits may be more suitable to account for the damage, ma’am.” A nasally voice revises from below, causing you to chuckle softly.
“I want to put a dent in our losses, miss Cream, not worry school teachers over the cost of coming to see their nation’s capital.” 
>”Mm… very well, ma’am.” The pony replies, collecting the papers in her aura into a neat stack before floating them off to her side to join the large multitude of other, unrelated pieces of parchment.   
>She obviously isn’t satisfied, but it’ll have to do for now. 
>Things aren’t exactly ‘tight’ around here, but ponies like her, or ponies that WERE her more accurately, paying attention to such large-scale spending were probably the reason for that.
>You could make some cuts here and there. 
>It wasn’t the end of the world.
>The endless ‘I told you so’s’ from your young secretary when gaps in the budget started to eat into your ‘cake money’ might cause a few minor apocalypses, though.
“How goes that other issue we discussed yesterday morning?” you ask, changing the subject to something of a bit more interest as you both pass through the archway and into the connecting corridor.
>Eggnog peers up at you, readjusting her glasses worryingly at the prospect of committing the unforgivable crime of forgetting an important detail of one of your dozens of daily discussions when the answer finally comes to her.
>”Oh, ah, yes. The, uh… ‘Anoymous’s papers are moving through the proper channels.” She replies discretely, setting her gaze forward, “He should be an officially recognized citizen of Canterlot within the week.” 
>Perfect.
>That was another important task dealt with.
>As all of this unfolded, you’d rather not have to entertain the chance that he might be whisked away or arrested on some silly notion of illegal immigration or spying to suit somepony else’s own interests.   
>Better to keep him here, safe and relatively unknown, and let the pieces fall into place slowly.
>Considering how unlikely it is at this point that he might ever return home, it might be best to keep the profundity of his arrival under wraps until he himself decided to start speaking up about it, if ever.
>That would probably be a little easier if he weren’t in the literal and figurative center of the country, but you could cross that bridge when it came.
>Until then, if anypony inquired he was simply a foreigner who’s arrival had nothing to do with wrecked garden.
>The two of you walk in a comfortable silence for a while; you enjoying the colorful tapestries and related artwork while she occasionally noses into a page or two from her stack.
>You nod occasionally to the passing guard, maid or dignitary, avoiding long winded chats with the latter-most when you could.
>You had somewhere to be, and you were running a little late. 
>Hopefully she was still awake, but it wouldn’t be a problem to wake her for a single question. 
>Unlike you, she had kept a completely routine sleeping schedule (for her, at least) over the last five days and six nights.
>This morning was the first time since the incident that you had actually woken up IN the morning, after seven proper hours of sleep.
>The last few days had been rough but worth their effort in raw progress, and now it was high time that you started paying closer attention to your 'special guest'.
>After politely breaking away from your last group and rounding the corner into the south-most hall you come to stand before two large, connected doors of dark oak, guarded on either side by two… strangely attired guardmares.
>WHAT they were wearing was perfectly normal, but the time of day they were doing it causes your mind to stay a moment.
“I’ve come to see my sister.” You request of them simply, giving them the slightest of nods.
>Your companion leans forward slightly, squinting through her rims as she scrutinized their dress.
>”It’s almost eight-thirty in the morning… shouldn’t you night-shifters have been relieved by now? This is highly out of the ordinary…” Eggnog comments, snout scrunching slightly in offense at the breach in protocol.
>”I’m very sorry Princess,” the Dusk Guardsmare on the left replies, the weariness clear in her voice, “but Our Lady has instructed us to turn away all visitors for the remaining hour.”
>Strange, she never keeps guards past their time.
>Stranger still that she would bar ALL guests from her chambers; she didn’t even tell the day guards to do that when she was sleeping. 
>The guardsmares trade nervous looks as you, too, began to scrutinize them, this time not for their dark purple armor, but for the truth of the situation in their eyes. 
>”O-Our orders were… quite clear, Princess. Our Lady clearly stated that-that…” Right adds, but your gears were already turning. 
>She wasn’t… 
>You talked about this.
>An annoyed huff escapes your nose as you step forward, horn lighting with magic.
“Off with you, ladies. Go to your barracks and get the sleep you deserve. I’ll go and fetch your relief.”
>'Relief', indeed.
>Maybe your sister wasn't as calm and unaffected by the events of the week as she was letting on…
>Stress was a totally normal response to all of this, you could relate, but that wasn't any excuse for what BETTER NOT be happening right now.
>The guardsmares swallow and again trade apprehensive looks, caught in between orders from their Diarchs.
>Left looks as though she wants to speak up, but the golden aura twisting free the mechanisms within the lock and pulling your sister’s door open is all she needs to catch the hint that you would no longer be accepting their 'suggestions' to keep out.
>The guardsmares scuttle from their spots as the opening doors take their place, offering you half-hearted salutes as they depart down the intersecting hall.
>Ahead of you lies a patch a flat tiles leading to a climbing staircase, wide enough to hold three ponies walking side-to-side.  
>You advance wordlessly, being sure to avoid the hard wood and instead pad your steps quietly against the dark blue carpet lining the center of the ascent.
>As you draw near to your sister’s room a curious sight catches your attention, no doubt evidence of her misbehavior.
>”Is that a piece of armor? Who would leave something like this just lying around?” Your assistant grumbles under her breath, clearly not having connected the dots as you had.
>You step over the gold and blue helmet abandoned on the stairs and carry on, merely noting from the void in the forehead as you pass that it undoubtedly belonged to a unicorn. 
>”Messy…” Eggnog grouses under her breath, frowning at the article as she lifts it in her magic and sets it to her side to join her reports, careful not to bang it on the wall as she loosely tailed you.
>The next thing to cross your path is not armor, but sound.
>Soft, and just barely within earshot.
>A rhythmic shifting of weight and fabric in the space just above your heads.
>A wide room slowly comes into view as you round the final bend, the doors thrown wide open to reveal Luna’s chambers.
>Several more pieces of expensive royal plate litter the ground within, but there was a far more objectionable scene ahead of them.
>You step inside with the same prudence that quieted your approach and turn, looking immediately to you sister’s queen-sized bed, atop which were three figures, only two fully visible.
>Laying on the tousled black sheets to the left is an auburn earth pony observing the other two with a dreamy expression, his maleness unabashedly unsheathed if softened and spent.
>He doesn’t notice your entrance, which gives you plenty of time to absorb further detail from his partners yourself, even if you didn’t much want to. 
>The second most easily seen player is your sister, her midnight blue wings extended just slightly from her sides and rocking gently with her hip movement, much of her lower half thankfully consumed in her dark comforter.
>She’d abandoned her usual attire for a bare coat excluding her headpiece; the traditional tiara had been replaced with a... familiar, steel-blue sallet.
>A pleasured sigh is wrung from the third bedmate and final guard as your sister retreats from his horn, a long line of saliva connecting her pink tongue with the tip.
>Ah, you have something of his.	
>From the bits of him you can see from under both the sheets AND your sister’s superiorly-sized form you believe you can make out a rust orange coat.
>”Please, s-somepony, help…” he whimpers, but the tone and soft volume of his voice betrays his words, and the other male only grins. 
>”Nay,” Luna rejects huskily, her lower body working him frantically into her crowded bed, “Thine partner lies d-defeated, and nopony comes to thine aid. Thy precious, young, soft body belongs—nng… to the Queen of the Night! - and you will serve your queen… u-ugh, yes, serve us…”
>Queen, hm?
>Right.
>You open your mouth to object with a biting remark, but unfortunately you’re beaten to the punch by a slightly less witty reaction.
>”What in Equis is that sme-?… C-CRACKERS—“ Eggnog squeaks in embarrassment, the heavy helm in her magical grasp clattering loudly to the ground as she loses focus.
>The three bedfellows mirror her sound of surprise and flinch in unison, the bold auburn colt quickly flipping onto his side to hide his brazenly displayed stallionhood.
>You can’t hold back the amused smirk that spreads on your face when your sister’s first act after being caught is NOT to dismount the ashamed male beneath her, but instead to hurriedly shake the Nightmare Moon helm from her head and magically jam it under her bed.
>”S-sister?! This is not wh-wh-… A-ah—“ She gasps, flustered, a grimace replacing your smile as the unmistakable and slick sound of her de-coupling the orange stallion underneath the covers reaches your ears.
>It suddenly takes all of your self-control as a mare and a ruler not to imagine your own flesh and blood sister being penetrated in vivid detail.  
>Maybe confronting her in the act for a laugh instead of knocking wasn’t the brightest idea you’ve ever had.
“Hah! Yes, do regale me with the incredible tale of how YET MORE male watch-guards accidentally rode you to completion whilst helping you search for your lost crown.” you return, stopping her excuses early and hoping your wry retort is enough to hide your own heating face.
>Both of the stallions collect a layer of sheets and pull them from the bed to hide their shame, their heads hung like reprimanded foals.
>Your sister visibly pouts as they hastily retreat to her personal bathroom, collecting their bits of armor on the way. 
>Your aid emits another high-pitched sound as the piece she’d brought up the stairs hovered by in a baby blue aura and accidentally bumped her on the cutie mark, shocking her into hiding her wandering eyes again.
>”Both our work and the night are completed, sister. Why do you insist on spoiling our-our—“ 
”With GUARDS that have a POST and a JOB that you were taking them from with your reckless appetites?” you interrupt, silencing her.
>”W-We were merely doing our duty as an administrator!” she replies defensively, shifting fully atop her nearly bare bed to face you, “Thy little birds are always so tense and distracted when they report to us,” Luna trails off, turning towards her open bathroom.
>Her eyes lid as she inspects something outside of your angle of vision within.
>”And you know how they… ache so, in the mornings…” 
>This is why you keep telling them to STOP sending male guards down here.
>Beret needs to quit delegating these things to Snare and Flechette; those mares were nothing but trouble and they KNEW how your sister was.
>This marked the second time this month—that you knew of—that they’d ‘accidentally’ logged some new, eager male recruit to her morning chamber detail, and this time it was two of them.
>”Perhaps if you tended to thine flock thyself every once and a while, they wouldn’t suffer so…” Luna remarks further, shooting you a crass smile. “…tending to ANY flock might improve YOUR mood, as well…“
>You scowl at her as the males depart from her washroom, their coats, wings and horn dyed alabaster with the return of their enchanted plate. 
>You share the same unkind look with them as they quickly leave your sister’s room, their ‘swords’ thankfully hidden away from the public that would surely pass them in the halls when they arrived. 
>Eggnog is only just emerging fully from her paper wall.
”I have an important matter to discuss with you, so if you have any more insubordinates hiding in your sheets I’d appreciate a warning before any more coltish moaning, MY QUEEN.”
>Your sister’s face burns as she breaks eye contact with you, slighted but receptive.
>Yeah, that shut’er up.
>Maybe in the future she'll think twice about bringing up the Sun Diarch’s… issues, in casual conversation.
>…	
>Every untaken pony has dry spells. 
>It-it wasn’t like you weren’t—
“Ahem—“ you cough, ridding yourself of unnecessary and… depressing thoughts, “anyways, I’ve come to speak to you about Anonymous...” 
>The last word catches her attention immediately, but the droop in her ears answers your next question before you can ask it.
“You still haven’t had any luck?” 
>”No, sister. Neither poise nor force has had any effect. Whether concussed or recovering his sleeping mind whispers in puzzles I cannot solve...” She replies, furrowing her brow in thought.
>Horseshoes.
>You didn’t exactly like asking her to spy on pon-uh, people, as it were, but it was a little hard combating the ‘what if’s  and ‘maybe’s that found you at night without a little more solid reassurance.
>Words were just words, and in absolute ignorance they could spin any sort of falsehoods to suit the speaker.
>You were completely in the dark, and considering your inability to garner any significant amount of information about him beyond his word and his personal effects this Anonymous had a troubling amount of power in the situation.
>This was all probably paranoia, but it never hurt to be sure…
>More hooves-on time would just have to be spent. 
>You couldn’t be around him at all hours, but he was rarely alone for long stretches considering his injuries.
>SOMEPONY would notice if he was truly malevolent. 
>You felt bad scrutinizing him under the circumstances, but nothing quite like this had ever happened before, and there were so many possible outcomes, many of which were bad, that you would be doing every single being in Equiestria a disservice by not investigating to the best of your abilities.
>If ‘wait and see’ was the best you could do, then so be it.
“It’s alright, Luna.” You comfort, offering her a small nod, “If that’s the way things are, just pop in on him every once and a while and report any changes. That should suffice. In the meantime I’ll try to spend a bit more time with him.”
>Your sister returns your nod, your plan set in her head.
“That will be all. Try and… get some rest while I’m gone? Real rest. You know how I worry when you stay up like this.” You chide, flashing her a warm look as you turn to leave.
>She huffs foalishly at your mothering but smiles all the while, clearly content with your parting words.
>As you go you leave your attending behind, her treble voice echoing down the staircase as she bids farewell to your sister.
>”U-uhm, yes. Very well, that will be all… yes.” you hear, your ears turning back to listen in in further detail, “I… I wasn’t, I mean… I didn’t, uh, I didn't see anything by the way…”
>Ah, poor lamb.
>She saw EVERYTHING.

>A fatigued sigh escapes your lips as the sound of Canterlot Castle’s bell chime finally and at long last floods your throne room twelve glorious times. 
>Even the ponies lined up on your red velvet carpet and beyond look relieved to be free for a while, even if their own sheer numbers were the cause of the wait.
”Please take a number from the bailiff!” your strong voice echoes as they began to shift in place, “We will resume court soon, preferably within the hour!”
>The line of various earth ponies, pegasi and unicorns ark around and pass by a male guard in gilded armor, his charming smile easing many a grouchy female face as each one took their respective number cards to mark their place in line before going on their way for lunch.
>That was sounding beautiful right about now. 
>You hadn’t eaten breakfast and you were really starting to feel it.
>Day Court was a way for you connect with normal citizens on a more personal level without all the bureaucracy, to hear their grievances firsthoof and educate them on recently altered laws or rulings; it was something you enjoyed, even if the process could be tiring.
>Unfortunately, between this, balancing the books, babysitting your precocious sister AND setting some familiar ground rules with some fresh recruits, you didn’t exactly have time to grab a bite to eat.
>As you watch the ponies attending the court filing out of your throne room you find yourself feeling relieved that only the ones who’d come before twelve could return afterwards, purely in the interest of you EVENTUALLY leaving your chair at the end of the day.
>Even with that little rule, there were still quite a few left.
“… How many of them would you say are—?“
>”Seventy… -one.” A nasal voice interrupts precisely from out of sight, the swishing sound of a scroll being swiftly rewound on your right reaching your ears.
>Ugh, it’s going to be a long afternoon. 	
>You’re going to need some sugar for this.
>You rise as elegantly as possible from your plush seat of honor, turn, and leave through the rear door, exiting the throne room in the same way that you did earlier in the morning, and with the same company.
>It wasn’t very strange for you and the light yellow unicorn to eat meals together. 
>In fact, it was almost routine until just recently, when you’d changed the avenue of your food breaks to suit a certain newcomer.
>Her hesitance was… disappointing, but you understood, and you couldn’t exactly force these things.
>Friendship, that is.
>Or trust.
>As harmless as Anonymous had been since he arrived there was still so much that wasn’t known about him, so many mysteries.
