The Long Night

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It wasn’t that Twilight was intentionally stomping down the hallway, but it was hard not to do so when not even the glacial storm outside could chill her fury. 

But fury at what?

At everything, it felt like. Not just Rarity for failing to communicate and pushing her away, but at the situation itself, too. Everything was going wrong, and everything was terrible, and she felt useless at stopping it. Or fixing it. 

The king was dying and all they could do was sit there and hope for the best. 

The princess, by her side, hadn’t said a single word since they’d returned to the castle. All she did was silent and obediently follow Twilight’s commands, the book of prophecies peeking out of her saddlebag. 

Beyond a few glances, Twilight didn’t bother looking at Rarity, or in fact, even want to look at her. She wasn’t one to be vindictive or resentful, but right then, it was tempting to want to end the entire relationship. Maybe they weren’t a good match, not just in a legal sense but in every sense. Maybe it was good that this whole fiasco happened, this event that so starkly highlighted the probably irreconcilable differences in mentality and lifestyle between a princess and a guard.

“If you loved me, you’d do it.”

What a slap to the face. 

So consumed by her anger was Twilight, she didn’t even properly register they’d arrived at the princess’ chambers until she was standing right in front of the door, the distant clock tower chiming five in the afternoon.

There was a beat, Princess Rarity stopping next to Twilight. 

“…Twi—”

“Wait here while I secure the room,” Twilight harshly interrupted, magic grasping the doorknob, eyes burning into wood, addressing the guards standing by. “Make sure the princess doesn’t move.” 

She shoved the door open, marched in, and then did not slam it shut, but almost. She thought about screaming. She wanted to scream. Something, anything, to maybe for once have her turn at throwing an absolutely pointless temper tantrum that fixed godsdamn nothing. 

But she wouldn’t, because she was Princess Rarity’s personal guard, which meant that even letting so much as a whiff of emotion get the best of her could have dire consequences. 

So, only just containing the anger bubbling up inside her, she diligently went about her routine. She locked every window, inspected every nook and cranny, secured the secret pathway out of the room, and then turned towards the door when it suddenly opened, Princess Rarity cautiously stepping inside. 

“Interesting. I remember ordering you not to move, Your Highness,” Twilight remarked, frigidly watching as the princess closed the door behind her.

The princess looked at her, contrite. “Twili—”

“But really, who cares what I say?” Twilight cut her off. “You’re Princess Rarity, you’ll do whatever the hell you want, like always.”  

Twilight had never spoken to the princess like that before. 

She had sometimes dreamt of it, rolling her eyes when the royal had been especially frustrating, but she’d never actually done it out of respect and affection. But now she had, the relatively tame remark spewing out of her mouth like venom, and in the moments after, Rarity visibly flinching, Twilight found no catharsis in such an action. 

It didn’t make her feel better. If anything, it only made her feel worse, especially when the princess didn’t say anything at all. Didn’t defend herself, or complain, or anything. She simply stood there, ears clamped against her skull, docile as she stared at the floor.

“It’s fine. I was finished, so I was going to call you in soon, anyway,” Twilight continued, not really in the mood to argue or make either of them feel worse. She trotted towards the door, her magic enveloping the doorknob. “I’ll be outside.”

“Twilight,” Rarity said, softly, “may I speak, please?”

Though Twilight stopped, the magic around the doorknob did not vanish. A few moments ago, she might have remarked on the fact that oh, so now the princess asked for permission to do things, but she was tired, and miserable, and being snarky would just hurt them both. 

So she said nothing instead and afforded Rarity the chance to speak.

“I’m sorry, Twilight,” she said, and nothing else. No excuses, no justifications, just that. “For everything.”

“Will that be all, your Highness?” 

“…Yes, that’s all,” Rarity replied, voice cracking. 

Before Twilight could even react, the princess quickly trotted towards a window on the other side of the room and stared out of it, her face hidden from Twilight’s view. 

