Part III

The Lady’s house was sparsely decorated. 

It looked very much like the one North and Twilight were staying in, containing nothing more than a kitchen, a table, and a small couch. It wasn’t decorated in any significant way—if at all, honestly—which bothered Twilight more than she’d expected. Just because the Lady was blind didn’t mean she couldn’t have a nice home. 

Beyond that, the only significant difference between her home and Twilight’s was a second closed room, which she assumed was the Lady’s private chamber. 

Four ponies were gathered in her living room. The Elder, by the door, rattling on instructions for Twilight; Swashbuckler, by the Elder, nodding along to her instructions; Twilight, by the couch, still as a statue and wishing they’d be done already; and finally, the Lady, quietly sitting on said couch, apparently lost in her thoughts. 

A fresh new gash decorated her face, the result of her very first session with North Ridge. It would heal soon—a day or so, if Twilight remembered—but the one she had seemed distinctly less… garrish than the kinds of injuries she used to get. Was she feeding less? So it would hurt her less? 

“I think that’s all,” the Elder finally said after about an hour. “You start tomorrow.” She eyed Twilight carefully, her nose tilted up just so. Like Swashbuckler, she evidently found the entire situation less than ideal, but respected the Lady enough to indulge her request. “You’ll report back to Swashbuckler at the end of the week. Or, well, write a report, in your case.” 

“Why are you giving the poor thing work?” the Lady teased. “She’ll have her hooves full with just me, I assure you. Speaking of which…” She gestured them off with her hoof. “Leave us be. I have my own instructions to give Rivermoon.”

“Hrm. All right.” The elder threw Twilight one last glance before heading towards the door. “Let’s go, Swash.”

Buck hesitated before finally relenting and joining the elder by the open door. 

“Have a good evening, Mender.”

“Good evening, Aster.”

Twilight waited for them to leave, for the door to audibly shut, before turning her gaze towards her Lady, waiting to see what came next, what she said. 

Did she know? 

“I think,” said the Lady’s raspy voice, Twilight hanging on her every word, “that one tap right here—” She tapped her shoulder. “—Should be ‘yes’, and two taps—” She demonstrated. “Will be ‘no’. Simple enough, don’t you think?”

After slightly hesitating, she moved towards the Lady and gingerly tapped her shoulder once. 

“Excellent.” The Lady nodded, a satisfied smile on her lips. “Now, as for everything dear Aster said…” Her smile vanished. “You will disregard all of it. Understood?”

Twilight stared at her, baffled. The words ‘My Lady?’ clawed at her throat. She lifted her hoof, and after a slight pause, tapped once. And then thought twice about it, and rubbed her hoof against the Lady’s shoulder as if erasing her answer, and tapped twice. 

The Lady laughed. “…I should elaborate.”

One tap. Firm. 

Though the changelings meant well, she explained, they were suffocating. They fretted over her at all times, treated her like some delicate sort of thing, which was not aided by the fact that they had no idea what to do with a pony, let alone a creature such as her. 

Twilight thought the Lady had lost her mind. She was a guard, certainly, and she was good at her job, but it would be difficult to guide her even in a basic way if she couldn’t use her voice. 

“Your oath complicates matters, but we will make do,” she said, as if she’d read Twilight’s mind. “I don’t really leave my house much, regardless, and there’s a bench outside where I sit most of the day. The only times I leave are when a patient is brought to me.” Her horn glowed and two emerald bracelets materialized on her forehooves. “If you need to direct me, you will use your magic to tug in whichever direction is required. Tugging on them both once means there is something I need to step over in front of me, and tugging twice means I need to stop. We can adjust as we go. Is this all understood?” 

 Twilight nodded. And then remembered, and tapped the Lady’s shoulder once. 

“Fabulous. You may leave now. Be here first thing in the morning, and if I’m not already out, knock on my bedroom door three times so I know it’s you.” 

One tap.

The Lady smiled. “Have a good evening, Rivermoon.” 

The first few days were the most difficult.

Just as the Lady had said, she spent most of her day sitting on a bench outside her home, entertaining herself with knitting or other similar activities, while Twilight sat next to her, both dead quiet. 

This was difficult only because it left Twilight to her very complicated thoughts. 

She had never known the Lady to be quiet. She didn’t remember her to be so quiet. Maybe at first, back in the forest, when Twilight was still a stranger who brought her sick ponies, but in their old home, she was always chatting about everything and anything, voicing her thoughts without a filter as if Twilight were her diary. 

She’d never felt so distant. She was distant, just by virtue of being Rivermoon, but she’d never felt like she recognized the Lady less. 

It also didn’t help that Twilight could see how distrustful the entire village was of her. Changelings kept distantly walking by, clearly wanting to approach but changing their minds and steering clear whenever they realized that implied being near Twilight. 