>About his culture, about his body, his personality, everything.
>Things were simpler when he was an unfamiliar and dangerous monster hidden away in the dungeons, and not a gentle, intelligent being with thoughts and feelings, and a smile.
>How ironic.
>Another weary sigh leaves you as you turn towards the royal family’s personal kitchen and connected dining room, your secretary’s gaze examining you in your peripheral.
>You had to be prepared for anything, but that didn’t mean you needed to be rude or cruel.
>He’s been nothing but cordial since he woke up; he's not a villain until proven otherwise. 
>You would continue to see him AND continue to invite your trusted inner circle, at least until you could confirm his safety and put him in a place that was a little less… less Canterlot.
>Until then, business as usual, preferably light on the ‘business’ and with extra ‘delicious cake’.  
>Goodness, but that smell.
>You’re sure you’re wearing a stupid smile as you cross the dining room and nudge your way through the swinging kitchen door to find two small, freshly made, double-layer cakes taking up space on the corner table inside, each in their own individual little glass case, just like you were hoping.
>Just like you were expecting.
>Perfect.
>These little beauties were part of a plan a day in the making. 
>They were specific orders, a touch more sophisticated than your usual: ‘I want sweet frosting and I want spongey sugar-bread and I want you to smash them together, Butterbean’.
>They were to be finished as close to noon as possible and warm on arrival. 
>One of them was your secret weapon. 
>The lone other soul in the kitchen, a beige and slightly pudgy mare wearing a poofy cooks hat, turns to face you as you light your horn and quickly shift both items into your magical grasp along with an unspecific number of plates.
>”No hello? Not even a 'thank you' for playing along with your unhealthy addiction? TWO cakes?” she remarks cheekily.
”Sorry BB! Tight schedule. Thank you!” you respond genuinely, flashing her a small smile and turning to exit before pausing and adding a quiet, defeated: “Don’t tell Luna…” 
>”Mmmmhm.”
>As you reenter the small dining room you find Eggnog sitting at one of the tables, the records for the morning day court sprawled out in front of her to consider.
>You can feel the smile on your face spread as her little snout begins to wiggle curiously, sampling the air as you approach her.
>Your secretary wasn’t particularly fond of cakes, or sweet things in general for that matter.
>As her slightly boney frame might insinuate she was more of a ‘fruits and veggies’ kind of mare than an ‘Element of Laughter’ kind.
>So, when it did come to cake, there was only one sort she truly enjoyed, and she enjoyed it with a passion.
>It was one of the kinds your brilliant mind (and to an additional extent, Butterbean) just so happened to place in your care this afternoon.
>For the last few days this has been the spot where you two parted.
>Not today. 
>Today you'll be trying less honorable means.
>”Is that… is that carrot cake?” Eggnog asks, turning to acknowledge you with shining eyes.
>Her little sniffer wiggles again.
>”… with cream cheese frosting?” she adds hopefully, her eyes locking on to one of the objects in your aura, “… And pecan bits…”
>Her eyes lid slightly, already imagining all of the naughty, naughty things she’d do with it if nopony was watching.  
“Hmm? Oh, this?” You answer innocently, doing your best to smooth your face into only mild interest, “Yes, I believe I remember Anonymous mentioning that this was one of his favorites, so I decided to surprise him with some today. It’s a little big for one pony, but, well, he’s bigger than a pony, isn’t he… ?” 
>You don't miss the hope on her face suddenly draining like a flipped jug. 
“Oh, don’t… don’t YOU like carrot cake? Maybe you should come along?  I’m sure he would share some with you if you just asked him. You two've barely met and I’m sure he’d appreciate the extra company...” 
>The little yellow pony’s face scrunches slightly, brows knitting in annoyance as she catches on.
>”Ahh, well, maybe if I wasn’t so busy.” she says, turning away and looking back over the scroll in her care, her usual excuse, “But as it stands I’ve-I’ve got lots of work to do and I’m not even really hungry so I think it would be best if you just went along on—“
>'Guuuuuuuurgle', her stomach interrupts her loudly, killing her excuse with fantastic form.
>… 
>You might have snickered.
>You’re almost positive you can see the steam flying out of her ears after her little tummy immediately betrays her.
>You can’t see her face, but you know it must be beat red.
>”W-well! I’m obviously suffering from some kind of intestinal distress so I think I’ll head to the infirmary to-to—“
“Ohh, come now, Eggnog!" you halt her wearily, "He isn’t all that intimidating, is he? You’ve met him before, it isn’t like he’s going to bite you. Come on, come with me. Once you’ve spoken to him a little more up close you’ll understand. I know you two could be the best of friends if you just try.”
>The unicorn’s head droops slightly, ears still hanging low.
>She’s thinking, weighing her options.
>While you were confident that she was intelligent enough not to count paranoia or lizard-brained fear as reasonable objections, it was now that you found yourself reconsidering your previous discussions detailing his possible physical capabilities, as well as his diet.
>Especially his partiality to meat.
>After a while, surprisingly, she lights her horn and furls the scroll on the table before turning back to you.
>She looks… anxious, troubled, but seemingly accepting.
>You can feel your heart jump slightly at the unofficial reply, your faith in the both ponykind and the possibility of Anonymous being able to successfully integrate into society improving dramatically.
>That is, until she spots something behind you, and her face turns instantly to subdued distaste.
>”There you are, Princess! I’ve been looking all—huff! Nopony new exactly where you were so I-I had to…” the purple unicorn pants as she explodes into the dining room, her saddlebags bursting to the brim with books, scrolls and inkwells clattering incessantly together.
>Buck you running sideways. 
>It’s Twilight Sparkle.
>As in ‘previously of Canterlot but now of Ponyville’ Twilight Sparkle 
>”Sorry I’m so late! I had to catch the late train after Applejack threw Rainbow Dash into a — well, never mind, it’s not important. I hope I’m not intruding on lunch!”
“Of course not!” You reply hastily, trotting forward just a bit to meet her, “I knew you would be coming along in your own time. I always have room in my schedule for my most dedicated pupil.” 
>Sweet sun you COMPlETELY forgot she was coming and you have NO ROOM in your schedule for her.
>At least, not for a 1-on-1 meeting like you probably promised.
>Horseshoes, and she probably came all the way from Ponyville for-for… whatever it was you were supposed to doing! 
>Okay okay, relax.
>Why is she here? 
>Remember, THINK. 
>”Were you just about to sit down? I bought a sandwich and some cookies on the train, so maybe we could—Oh…” 
>Her eyes shift slightly, catching sight of the small yellow pony sitting just behind you in the short wooden chair.
>The change in her demeanor is unmissable.
>”… I didn’t see you there. Good afternoon, miss Cream…” Twilight ‘UM, the rulebook says!’ Sparkle greets curtly, the same edge of hostility present in her voice as on her addressees face.
>“Sparkle…” Eggnog ‘Uhum, ACTUALLY, the OFFICIAL guidelines clearly state!’ Cream returns with just as much warmth, turning around a moment after look at… nothing, nothing else, a blank wall at the end of the room.
>Welp, there goes your clever strategy.
>Whatever you were doing on your break now, if Twilight was there then your secretary probably wouldn’t be.
>This is all the time you have today as well, and the Sun Times’ and Canterlot Dailies’ rarely ever reach Ponyville.
>Twilight probably had no idea about what had happened to the statue garden, LET ALONE what you were hiding away on the third floor. 
>Well… 
>If Ponyville really was to be an option, maybe it would be wise to introduce him to somepony from there, and who better than your own personal student? 
>In fact, now that you’re thinking about it, it would be an excellent way to gauge the effect of his company on ponies who had no idea he’d ALSO emerged from a terrifying gale of ruin and mayhem before descending on a defenseless colt. 
>It would be in-house, and in a mostly controlled environment.
>Alright, you can roll with this.
>It was… you could call it a friendship test.
>Or something. 
“Yes, Twilight.” You respond gracious, winning her attention back from your aid, “I was just about to sit down to lunch and check up on a… foreign visitor, who ran into a little trouble and got himself injured on the way.” You begin, noticing in your peripheral how Eggnog’s ear swivels toward you on ‘foreign visitor’, “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if we talked about the-the… your book! On friendship!” you say, ending your response a little too loud.
>HER BOOK
>SHE’S WRITING HER FIRST DRAFT
>Good show, brain!
>”Oh, um… sure? That’d be fine?” Twilight responds, a questioning hint to her voice from your outburst but nothing more.
>”Well then, shall we depart? I’m quite hungry.” Eggnog pipes up casually from your left as she strolls by, her afternoon report hovering at her side.
>Oh?
>That’s interesting…  
>You were sure THAT boat would sink after Twilight showed up; even your student looks a tad surprised at her readiness to tag along.
>You didn’t know exactly what had caused the sudden change in your assistant’s attitude, but considering the small glimpse you catch of her knowing smirk as she passes by, you have a feeling you know why.  
>Well… if that’s what it takes to turn your party of three into a party of four, then so be it.
>The more the merrier.
>Hopefully. 
>Both you and your student chat as the three of you traverse the long halls and climb the necessary staircases, and you note on the way from passing wall clocks that the detour from the throne room to the kitchen had cost you a little under eighteen minutes.
>Twilight tells you about the simple adventures and mishaps she’s been dealing with in her rural little town, and you give her brief details about the qualms of the citizens from day court.
>You’re sure to keep out how many of them were also curious about rumors of a ‘mysterious minotaur’ in the castle being linked to certain recent ‘front page’ property damage for obvious reasons.
>Unlike miss Cream, she would be going in fresh and mostly ignorant.
>Shortly after you climb the second staircase and pass a familiar pair of double doors—the ones you’d emerged from not six hours prior after sleeping for the previous sevent—you come to the final room, nestled tactically between the end of the corridor and your own, tucked away where nopony without prior knowledge was likely to go snooping.
>The doors that end your journey to Anonymous are strangely normal considering what they hide from your eyes; same dark brown wood, brass handles and windowless frame as all the other bedrooms on your floor.   
>Before you reach out to knock you pause, imagining what was waiting for you on the other side, preparing yourself for the inevitable.
>You know it won’t quite live up to the intensity of actually being in front of him, but you try anyways.
>You form in your mind a towering silhouette with thick but flexible limbs, with muscle that pooled noticeably under his furless flesh when strained, willing and ready to propel his powerful body at a moment’s notice.
>You try to recreate the spell his focused eyes inflict as they pierce into you, follow you wherever you go, acute even in the calm. 
>You attempt to remember his mellow, coltish voice, powerful and stirring even when whispering, even when right next to you, or maybe even right in your ear.
>You envision the glimpses of teeth he flashes between his soft lips when speaking, and try to remember the slight quiver that starts in your stomach whenever you see their rounded points, readying yourself for the strange feeling. 
>You recall his fragrance, and attempt to leave the alien notes in his scent behind for the more comfortable, recognizable prickle his masculinity lights in your nose and head when you breathe him in, fill yourself with his heady, potent male aro—
>”Princess?”
“H-Hm?” you hum distractedly, your brow rising as you turn to regard your two troubled companions.
>You were still standing before his entrance, your hoof floating just slightly off the ground. 
>”Are you feeling okay Princess Celestia?” Twilight asks, eyeing you with concern, “You were breathing a little hard, and your face was turning red. Do you need to sit down?” 
“W-what?” You reply dimly, the vague and slightly telling visions in your mind vanishing in an instant with the return of embarrassing, complex reality.
>You can feel your face heating up but you’re not entirely sure why, and that makes you even more flustered.
“Oh, I wasn’t – I mean, I’m not—“ you stammer defensively, your eyes bouncing between the doors and your company when a new voice intrudes in you conversation. 
>It was the one that you were imagining just a moment ago only to realize, now, that even in memory you couldn’t quite replicate how hauntingly sweet it sounded in your ear.
>”Hello? Is… is someone out there? Is that you, Celestia?” A muffled voice asks through the barred passage with an ounce of caution, its owner calling out for one of the few trusted companions they had in this entire world by name.
>Your name.
“Yes, dear.” You blurt out without thinking, cringing immediately afterwards. 
>Both overly affectionate AND on the old-fashioned side; you feel bad, but for a moment you pray to any cosmically powerful entity that might be watching—and also isn’t you—that he relapses back into amnesia and immediately forgets your awkward greeting.
>Despite your inner flagellations you swear you hear him sigh gently in relief on the other side before the door lock clacks and the left shutter falls inward just a touch, just enough for you to know that it was open to you.
>He never opens it all the way, and for good reason. 
>You take the lead for your little ponies, nudging the open door a little farther with your cheek and slipping inside.
>His room is slightly different than the others, and not just because of the owner.
>Unlike yours for example, which was populated by only a bed, a small writing desk, a dresser, a personal mirror and a personal bathroom, his had these and more; a small dining table and three matching chairs sat slightly beyond his custom bed, and nestled in the two corners opposite you were a tall icebox and personal stove respectively.
>These bedchambers weren’t really designed to be lived in like a house so space was a little short.
>Still, it had served him well enough over the past few days that he never complained, and it was only temporary. 
>As you walk further inside another stark difference catches your attention, that being the light.
>Or rather, the lack thereof.	
>Where both of your royal purple curtains would be thrown open to greet the afternoon sun, both of his have been drawn almost entirely closed and block much of it out, setting his room in a delicate gloom. 
>A prouder part of you hated instructing him to do it, but when a large portion of your populace could fly to third story heights it seemed like keeping them open was only asking for all of your hard work to go up in smoke.
>”Good afternoon.” 
>The sound of his robust voice from so close almost makes you jump.
>He’s standing right behind the door you just pushed open, his forward-facing eyes centering you and only you in all of his attention, trained on your subtlest movements, your every breath. 
>It’s shocking how easily you left him out of your initial observation of the room, because now that you’re face to face he’s literally the most principle thing on your mind.
>You can already feel your heart strumming.
>Neither the bandage cradling his wounded head nor the time you’ve spent with him thus far have done much to dull the utter enormity of his presence on your senses.
>The whisper of his clothing as he moves past your still body is like a roar next to the loud thud of your companion’s hoofsteps as they enter his domain. 
”Good afternoon, Anonymous.” You say, more out of formal automation than sentiment, wading farther into his small home to make room for the others as you set your sweet cargo on his table. 
>“You’ve met miss Cream as I recall? I’ve also brought Twilight Sparkle. She’s a good friend of mine.” 
>Eggnog takes small, careful steps, whipping her head back and forth until the catches clear sight of him.
>Your aid gives him a nod that almost looks like a bow as she sets her scroll on his dresser, staring at him timidly as she moves to enter further, breaking eye contact only when she bumps snout-first into one of his empty chairs.
>She was doing better than you thought she would for a second meeting.
>Twilight, on the other hand, has stopped sharply and decisively halfway through his arch, scanning him up and down with wide eyes.
>You see her visibly flinch as he turns to regard her, her ears twitching in distress before slowly drooping. 
>Well, it looks like his ‘reputation’ doesn’t add much to the equation at all; ponies that had never even heard of him before were still MUCH more unnerved than curious.
“Twilight?” You begin, trying to get her attention.
>You do, but it appears your words take a moment to register.
>You smile at her reassuringly, motioning with your head for her to enter.
“Come inside. It’s impolite to stand in somepony’s doorway.” You continue, lifting the chair on the side farthest to the entrance with magic and scooting it out of the way for you to sit down.