Twilight stared at the doorknob. She should say something. She wanted to say something. She wanted this to be over. 

But she was tired, and though she loved her princess so very much, she could still feel anger lingering in her heart, so she opened the door instead and trotted out, deciding they could both use some space to think and calm down. 

The rest of the guards knew better than to speak when she came out, all four of them taking their usual positions while Twilight stood in front of the door, lost in thought. 

Maybe it should be over. 

Maybe they’d reached the end of the line because the king was dying, and probably would die, and the second that happened, the moment Rarity took the throne… 

Maybe she should resign. A thought she’d had before, once or twice, the times she’d felt emotionally compromised and her heart’s desires were getting in the way of her duty. It had been easy enough to brush it off before, but now? After this? When Rarity inevitably married some noble for a political alliance, what then? Because the second she took the throne, they would come from all over. Allies trying to renegotiate trades, gain power, and secure their ties to the kingdom via the freshly crowned and eligible new queen. 

Her ears rose at the sound of hoofsteps, and her gaze followed soon after, landing on the court jester walking down the hallway. Walking, Twilight noted. Not bounding, or hopping, or skipping as she always did. Walking, changed like everypony else was by the impending sense of doom plaguing the kingdom.

“Twilight!” Pinkie said, some cheer in her voice. “You’re back.” 

“Yes.” 

Pinkie frowned, concerned. “What’s wrong?” 

“What do you need, Pinkie?” 

She ignored Pinkie’s ears lowering. 

“Are you mad at Princess Rarity?” Pinkie asked. “Is it about the prophecy?”

Twilight frowned. “How do you know about the prophecy?” 

Did everypony bucking know about the prophecy?

“Inkwell told me!” Pinkie replied. “She said you girls visited about a book, and you looked real upset, and the Princess kept asking questions about Mount Caelum, and you looked even more upset, and then you left and she doesn’t know what happened next, so I came to find out!”

“Nothing happened next,” Twilight retorted. “And nothing will happen next.”

“So, you’re not gonna help her?!” Pinkie exclaimed, brow furrowing in consternation, as if she wasn’t asking Twilight to do something completely insane. 

“No,” Twilight exclaimed. “It’s just a story, Pinkie!”

“Twilight!” Pinkie exclaimed, her brow furrowing further. “She just doesn’t want the king to die! I don’t want the king to die! You don’t want the king to die! You should be helping her, not—” 

“I know exactly what I should be doing, Pinkie,” Twilight cut off. “So I’d appreciate it if you stopped trying to tell me how to do my job, and instead tell me what you need, or else please move along.” 

She ignored Pinkie’s eyes watering slightly. She had no qualms with being the bad guy if that was what was required of her.

Eventually, Pinkie spoke. “I want to see the princess.” 

Twilight turned and knocked on the door three times. “Princess?” 

A gentle, hopeful voice called back. “Yes?”

“Pinkie Pie is here to see you. Should I let her in?” 

“…Oh. Yes. Yes, please! Thank—” 

“She’s coming in now.” 

Twilight stepped to the side, slightly opening the door with magic, and then said nothing else, staring directly at the window on the opposite side of the hallway. She saw Pinkie frowning at her from the corner of her eye, but whatever complaint the jester might have had went unspoken as she instead stepped into the room, Twilight promptly closing the door behind her. 

This would be a long night, she knew for sure, but what she did not know was that it was about to get longer.

Much longer. 

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If anything in the world impressed Twilight Sparkle, it was Pinkie Pie’s ability to talk. 

For nine hours now, except for when the princess was brought dinner at eight, Pinkie rambling on about something inside the bedroom had been the only thing distracting Twilight from her increasingly pessimistic thoughts. 

Maybe she and Rarity would be okay. Maybe the king wouldn’t die, the storm would fade, and maybe they could go back to the status quo.

But then what? Kings did not live eternally, and this would happen again sooner or later. 