The only ones who ever approached were Incantation and Swashbuckler, and both were in some ways worse than the ones who refused. Incantation, wracked by anxiety at Twilight’s secret identity, kept coming in to make sure things hadn’t blown up by engaging in the most awkward small talk Twilight had ever been subjected to. 

“So! Everything’s fine!” she’d say for the umpteenth time. 

“Yes,” the Lady replied, and Twilight felt a tinge of affection when she finally recognized her Lady when she added with slight annoyance, “and I’m sure it will be the next ten times you ask, dear.” 

On the other hoof, Swashbuckler simply walked by and greeted the Lady loudly every hour, declaring his presence in order to… what? Make sure she knew she was safe? What did he even expect Twilight to do? Kill her? It hadn’t worked the first time; it probably wouldn’t work a second. 

So, faced with solitude, all Twilight could do was be with her thoughts. The changelings had found the Lady. Why? Who knew. How? Also, who knew. At least she’d come willingly. Twilight couldn’t imagine any other situation. For better or worse, the Lady did as she wanted, and there wasn’t a world Twilight could imagine where she’d be so happy as a captive. 

It was only until the fourth day, after his second treatment, when North Ridge felt well enough to venture outside, that Twilight heard her Lady speak for more than a few sentences at a time. 

The stallion had planted himself on the bench next to the Lady and eagerly answered her curious questions about his life. She was interested in his adventures and all the different things he’d seen. 

“Nothing like me, I suppose?” she asked him at some point. 

“Afraid not. You are unique, dear Mender.” 

She seemed pleased by this. “It must have been shocking to find out I was alive.” 

“Not really,” he replied, ignoring Twilight’s cutting gaze. “I had faith you had survived.” 

“North,” Twilight mouthed. What was he doing?

“You did?” Alarm soaked the Lady’s words. “How so? Does the kingdom not think me dead?”

“Oh, yes, yes, they think you’re six feet under,” he clarified, and Twilight saw the Lady instantly relax. “But I’d heard the stories, of course, and considering my situation, well, I held hope! Hope dies last and all that.” He cleared his throat. “But, yes, as far as the kingdom knows, and anypony I asked about you, the kingslayer is dead.” 

“Good,” she said quietly. After a moment, she added, “I find you remarkably amiable considering I slaughtered your king. Do you not care?” 

“Mender! Didn’t you say your past was out of bounds?” 

“Not if I’m the one asking questions,” she replied. 

He laughed. “Fair enough! Well, let me tell you, I could not care the least for Violet, no. Whatever fate befell him, I’m sure he deserved it. And, besides, Rivermoon here vouched for you. She very much agrees with me.” 

Twilight froze when the Lady turned her sights toward her. “Thank you, River.” 

Twilight tapped her once, and when the Lady turned away, she felt relief overflowing her. That had been close. That could have gone badly. 

And then North opened his mouth.

“Oh, and as for that guard. Twilight Sparkle, was it?” How brazenly he ignored the Lady freezing, as well as Twilight and her stare that looked like she was about to become an elder-slayer too. “I thought it might interest you to know she was completely exonerated.” 

“…I see,” said the Lady after a long minute. She opened her mouth, then closed it, and after a breath, smiled politely. “So you met a manticore, did you? Tell me more about that.” 

Out of all the changelings in the village—beyond Incantation, Swashbuckler, and the Elder—it was the hatchlings that braved approaching the Lady and her guard. 

The first day, they asked her for stories about pirates, which they attentively listened to as she rattled through a fantastic tale, only occasionally sparing Twilight a cautious glance. Not that she even noticed, really. They scarcely seemed a threat to the Lady, so she felt safe to dwell on her own emotions. 

It was nice. It was as if they were back in their own home, the Lady making a great show out of the novels she’d read to Twilight, and it was with no small amount of heartache that Twilight realized the Lady was recounting a more abbreviated version of one of those very same books. 

She’d said she didn’t like thinking of those times, but… well, maybe some parts she still enjoyed. 

By the fourth day, Twilight was no longer something to be concerned about, and in fact, the hatchlings took the time to greet her and offered her some of the snacks they brought. She enjoyed their company, especially when it was clear they delighted in the Lady’s transformations after her work on North Ridge. 

“You have a big scar!” one would tell her, not with horror, but awe. “Like Sharkhugger!” 

“Kelpie reavers often have scars,” the Lady would say, “especially those that consort with sharks.” 

“Coooooooool,” they’d gasp, and Twilight smiled widely when the Lady replied, “I am quite ‘cool’.” 

Where ponies found horror, they found kinship. She wasn’t a monster to slay, but one to admire and protect. 

Maybe Twilight found kinship with them, too, in that respect. 

They also loved asking invasive questions, as children tended to do, and sooner or later, Twilight found herself the target of their inquiries. 

“Rivermoon, where’s your sword?” one asked once. 

She didn’t carry one anymore, preferring her magic. Magic couldn’t be used to stab someone in the heart. 