>Anonymous, a creature of somewhat similar size, does the same, moving a pony-sized chair on your right around to sit on the opposite side with the other one, leaving two seats for each unicorn.
>In this time Twilight hasn’t moved or said a word, choosing instead to bounce uncertain looks between you and the only other quadruped in the room, as if an earth pony had just sprouted wings and everypony was ignoring it.
>The silence is becoming unusual, and Anonymous appears to be troubled by her hesitance to get any closer.
>Maybe just tugging her along without saying anything wasn’t… the brightest idea you ever had, but you weren’t expecting her to completely lock up.
>You didn’t want to insult Anonymous, but maybe it would be better to take her somewhere else and explain things first. 
>You shift your weight forward slightly, moving to stand but stopping when you hear a derisive chuckle from an unexpected source.
>Eggnogg, who’d approached the human nearly close enough to reach out and touch him and more than close enough for him to do the same, sneered at your dazed pupil, making sure to get her attention with the action.
>”W-what’s the matter, Sparkle?” she asks, clearly nervous herself, “I know you spend a lot of time cooped up, but I thought with all the books you supposedly read you’d at least be able to IDENTIFY a male when you see one.” She continues, successfully mining hints of a frown out of your apprehensive student.
>Anonymous shifts behind her, and the little yellow unicorn is ACTUALLY shaking now.
>You know because the little curls in her white mane and tail exaggerate every tiny movement. 
>”I-I know it can be i-intimidating interacting with the opposite sex, but he isn't going to bite you...” she teases, half-mirroring your earlier statement to her. 
>You can you just about make out Twilight’s pride being damaged by that little remark.
>She takes a single step forward, and then another, the fear present in her eyes slowly being overridden by a mix of embarrassment and indignation. 
>You can tell she wants to bite back with something but she holds her temper, instead heading on to occupy the chair between Eggnog’s eventual seat and your own on the ground.
>Your secretary shoots you a clever smirk as she takes her seat, clearly satisfied from getting her licks in AND successfully breaking the ice, saving the situation in one fell swoop. 
>If you were a different sort of mare you’d kiss the little genius full on the mouth.
>"I know he's not going to bite me…" Twilight mumbles sourly, as much to herself as to your aid. 
>”Well…” Anonymous returns, clearly amused by your secretary's antics as well as sensing the tension lifting from the room, “Not unless you ask…”
>”Hah… haha… ?” Eggnog laughs cautiously, returning his smile in bits and pieces as if she's trying to decide whether or not he's joking.
>If you were honest, you couldn’t quite tell either. 
>He said it so casually, so matter-o-factly, that all of the possible meanings were clogging up your brain. 
>Even Twilight seems surprised that the being in front of her was capable of flirting, especially in such a come-hither masculine voice. 
“Yes, well,” you begin, clearing your throat and looking around the room for any clue as to where his clean utensils might be, “Now that we’re all seated, I brought us a little snack. Anonymous? Can you tell me where your silverware is?” 
>Eggnog immediately reaches across the table, unsurprisingly singling out the light brown and white confection to un-lid first. 
>Twilight shakily repeats her action, doing her best to keep her eyes on the small cocoa-colored cake in front of her instead of the imposing biped towering over the small table even while sitting on the ground. 
>“Oh—“ Anonymous replies, quickly shifting backwards and then standing to his full height.
>Everypony in the room freezes for a second at the sudden change in his stature.
>You think you can even hear Twilight’s breath catch in her throat.
>”… Sorry, I’ll get them. I, uh, I think I have some tea as well?” He continues, skirting around your back and heading to his dresser.
>He pulls open the top drawer and reaches inside to pull out a clawfull of silverware, scouring the rest of the small place before opening the others and searching them as well.
>After a while he spots something in the third drawer and reaches inside to pull out another clawfull of teabags, returning and setting his findings on the table a moment after.
>He moves much more deliberately now, more slowly than you know he’s capable of.
>He tries to hide it, but you see him examine each of your expressions as he divides the forks and knives.
>Next, Anonymous crosses by his stove and takes a dry tea kettle in hand, retreating a moment to his bathroom to fill it at the faucet before returning and placing it on a cold burner.
>After he gets the fuel to light he takes his place back at your side, setting himself down as gently as possible. 
>”I-I, um – I was… wondering…” Eggnog mumbles, turning and scooching the small glass cake stand clutched between her hooves closer to Anonymous, “The princess brought this, and um… for YOU, I mean, and I was j-just wondering if-if—“
>”Oh,” Anonymous interrupts, silencing the unicorn with a sheepish grin, “No, thank you.”
>Eggnog’s brow dips in confusion, her eyes straying upwards to find his own only to break away a moment after.
>“I’m sorry, I know I’m being picky, but I don’t really like carrot cake.” He says apologetically, turning his attention to you, “I mentioned it to Celestia, but I guess she must’ve forgot. It’s not a big deal, though? I love chocolate.” He continues, peering at the small cake in front of the other unicorn.
“Ah, of course! How silly of me. I’m sorry, Anonymous. Sometimes in all of the hustle and bustle things just slip my mind. Oh – Twilight dear? Do you recognize this silverware? They’re the spares from the dining room. They’re actually real silver, and look at the markings. Aren’t they nice?” you ask the lavender unicorn casually, the heat in your right cheek multiplying exponentially from the feeling of your secretary’s unreturned glare burning into the side of your head. 
>You’re not even going to be able to convince her to drink a glass of water after this little stunt.
>”Oh, yeah. They’re… they’re nice.” replies Twilight distantly.
>It wasn’t exactly important, but she doesn’t even look at you, let alone the items in question.
>Her horn is flickering to life, or rather, TRYING to, but she can’t seem to get a firm mental grip on her saddlebags while Anonymous is looking in her direction, even if it’s not directly at her.
>As resolute as she had been when Eggnog goaded her further inside, she was so distracted that she hadn’t even set her things down somewhere on the way, and now her books, journals, inkwells and (you assume) a sandwich and cookies were now awkwardly smooshed in between her and the back of her chair.
>You wordlessly reach out and take the bridge of her bags in your aura, carefully lifting them above her head and drifting them across the room. 
>You can feel his eyes on you again, and even YOUR focus dips slightly from the effect.
>He watches you with great interest every time you use magic, even for mundane things like telekinesis.
>You hadn’t spoken much about where he came from, but you were sure at this point that his kind’s brand of sorcery was quite different from yours, maybe even unrecognizable.   
>The purple unicorn flashes you a thankful smile as you set her things down near the other dresser at the start of the room where Eggnog placed her report.
>The silence returns now, even if it isn’t as tense as before.
>You can hear the soft sounds of the fuel fire behind you on the stove.
>The sound of the birds chittering outside are dulled significantly by his fastened windows.
>If you turn your ears you can just barely make out sounds in the hall, distant hoofsteps coming closer and then thudding away beyond your realm of hearing.
>You hadn't thought much of it when you entered, The muted environment is starting to make you feel a little… guilty.
>You’d mentioned earlier to your sister that you should spend more time with him on the merit of discovering any hidden intentions, but as you sit here in the stillness of his room, observe his mismatched furniture and make-do kitchen, you feel as though you’re getting a glimpse of his new life in between visits from you and doctor Well Wishes; lonely and uncomfortable.
>Still, he’s smiling.
>Just a small turn of his mouth, just to himself, tiny but genuine, clearly happy just to have some extra company. 
>You were usually busy, and before today you came alone. 
>Well Wishes never stepped outside of her ‘business’ persona, probably to make interacting with him up close a little less nerve wracking.
>That, and she always came with a guard.
>Though you know your decisions concerning the safety of your ponies are sound, you can’t help but wonder if you would be taking so many precautions if he looked more like a pony himself, or a fuzzy woodland critter.
>You decide reach out, and the contact of your wing on his shoulder visibly surprises him.
>It was the fist time you’d made physical contact since that night.
“Anonymous?” you say gently, gaining the male’s attention.
>His body feels warm, even against your less sensitive wing tip and through his thin sheet of clothing.
>Just like everypony else’s. 
“How are you feeling? Does your head hurt at all? Do you want to talk about anything?” you ask.
>You look into his eyes and fight the urge to turn away. 
>They weren’t like a pony’s, and they were a little harsh, but they weren’t… bad, so much.
>They were unique, just like him.
>Anonymous’ face softens further at your questions, and the arm closest to you rises. 
>He doesn’t grab you, no.
>He simply touches the edges of your secondary feathers, the slight disturbance from the light touch sending small tingles up your wing pit and into your joint.
>“No,” he begins, shaking his head a little, “I’m fine. Maybe a little muddled here and there, but I’m okay… Thank you.” 
>His smile grows as he speaks, and you can feel your face warming.
>You look away shortly before he does, both of you returning your limbs to your sides.
>The two unicorns are looking between you, clearly having examined the small exchange with great interest.
>Twilight especially.
>After another short bout of silence, this one quite content on your end, she speaks, her voice strained but clear.
>”Uhh, so, Mr. Anonymous.” she says, her ears twitching slightly when he turns to look at her, “W-where did you, um… where are you from, again?” she continues with some difficulty, trying her best to begin some basic pleasantries.
>”Oh, um—” Anonymous starts, flashing you a quick look and stumbling as he tries to remember the details.
>You swoop in without a second thought.
“He’s from the east. Ahh, east of Bovaria, that is.” You answer quickly, absentmindedly separating the six plates you brought with you from the royal kitchen into groupings of four and two before dividing the four group between everypony at the table. 
>”Oh… ?” Twilight responds with some confusion, clearly noticing his hesitance and your hasty reply, “I’ve never heard of islands on the coast of Bovaria… is your home inland, or farther out?”
>With how few ponies truly took the time to learn the full geography of the world or the cultures that populated the places beyond their individual towns, it was surprising meeting one who could scrutinize tales of far off lands. 
>’East of Bovaria’ was an in-the-moment, imperfect, if effective way to explain away Anonymous’ interesting features if things suddenly went wrong in the days following his arrival – if he was ever singled out to the common populace. 
>’Bovaria?’
>’That’s where the Minotaurs are, right?’
>’He kinda looks like a Minotaur, I guess that checks out!’
>Twilight wasn’t just a common pony from a small village, though; she was your student.   
>You couldn’t expect this ruse to last FOREVER against studious minds or the particularly adventurous types, but it was one of the only locations that was both foreign AND loosely explored enough to sell his origins, not to mention that he did look faintly like a Minotaur.
>No matter; you aren’t planning on keeping it from her much longer. 
>”Uhm, yes, we’re a little farther out. We—Humans, that is—there aren’t many of us, and we don’t leave home much. Like to keep to ourselves…” Anonymous continues, shooting you another quick look.
>Thankfully, before anypony could manage any more questions, a shrill whistle fills the room from the stovetop behind you. 
>Before you can object, Anonymous, all too eager to move on, quickly rises from his seat to deal with the boiling water.
>This has the usual effect of causing the unicorns to scoot back in their chairs and fold their ears, but it also causes him to sway in place slightly and grab hold of the foot of his bed, grunting softly in apparent pain as the fluid in his head shifts.
“Anonymous no, you should be resting. Please sit down. I’ll get it, it’s no trouble.” You insist, watching him hang his head and hold his temple in his palm.
>He’s injured.
>You’ve been letting him run around for you and you didn’t even realize.
>You could write this off as nerves in the moment, and you didn’t much want to admit it, but a part of you was probably a little too comfortable with the idea of being waited on by a stallion.
>Anonymous stands still for a moment and lets the dizziness pass him by, offering you an apologetic smile as the kettle and matching assortment of teacups he’d left sitting on a cool part of the stove float over the table in a golden aura and begin doling themselves out to each table member.
>”Nnn – sorry Princess. Maybe I’m a little more muddled than I thought I was…” he replies, sliding his hand away from his bed as he eases back onto the ground, “I’ve never had a concussion before. The recovery process is still a little new to me.”
>He looks down now, staring blankly into the moist steam that rose from his glass. 
>“I guess… everything’s still a little new to me...” he goes on, melancholy, now examining the globular shift of golden energy around the teabags as you dip them into each cup and send the mostly empty kettle away to the stove.
>You want to say something but you can’t find the right words, and not purely in the interest of keeping up his dignified first impression with Twilight.
>Him returning to where he came from hadn’t gotten any more realistic over time, and you had been quite up front with that fact.
>If anything he had been taking things strangely well; you could only imagine what he must be feeling.
>You want to reach out and touch him again, but you stop yourself short when he turns and notices you staring at him.
>You look away a little too slowly and he hastily exchanges his troubled look for a smile, chuckling then and reaching out with his hands to test the heat of his cup. 
>”It feels a little sleazy saying this at noon, but I think I could use a drink, haha.” He laughs, reaching up to carefully adjust the white band around his head.
“Oh?” you reply, ready as he was to change the subject, “I didn’t know you partook, Anonymous. Maybe when your health has improved I could buy you a bottle of wine to celebrate?” You offer, lifting your cup and blowing on the liquid within.
>”Hah! Whiskey more like. Haven’t had any in ages.” He replies with an impish grin, doing the same with his own tea.
>You stop before you can test a sip, your brow jumping a little in surprise.
>Whiskey was a Gryphon drink. 
>It was a fair bit stronger than what ponies usually went for, not counting yours truly or your sister.  
>You didn’t see much of it down here so not a lot of ponies drank it, certainly not any stallion you’d ever known.
>The usual setting one imagined in their mind of colts drinking consisted of them daintily sipping sweet grape liquor from a long-stemmed glass, their straight posture and measured tone concealing their inebriation.
>Mares drank bitter cider with rugged indifference and got riled up, bold.
>Bold enough to APPROACH the wine-pecking colt table to try and win a little attention. 
>Reality rarely disagreed with this image but there were exceptions to every rule; one of them was apparently in front of you.
>Of course, you were assuming everything was the same volume just because you shared so many other similarities. 
>Maybe human whiskey was different? 
>”Goodness, but isn’t that a little strong? The Gryphonian whiskey around here nearly reaches thirty-five proof, sometimes forty.” You remark, lowering your glass with interest.
>”Naw, that’s actually a little low compared to what I’m used to.” Anonymous replies after taking a sip of his tea, “My favorite stuff back home was usually about forty percent, sometimes forty-five.
>…What?    
>”Um…” Eggnog interjects, swallowing a large lump of carrot cake from the piece she’d sliced herself while you were chatting, “Y-you mean… forty or forty-five PROOF… right?” she tries, shrinking slightly when he turned his full attention to her.  
>He must’ve misspoke. 	
>Stallions didn’t always pay much attention to alcohol outside special occasions, and proofing was more of a hard cider thing than a wine thing.
>”Mm, no? I don’t think so. You guys count proof as double the content around here too, right?” he replies, reaching for the untouched chocolate cake with the intent of following the yellow unicorn’s lead, “If that’s so, then yeah, about eighty proof – forty percent give or take? You know, hah, if I was feeling real desperate and was light on funds? I’d drink these little apple shots from the store down the street – Nintey-nine’s they were called, on account of their proof. They were fifty percent or thereabout.”
>”Crackers…” Eggnog whispers under her breath.
>If you were surprised before you’re in absolutely awe now, and the other ponies at the table share your disbelief. 
>That was stronger than even you or Luna’s personal stash.
>Really, it’s not completely unbelievable that he could drink a higher amount than average given his size; you did the same.
>But eighty percent?