It wasn’t until the clock tower struck two in the morning, its low gongs struggling to be heard over the howling of the winter wind and Pinkie’s muffled voice, that something finally happened—namely, Iron Accord emerging from the end of the hallway. 

“Twilight!” he called out, and if Twilight had thus far managed to keep her anxiety in check, this was no longer the case at the urgency in the kingsguard’s voice. 

Oh, gods, she thought. Had the king—Oh Gods. Oh gods. 

Immediately, every guard present stood up straighter, each and every one sharing the same look of dread. 

“Commander,” Twilight greeted when he arrived, trying her best not to sound afraid. “What’s wrong?” 

“The princess,” he said. “Where is she?” 

“The princess?” Twilight swallowed. “In her room.” 

And how her stomach dropped when he asked, “Are you sure?” 

“Yes, of course I’m sure,” she replied with more of an edge that she’d wanted. “She’s been in there talking with Pinkie Pie for hours now. Why? What’s—” 

“Bring her out.” 

Twilight faltered, wanting to demand what was happening, but Iron Accord had trained her well, so instead she swirled around on spot and knocked on the door, urgent. 

“Your Highness?” she called out. 

“What?” Pinkie replied, her rambling cut short. “We’re busy, Twilight!” 

“Princess,” Twilight insisted. “You need to—”

“We’re busy, I said!” Pinkie interrupted. “The Princess is taking a bath! She can’t come out!” 

“Check,” Iron said, his voice edged. “Check on her. Now.”

Dread filled Twilight’s entire body, and when raspberry magic gripped the doorknob and she turned it only to find the door locked, the dread magnified a thousandfold. 

“Pinkie,” Twilight barked, the handle complaining as she pulled on it insistently, every guard stepping forward in reply. “Pinkie, open this door right now! Pinkie?!” 

“Break it down,” Iron hissed. 

She did not have to be told twice, looking back to the others and practically growling out, “Move back!” 

They obeyed immediately, allowing her the space to backtrack, brace herself and then rush forward, her body colliding with a SLAM against a door that quickly gave in, its lock splintering in defeat. Unfortunately, Pinkie Pie was beyond the door—practically hugging it, it looked like—so she was the next thing Twilight collided against, the two ponies tumbling onto the ground with a painful thud, Twilight practically sprawled on top of her. 

There was a moment of pause, the two mares adjusting to the pain, but it was what Pinkie said as Twilight quickly pulled herself up from on top of her that gave the guard pause. 

“I’m not sorry.” 

Before Twilight could so much as question her, Pinkie spoke up again, her eyes welling with tears even as she tried to keep her voice steady. “I’m not sorry,” she repeated. “She’s going to save the king.”

If time could have stopped, it would have. Truthfully, it felt like time had stopped, a loud buzzing noise filling Twilight’s head as she looked up and scanned the room, her blood running cold at the sight of a bookcase shoved to the side and a secret tunnel staring back at her like a dark, empty void. 

She heard Rose Petal’s voice first, close and distant at once. “Oh, Gods.”

Then Silver Lance, who always voiced what he felt, hissing out a somber, “Oh, fuck.”

And then her own voice, barely above a whisper, “How long has she been gone?”

Pinkie went pale. “Uhm.” 

Her pallor increased when Twilight slammed her hoof against the floor, panic bursting from her voice. 

“How LONG?!” 

“Like five hours!” Pinkie yelped, covering her face with her hooves, afraid of the guard. “I’m sorry!” 

“Where did she go?” Iron asked, his voice steady. 

“Mount Caelum,” Pinkie whispered, “to save the king.” 

Twilight stumbled back, falling onto her haunches in a daze, the words ringing in her ears like the tolling of death’s bell, the fog gripping Twilight entirely broken only by a gust of glacial wind slamming against the bedroom window, drawing her attention to the deadly storm that now had Princess Rarity’s life at its mercy. 

And Twilight’s, too. 