“Children, don’t pester Rivermoon,” the Lady chided. 

“But she needs a sword!” asked Cerci, a little female hatchling who loved transforming into a tiny manticore. “How’s she gonna protect you?” 

“Did you lose it?” asked Frons, a male hatchling.

Twilight thought it over and then nodded her head. 

“Ohhhhhhhh,” came the chorus of voices, followed by little Canthus relaying her answer to the Lady just as little Caliper promised she wouldn’t tell Twilight’s mom. 

“Who’s your best friend?” asked Elytra, a changeling girl who liked her own form, thank you very much. She pointed to another hatchling and declared, “Mine is Canthus.” 

“Is your best friend Mender?” asked Frons. 

“Now, really, stop trying to make her break her oath,” the Lady protested. “Don’t think just because I’m blind that I can’t see what you’re up to.” 

The hatchlings ignored her, their eyes set on Twilight Sparkle, who thought, and thought, and thought it all over, and despite her best instinct, nodded her head. 

“She said yes!” they exclaimed, and what a pained surprise it was when the Lady laughed. 

“Oh, did she? Curious.” Her fangs were on full display when she grinned. “It would seem North Ridge isn’t the only pony around here who can flatter a mare.” 

“Do you have a best friend, Mender?” little Caliper asked, tugging at her foreleg. 

A discussion ensued, the changelings arguing over who it was and why it was them, but Twilight only had careful eyes for her Lady. Her expression was distant, her ears ever so slightly downturned. 

“I do,” she said, eventually. 

“Who is it?” they asked in unison, and their disappointment was so different from those never-ending complicated feelings that plagued Twilight Sparkle when the Lady reached out and placed a hoof on her shoulder. 

“Why, Rivermoon, of course.” 

It was two weeks into their stay at the village that Incantation brought the Lady a brand new patient. 

It was a family of three—a couple and their filly, who was dying of a disease no pony doctor had thus far been able to help. 

All three of them had arrived to the village blindfolded, as was apparently the norm for any outsider brought in. The filly, coughing so harshly that Twilight’s lungs hurt from just the sound of it, clung to her father’s back, the couple brought to the brink of desperation if they’d agreed to what must have felt like such a frightening situation. 

North Ridge, as always, proved to be helpful just by nature of existing, his excited prattling over the Lady’s capabilities and miracles assuaging the ponies’ anxieties. In the back of her head, for just a moment, Twilight could see herself living with him there for a longer time. 

But it was just a moment, and she pushed it away just as fast. 

Hours later, after they’d been sent back home, the couple crying tears of gratitude and relief and swearing to keep the Lady a secret, the Lady was left with a particularly horrid gash all over her foreleg. 

Twilight had expected she’d ask to be taken home to rest, but she surprised her by asking instead to be taken to a small lake on the outskirts of the village, away from prying eyes. 

Under the starry night, Twilight watched quietly as the Lady dipped her injured forehoof in the water, swirling it around aimlessly. It was five minutes into this quiet reflection that finally she spoke.

“Rivermoon,” she asked, lifting herself and shaking the water off her hoof, “do you know what a pirate’s favorite letter is?” 

Twilight blinked at her.

Was… Was that… was that a serious question? 

Thrown, she tapped the Lady’s shoulder twice. 

“You’d think it would be the letter R,” said the Lady, her voice almost hauntingly severe, and her blinded gaze pointed in Twilight’s general direction, “but no, her true love be the C.”

Twilight couldn’t help herself. It was an involuntary reaction. A snort halfway between amused and appalled, so loud that she worried immediately after that she’d just blown her cover over a terrible joke. 

But, rather than shocked or surprised, the Lady seemed delighted, her fangs glinting in the moonlight. 

“My, would you look at that? She laughs! Fascinating. You know, I’ve spent the last few days imagining what your personality is like, and unfortunately for you—” She tilted her head slightly to the side. “Laughing at truly terrible jokes is now part of it.”

Twilight tapped her shoulder twice. Hard. 

“No, no, it’s perfectly fine. Nothing to be ashamed of, dear.” She looked away, the laughter gone and the distant look returned. “The hatchlings quite like you. And I think the rest of the village is warming up to you and North Ridge.” A pause. “Do you want to know why I asked you to be my guard?”

Her breath caught in her throat, Twilight tapped her once. 

“The changelings are good creatures. They found me when I needed them and took me in even though it could have been dangerous for them,” she said, almost as if to herself, unaware of Twilight’s sudden attention. She raised her left forehoof and brushed it against her right foreleg, over the falling skin and scabs and boils, ‘the ugliness’ as she used to call it. And when she spoke, her tone was gentle. “I am a monster, and they—”

Two taps interrupted her. No. Immediate, on instinct, Twilight’s hooves having moved before her brain could even react. 