>Nintey-Nine?  
>Even with how imposing he could be physically, you had a hard time imagining that somepony with such a sweet voice and innocent personality could drink something like that.
>Did his family own a distillery or something? 
>Did he start drinking when he was a foal?
“That’s – that’s certainly… interesting.” you comment lamely as he scoops a sliver of cake onto his plate.
>He offers you the knife and you take it in your magic with a frown, remembering too late that you were SUPPOSED to be doing things FOR him so that he could relax. 
>Focus; he’s been jumping around since he woke up, and against doctor’s orders.
>You’d just need to watch him.
>And… maybe stir Twilight from her stupor.
>She was staring blankly at him again, and it was getting harder for you not to notice.
>She was also the only one in the room who’d made no progress eating or drinking even though she had both her own AND your food sources to choose from.
>Her sandwich was probably quite crushed from all the things she’d stuffed into her pack, but still.  
>”So, Twilight,” you begin, successfully drawing her away from the human, “How’s your book coming along? I know you’ve been working very hard on it.” You remark, taking it upon yourself to deliver a small chocolate slab onto her empty plate.
>You have to ASSUME she’s working hard on it from all of the friendship reports piling up in your study. 
>You… you were GOING to get to them.
>It’s been a long week.
>”B-Book?” She replies, blinking, her quizzical expression quickly dawning into realization, ”Oh yes! Yes, it’s going fine. I’m getting stuck on a few parts here and there but I think the first draft is almost done. I keep finding mistakes when I reread things, though. It’s making me a little anxious.” She admits diffidently, prodding at her cake with a purple-tinged fork.
>”You’re a writer?” Anonymous asks with a hint of admiration, staying a taste of his own.
>”Um, well… trying to be.” Twilight responds, her fork momentarily quivering in the air. 
>You finally take your first bite, the smile on your face growing, and not just because of the warm, rich taste filling your mouth.
>”I’ve always wanted to be a writer. I’ve had a few ideas for stories in the past but I’m not very talented, and I don’t know if I could sit down and iron out an entire book without losing interest. If you’re almost done you must be really dedicated, way more dedicated than I’ve ever been. I can’t wait to read it, I bet it’ll be really good.” He says, giving your student a kind look.
>”Oh, uh… w-well,” Twilight stumbles, her face burning from the unexpected flattery, “Thank you… uh… sir.” She replies stiffly.
>”It DOES take a lot dedication, plus proper knowledge of grammatical phrasing, composition and proper spelling.” Twilight says, gaining a little confidence, “It was a little slow at first, but once I was sure I could consummate properly I—” 
>You hear a quiet snort, and Eggnog has to drink from her cup through a mouthful of food to hide her burgeoning grin.
>”R-rather – I mean, CONJUGATE properly,” she amends, her eyes widening in restrained horror before she turned them to squint spitefully at the other unicorn, “It was… I was able to write more easily.”   
>Anonymous doesn’t notice your secretary’s small sound or Twilight’s flub, or perhaps pretends not to, but Twilight definitely notices both of them, especially after the light yellow pony coughs once or twice trying to get her cake and tea down through fragments of giggling. 
>”Hrm, be careful, miss Cream.” Twilight comments in a tone of chilly, faux concern, looking up and away as she lifts her own drink in her lavender aura, “It would be a shame if you were to CHOKE on anything.” She continues with special emphasis, taking a reserved sip. 
>There’s a pause, after which everypony, even Eggnog, begins to smile and laugh softly.
>As Anonymous’ voice rose in volume and became more genuine, you couldn’t help but notice that this was probably the first time you’d ever heard him do it.
>Laugh, that is. 
>Really, really laugh, from his belly as opposed to soft titters or low chuckles.
>You liked it.
>It was nice. 	
>THIS was nice.
>Through everypony’s combined efforts the mood was finally lightening up, and it showed.
>As your pupil went on about literary devices she was trying to make work, the common phrases she wanted to come together at the end, or even traded subtle blows with your aid, the memory of her freezing up in his doorway starts to ebb away from memory.
>Your conversations drift comfortably to everything and anything; other literature, funny stories, music, alcohol and even, given some back and forth prodding from the unicorns, some stories about past relationships or encounters with the opposite sex, which even Anonymous contributes to. 
>Before you knew it, through all the talk of colts, clarinets and caberneighs, the small wall clock in Anonymous’ room is already straying dangerously close to one o’clock, and your aid is starting to get antsy to return to work.
>Your time is up.
>You stand with finality and announce the time, reminding both them AND you that you had important things to do.
>”Oh. That time already, huh?” Anonymous remarks, rising. 
>You shepherd your little ponies around his bits of furniture to the exit, standing with them in the hall and turning to say your goodbyes through the crack in his doors.
>”Thank you for having us, sir.” Your secretary says, peering away and adjusting her glasses, “It was very, ah… nice, seeing you again.”
>”Please, just Anonymous, and likewise Miss Cream.” The male replies with a warm look, tinting her cheeks with his respecting personal title.
>”E-Eggnog will suffice.” She replies quickly, her eyewear-fiddling increasing in intensity as he nods in acceptance.
>”It was nice meeting you, Anonymous.” Twilight says, shifting under the weight of her returned saddlebags, “I won’t be staying for much longer, so maybe we can talk again some other time?” She offers.
>”I’d like that.” He replies kindly, nodding to her as well.
>Finally, he looks to you.	
>”Thanks for bringing everyone. I had a nice time, Celestia.” He says.
“Of course, Anonymous.” You reply, lighting your horn and gently sliding the bandage on his head further up, careful not to hurt him.
>He reaches up absently and touches the linen with the tips of his fingers, his piercing eyes freezing you in place as they stare into yours.
>You can see something in those vibrant orbs, or you think you can.
>You can’t quite identify what it is but you know it’s there.
>”You’ll… you’ll come back tomorrow, right?” he asks hopefully, holding your gaze a while before suddenly averting his eyes and smiling widely.
>Too widely. 
>”We, uh… we never got to finish that story about your sister’s birthday party.” he clarifies quickly, rubbing the back of his neck with his digits.
>Your heart sinks a little, and you can tell he notices it instantly in your expression. 
“I’m sorry Anonymous…” you reply, averting your eyes as well, “Miss Cream and I have a brunch meeting with some members of the Yakistani Vice Wardens, and, well… you know how my evenings are already…” you state remorsefully.
>”Oh, yes, of course.” He returns quickly, giving you an understanding look, “I’ve only been here a few days, but I already know how tied up you can get. It’s not a problem, I’ll, uhh… I’ll be right here, you know?” He says with a quick grin, turning to regard his room for a moment.
>His dark, quiet, foreign room.
“I’ll be sure to make some time in my schedule as soon as possible.” You add honestly, winning back his attention. 
“Maybe I’ll bring Luna along as well? I’ve already told everypony I know the story, so I never get the opportunity to tease her about it in front of company anymore.” you continue jovially, earning a soft, coltish chuckle.
>”Sounds nice… Well, I’m glad you three had a good time.” He replies, standing still for a long time before noticing nothing was happening, “Have a good afternoon.”
>He backs away, and the void between his doors begins to shrink.
>It’s a long, profound action, and his eyes linger in yours until he finally vanishes from sight.
>You turn on instinct and begin back down the hallway, your two small companions forming up behind you.  
>Eventually, as you were expecting, one of them breaks away and draws up to your side, their familiar voice bringing an end to the silence that had enveloped the corridor.
>”Celestia?” you student begins, unsure of herself.
>”Where is… Anonymous isn’t… from any Bovarian islands, is he…?” she asks, her volume just above a whisper. 
>A long sigh escapes your weary body as you turn to examine her.
>Her astute purple eyes reflect your own worry, even if not to the same depth.
“I’m afraid I haven’t been entirely truthful with you.” You reply, looking forward, “We need to talk.” 

          _____________

>You’re standing in a field of bright colors with a line of tall trees spanning the horizon on all sides. 
>Grass and flowers dance in the non-existent breeze, and small items dot the remote landscape; a red ball, a printing press, a rusty old cannon, and a multitude of others that you can’t quite identify. 
>Your sister Luna stands beside you in the blurry dreamscape, she’s telling you something, but no matter how hard you focus you can’t hear what she’s saying.
>She flaps her wings, gestures and nods her head, but no words reach your ears. 
>You’re sure it’s something important, you KNOW it is.
>You squint and turn your ears forward to try and collect any further clues to her intention, but the more you focus on her the more distant her form becomes, drifting away into the horizon.
>You move to follow her, but the world around you twists, becomes vague and difficult to parse.
“Luna,” you whisper, moving forward, “wait.” 
>But she’s gone.
>Your stride has taken you to a cramped room.
>Your back is to the wall but you can feel something behind you, something watching you through the plaster and paint.
>It’s alright though, because Twilight and her little friends are reminding you how to make a cake in vivid detail, their eyes bright and jovial as they demonstrate.
“Is that all?” you say with wonder as they work, pouring a mix of eggy flour and chocolate back and forth between mixing bowls.
>They’re making very little progress, but you’re amazed all the same.
>”Yes, ma’am.” Eggnog replies, suddenly present, scribbling away on a scroll in the corner of the room, completely detached from everything else that is going on.
“But… but what about the—“ you begin with anxiety.
>”Yes, ma’am.” She repeats, halting your train of thought.
“And the—?” 
>”Yes, ma’am” she says again, carving more words into her mile-long wheel scroll. 
>Scratch scratch scratch.
>She doesn’t stop writing, not even as the walls melt away to reveal a dingy cellar lit by firelight. 
>No, not a cellar.
>It’s a dungeon. 
>There’s a line of cells dividing the room, and a row of toy solider ponies gaze into them with their drawn-on eyes.
>”What could they be guarding?” you wonder aloud, noticing that all the cell doors have been thrown wide open leaving any previously occupied cage barren.  
>None of them turn their heads to acknowledge your voice, each crayon face looking ahead with empty determination, staring at nothing.
>There’s still something behind you, but when you turn there’s nothing but stairs leading to the surface, up and out.
>The back of your neck prickles, and you realize that whatever’s behind you is getting closer. 
>The uneasy feeling tightening your chest shepherds you forward to climb the long, endless stair, the sound of your own breathing being your one and only companion for minutes, hours, days.
>You’ve been climbing for a long time.
>Too long.
>The candles in the long corridor are starting to burn down to their buds and go out one by one, slowly but surely bathing you in complete darkness.
>You start running now, even though you can't quite see what’s ahead of you.
>You worry that you might trip on the steps, fall to the cold stone and start a long, painful descent back down, but you never do.
>The hooffalls echoing in your ears suddenly change in tone as your bare hooves pad against fresh grass, and a cool scent of moist foliage fills your nose.
>You’re in the field that you were in before with Luna, but your sister is still gone. 
>Its also very dark.
>The moon hangs high overhead and it’s absolutely massive, nearly taking up a fourth of the sky.
>Its light blots out the stars leaving it floating in an ocean of blackness with no other discernible skymarks. 
>You stare into the starless void forever, searching for any sign of the missing beacons, any faint glimmer of light, but you find nothing. 
>Whatever is behind you is drawing in. 
>Its getting so close, and you’re afraid.
>You don’t bother to turn around, you just start running.
>You pass the rusty cannon as you rush toward the trees in the distance, breaking through their line into the dense forestry ahead. 
>The thick branches of the firs whip your face and sides as you race, stinging your eyes and disorienting you.
>You can hear something.
>It’s the sound of it breathing, whatever is behind you.
>Panting.
>Running.
>Chasing.
>Chasing you.
>Your heart is pounding.
>It’s getting closer but you can’t run any faster, you’re pushing yourself as hard as you can.
>Your body is starting to weaken and your gait is becoming uneven 
>You feel it’s hot breath disturbing the fur on your lower back, right on your tail bone.
>Its right on top of you.
>Its right there but it’s not attacking you.
>The hot breath warming your vertebrae is slowly traveling higher. 
>You swear you can feel it’s ghoulish lips tracing your spine as you flee.
>You want to cast a spell, fly away, do something, anything, but you’ve forgotten how to use magic, and you’ve forgotten how to take flight.
>You’re starting to forget how to run, too.
>Its breath is tussling your mane and you’re barely even trotting anymore, but the impact never comes, the pain of it sinking its dastardly teeth into you never arrives.
>You feel something touch your barrel and you know immediately what it is.
>Claws, sharp and stiff.
>With just a bit more pressure they could dig into you, tear you to pieces.
>Instead they gently trail your side, displacing your coat at they go, dividing your cutie mark in three.
>You’re so tired.
>You need a rest but you can’t stop moving.
>You SHOULDN’T stop moving.
>But… 
>A steamy breath fills the shell of your ear, and the claws are traveling around the back of your thigh, turning upwards to slide across the round of your right buttock. 
>You finally collapse, chest heaving against the ground from the strain of your useless resistance.
>You shiver as the tip of its tongue touches the tip of your ear, just barely, just enough for you to identify it was tasting you.
>You feel the heat from its body all around you, inches from wrapping you up but not quite touching you physically.
>You dare to turn, knowing it might be the last thing you do.
>A shroud of smoke and unformed mass looms over your downed back end.
>You can make out a mouth full of razors and limbs full of taught, sinuous muscle in the swirling unknown.
>It’s eyes are an abyss, frightening, alluring, and the same dark crimson color the moon has turned over its broad shoulder.
>They shine frighteningly in the darkness, and the longer you look into them the more light-headed you become.
>It makes an indecipherable noise and nuzzles into your neck, both of its hooked claws grazing your sides and sliding low, giving you a dangerous massage from your ribs to your flanks.
>It’s breathing has slowed to a composed hiss.
>You tremble slightly as you feel something  hot and lengthy widen the cleft of your bottom, cradling itself between your soft cheeks.
>A low whine fills your ears as the creature shifts forward, desperately trying to create friction against the searing flesh sliding against your rear.
>A throaty sigh escapes you as its thick vein runs along the rim of your pucker, twitching against you with need.
>The world around you is shifting again, your vision tinting pinkish red with the moon following suit.
>Gone are it’s needle-like teeth.
>It’s sharp maw has morphed into pillowed, whispering lips, it’s claws dulling to form fleshy, rounded points that cling to you harder than before.
>It pulls back and then pushes forward, attempting to deliver to the both of you what you now so desperately need.
>You’re so wet.
>You know because the ridge of his tip glides unchallenged through the valley of your labia, bumping your clit on the way to your lower abdomen after his failed entry.
>He throbs against the small nubs of your teats, his member burning your stiff, sensitive nipples.
>Another needy whine escapes him as he pulls back and tries again to the same result, framing his now slick member in your meaty flanks for the second time.
>You become aware of his testes as they press up against your marehood, resting against the spot he narrowly missed.
>He’s panting again, and hard.
>He needs this.
>He needs this so badly, and you do to.
>He pulls back again, but this time you arch your back a little and pop out your hips, moving your tail aside in a silent invitation.
>He moves in slower this time, and as his wide flair kisses your opening evenly you know that this thrust will be the one.
>You feel his rounded digits turn to fearsome claws again, holding you still.
>A rough growl escapes his suddenly toothy jaws as he rushes forward and splits your lower lips apart, filling you and knocking your cervix with his tip in one smooth motion.
>You groan and push back into him, your growing need finally being met.
>You say things as he begins his work.