She could be executed for this. She would be executed for this, failing the one job she had been given, which, she realized, mattered little regardless because Rarity was going to die out there—not a question of if, just a question of when—and if Rarity died, then Twilight might as well die with her. 

“Twilight.” 

Accord’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts, and if she wasn’t so destroyed she half-expected him to draw his sword to kill her, she might have been surprised by how little judgment his voice held.

“Come with me.” 

Powers beyond her forced her body up, her mind barely half-cognizant of Iron relaying orders to the rest of her squad. Before she knew it, there she was, hurriedly walking behind her superior, practically unable to speak, tears kept at bay only because her entire focus was on a single question looping in her mind again and again and again. 

How could Rarity have done this? 

How could she have been so stupid? So selfish? So desperate? How could she have done this to herself? To Twilight? To both of them? 

How could she?

They were at the king’s doors faster than she could process, and when Iron Accord pushed them open, a small army of councilors were there, including the queen. 

“She’s gone,” said Accord, and Twilight couldn’t bear to look at either of the monarchs, the buzzing noise ringing in her head again and drowning out the quiet sob that came out of the queen. “She went to Mount Caelum.” 

“Mount Caelum?” gasped an advisor. “Why in the Goddesses’ names—” 

“She’s been gone for at least five hours,” Accord continued, and deeper and deeper into hell Twilight plunged. 

The king spoke, his voice like death. 

“Alone?” 

“No,” said Iron Accord, and only that jolted Twilight’s head up. “Golden Dare reported that kitchen staff last saw the princess packing food into a cart with the help of one of the local mercenaries, a mare with a colorful mane.” 

It was only by the grace of the goddesses that Twilight’s legs didn’t buckle under the sliver of relief washing over her. 

Rainbow Dash was with her. 

Rainbow Dash—that stupid dam-rutting traitor Twilight was going to strangle as soon as she saw her—was with her. Maybe that meant Rarity would live long enough for Twilight to kill her herself. 

“But why would she go to Mount Caelum?” a second advisor barked, voice frayed. 

“Twilight.” 

Twilight snapped to attention, and only then did she finally see the king. The unicorn was lying in his bed, his eyes dark pits in the middle of his gaunt face. 

“Can you offer insight, please?” 

Speaking felt hard, like her mouth was covered in some awful, sticky substance, but she spoke regardless. 

“A prophecy,” she managed, trying to sound clear. “There’s a prophecy she found in a book, about the Sun and Moon temple at the top of—” 

“No,” advisor Silent Script interrupted, pale, “‘The Weary Travelers of Caelum’? But that—! Is she mad?! That’s just a foals’ story! Those prophecies aren’t—They’re hooey!” 

I know, Twilight wanted to say, gutted. I know. 

“She convinced herself that… that she was the princess in it,” Twilight continued, “and that I was the guard, and—” 

“Well, clearly you’re not!” Silent Script snapped, slamming a hoof against the floor. “Because she’s there, and you’re here!” 

I know, Twilight wanted to reply, for the first time feeling tears stinging at her eyes. I know.

“You should be thrown in the dungeons!” he continued. “Of all the times you’ve chosen to be incompetent, you—” 

“Don’t.”

The queen’s glacial voice cut across his, and when Twilight looked at her, she saw in the queen’s eyes where Rarity had inherited her quick-fire indignation.

“Don’t speak to her like that.” 

It was clear by the disdain in his eyes as he stared at Twilight that he personally felt otherwise about the matter, but he kept quiet regardless. 

“This isn’t the time to discuss who’s to blame,” said the king. “Not that there is anypony to blame. My daughter has and will always do what she wants, regardless of the consequences.” 

Accord cleared his throat, severe. “Sire, what are your orders?” 

“None,” replied the king. “I have no orders. There is nothing that can be done.” 

“What?” Twilight gasped, her voice finally clear and loud, speaking over the indignant sputtering councillor. “Your majesty, what do you mean? She’s—” 

“Twilight,” Accord snapped. “Remember your rank.” 