The Lady laughed. “…Thank you, River. I appreciate it. But…” The smile remained, no longer delighted and grateful, but sad and regretful. “I’ve done unspeakable things. I am an unspeakable thing. But they still took me in, even despite what I am and the dangers I could bring. And they still help ponies, even though they’re terrified of them.” She paused. “I’ve only ever met one other creature in this world as selfless as them.”

Who? Twilight was desperate to ask. 

But she didn’t. And the Lady continued.

“If having you be my guard might help my changelings be less afraid of the outside world, then I think that’s worth trying, don’t you?”

One tap. Gentle. 

“My, I’ve run my mouth quite a lot today, haven’t I? But, unfortunately for you, I think I’m starting to grow comfortable. You’re about to find out there’s nothing I love more in this world than the sound of my own voice.” 

She let out a delighted cackle, which Twilight could only grin at. She shared the sentiment, after all. Raspy or smooth, the Lady going on and on was something Twilight could listen to forever. 

And she’d missed it. As the Lady kept rambling, she realized then that she had missed her voice to an unbearable degree.

What was she going to do when she had to leave? 

“Speaking of which,” the Lady was saying, “being the hatchlings’ favorite pony means I’ve a truly extensive repertoire of the absolute worst jokes a pony could ever be subjected to. Would you like to hear another?” When Twilight tapped her once, the toothy, monstrous grin returned. “Oh, River, darling, you will regret that.”

One tap. Affectionate. 

And as the evening rolled by, joke after terrible joke, Twilight feeling like she was right back at home, those pesky complicated feelings for once seemed to mellow out. 

About two months into the treatment, North Ridge could walk and talk practically perfectly. Of course, he still had coughing fits, and he certainly couldn’t play tag with the hatchlings longer than twenty minutes, but he looked good. Better. 

“Your Lady told me she thinks we’ll be done in a month or so,” he said across the dinner table, eating his meal. “That’s soon, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Twilight replied. Very, very soon. 

“And we’re leaving after that,” he continued, putting his fork down. “Or, at least I am! I don’t know about you. Are you going to stay?”

Twilight frowned, her gaze lost somewhere in her soup. “I don’t know,” she eventually replied. “I don’t think they’d let me stay.”

“They might! If they knew who you actually are.”

Twilight looked up at him, smiling thinly. “Or they might kick me out faster.”

“Don’t you want to stay?” he asked. “She likes you. I hope you’ve realized that. She enjoys your company very much. I think it’s giving that Swashbuckler fellow an aneurysm, she seems to like you that much.”

“She likes Rivermoon,” Twilight clarified, firm. 

She wasn’t bitter, mind; she’d been the one to put herself in that situation. But she couldn’t deny that she wasn’t aware that the Lady liked Rivermoon better now, and even if it hurt at times, Twilight liked Rivermoon better, too. It was easier. It was nicer, to engage without being bogged down by the weight of… of their baggage. 

He hummed. “She might still like Twilight, too.”

Twilight ignored him. 

But, as it would turn out, fate was not ignoring her. 

Beyond a few allusions here and there, the Lady kept to her assurance that her past was in the past. She never once opened up, not when North would try and be smart about his questions, and not even when it was just her and Twilight, the two sitting on the bench as the Lady spoke her mind on whatever thoughts consumed her.

But, if once upon a time, Twilight Sparkle had been her weakness, it was now the hatchlings who’d taken her place. 

Every so often, they would ask about her past. They would pester her, and prod her, and demand to know what she did before the village, and every time she’d refuse to say. 

One lucky day, she conceded. Maybe they’d worn her out. Maybe she felt particularly nostalgic. 

“Mommy says she doesn’t like talking about things that make her sad,” little Caliper said once. “And then I thought about how Mender never talks about what she did before us!” She looked at the Lady. “Was your whole life before us sad, Mender?”

“Well,” said the Lady, fidgeting next to Twilight. 

“Was it because you’re ugly?” continued little Fronds, and then added, “Oh, River didn’t like that.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being ugly,” laughed the Lady, affectionately patting Twilight’s shoulder. “Why, some books I’ve read—for big changelings, mind you—the ponies in those really liked ugly things. And I do mean really liked.”

“River’s angry at you now, Mender!”

“Nonsense,” said the Lady. “She can’t be angry at me. We’re the best of friends, she and I.”

“Mender,” little Caliper continued, tugging at the Lady’s foreleg, “were you happy before?”

“…I was, yes,” she said, just as Twilight’s ears perked up. “I was very happy once upon a time. More than I could ever imagine I could be.”

It was hard not to stare. It was so very hard not to stare or speak up in alarm, in desperation, begging to be indulged. Happy? When? Why? 

“When?” asked little Cerci, and Twilight’s heart nearly stopped when, for one time and one time only, Lady Rarity indulged. 