>Dirty, vulgar things that only encourage him to ram into you harder.
>You can feel his swollen orbs tap against your winking bud as he bucks his hips, jerking your body forward slightly with each charge.
>Your front legs have completely given out but your back legs are splayed rigidly like boards, lifting your back end into his assault.
>Your long, useless wings are extended, and they twitch whenever he hits your spot, drives into you just right and causes the world to ripple out of focus.
>A line of your thick arousal trickles across your clit and travels down your belly on the same path his member took when he failed to enter you the first time, swaying right on the end of one of your nipples before being shaken loose by a particularly hard thrust.
>He holds that hard thrust, using it to grind deep into you, groaning low into his chest as you lean back into him and relish in the sensation of him testing your last wall with his head.
>You’re so close, and you know he is, too.	
>His thrusts are starting to turn shallow, and his hands – endlessly sharpening and rounding out as they dig into you – lift your hips slightly so that he can thrust downwards, his animal instincts shifting into overdrive; he knows that he needs to finish deep and angle your womb to collect all of his seed if he’s going to impregnate you.
>Soft, coltish grunts unbecoming of such a toothy maw intermingle with his low growl as he nears his limit.
>You can feel his thick flair swelling and twitching frantically, preparing to pump load after load of his bestial satisfaction deep inside you.
>You’re so, so ready.
>You bite down on your lower lip as the rhythmic sound of his hips slapping against your ass increase dramatically in tempo. 
>He whines your name, and his voice comes out as an amalgam of many.
>You absently wrap your tail around his side as the hot coil in the base of your abdomen winds tighter and tighter, your dreamscape turning white as you weakly try to work your hips back into his force  and increase the intensity of your approaching release.
>”Celestia.” the voices whisper.
>You throw your head back and rub it against your sweat-moistened pillow, your stuffy sheets constricting your shifting… legs…
>Oh no, oh please no.
>”Princess Celestia?” a voice calls from outside your door, prompting you to whip your upper body up from your bed and twist around, trying desperately to both come back to reality and escape back into your fantasy at once.
“A-Anonym—?” you mumble drowsily, whipping your head around quickly to clear it, “Who’s – who’s there? What’s going on?” you manage, trying to stand and nearly falling as you scramble from your bed.
>”U-Uh, It’s me ma’am…” Eggnog’s voice replies from the other side, anxious.
>You can feel the air chill the wet mane clinging to your neck as you get to your hooves. 
>You have to fight back the first harsh, knee-jerk instinct in your dazed and aggressive mind.
>That is, telling her to get lost, yelling that you were ‘busy’ and deserved some privacy in as impolite a manner as you could conjure.
>Thankfully you succeed, especially considering the import of what she was about to tell you.
>”I don’t mean to wake you Princess, but it’s nearly seven, and ponies are starting to get worried.”
“W-What!?” your exclaim in confusion, whipping around to face your window.
>The sky beyond is inky black but, unlike in your bedtime vision, quite populated with twinkling lights and a normally colored moon.
>You… 
>You never oversleep.
>”Princes Luna attempted to move it herself, but…” Your aid begins, trailing off to the obvious. 
“I’m-I’m comi—“ you start, stopping yourself short as the cruel reality of what you DIDN’T get to do in your dream came back to burn in your face. 
“… I’ll be outside in a moment.” you amend glumly, frowning as you try to push the haze in your head far enough away to light your horn and gather your things.
>The soft light your golden aura creates gives you a clear view of your bedding. 
>In the center of your sheets beyond your tossed up comforter you can just about make out a large, dark spot, yet another trophy for yet another wash you’d be completing yourself.
>Ponies DID have noses, so you’d probably have to clean up the similar mess on your thighs before going out as well.
>These nighttime visions were starting to become worryingly frequent, and always with similar content.
>After so much experience analyzing the same mental ques you were starting to get a nice picture as to their meaning, but you didn’t much want to think about them today, at least not right now.
>You had a long day of the usual followed by a long night of goodbyes ahead of you; you didn’t need to start scheming or wracking your brain over ‘what if’s on the eve of an event you’d spent two weeks in your right mind preparing for, especially when you were feeling so drained. 
>You overslept, but your restless night of disappointment had left you preemptively fatigued, and you knew you were going to be cranky the rest of the day.
>Hopefully you could salvage enough of yourself for the end, probably through a mixture of sugar and caffeine.
>Some coffee sounds great right about now.
>Sweet stars, where’s the coffee?

>Luna looks up from her breakfast as you enter the dining room, adorned in her royal regalia but sporting an un-energized, ash-blue mane.
>You say ‘breakfast’, but considering how long she’d been up already it was a little more complicated than that.
>The table space in front of her hosted an odd combination of haybacon, orange juice, a dinner roll, and a small vegetable pot pie, all barely sampled from.
>You were usually up long before now, so this strange ritual of intermingling foods was quite normal to you.
>What was a bit less routine was the smarmy smile on her face.
>”Rising so early, sister?” she remarks mockingly, rising her brow at you in false surprise.
>You reply with a fake, grumpy titter, stealing a piece of her delicious honey-fried hay with your magic as you take a seat in the chair diagonally right to hers, its sweet and savory flavor rousing your tastebuds.
>Unfazed, she lifts her glass of orange juice and takes a sip, her smile widening when the kitchen door behind her pops open.
>From the opening strolls the buscolt Sun Spot, whom between cleaning the dishes also waited on you and any company you might have during important social events, freeing up Butterbean to focus on the food.
>This morning it was just you and family, and thank goodness for that.
>The last thing you needed to do was insult another touchy ambassador to Alpha-Taur Roundrock or the like by being late to a meeting scheduled in the morning as the Alicorn who’s job it was to literally create it every day.
>”Oh, I thought it was you! Good morning, Princess.” The slim stallion says in a tone far too chipper for how early it felt to you, his dark yellow coat and vibrant blue mane testing your weary eyes.
>As much as his bright mood was clashing with yours, the entrance of an energetic young male never failed to straighten out your back and summon a face of readiness. 
>It was probably why Butterbean hired him in the first place.
>”Did you want anything to eat this morning?” he asks, sitting, his icy teal eyes darting left a moment before returning to yours, notepad and pen at the ready.
“Hm, something to eat…” you think aloud, pondering the question as he waits patiently. 
>As a change a pace, you were actually feeling a little hungry, probably because you didn’t have time to eat dinner yesterday.
>“Well, coffee to start, with a little — you know how I like it.” you begin, furrowing your brow as you mentally list all of your options for breakfast.
>You watch as he quickly takes down your usual coffee mixture, taking note of how he cuts his eyes left again.
“How about… an omelet? With a little haybacon, tomatoes, onions and potatoes?” you say, following his wandering eyes to your sister.
>She’s blatantly staring at him, eyes lidded as she nibbles on the tip of her pie spoon, a curl of her dark blue hair shading half of her face.
>”U-Um…” your waiter starts, flustered, “I’m sorry princess, but your sister got the last of the haybacon. D-Did you maybe want some, uh… something else?” he goes on, clearly distracted.
>A small, knowing smirk blossoms on your sister’s mouth as she pulls the levitating spoon away, biting just a little at the corner of her lower lip.
>You frown at her, and Sun Spot turns his attention solely to you even though you’re sure he can see her in his peripheral.
“… Just the potatoes and vegetables are fine.”
>”Right – okay.” He replies quickly, holstering his pad and getting to his hooves, “I’ll just… I’ll go get that for you.”
>He sets back off for the kitchen without further word, but you notice him stray a little closer to your sister’s chair as he goes.
>Luna has set her head forward but still watches him out of the corner of her eye, brushing the end her ethereal tail against his legs as he passes.
>He makes sure she sees him lick at his lips and whispers something to her, something just out of earshot, before breaking away. 
>Luna watches him leave, paying special attention to the new sway in his hips as he vanishes behind the kitchen door to instruct the cook to your desires. 
>After the two of you are left alone again Luna turns back around in her seat and gazes casually at her food, the only evidence remaining of their interaction being the gratified look lingering on her face.  
>You, however, are far from satisfied from the display, especially considering what happened not five days prior with her guards.
>That, and the poor start to you morning had put you in a sour mood.
“Luna?” you say, not able to hide the restrained edge in your voice as your golden aura drags the copy of the Daily Sun from the other end of the table in closer for you to inspect.
>”Yes, dear sister?” she replies innocently before taking a bite out of her warm pot pie.
“Is there anything you’d like to tell me?” you continue, keeping you face a blank mask as you scan the front page; you’re not even reading it, “Maybe about any staff members working the kitchen?”
>”Mmm…” Luna hums through her mouthful quizzically before swallowing, “Oh yes, they’re quite hard working, are they not?” she replies kindly, closing her eyes.
>”We wonder where we might be if not for their diligent hooves tending to our stomach at all hours.” 
>You’re not buying her act for a moment.
“Luna, I KNOW I’ve sai—“
>”Have thou had any interesting dreams lately?” she interrupts curiously, stopping you cold in your tracks as she suddenly changes the subject.
>You can feel the color draining from your face as she casually separates a large chunk of broccoli from what she intends to be her next spoonful, the edges of her mouth twitching slightly.
>The question hangs between you unanswered, snuffing out all conversation for a good six seconds.
>You can tell she enjoys the noticeable pause.
>”We only ask because we ourselves had a very interesting dream yesterday about-mm, what is his name again…? Anonymous, isn’t it?” 
>She’s smiling again, and you KNOW that she wouldn’t forget his name, not for a second.
>You want to rebut with something but your mouth has become so dry that you’re afraid any words you try will come out in a rasping choke.
>She never… you weren’t expecting this sort of power play.
>How careless of you.
>Just because she never interacted with you directly didn’t mean she might not come to ward away dreams that usually started as chest-pounding nightmares, only to see… to see…
>”If we remember correctly, the dream was about…” 
>You hold your breath as she pretends to ponder something, your magic crumpling the paper in its grasp slightly.
>“… Mm, well, never mind, we suppose it’s not important.” She continues with mild interest, sipping from her glass. 
>“We only bring it up because of the date. He is departing today, isn’t he?”
>She’s offering you a way out because she knows you’ll take it.
>You don’t want to admit she’s won but you aren’t a fool.
>A smart ruler knows when they’ve been beaten. 
>Even when it’s by their big dumb sister and her equally-sized, equally intelligent face. 
>You clear your throat and open your mouth to speak, close it, then try again, this time successfully forming words.
“Nn… yes. Twilight Sparkle is going to meet him at the train station tonight…” you reply with some distaste, your head dipping in shame as you flip open the newspaper and skim the unimportant articles within.
>Your kin seems satisfied with the successful change of pace, and bites into her roll as you continue.
“I’ve made preparations with your private Grey Gables and the conductor; they’ll ride to ponyville alone and come in late. She’ll give him the keys and show him to his new home.“
>”And that’s it, then?” your sister replies, sounding a touch surprised, “You’re going to simply send him off? With but a smile and a trinket?”
>You already know where this conversation is headed, but the bit at the end is somewhat unexpected.
>Your expression tips her off, her brow hopping in realization before she hovers a box previously hiding behind her carton of juice over to you, dropping it gently in the center of your paper.
>It was a small thing made out of paper-board and deep brown felt. 
>A single thin gold ribbon wrapped around it twice, holding it shut and garnishing the gift with a splash of eye-catching color.
>You had no illusions about how unrealistic your timing was, but you were secretly hoping you could give this to him personally instead of through the mail, if only to see the look on his face.
>You had to give him something, and this was the best thing that came to your mind.
>It came a tad earlier than you were expecting, but you know that Furnace Gleam wouldn’t send out a shoddy product if it wasn’t up to her standards. 
>She’d been hoof-making things like this for years; opening the box to check its quality would be an unnecessary insult.
>All the better.
>You’d hate to crease the perfectly tied bow by sliding it off, or indent the box by trying to pop it open.   
>If her craft was good enough to appease touchy ambassadors after missed dates, then hopefully it would be enough to impress him.
>O-Or, rather…
>To show him how much attention and personal involvement was paid to individual citizens, all of whom mattered greatly to the royal family.
>Half of which was now eyeing you from across the table with mild disappointment.
>”So, thy time WILL truly end with but a hoofshake and a nod before he’s spirited away to the countryside?” she says, floating her hoof in the air before pointing it south to ponyville. 
>You quickly collect the box in your hooves and set it to the side, being sure to put it far away and towards the center of the table to avoid any embarrassing mishaps.
“Yes.” You answer simply, setting your meager attention back on the local news.
>You can feel her looking at you, unblinking and unspeaking, waiting for you to crack under the pressure of her gaze. 
>Thankfully that 'look' only worked one way in this relationship and you remain unmoved.
>After a short while she begins eating again, this time quick and with the sole purpose of finishing her meal.
>When her plate had been all but cleaned she pulls back her chair, gets to her hooves and approaches you.
>You see a tingle of blue in the corner of your vision, and look up from the paper to find the small box hovering in front of your face in the grip of your sister’s magic.
>”We are not bedding the buscolt.” She says simply, and before you can reply she pushes the box into your chest, silently instructing you to take it in your hooves.
>”Speak to him, sister.” She says, and then nothing more, turning on her heel and trotting with mild energy to the exit, leaving you alone with his gift and your thoughts.
>The silent room she leaves you in cradles her last words long after her departure.
>As much as you don’t like it her sentiment resonates quite honestly with what you yourself truly want, and you can already feel the gears turning in your head.
>Cancelling appointments.
>Moving back meetings.
>Closing day court early.
>All for a few extra minutes with him and your fond farewell.
>You wonder for only a moment what the two of you might do to pass the time as you fiddle with the box in your hooves, the ornate glass inside shifting gently from the action. 

>The moment you left the dining room your day truly began in full force, a robust play of color and sound and paperwork and ponies.
>Common ponies, noble ponies, stubborn colts and yesmares; every class and personality type found you and tested your will.
>You rode everything out practically on autopilot, especially the afternoon hours.
>You didn’t have time to see Anonymous until the evening so there was nothing at the half-way point to reinvigorate you.  
>Sign forms, formal greeting, bow to these ones, sign these, accommodating smile, be stern and don’t let up here, sign forms, repeat.
>Everything was starting to run together.
>You had a feeling that your subjects were noticing your sluggish behavior but there wasn’t much more you could do to cope.
>You wouldn’t exactly call your last few nights ‘restful’, and you had to miss lunch entirely to make sure that the construction mares making the finishing touches on your statue garden were leaving things in an acceptable state.
>Thankfully, beyond your hedge maze essentially not having a solution because of an errantly-placed wall, the repairs were rounding out nicely and well within budget.
>You even saved yourself some time and money by blasting the offending hedge wall to pieces, and that wasn’t even mentioning the therapeutic effect the action had on your mood.  
>Still, it was all just work.
>Not like what you were planning for tonight.
>Well, ‘planning’ might be a strong word.
>In reality you were just taking a sledgehammer to your previous schedule, removing some pieces, and scooting the rest back.
>Any last-minute changes that could be made to improve your situation with the human were being made, regardless of how much the sound of shattering itinerary turned your yellow planner’s stomach.
>She was sitting next to you now, taking down a letter. 
>The LAST letter, your final chore of the day. 
>Unfortunately—like most long work days with a supposedly happy ending—the last hour or two was drawing itself out, and no matter how hard you fought the right words weren’t coming.
>Egnogg wasn’t faring much better.