“We are in the middle of the deadliest storm this kingdom has ever seen.” Even now, tired and resigned and dying, the king sounded commanding. “Our resources are dwindling to nothing, and we can not expend what we have left in trying to find her.” 

“But she’ll die!” Twilight continued, beside herself. “She will—” 

“Twilight!” Accord’s hoof came heavy on the floor. “Don’t make—” 

The king’s raised hoof silenced him.

“The priority of this kingdom is, and will always be, the kingdom. Its ponies, and starting from this moment, safeguarding Sweetie Belle and starting her education in preparation for the worst,” the king continued. 

Twilight stared at him in disbelief, and when she looked to the queen, the queen simply looked at the window and the storm beyond. 

“Your Majesty,” beseeched a councillor, “surely, there must be—Can we not send a squadron or—?” 

“We can’t risk the alert,” Accord spoke up, aligned with the king as he always was. “If we mobilize to find her, we risk word getting out that the princess is missing, and with how desperate the kingdom is becoming, we’d just be putting a target on her.” 

“I’ll bring her back.” 

Everypony turned to Twilight. 

“I’ll bring Princess Rarity back,” she insisted, eyes on the king and only him. “Nopony will suspect me, I promise. I know her better than anypony, I know how she works, how she thinks, please. On my life, Your Majesty, I will bring your daughter home.” 

The king said nothing, and his eyes betrayed even less. He just looked at her, quiet. 

“How could she have done this?” a third councillor chimed in, the other two nodding along. “What was she thin—?” 

“Enough!” boomed the king, his voice sharper than Twilight had heard in months. His eyes set on his advisors, and fury burned in them. “If Rarity returns to us alive, she will become your queen the moment I die! But I am not dead yet, and as long as that’s the case, I will not have my daughter start her reign with her decisions being put into question! Am I understood?!” 

No one dared speak as he settled back into the bed, finally betraying how tired he felt. 

“My wife and I will discuss matters now,” he finished and then added as he gave his advisors a Look. “Alone.”

A chorus of humiliated yeses and of courses rang out, and Twilight watched as the council shuffled out, ushered on by Iron Accord. With one last hesitant, aching glance, she bowed and moved to do the same, but stopped when the king spoke. 

“Twilight. Stay, please.”  

Iron Accord closed the door and stood before it. Hesitant, Twilight turned from him to face the monarchs, the queen having joined her husband on the bed, the two of them looking nothing else but like what they were—two parents enduring the reality that their child might die. 

“Twilight,” the queen began, and the poor guard was disarmed by the kindness in her tone. “How are you faring?” 

Twilight blinked at them, completely thrown-off. They were asking her how she was doing? That didn’t make sense, she wanted to reply. Wanted to say that she should be asking them that question, should be at their hooves pleading for their forgiveness.

How was she doing? Not well. 

Not well because she’d failed in her duty, she’d failed the kingdom, and most of all, and perhaps most excruciatingly out of everything, the love of her life was likely going to die out there alone, either frozen or killed or worse, and their last meaningful interaction was Twilight coldly rejecting Rarity’s apology. 

“I’m fine, Your Majesty,” she lied and was grateful when the monarchs nodded in unison, either oblivious to or kindly ignoring the tremble in her voice. “Thank you for asking.” 

“Rarity is smart. She’s always been anything if not resourceful in getting her way,” the king continued quietly, and whether he was trying to convince the others or himself was unclear. “We must believe that she will come back alive, and that this is nothing more than a trial sent by the goddesses themselves.” 

“Your Majesty.” 

Only then did Twilight allow the tears to come, accepting they would have regardless. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I—” 

“For what, Twilight? For failing only once in restraining the indomitable storm of will that is my daughter?” She couldn’t believe it when he smiled. “It’s a testament to your capabilities that it took this long for her to best you.” 

He turned his sights on Iron Accord. 