“Oh, it was some time ago. Feels like ages, really. Has been ages.” She smiled mischievously. “And I looked quite different, too. I looked just like a regular pony!”

“Your coat wasn’t falling off?” gasped little Elytra, and gasped again when the Lady shook her head. 

“I didn’t have boils, or scars, or anything! And I could still see.”

“You could see?” 

“Oh, yes. And every morning, I’d get to see myself in the mirror! I was very pretty. Very, very, very pretty.” Pride soaked her words, and just a tinge of nostalgia. “I wasn’t sick. I could go out into the streets, and ponies wouldn’t fear me.”

Twilight’s thoughts were reeling at a thousand miles per hour. When? When was this? Was this before her curse? Or was this at the village? Was it with Twilight?

“Did you cure ponies?”

“No, in fact,” said the Lady. “I was a dressmaker. I made beautiful dresses and sold them at a market. I was good at it. I used to dream of one day opening my own shop.” She drifted off, and when she spoke again, it didn’t seem to be to the hatchlings. She didn’t seem to be speaking to anypony in particular. 

“I really was very happy. And,” she added, pressing a hoof over the scar on her chest, “I had my heart.”

And though the hoof dropped, its grip on Twilight’s heart remained. 

“But all that’s gone now. I lost it all.” She gestured aimlessly with her hoof. “Off with the wind, as it were.”

Fronds snorted. “What d’ya mean? You still have your heart! Just ‘cause it’s dead doesn’t mean you don’t have it.”

“But I don’t.”

“Yes, you do,” insisted Fronds. 

The Lady shook her head. “Truly, I don’t. I took it out.” She leaned in, unaware that, to her guard, every word was sharp as a blade. “I stabbed myself with a sword, carved out a hole, and ripped out my own beating heart.”

For the first time since she’d met them, the hatchlings looked frightened, just as quiet and arrested as Twilight Sparkle herself, reliving the slaying of the Lady in her mind. 

“No, you didn’t,” one of the hatchlings eventually stammered. 

“But I did,” said the creature, gesturing to the massive scar on her chest, right where her heart would be. 

“Why would you do that?” little Elytra asked, upset. 

Why would the Lady do that? Why would she hurt herself like that? Why had she done that to them both? 

Why?

And when the answer came—this answer whose absence had haunted Twilight for so long—it did not bring relief. 

“Because it was the most precious thing I had,” said Lady Rarity, leaning back on the bench. “So I had to keep it safe, because it was not safe with me.”

Only when little Cerci pressed a hoof against her foreleg, her face marred with concern, did Twilight realize she was crying. 

She lifted a hoof over her mouth. Shh. 

“Did it hurt?” asked Caliper. 

Eternities seemed to pass, and then the Lady spoke again. 

“Remember what your mother said? About some things hurting so much that it’s best not to think about them?” 

The hatchlings nodded. 

“If I think about my heart for more than a moment, for a second too long, think about what I did to it, it—It’s worse than death. It is like being burned alive.”

She paused. 

“But.”

And she meant every word. 

“I would do it again.” 

It’s worse than death, Twilight thought, over and over, numb. Numb as the Lady clapped her hooves and declared storytime was over, cracking a joke about being literally heartless. Numb as she launched into a different story, about spies and detectives. 

I would do it again. 

How could Twilight blame her? Even then, even now, if their positions were swapped, well…

She’d have done it, too.

It had been completely by mistake. 

It had been, really, if anything, just instinct. 

One sunny afternoon, the Lady asked Twilight to take her to the village’s small marketplace. It was supposed to be just a quick outing, there and back, to get a bit more yarn for the scarves she kept knitting. 

The only problem had been the hatchlings.

They loved the Lady. They loved her so much, wanted to be around her at all times, trying to convince her to play a game, tell a story, sing a song, anything and everything their tiny minds could think of. 

It was little Elytra who did it. 

In her excitement, asking and pleading for the Lady to carry her on her back, she ran in circles around the Lady and her guard, slowing down just enough that she accidentally tripped the Lady. 

With a startled yelp, the poor creature fell forward and would have slammed her face against the ground if not for Twilight’s magic quickly holding her in place. 

Again, it had been completely by mistake. 

It had been, really, if anything, just instinct. 

“Children!” snapped Twilight Sparkle just as soon as she’d finished helping the Lady, the hatchlings all freezing in place. “You need to be more careful!”

It took her one second to realize what she’d just done. It took the hatchlings two seconds to realize what she’d just done, their chastised looks transforming into almost monstrously naughty ones. 

“Rivermoon!” shrieked little Caliper, like Hearth’s Warming had come early. “You spoke! You spoke!”

“You broke your oath! You broke it!” exclaimed Fronds, pointing at her with delight. “Mr. North’s gonna be soooo mad!”

No, Twilight wanted to say, accosted by the hatchlings, no, no, no, oh Gods. 

“Mender!” said little Cerci, “Mender, did you hear her?”