>She had been at your side the entire day helping to pick up your slack along with her usual duties, but unlike you she had missed breakfast AND lunch, and her fraying nerves were starting to show.
“ ‘Furthermore,’ “ you dictate, peering out the window of your study, your sister’s quiet night framed in your burgundy curtains, “ ‘I think it would be in your best interests to-to…' “ 
>You stop, your snout crinkling.
>The scratch of your secretary’s quill halts with your stutter, her bright yellow eyes coming up from the page on your desk to stare ahead listlessly.
>The paper was already full of slashes and smooshed-in scribbles from failed thoughts and poor wording, and you had just made another mistake.
>’In your best interests’ could be construed as threatening, and the Gryphons were extremely sensitive to that sort of thing.
>” ‘Furthermore,’ “ you start again, flinching a little as Eggnog somehow manages to make the sound of crossing something out on a piece of paper sound passive aggressive, ” ‘I believe it would be a great benefit to your economy if trade were to resume in Trottingham, but the extreme tariffs being levied against business with pony-folk there has made doing so very unrealist–no, no I can’t mention their… their money troubles.” You lament, placing a hoof against your forehead.
>You’re treated to agitated huff and the sound of more scratching as you break away from the window and pad deeper into the room, crossing your tall personal bookshelf as you pace.
>There were books there on Gryphon culture, common Gryphon ideologies and mediation in general.
>They could be a great help to you at the moment, but as the grandfather clock in the corner ticks closer to ten o’clock the idea of scouring the thousand-page drawls to properly convey a single sentence seems like just the sort of thing that would kill off the last vestiges of your attention for the night, and then it wouldn’t matter.
>The formal speech you usually had quite the flare for was curdling in your mouth after repeatedly tailoring it to a twnety-plus different ponies and non-ponies in one day. 
>You can feel your mind going more and more numb to elegance with every failed sentence.
>This isn’t working, and after a full minute of silence on your end your aid has seemingly come to the same conclusion.
>”Perhaps we should continue this tomorrow...” She suggests, setting down the quill and massaging the base of her horn, likely trying to soothe a telekinesis-related headache.
>You snuff out the exasperated stubbornness in you that disagrees with the thought of quitting in an instant, turning to her.
“I agree.” You respond quickly, the possibility of escaping the room that had been your cage for the last two hours returning a little life to you, “You did well today, Miss Cream. Go home, get some rest, eat something. I can handle things here.” 
>The milk-yellow unicorn pushes her chair away from the table, leans back, and reaches for the sky.
>Her limbs shake and her joints pop as she stretches, her aching horn flickering to life one last time to sweep her quills, corked ink bottles and dry pieces of paper off the side of the table and into the bag waiting below to catch them.
>As she cleaned up the desk you hastily snuffed out the hanging lamps, leaving only the two bookending the double doors to the exit aflame, lighting the path to your escape.
>As Eggnog tosses her saddlebags drowsily across her barrel you approach the exit, stopping short of it when you remember something important.
>Noticing you pause, Eggnog turns to observe your magic tugging a drawer open in the desk she’d previously been using, hovering out the small brown box.
>You try to write off the action indifferently with your body language, but the significance of the handsome gift box doesn’t escape her, not for a moment.
>”I assume you’re going to see ‘him’ now?” She states more than asks, turning to you as you close up the doors, the small clue to your endeavor still floating beside you, “That’s the reason why we’ve been running around in circles and cutting corners all day, isn’t it?”
>You nod, tucking the key and the small box into your own hip bag.
>You look to your companion and find her fiddling with her spectacles uncomfortably, her eyes peering up and away.
>”I see. Well, I’ll just leave you to it, so… well… you know… just be sure to act wisely.” She remarks cryptically, furrowing your brow in confusion.
>Noticing this, Eggnog smiles as if to try clue you in to her meaning, but when that fails she becomes apprehensive again.
>”W-Well… you know…” she tries, shuffling her hooves about on the tiles below her as she stares at them intently, “Just… well, ‘you know’…”
>She’s trying to get it out, you know she is, and just when you open your mouth to move things along she looks up at you with restrained passion.
>”Just be sure to treat him gently — and use the proper protection!” she squeaks loudly, her face flush.
“P-Protection?” you repeat with some surprise, taken aback by her volume.
>She nods with some determination, her tiny white curls bouncing.
>What does she think you’re going to do? 
>You just wanted to speak with him, it’s not like you were going to-to…
>You feel your expression flatten as a host of possibilities fills your head, all of which are exciting and terrifying.
>… COULD you go that far?
>Was that a possibility?
>You were sure that your lewd dreams were at least tangentially related to him, but… but that was fantasy, and this was reality.
>Could something like that really happen?
>The energized and mildly idolizing look your secretary is giving you right now is enough convincing that she thinks so, at least. 
>Wait… what if… what if he’s been EXPECTING you to make a move?
>You’d been spending time together whenever you could since you’d met, and your interactions were always pleasant.
>Sometimes he even goes out of his way to initiate physical contact.
>Does that… does that mean he’s open to ‘more’ with you?
>Your head is starting to spin from the sudden rush of heart-sinking excitement sweeping over you.
>Eggnog suddenly reaches out and grabs onto you with her front hooves, her face stern and focused.
>”You can do this, ma’am. Don’t worry about a thing; I believe in you.” She assures confidently.
>What?
>What’s that supposed to mean?
>It wasn’t like you were scared.
>You’ve courted stallions before.
>Why, it felt like only yesterday that you were with… with…
>Or that other time when you … had…
>Haha… hah… what… what was his name, again?
>Okay, so MAYBE it’s been a little while!
>And, you know, MAYBE you’re a little rusty!
>Anypony would fall out of practice after a few months.
>Erm, well… years…
>…
>So it’s been a decade, so what!? 
>No big deal! 
>No problem was ever solved by worrying.
>There’s no need to panic, Celestia.
>…
>Oh sun you’re panicking.
>How does Luna do this all the time!?
>You suddenly become aware of your own breathing, noticeably quickened by your internal strife. 
>You’d flipped your whole day on its head to give yourself some extra time, and now you were going to be alone with him for nearly an hour, intoxicated if you had your way.
>Well…
>They didn’t call it ‘liquid courage’ for nothing. 
>You had no idea what was going to happen tonight but you’d be damned if you were going to get through it successfully while sober, which is great since ‘not sober’ just so happens to be EXACTLY where you’re headed.
>As fast as possible.
“Alright, I’m going!” you say with a little spirit, pulling away from Eggnog’s embrace and trotting down the hall, your stomach turning from the quick change of pace.
>Your secretary stays behind and simply looks after you, her voice filling the empty corridor in your wake.
”Go get'im, ma’am!” 
>You pad your hooves as best you can against the stairs as you ascend, knowing that it was still past ten at night and a lot of ponies would probably be turning in right about now.
>You could just teleport to your destination but the slight jog was helping your burn away some nervous energy, and it wasn’t like you were very far away to begin with.
>Case and point, you were already in your hall.
>Well, in HIS hall, too. 
>The tension is already mounting in your wings, and not even the good kind.
>You sneak to your chamber door, unlocking it and pulling it open as carefully as possible so as not to alert you neighbor. 
>You can feel your heart strum in alarm when you hear something shift on the other side of the east wall as you dig under your bed. 
>After a moment of silence you pull out the bulbous glass jar you’d stashed there weeks ago for a then unknown special occasion and levitate it into the air, framing it in the dim light cast from the moon in your window.
>Considering the weight of the sound you’d just heard you were certain that it was now on its way to serving its special purpose.
>He didn’t know you were coming so early, and he was in for a long night. 
>The more cowardly part of you would probably have preferred that he’d be napping when you arrived, giving you an easy out, but the Sun Diarch was no coward. 
>With this thought in mind you confidently stroll back out into the hall, collecting a spare cup from your nightstand on the way. 
>Your chest burns with certainty as you lift your hoof to knock on his door, only for all of that courage to sputter pathetically when you finally follow through.
>Each time your hoof strikes the wood it bangs a little more bravery out of you, and suddenly you wish that you had taken a sip or two from the jug in your aura before you came over.
>You hear another noise from inside, and this time it’s approaching you, coming closer to the door.
>”It’s-It’s me.” you stutter, fighting your nerves.
>There’s a short pause before the latch slides and the center of his double doors crack open.
>A single sharp, radiant eye peeks through the void, filling you with familiar tingles.
>”Celestia?” whispers a silky voice, the breach widening until most of his body stood before you.
>You can see his expression change from worry to happiness as he looks down at you, his smile filling your lungs with butterflies. 
>”You’re early. What’s going on?” He asks, pulling away from the door and escaping further into his room.
>You swallow the lump in your throat and step forward to fill the spot he was just occupying, your hips bumping the edges of his door as you shimmy inside.
>His room looks much the same as it did a week ago, except now most of the drawers and both chests have been thrown open and raided, and two sizeable suitcases sagged into his bed.
>One of them was open and partially full, but the other was shut tight and presumably occupied to its limit.
>Beyond his custom clothing and the little odds and ends he’d come here with he didn’t really have much to store, so he was probably just finishing things up when you arrived.
“I, ah… I didn’t have time to set anything up before today, so I thought the least I could do was spend a little time with you before you went. I brought this…” you say, licking at your dry lips and hovering the jug over for him to see.
>You feel your hold on the item pitter out suddenly as he takes it into his grabbers and peers at the dark amber fluid swaying within.
>”Is this…?” he asks, a hint of surprise in his voice.
“Uhh, yes. I thought you might like this brand. It’s Luna and I’s favorite. I know you’re just getting over your injury, so if you don’t want to—”
>”No-no-no, I’m – I’m glad, just a little, ah… if I was expecting you to come over and treat me I might have gotten a little more, er, dressed up…” He replies sheepishly, peering down as his simple clothing.
“Oh no, please, don’t worry about it.” You assure him with an accommodating look, scanning his powerful form briefly, “You always look amazing.” you go on unthinkingly, inhaling sharply as your brash mouth betrays you.
>Your face prickles in response to the appreciative look that blossoms on his face.
>”Mmm, you’d better be careful with that sort of flattery if you’re planning on getting me drunk.” He warns coquettishly, chuckling as he turns and sets the jug on his table.
>You laugh too, if only to try and ease your nerves after his vague statement.
>His flirty little returns were starting to take new meaning in your mind and you couldn’t stop yourself from obsessing over them now.
>Why was this suddenly so hard?	
>You’d been alone with him several times already but something felt very different now.
>You couldn’t tell if it was all in your head or if the atmosphere really was different, but you were hoping it was the latter.
>If only for the chance at receiving some sort of solid confirmation that he was receptive to you.
>Anonymous draws you out of your thoughts by patting the empty space next to him around the table, his packing forgotten for your company.
>Your legs feel stiff but they still get you there, setting you down at his side.
>Closer than usual, but not too close.
>At least, not by your in-the-moment definition of ‘too close’.
>He doesn’t seem to mind at all, but he does notice the singular glass that your aura sets down on the table.
>”Oop, sorry. I’ll get another one.” He says, rising.
>You halt him by draping a wing over his shoulders, your intimate distance allowing it to stretch across the entirety of his back.
”N-No, actually, that won’t be necessary.” You say, your voice wavering as you notice how warm he still felt, especially now that that more of you was touching more of him.
>He stops and turns, peering at you, waiting for you to elaborate.
>Those eyes of his capture you and your wing stays outstretched far beyond its purpose, frozen.
“I’ve been meaning to give you, uh… this.” You stumble, lighting your horn and digging into your hip bag, taking a moment to distinguish the keys and other minor objects from the box that was your target.
>You can see the reflection of your magical light shine in his striking eyes.
>Eventually you produce the gift and offer it to him, swallowing as he examines it.
>He takes the small box delicately in his soft hands and trades looks between you and it, his smile returning.
>”Oh princess, you didn’t need to get me anything.” 
>His elysian voice lies so completely; giving him gifts felt so right to you, so natural, even if watching him slowly tug the golden ribbon loose was making your heart pound. 
”I wasn’t entirely sure what you might like the most, so if you don’t like it…” you backpeddle instinctively as he pulls the small cider glass from the box and eyes it with some reverence.
>It came out well.	
>Furnace Gleam always did good work, but even while scrutinizing your own gift you could easily admit its quality.
>You’d made a good choice, so hopefully his tastes were as you imagined them to be, too. 
>”No no, I… This is… ” he whispers, cradling it in both of his hands, ”It’s amazing… thank you so much.” He continues, tracing his thumb slowly over the face of the glass, the engraved ‘A’ resting under the pad of his digit.
>Your chest warms from his reaction, and you have to take a tall breath in order to re-inflate your burning lungs.
>”Really? It’s all right?” you say hopefully.
>He nods, the small action and the warm look he sets on you afterwards being his only reply.
>He still hasn’t pulled away or commented on the position of your wing.
>Your wrist and patagium still rest comfortably along his shoulders, cradling the back of his neck.
>There’s a contented silence between you that lasts until you lose track of each other’s eyes again, his drifting down to his gift while yours reflect your sudden, rapt interest in his mundane table cloth.
>”Hmm, well? Lets test this guy out, huh?” he says, setting his present onto the table and reaching for the cider jug.
>He examines the thin paper label on the jar as he gradually works out the cork, “ ‘Bonnibell’s Classic Extra-Hard Cider, Canterlot est. xx78’. Sounds like good stuff to me.” He says, shooting you a grin.
>A bitter-sweet smell fills the room as soon as the stopper pops free, it’s aroma familiar and welcoming after your trying day, not to mention the edge your thrilling company was instilling in you.
>You were quite ready for a drink, so hopefully he was just as ready as you were.
>After the human had filled both of your cups—purposely filling yours first, you notice—he sets the sturdy jug back onto the table and lifts his glass into the air.
>You follow suit, leaving magic behind and taking your cider into your hooves for curtesy’s sake.
>He opens his mouth to say something, but stops, a thoughtful look crossing his face.
>After glancing back at his luggage a moment he moves in again, tapping his glass gently against yours 
>”To the future.” He toasts.
“To the future.” You repeat, lifting your mug and drinking from it eagerly.
>The heat you feel in your nose, chest and stomach is overpowering but satisfying, and the spices intermingled in the brew linger on your tongue long after you gulp down the last of it.
>Faust that’s good.
>You didn’t know how much you missed this until the taste hit your tongue. 
>Anonymous, to your delight, licks his lips to capture more of the pleasant flavor.
>”Smooth, very tasty.” He comments, his brow rising a bit as he reaches forward and tips your cup slightly.
>”Well now, princess… did you drink ALL of that in one go?” he says with some admiration, eyeing the tiny glob of alcohol remaining in your cup before lifting his again and finishing off the half he’d left behind.
>”Nnn-… Tryin’ to make me look bad, huh?” he says playfully, clearing his throat after the two large helpings he took in rapid succession.
>Oh?
>He’d told you about his preferences before, but a part of you that remembered the ponies of the past (especially the stallions) talking a big talk only to up the big chuck had been holding on to some doubt.
>Yet here he was, not only keeping up but expressing surprise at YOUR constitution.
>He was even grabbing for the jug again to pour you another round.
“Ah – please forgive me.” You say, offering your glass forward, “I thought we were going to DRINK, but I can always slow my pace if you need a moment.” 
>You take the smirk spreading on his lips as proof that he caught the confident condescension in your voice.    