“Accord, instruct the guard outside to have provisions prepared for Twilight quickly, please. Anything she might need to make what she’s about to endure easier. And see if he can’t have those lumberheads that call themselves my council draw up possible suggestions on what route Rarity might have taken.” 

Accord saluted, and then went on his way. When only Twilight remained, the king observed her thoughtfully, and then added with no small amount of care:

“You mean a great deal to her, Twilight. So much, in fact, it’s the only reason we were able to find out she’d done something in the first place.” 

Her eyes widened. “What do you mean?” 

She watched as meagre magic picked up a letter on the desk, and then stronger magic as the queen assisted him in floating it over to Twilight. 

“She entrusted this with a guard before she left. He was supposed to deliver it to me tomorrow morning,” he explained. “But his better instincts caught up to him a little bit ago, and he delivered it to Accord.” 

Twilight took the letter in her magic and felt her heart bleed at her princess’ delicate hoofwriting. 

Father, it said, this was my choice, and I would have found a way to go regardless. I will save you. But please, for the love you and mother bear me, please, I beg you, do not let Twilight suffer for my actions. Love, Rarity. 

Oh Rarity, Twilight thought, gutted.  

A vicious coughing fit interrupted her thoughts, and she looked up to find King Platinum all but choking his lungs out, Queen Hearthaven rubbing his back with concern. When he was done, a grueling full minute after, he leaned back into the bed, holding his wife’s hoof. 

“I… I’m not sure I will still be here by the time you come back with Rarity,” he began. 

“Silver,” the queen said, distraught. “Don’t say that. You’ll be fine.”

But the king was relentless, his duty one of preparation, not wishful thinking. 

“If I’m gone before you come back,” he continued, Twilight stepping forward, imprinting his every word in her mind, “tell her I love her, and that I—” He faltered, his voice cracking at the seams. “It was my greatest privilege to have her as my daughter.”

“…I will, Your Majesty,” Twilight promised, quietly. 

“And as for you,” he continued, and now the glazed-over eyes became focused and intent, and cracked, dry lips curved up into a smile, “you are the finest pony I could have ever asked to stand by my daughter as her guard and partner.”

Twilight froze. 

…Partner? 

The door opened up, and Accord stepped back in, oblivious to his shell-shocked subordinate. 

“My liege, Thunderwind will have everything ready shortly,” Accord said, stepping forward, next to Twilight. He hesitated and continued, “…Are you sure of this? Sending only Twilight alone to find her? Is that wise?” 

“I trust her,” Queen Hearthaven said. “She will bring Rarity back. I would trust no one else with the job.”

Accord hesitated. “…But…”

“Come, Accord, you of all ponies should know,” King Platinum said with a weak grin, his eyes on Twilight and only her, “there is no better guard than one in love.”

Twilight stared at him, at a loss for words. He knew? They knew? 

“Did you think we didn’t know?” King Platinum asked, managing to sound teasing despite it all. 

“I didn’t,” Twilight blurted out, honest from sheer bewilderment. “I… Does…” A mix between horror and embarrassment flooded her whole. “Does everypony know?”

His expression darkened.

“No, they do not,” he said, every measured word tinged with what felt like regret. He looked away from her. “Tell Rarity I hope she can find it in her heart to forgive her father for…” He looked back at Twilight, as if he were forcing himself to do so. “For doing everything he could to hide her feelings from the world rather than stand by them.”

“I… I…” 

There was a knock on the door, a guard yelling out, “Preparations are underway, Captain! Please have Twilight meet us at the castle entrance!”

Twilight looked back at the door, and then at the king, unsure of how to even begin to process any of this. She had so many things she wanted to say, so many questions she wanted to ask, but Rarity was waiting, if she was still alive, and…

And the king seemed to be off in his thoughts, eyes foggy as his wife held him close. 

“If I could do something about it now, I would,” he said, to Twilight or himself or the world, it was not clear. “But…” He drifted off, his gaze settling on the window and the storm beyond. “I gather my opinion won’t matter for much longer, regardless.”

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