With the fear of Gods in her heart, Twilight turned to look and found that yes, indeed, Lady Rarity had heard her loud and clear. 

The creature, who before had been right next to Twilight, was now several feet away, her ears ramrod straight, and the clouded milky sapphire eyes opened wide. Very wide. 

Time slowed to a crawl. It was over. She was caught. She must have been. 

When the Lady spoke, it was in a deathly serious voice. 

“Speak. Speak again, Rivermoon.”

Twilight didn’t. Twilight couldn’t. Twilight wouldn’t.

“Rivermoon.” Every syllable was edged. This was not a polite lady speaking; this was a creature who had seen a very many things and done even more, and she was quite used to being in charge. “You already broke the oath. I want to hear your voice again. Speak.”

Every inch of Twilight was screaming in protest. Her mouth felt sewn shut. But. But she was a guard, and as a guard, well…

She still knew how to obey a command. 

“Yes, Mender,” she replied, and what a noise she wanted to let out when the Lady’s eyes widened again, when her jaw clenched like she too was trying not to scream. “I apologize for hesitating.”

“I…” The Lady drew herself up. Spoke quickly. “I want to go home, I think.”

It was happening right before Twilight’s eyes. It was all crumbling. It was finished. 

“What?” asked little Cerci. “But the market—”

“I’ve changed my mind.” As far as Twilight could remember, the Lady had never once interrupted the hatchlings before. “Rivermoon.” The name, once said with an affection that had grown fast, now lacked it. It was cold and to the point. “Take me home. Now.”

“Right, of course, Mender,” said Twilight Sparkle. And then, because she was her guard, because she had to pretend, because Rivermoon would ask. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes. Now take me home,” repeated the Lady instead. “You have the rest of the day off afterwards.” 

“Thank you, Mender,” Twilight replied. “And tomorrow I’ll come at the same time?”

“We’ll see about tomorrow. That’s not my concern at the moment.” Her voice was strained. She stepped in any direction. “Now, please.” 

“Yes, Mender. This way.”

“You should at least try to sleep.”

The clock ticking past three in the morning, North Ridge watched from his bed as his friend and guard endeavored to carve a groove in the floor with her pacing. 

“Maybe she just felt sick suddenly!” She stopped and gave him a look. “It could happen!”

“This isn’t funny, North Ridge,” Twilight said. “She said I shouldn’t come in tomorrow. It’s over. She’s going to make me leave.” 

Frankly, she was surprised Swashbuckler hadn’t arrived already to throw her out. 

“That’s good, isn’t it? I mean, of course, other circumstances might have been nicer, but didn’t you want to leave?”

“No, of course not!” she blurted out. And then retracted, her pacing resumed. “I don’t know! I don’t know what I want! I don’t know what she wants! I don’t know!” She fell onto her haunches, harrowed. She buried her face in her hooves. “I wish this hadn’t happened.”

She was afraid of being Twilight Sparkle again. She was afraid of the Lady being the Lady again. She didn’t want to lose once again the little happiness she’d found. 

She’d just wanted it to last a little longer. 

The Lady was already awake by the time Twilight arrived at her home. 

She was on her couch, like she’d been waiting. Maybe she had. Maybe she, too, hadn’t been able to sleep. 

“Rivermoon.” It was warm. It was anxious, as well, Twilight knew her well enough she could tell, but there was warmth. “Is that you?”

Twilight faltered. She’d used Rivermoon. All right. 

“Yes, Mender.” She spoke lightly, respectfully but nonchalantly. Like nothing was wrong. At this point, who knew if it was or wasn’t. “I’m sorry, I know you said I might have today off as well, but I wanted to check.”

“That’s all right. I appreciate your diligence. Will you please come closer?” She waited until Twilight did so, which she announced with a clearing of her throat. “I notice you’re speaking. Are you not resuming your oath?”

“I hadn’t, uh, decided yet, Mender,” Twilight replied. “You mentioned Master North Ridge would be cured soon. I’m not sure if there’s any point to doing it so late.”

“Of course.” She was fidgeting nervously with her hooves. “That seems sensible. And it would make your guardianship over me easier if we could talk.”

Twilight’s ears perked up. “…I’m still your guard, then?”

“…Why wouldn’t you be?” quickly asked the Lady. And then continued without affording Twilight space to reply, “Unless you don’t want to be. I never did ask you. I just assumed. I just ordered you to do it. Maybe you didn’t want that.”

“Mender,” Twilight said, kindly but firmly slipping it in between the Lady’s sentences the second there was space. “I’m happy to be your guard.”

If Twilight had wondered if she’d been caught, it was no longer a wonder. She knew she’d been recognized, now more than ever, but not because the Lady had acknowledged it, or hinted at it, or anything of the sort. 

It was because she could see in the Lady’s expression that she did not believe her. 