>The booze burning up in your stomach was already starting to do its work, and thank goodness.
>”Miss Celestia,” he starts with some sass, finishing off your glass and pouring another helping into his own, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d say that you were implying I couldn’t drink as much as you.”
You chuckle softly, peering away as you take your next serving into your hooves, “Oh, don’t be too down about it. Drinking is a mare’s pastime, so it’s nothing for a stallion to be ashamed of.” You say with a little sauce of your own. 
>You chance a peek back at him, and a tingle rides your spine from the calm but predatory look on his face.
>Anonymous lifts his glass to his lips and tips it all the way back, slowly, his throat rippling as he drains its entirety, all whist keeping one of his collected eyes on you. 
>You’re treated to the rare sight of his small pink tongue as it peeks between his lips to catch the last drop.
>He sets his glass back on the table and watches you expectantly, a triumphant look plastered on his face.
>It takes you a moment to realize that not only are you not drinking, but you’re also staring at him, red-faced from his experienced display.
>You scrunch your snout a little and hastily lift your mug, draining it just as quickly as he had before setting it back down on the table with a small thud.
>The second one hits you a little harder, even if it goes down smoother.
>You can feel your otherwise empty stomach bubble softly as the un-tempered liquor hits your gut straight on with no mediator. 
>He’s already pouring another glass, watching you with those dangerous eyes as he pulls you deeper into this little game.
>This probably isn’t the greatest idea.
>You know you’re going to feel it tomorrow if you keep this up but you’ll be damned if you let him outpace you.
>The intermingling desire to both impress him and see how much he can actually take fuel you as you both take your third. 
>Then a fourth
>…Then a fifth 
>…Then… a sixth. 
>The numbness in your extremities grows in intensity as the fluid in the jar in front of you sinks lower and lower, eventually shrinking below the bottom of the label and stagnating at about a quarter full.
>Your head is starting to swim, and regardless of how hard he was trying to hide it Anonymous, too, was starting to feel the effects of your quick binge.
>The subdued come-ons the two of you had been firing at each other throughout the affair had been traded for silence, an almost respectful quiet.
>He’s stopped filling your cups and you don’t care to bring it up.
>Don’t have the courage, more like, since you were quite sure given how you two were going that Anonymous COULD keep pace with you and then some.
>He wasn’t all talk like the young things that showed up every year at the Galloping Gala, puffing their chests and strutting their inexperience until it was time to actually swallow.
>He could handle his drink, and if you kept gulping down whole cup-fulls like you were then somepony was going to have to ‘handle’ your unconscious flank all the way to your bed.
>Thankfully Anonymous seems quite content with slowing down.
>He stares quietly into his bare, hoof-crafted glass, rotating your gift in his fleshy claws.
>His head hangs loose and sways just the smallest bit, and his eyes are glassy.
>”Do you think the ponies in ponyville will…” he mumbles softly, and you almost don’t hear him.
“Hmm?” you hum, turning your ears toward him.
>”Oh, ah… I was just wondering if ponyville was a nice place to live is all. You think so?” he asks, adjusting his tone.
>You don’t miss the worry in his voice.
“Oh yes, of course.” You reply quickly, “It’s a small town, very cozy. Not a lot of ponies living there. It’s a tight community, so I’m sure you’ll make lots of friends.” You assure, giving him a kind look.
>”Are you sure?” he replies stiffly, uncharacteristically tense.
>Anonymous continues to stare pensively into his glass.
>He’s leaning into your wing freely now, cushioning himself against the flat of the hoofboard on his bed.
>The hair at the bottom of his head tickles in between the downy feathers around your wrist joint.
>The unique sensation triggers a memory in your mind of the first time you ever touched him, shielded him from harm in his dreary cell as he fell to the ground.
>It felt so long ago, and he was nearly unconscious then.
>You wonder if he would be upset if you did it again.
>Held his head, cradled it in your wing.
>You move to do so, his velvety mane invading your down further as your limb wraps around the back of his head.
>He notices the change instantly.
>Your heart soars when he drifts his head back into your touch, rolling it right and resting his cheek against your covert feathers, gazing at you gratefully.
>”Nn, sorry, I guess I’m just being a sad drunk.” He says, turning his head to look up at his dusty ceiling before closing his eyes, “I’m just a little… I’ve never left my home town before, did I ever tell you that?” 
”Mm-mm.” you reply in a negative, shaking your head likewise even if he couldn’t see.
>He chuckles softly, his lips drawing back to reveal his unique teeth.
>”Okay… so, when I was a kid, I liked to ride bicycles around with my friends. We rode allll the way to the city limits this one time and dared each other to run into ‘the next town’, even though we were supposed to be staying within a few blocks of our houses.” He recounts, his eyelids fluttering as he tries to recall the details.
>”I was the only one who was too afraid to go across.” He continues, laughing softly as he turned to look at you, “Cried like a baby when they tried to push me over.” 
>You offer him a sympathetic look, chuckling softly with him.
>”Well, fast forward; I have a job. A good job that I love. Pays ok, too, but you gatta’ hop states to reach more people and make any sort of decent money. But me, well, I’ve still never even left home for fun, and didn’t have any plans to sky across the country any time soon. That is, until my job actually depended on it.” He says with a wry smile.
>He rolls his head forward again, his short mane tangling further into your wing.
>His expression has turned solemn, disappointed.
>”I was actually, uh… gonna’ quit. I thought about going, of course. Thought about it harder than anything I’d ever thought about, but in the end I was too scared to leave what I knew.” He goes on.
>He’s laughs again, trying to get the words out as his belly shakes.
>”But then – then I suddenly wake up in a new world! And it has new physics and new laws and new animals and I’m surrounded by-by—“ he starts, gesturing vaguely in the air with one of his hands, “Talking carousel horses!” 
“Hahahey!” you retort with mock hurt, pulling your wing from behind his head and letting it tap gently against his bedpost.
>You weren’t totally sure what a ‘carousel horse’ was, but from his tone of voice it probably wasn’t a compliment.
>Anonymous coughs out the next few giggles, rubbing the back of his head gently with his hand.
>He speaks up again after the two of you have calmed down, his fingers still tangled in his mane.
>”… Everything here is so new and different and now I’m MOVING somewhere and I guess I just…” he says, trailing off and peering around, glancing at his bed, his dressers and other small bits of furniture, examining the walls that both hid him and everything else from him. 
>“… I guess I just got attached to my tiny little town again.” He finishes softly.
>The human is peering into his glass again, rolling the glob of amber liquid around the bottom edge.
>You can’t help but to examine his room again, slightly more crowded with bits of his clothing strewn about but somehow more barren than before. 
>It was good that you came here tonight.
>There was something important you needed to do.
>The joints in your legs pop a little as you suddenly stand.
>Anonymous reaches out to steady you as you sway in place but you’re in no danger of falling, not when you have a mission.
“Anonymous.” You say with some weight, peering down at him, “Come with me.”
>”Where?” he asks quizzically, but you don’t answer.
>Instead, you back away from him and approach his exit, whipping his double doors open wide with a gesture of your horn.
>He flinches slightly from the compromising action, but the moonlight shining in through the tall windows in the hall caress his features in prophetic way that promises you that the plan forming in your mind can’t be all wrong.
“Anonymous.” You say again, your voice a little softer now, “Come.” 
>He’s been cooped up in there for two weeks.
>No matter how much he might enjoy the familiar you KNOW that some small part of him must be dying, wasting away in the hopes of escaping.
>Soon, or right now if possible.
>You look for that part in his eyes, trying to coax it to the surface.
>Anonymous looks at you for a long while, unmoving, still fiddling with your present in his soft hands.
>Slowly but surely your companion rises from the ground.
>He places his glass back onto the table and quickly scoops up the almost empty jug to replace it.
>In less than a moment his bare, fleshy feet pad gently into the corridor to join your hooves.
>Anonymous breaths in a breath a fresh air, clearly enjoying the change from his stifling bedchambers.
>He might be nervous, but he knows you won’t betray him or put him in danger.
>The clock on his wall gave you about twenty minutes.
>Twenty minutes to show him a little more of your world before he was whisked down the mountain to somewhere he’d never been in a world that was alien and frightening.
>You needed to show him something before he left, and you knew just the place.

>The Dusk Guardsmares keeping watch over the field exit can only exchange anxious looks as you and the human approach them.
>”Princess?” one starts, “Is it time already? Aren’t you supposed to be leaving through—“
>You silence her with a simple shake of your head as you briskly pass through the doorless arch, Anonymous keeping close in hoof. 
>The human, gripping the cider jug close to his chest, waves at them light-heartedly to mixed results.
>The stars overhead greet you as you leave the castle behind, crossing the rear patio and descending the connecting steps.
>Hard stone turns to soft, moist grass that wiggles around the edges of your shoes and tickles your ankles as you adventure further, and you can see the dark outlines of busts and full-body sculptures in the distance.   
>The air is even cleaner out here, and the cool summer night easily carries the smell of the distant rose bushes to your nose.
>”Izzis this where I, uh…?” Anonymous begins hesitantly, motioning toward your destination with his chin.
>You nod, signaling that it is.
>Or was, perhaps.
>A lot had changed since then.
>The sod and soil that had been whipped away on his arrival had been replanted.
>The wrecked statues that used to line the perimeter of the event had been replaced or repaired.
>The original hedge maze, all but completely erased, had been recreated with new paths and new streamers at the entrance, and looked just as magnificent as it used to.
>After it was concluded that there was no physical evidence of merit to be found at the site, efforts began to return it to its former glory as quickly as possible.
>Something truly amazing had occurred here, but the great crater screaming that fact to the world was now gone. 
>To your knowledge his existence was still less than a rumor outside the castle walls, and not even the wildest conspiracy theorists would make such wild jumps as to assume that he still walked about the repaired garden in the dead of night after bouts of hard drinking with their respected and dignified princess. 
>”Wow… it looks pretty nice when I’m not using it as a landing pad for my big fat head.” he jokes, chuckling softly, “You guys really did all this in two weeks?”
>You nod again, and for a while the two of you simply walk, the cool summer night caressing your alabaster coat.
>The smell of roses is getting stronger, and from the deep breaths you hear on your left you can tell Anonymous is starting to smell them, too.
>It takes only seconds more to your hazy mind for you to leave the grass and step onto finely hewn gravel, the forms of mighty unicorn sorcerers, charismatic pegasi authors and sturdy earth pony athletes standing tall in carved marble in every direction, their detailed features unrefined but still noticeable in the lantern-less starlight.
>The human examines them with unrestrained awe, his intense eyes shining as he scans their forms.
>He then turns to look at the many flowers lining the hedge maze, all of which had to be transplanted from pots while they were blooming to achieve the vibrant look they now presented.
“I could’ve put everything back the way it was, but I thought it was time for a change. I had to redesign pretty much everything on the fly. Still, I think it turned out quite well.” You say with some pride, amazed at how minimal your slurring was with such a large mouthful of words.
>He turns to you, eyes wide.
>”You… designed ALL of this?” he says with plenty of admiration, “I almost can’t believe it. You’re amazing, Celestia.”
>As the male gazes at you the drunkenness you feel from his adulation begins to dwarf your literal intoxication, even if both states encourage you to run your mouth a little more.
“Ohh, it was nothing much. Redesigning entire gardens is trifling compared to what’s expected of a great ruler.” You say, the alcohol coursing through your veins removing any need to sound humble.
>”Haha, that so?” Anonymous replies with some mirthful doubt, grinning broadly as he catches on to your un-ironic boasting. 
“Of course.” You return with plenty of confidence, “There’s a good reason why I get to wear this crown, you know.”
>He laughs this time, muffling his giggles in his non-jug-holding hand.
>”Oh? Oh yeah? I thought ponies chose their talking carousel horse-queens by, you know, looking UP to see who’s tallest. That or butt si-size!” He teases, trotting ahead of you shortly afterwards as you swat at him with your wavy tail, just barely grazing his rear for the effort.
>Impudent young thing.
“Mmm, yes, very funny.” You say humorlessly, watching as he skips further ahead and turns, facing you as he walks backward, the quartered jar of liquid swinging haphazardly in his right hand catching your attention. 
“Give me some of that?” you ask, nodding to it.
>”Hmm?” Anonymous responds dumbly, rising his brow a bit in confusion and leaning forward as if to hear you better.
“The cider, Anonymous.” You say, making sure that your lips move clearly in your drunken state.
>”Hn? The what?” He says, picking up his pace a little. 
>He’s smiling impishly, eyes no longer shining with awe but with mischief. 
>He definitely heard you.
>”Give it to me.” You say again, serious only in tone as you smile, your tail swishing in a lively fashion behind you.
>He’s backing up a little faster now, and he’s nearing the entrance to the hedge maze.
>”Wassat? Give you ‘what’, now? The cider?” he asks playfully, peering upwards in thought.
>He stops moving, and you do, too.
>“…Mmmm, well, sorry. It’s mine.” He states simply, turning suddenly and bolting away.
>The speedy movement of the physically imposing human causes you to freeze up, your heart strumming as he pulls away and tears around the right lip of the maze, vanishing within.
>You curse under your breath, realizing too late that you could’ve just taken it from his hand with magic before he went inside if you weren’t being such a jumpy little colt.
>”Anonymous!” you yell jovially, your wobbly hooves holding true as you, too, dash forward into the maze. 
>Like in the rest of the garden there are no lamps posted inside the maze, so your path is lit completely by the moonlight.
>It’s incredibly difficult to pick up the sound of his fleshy footsteps, even as they pound into the ground harder than usual. 
>Thankfully the sound of his movement isn’t the only clue you have to guide you.
>He laughs gleefully he as pushes farther into the winding hedges, his coltish chortles both taunting you and luring you further inside. 
>Your chest starts to heave as you push yourself faster, whipping around corners and settling on random paths in forks as you go, wracking your booze addled brain to try and remember the correct path ahead so you could head him off.
>Unfortunately your memory fails you, and the human always seems to be one choice ahead. 
>You could always fly up into the air and seek him out the easy way, but in your mind that was cheating, and you didn’t NEED to cheat to win this. 
>You were going to find him.
>You whip around another corner and, miraculously, you find Anonymous coming toward you in the distance.
>He’s panting, sweaty, and likely returning from a dead end.
>”Hah!” he gasps in playful fear, dashing left into the remaining path and powering on, the glint of glass catching your eye as he flees. 
>Your hooves strike against the grass harder as you, too, come around the bend, a flash of his clothing from around the corner ahead betraying his new path to you. 
>You follow the leafy corridor until you come to another group of branching paths, taking one at random.
>You have to stop hard shortly afterward, your crown jerking forward across your head from the force as you narrowly avoid going snout first into a wall.
>Dead end.
>You can hear the lucky little colt’s laughter mocking you from the other side as he passes, clearly having chosen correctly.
>You growl and fling you head sideways, freeing your crown completely from your damp mane and sending it to the earth before dashing away to find a new path.
>You might not remember which way to go, but as you ran you started to remember something else.
>Up until now your morning dream had passed by in your mind with only the highpoints sticking around.
>How you felt, that is. 
>The panic.
>The rush.
>The impending pleasure.
>It was all coming back to you just the same as it was then, but now there was one important difference. 
>Now YOU were the hunter.
>And your prey was getting away.