And it was then that Twilight realized she’d been blind, still. That she thought the Lady hadn’t really created a persona, something to hide behind like Miss Aurora, but she had. Mender wasn’t just a name, was it? It was a mask, an identity, a belief created by a creature who, deep in her soul, was convinced she was unwanted. That sooner or later, the other shoe would drop, the axe would fall, and she’d be alone once again. 

That entire time, Twilight had found the Lady to be so much nicer. Much kinder. Not a proud creature who spoke her mind with no qualms, but an agreeable thing that lived to serve and help. 

She’d felt so different. How could she not? She was different, entirely so, falling into line, filing off her edges, making herself tolerable, afraid that a single misstep would cost her everything all over again.

The Lady was dead, and only now Twilight realized she hadn’t been slain outside a village at all, but inside a castle dungeon by her very own guard. 

“Very well,” lied Mender. “You’ll be my guard until North Ridge is cured.” 

“…Yes,” Twilight replied, softly. “Until Master North Ridge is cured.”

“And after?” Mender asked, her voice strained. “I suppose you’ll be leaving.”

“I don’t know.” It wasn’t a lie. “…Would you like me to stay?”

Twilight wanted her to say it. She wanted to hear it straight from her mouth. She wasn’t going to make the choice for her, even if she wanted, even if she knew what she would do if it were all up to her. 

She had killed them both out of selfish fear. Maybe now, maybe this time, she would save them both out of the selfish desire to be happy. 

“I think you should do whatever you want, Rivermoon,” she said instead, and the searing disappointment Twilight felt was only slightly alleviated when she hastily added, “But you don’t have to know yet. We can always discuss it when the time comes. Can’t we?”

Twilight thought of that night back home, after a feeding, both of them in bed. She thought of the Lady, how she lamented that she was once feared, and Twilight told her she had always been soft, always had a tender heart when it came to other ponies. 

‘No,’ she’d said, ‘I only have a soft heart when it comes to you.’

For better or worse, Twilight Sparkle felt the same. 

“Of course, Mender,” she said, allowing Mender—allowing them both, really—a bit more time before judgment day came knocking. “We can always discuss it when the time comes.”

Twilight found the reversal very interesting. 

Where once upon a time, the hatchlings were the only tool she had available to learn more about Mender’s life, now the opposite was true. 

Mender would sit there, quiet, talking about anything and everything, pretending she wasn’t hanging from the edge whenever one of the hatchlings took advantage of ‘Rivermoon’s’ broken oath to interrogate her. 

She could have just asked. 

She could ask anything about Twilight’s life after their separation, and Twilight would have answered any question, but instead, she refused, never daring to break her own rule. The past was the past, Twilight’s included, even if it was visibly killing her not to ask. 

“Have you always been a guard?” asked Caliper. 

“Not always. Just mostly,” she replied, aware of Mender’s ears pointed straight at her. “Before working for Master North, I was a librarian in the capital.”

“…A librarian?” asked Mender, doing a miserable job of not sounding painfully interested. “How quaint.”

“It was fine. I think I would have always been a librarian if my brother hadn’t convinced me to come join him as a guard.” 

“And you were paid?” Mender asked. 

“…Why wouldn’t I be?” Twilight smiled. Not that Mender could see it, but it all amused her just a little. “I don’t do work for free, and, as far as I know, I haven’t been convicted for any crime, so I wasn’t doing it as penance.”

The relief in Mender’s expression was as clear as day. 

“Mister North says he doesn’t pay you,” Fronds interjected. 

“That’s because he doesn’t even have the coin to pay me.”

Elytra frowned. “But why’d you become a librarian? You should’a stayed a guard!”

Twilight mulled it over and then spoke with care. “I never stopped being a guard. Even when I was a librarian, I was still a guard. I just wasn’t practicing.”

“Mom says you hafta practice every day to be good at something,” Cerci smartly informed her.

Twilight laughed, and even Mender cracked a smile. “No, not practicing like that. It means that you’re just not… doing it right now. Sort of like… Sort of like how just because someone is far away doesn’t mean you don’t love them anymore. They’re just not there for you to show them you love them. So, I was a guard, but I didn’t have anypony to guard anymore, so I became a librarian.”

“What happened to them?” Caliper asked. 

“To who?”

“To who you were guarding!” she exclaimed, oblivious to Mender stiffening next to Twilight. Caliper’s eyes widened, and she covered her snout with a hoof. “Did they die?”

“No,” Twilight replied. “They just didn’t want to let me be their guard anymore. I think… I think they thought they were protecting me. That they didn’t need me, I guess.” 

“That’s not nice,” said Canthus. 

None of them had noticed the usually chatty Mender had not said a single word in several minutes. 

“It’s fine. I think I would have done the same.”

Mender frowned slightly. Not upset or annoyed, more surprised. 

“What if they asked you to guard them again?” Cerci asked. “Would you do it?”