>You huff in irritation as you hit your second dead end in a row and quickly tear off in the opposite direction, the sound of Anonymous’ voice becoming dull in the tall growth.
>You take the third path and weave right and left as it becomes serpentine, listening intently for any signs of life that aren’t your own.
>Beyond you everything has become dishearteningly quiet.
>You slow to a canter to catch your breath, the air chilly against your strain and booze-flush face.
>The pointed ears atop your head swivel desperately, searching for any clue of his whereabouts in vain for a long, long while.
>That is, until you hear something faint to the northwest.
>You can’t identify the sound but whatever made it has to be alive.
>You slow yourself and roll your shoed hooves against the ground as you step, muffling your movement. 
>The bends of your legs instinctively bow when you hear another sound, bringing you lower to the ground as you sneak. 
>That one was close.
>Very close.
>A single hedge wall divides you and you KNOW what’s on the other side.
>You’ve been in this part of the maze recently.
>Earlier this very afternoon, in fact.
>He’s made another mistake, and this time you’re going to capitalize on it. 
>You take a lung-filling breath as you creep around the corner.
>Your target is just ahead, sitting on a bench in the middle of a square clearing, the gap he’d taken to get here torn and broken; it was the hole you’d blasted in the wall to ensure there was some way to reach the final chamber of the maze, the place he was now.
>There were no other ways out but the one that passed through you. 
>He was trapped.
>Not only that, but he wasn’t even paying attention to you as you approached.
>Anonymous instead drank eagerly from the dark glass bottle clutched in his grabbers, slating his thirst with the sweet and spicy alcohol within.
>There wasn’t much left now, but you were getting it, and this time he had nowhere to run.
>You charge, and the sudden sound your large hooves make against the ground startles him to standing.
>He makes a surprised noise and backs away, tripping himself up on the half of the bench that was still behind his right rear leg.
>The young stallion lands on his back with a small thud and you move in for the kill, pinning him to the ground with your body.
“Where do you think you’re going?!” you proclaim triumphantly between breaths, pressing your chest to his and laying your front hooves over his shoulders.
>You can feel his lively heart strumming through his clothing, and the slivers of bare skin you can feel in between his clothing are hot to the touch.
>”Hah! Hahah… you shcared me!” Anonymous slurs, panting as he covers his damp brow with his forearm and you take you prize, the thick cider jug glowing a brilliant gold as it levitates out of his grasp.
>You savor the knowledge that your lips now rest where his did a moment ago as you suck down the remaining drink, your throat burning from the tall, unspecific helping.
>You sigh as you finish off the bottle, tossing it aside as you peer down at your nemesis.
“Think you’re funny? Hmm? Giving me all this grief for a little drink?” you say, shifting your body atop his to give him a better understanding of the weight of your position. 
>The cheeky stallion snickers and nods, pulling his arm away from his forehead and laying it at his side.
>”Nn, it WAS pretty funny…” he remarks, chest heaving. 
>His face is burning and his lips are parted as he tries to catch his breath, giving you a perfect view of his full, masculine lips.
>The subtle muscle that you can feel rippling against your fur as you press into his taught body prickles your skin with goosebumps.
>The forearm shielding you from his eyes is gone and they stare into you freely, singling out your form among all else.
>You can already hear your animal mind whispering vague and unrealized threats, warning you of what he might do and what he might be capable of, but your conscious mind has already dulled to such silly notions.
>No, not dulled. 
>That’s wrong.
>Accepted.
>It revels in the feeling, exalts at the pulse of adrenaline that runs through your veins for every second you continue to straddle the large human, testing the ferocity of his will like he tests the ferocity of yours.
>Tests you, by placing his soft hands against your sides, neither pushing you away nor pulling you in.
>Tests you with the single line of sweat crawling down his exposed neck, inciting your pure and just mind to perilous thoughts of how his furless skin might feel against your tongue.
>Tests you with the cooing sigh that tumbles from his inviting mouth as you grind into his front a second time.
>The frustration of leaving your fantasy AND your body unfinished quickly bubbles back to the surface as his heady scent, intensified by his exertion, tingles in your nose and constantly reminds you of both his maleness and his proximity in intoxicating fashion.
>It’s been too long.
>You can’t even remember the last time you felt so alive.
>You need to prolong this feeling, intensify it, and your hazy mind knows just how to do it.
>It’s so simple.
>Your head dips low and draws close to his.
>You can feel Anonymous’ breath shake against your lips in surprise a split second before you claim his, arresting his flirty, hard-to-get attitude in an instant with a hot, needy kiss.
>His lips taste like sour apples and sugar and sin.
>You feel a sensation against your ribs and realize that he’s gripping your slick coat.
>His lips aren’t moving, and after a while you feel him begin to squirm a little beneath you.
>You freeze, sobriety rushing to meet you as the possibility of him not wanting this takes center stage in your mind.
>You mean to break away, abandon your position of incriminating power atop his body and apologize, but your thoughts are suddenly dashed to pieces when a set of creamy digits wrap around the base of your horn.
>The human uses his hold as leverage to tilt your head, angling you to better accept his bold tongue as he thrusts it forth; if he felt any hesitance when you first started then he was clearly abandoning it now.
>The feeling of that naughty hand roughly caressing your horn as he deepens the kiss rekindles your drunken libido in an instant.
>The moan that rumbles up from his broad chest as you counterattack his mouth in earnest lights a fire in your skin that intensifies as you continue to rub yourself against his prone form.
>The small tongue fighting yours for dominance does so in vain, and you can’t help but enjoy the raw, restless desire of a stallion who knew exactly what they wanted demonstrating it in your mouth.
>Anonymous might enjoy his teasing, but the way he sucked on your tongue and bit at your lower lip as you retreated from the kiss for new pastures was far from what you would call ‘coy’. 
>”W-Wow…” he whispers breathlessly as you attack his neck, sucking and nibbling at his pulse in an attempt to milk out more groans of appreciation, “I-I wasn’t – N-Nnn… I didn-think p-ponies would… were even—” he stutters in drunken fragments, interrupted as you claim his lips again.
>His body presses upwards into yours as you lift it, his warmth clinging to you desperately wherever you go.
>He really did need this, maybe just as much as you did.
>And you were going to give it to him.
>”C-Celestia.” Anonymous gasps as you break the kiss once more, a line of saliva connecting your tongues from the heated session.
”Yes, go on.” You hiss, the uncomfortable golden brace around your neck unclasping itself as you light your horn, your last piece of unnecessary clothing soaring through the air to clatter to the ground next to the discarded cider jug.
“You’re going to say my name plenty more…” you promise huskily as you stare into his dazed eyes, which seemed FAR less intimidating when they were dilated with lust.
>Lust for you.
>The exciting sensation of those sharp orbs focusing in on you and only you was now overwhelmingly satisfying. 
>Which explains your tinge of irritation when you see them twitch away to look at something else, something behind you.
>You whip your head around in an alcohol-fueled rush to see what dared to steal away his attention when you see something that makes your heart sink to the pit of your stomach.
>Far, far away, plastered clearly against your sister’s large moon, were the forms of four Dusk Guardsmares twisting their bodies in midair and descending on the maze.
>… 
>What…
>What time is it…?
>You scramble to your hooves in an instant, leaving poor Anonymous grounded and slightly confused.
“S-Somepony’s coming!” you exclaim in a whisper.
>You light your horn to lift him and then curse loudly when you obviously fail do so, kneeling instead to offer him a means to hoist himself up. 
>Anonymous stumbles to his feet with your assistance, his face still burning and his clothes strewn, disheveled incriminatingly.
>No time, just get—
>”Princess! Thank goodness, we were looking all over!” shouts one of the guards as she dives.
>Your wide necklace unceremoniously screams across the yard and strikes you hard in the chest, your breast stinging as you magic the clasp back into place a little too late for her not to see.
“A-Ahh, time? Already!?” you say - well, yell innocently, turning towards the bat-winged ponies as they descends in formation, each one coming to a halt before you.
>”We visited both of your rooms but they were empty. Private Veil and Private Clip said they saw you come through here so we came… came looking…” says the pony you now recognize to be Grey Gables, her eyes squinting in confusion.
>You cringe as you watch her examine your crownless, leaf-infested mane, your crooked chest piece, the empty cider jug on the ground, and, finally, your partner.
>He was facing away from you, hunched over, his arm buried inside a bristly hedge wall, presumably holding onto it for support.
>The meaning of his posture clicks in your mind just in time and you turn away, your ears drooping slightly as he wretches.
>The ears of the guardsmares droop as well, and for a solid fifteen seconds the air is filled with nothing the sound of poor Anonymous losing his stomach, the fading rush of his arousal presumably wearing off enough for him to remember how hard his booze-filled gut churned while he was running.
>You can only shut your eyes and wait for it to pass; you don’t even have the sense of mind in the moment to go and comfort the stallion as he groans and shakily straitens his back.
>”… W-We, ah…” Gables starts again, clearly brimming with unasked questions that will never be answered, “We should go, princess? It’s passed eleven. We need to get him to the train station…” she finishes, casting an experimental glance back toward the human.
“Y-Yes.” you respond, reaching up to brush a hoof through your unkempt mane, “We should, uhh, he’s got some things up in his room—“
>”The ladies put everything they could fit in his suitcase that wasn’t already in there. I saw some silverware, a pot, stuff like—”
“A glass?” you say, scrunching your eyes and hanging your head as you try to sober up.
>”Uhh, that nice cider glass? Yeah, that’s in there. Why? Is that one yours?” Gables asks, her mouth crinkling with regret as she glances back at the other guards.
“No, no-no-no that’s… you got it right…” you assure, absently tugging your necklace piece straighter as Anonymous draws up your right.
>He wears a pitiable look, his hands folded over his stomach.
>A quiver runs through him as he peers up at the guards, his hand drifting up into his moist hair.
>”Ponyville?” he mumbles, reaffirming the subject of the conversation.
>A shared nod is his reply, and with little more fanfare the six of you begin your trek out of the maze.
>Well, you keep Anonymous company while HE treks.
>The bat-winged guardsmares are kind enough to hover above your heads and feed you information about which paths to take.
>Compared to the explosion of energy that had taken you inside the calm walk out felt like it took half an hour.
>With their help you probably made great time though, and after a while you reach the entrance once more, the colored streamers hanging overhead drooping sluggishly in the cool, placid summer breeze.
>Gables informs you that the guardsmares with Anonymous’ things are already on their way to the station, good news.
>Now that you were with other sober ponies you were thinking a little more clearly.
>Considering everything you had done to make sure Anonymous’ existence was kept low key, leading him through the castle halls without having the guards clear them first wasn’t your brightest idea ever.
>All the close calls and near exposures you had almost suffered on the way with sleepy or curious ponies wandering the corridors had been little more than some added excitement at the time, but charming spontaneity was hardly an excuse to ruin all your planning.
>You weren’t so low as to ignore your blessings though; nothing happened, nopony saw.
>Any less than the whole town seeing him probably wouldn’t be beyond your means to explain away in such a sensationalist, distracted place, but the less chances you took the better.

>Neither you nor the human say much to each other during your journey to the south side.
>The most you get are quick looks of concern after wobbly-legged stumbles on the smooth stone paths.
>The gentle ascents and descents occasionally prove challenging for the two of you to conquer, but there are no embarrassing spills to speak of.
>Thank goodness.
>The last thing on Equis you wanted to do was make a foal of yourself tripping over your own hooves after what you were about to do with him.
>TO him.
>You feel you made it very clear.
>You’ll 'say my name' plenty?
>This is why you shouldn’t drink.
>You turn into your SISTER and then you can’t look ponies in the eyes anymore.
>Or humans, apparently…
>You couldn’t even tell if he was upset or disappointed.
>In your mind those two were the only possible emotions he could be feeling and the only ones that mattered to you right now.
>Both of them stung you, make you second-guess every action you'd taken tonight.
>You want to apologize, but your frazzled, anxious brain can’t come up with anything that your mouth will allow to pass. 
>You can’t summon a single message to send him, not even as you climb the scant few steps to the train platform, nor even as you find the Dusk mares carrying his luggage loading it into the already present train.
>You spare a glance at the small, bell tower-like clock as your hooves carry you closer to the huffing train, making out a time of 11:19 on the dimly lit face.
>11:15 was the target; you were late.
>If your name didn’t mean so much you’d probably be staring at an empty stretch of rails right now.
>Nevertheless, it was comforting seeing it there and knowing that everything had turned out for the best, even if the night you wanted to treat him to had flopped.
>The drunken, reckless trot in the garden topped off by your wandering hooves had probably left much to be desired when compared to the quiet, classy night he probably expected.
>And deserved. 
>If you could undo choices and make new ones on a whim there were quite a few that you might reconsider.
>You wouldn’t have been surprised if the young male stepped through the sliding door that whined open before him and never looked back – which explains the surprise you feel when he turns on his heel to face you.
>And he’s smiling.
>Beaming, even, his haunting eyes focusing in on you and causing your chest to flutter pleasantly as he lingers in the doorway, stays himself right on the edge of his past and future.
>”… crazy night, huh?” He comments meekly as the guardsmares load the last of his things into the side compartments, “I guess it’s over now.”
>Gables gives you a simple nod before vanishing into Anonymous’ car, her form clearly visible within through the empty seats; there wasn’t a single other soul present, just as promised.
>”I’m, uh… I wanted to say…” he starts, his happy expression faltering a touch as he tries to find the words. 
>There came no florid speech or gushing ‘so long’s.
>There came no expression of disapproval or passive aggressive sour from your brutish and unladylike behavior.
>No, his parting words to you are simple and sweet.
>”Thank you, Celestia. For everything.” he says, and you know that he means it.
>There’s a pause where the two of you simply drink the other one in, your chests rising and falling with each breath as you linger in each other's eyes.
>After a while Anonymous turns to enter the car but you quickly trot forward, sliding your cheek against his and pressing your body in, wrapping a single hoof around his side.
>You feel his arms slide around the back of your neck and hold you there, sharing in your parting embrace.
“I’ll be waiting for your letters.” You say into his neck, hating how easy it was to speak them.
>You knew this was coming.
>Parting with anypony was never easy, but at this point you’d been doing it all your life.
>You’ve steeled yourself for things like this a hundred times.
>The only thing you truly regret was letting your admiration for him shine through so vulgarly at the very end instead of genuinely from your own mouth.
>Still, everything had turned out for the best.
>Today he was an official citizen of Canterlot, and tomorrow he would be an official citizen of Ponyville, a small town where neighbors only talked to neighbors and the papers never made it beyond city limits.
>A quiet place where nopony would agonize over his origins or pay much attention to his species beyond simple notions of ‘pony’ and ‘not pony’.
>Twilight would be there to receive him.
>You trusted her with your life and she’d no doubt be sending you reports of his assimilation in the coming weeks.
>Until then you’d just have to step back and wait. 
>Breath and smile as he pulls away from the hug and steps inside the train car, thanking you one last time before muting himself behind the wall of metal and glass.
>The head of the magenta beast roars to life and its nose light flickers, illuminating the path ahead.
>You lift your hoof and wave, a gesture he reciprocates as his cabin jerks forward, the vehicle to his liberation chugging off and carrying him far into the dusky horizon.




 
-----> Sequel: Aftershock (https://pastebin.com/k4uKn6Va)

<----- Part 3 (Go Back): Anonymous (https://pastebin.com/NVtiB0PN)