“Of course,” she said. “I wouldn’t think about it twice.”

It was only because she could speak that Twilight could ask the question that plagued her mind nearly every night. 

They’d been sitting by the little lake outside the village, Mender once again idly dipping her hooves in the water. 

“Mender, can I ask a question?”

“Of course.” 

Twilight licked her lips. “You… You were talking a while back, with the hatchlings, about a time when you were happy.” She pretended she couldn’t see the creature stiffen, the hoof freezing in place. “Back when you were healthy.”

After a long moment, Mender’s hoof moved again, forming ripples in the water. “Yes. What about it?”

“Well, I—” She faltered. “If somepony were to offer you healthy blood, would you take it?” 

“No.” She hadn’t even thought it over. 

“No?” Twilight frowned. “Why not? Has nopony offered?”

“Oh, they’ve offered. I’ve no shortage of ponies the changelings have found that seemed to be almost a bit too delighted to offer their healthy blood,” Mender replied, tersely. “I’m simply just not interested.”

“…But why?” 

Mender drew herself up, shaking the wet off her hoof. When she was done, she placed it firmly on the ground. 

“It’s a risk I’m not willing to take.”

“A risk?”

“Yes. A risk. The last time I drank healthy blood for any amount of time had disastrous consequences, and I don’t intend on bringing that upon me or anypony else ever again.”

But she’d been happy. And she could be happy again. Why was she denying herself? Was it guilt? Again?

“But—”

“Rivermoon. I’m done speaking about this. I would ask you respect my choice.”

“…Yes, Mender.”

“A house call?” 

Gathered inside Mender’s home, Twilight listened in as Mender discussed an unusual situation with Incantation, the Elder, and Swashbuckler.

“Yeah,” Incantation said, her spirit looking worse for wear. “The same family as always. I don’t know how they keep tracking me down, but they just won’t give up.”

Twilight knew who they were referring to. Incantation had mentioned them enough times in the past months. A family begging for help for their apparently sick, bedridden daughter, whose illness they refused to elaborate on. She was just sick, they insisted, and she could not be moved, and they’d heard about a miracle healer, and they needed her to come, please. 

A great frown marred the Elder’s face. “And they still refuse to say what’s wrong with her?” 

Incantation nodded. “But she is sick. I snooped and asked around, and their sister or daughter or whoever hasn’t been out of their room for months.”

“This is becoming a liability,” Swashbuckler grumbled. “What’s stopping them from trying to follow us to the village?”

“Why won’t they say what’s wrong?” Twilight asked. “Is this usual?”

“They think we’ll deny them, I suspect,” replied Mender. “The times this has happened, it’s been because they knew we don’t take in ponies too far gone to cure in a single session. North Ridge is the only exception we’ve ever made.” 

“What do we do?” Incantation asked. 

“I’ll simply have to go to them, then,” announced Mender. “To either cure or deny them, but either way, it should make them stop hounding us.”

“What?” gasped Incantation. “Leave the village? But that’s a three-day trip!”

“If I must.” 

“Mender, you would need protection,” said Swashbuckler. “And I can’t leave the village without its only guard.”

“She has protection,” Twilight replied, just a little indignant. 

“What? You? You’ve got to be kidding me.” Even now, months after the fact, he still didn’t trust Twilight. “This isn’t protecting her from hatchlings. You don’t even have a sword.”

Twilight faltered. He had her there. 

“Mender has a point,” said the Elder, quietly. “If these ponies are so desperate, it might be worth the risk to just see what they want so they’ll leave us alone. A six-day trip is concerning, but if even half the tales North Ridge has told us have some resemblance to the truth, then—” Her eyes landed on Twilight. “Rivermoon has dealt with much worse than ill-meaning ponies, sword or no sword.”

“I can do it,” Twilight insisted. 

“Rivermoon, you’re an outsider. This shouldn’t be your responsibility.” Mender’s tone was measured.

Twilight turned to her, even if Mender couldn’t see it. “Mender, until North Ridge is cured, I am your guard. You picked me personally. Or, do you no longer want that?”

“I do,” she hastily replied. 

“Then I will protect and keep you safe while you see them. I will be your shield and your sword, and once we’ve dealt with these ponies, I will bring you back to the village. You have my word.”

She waited, and waited, and waited until finally, Mender spoke. 

“…Very well.”

Twilight turned to the changelings. “If you have a weapon I can use, I will take it.”

“We don’t,” Swashbuckler said tersely. “And for the sake of Mender’s dignity, I’d prefer you didn’t try to safeguard her with a scythe or a spade.”

“…Well,” said the Elder. “There is a weapon I can think of.” 

“No.” Mender spoke before the Elder had even finished her sentence. “Out of the question.”

“Mender,” insisted the Elder. “You need to be protected. This is not the time for sentimentality.”

Mender’s eyes narrowed, the milky sapphire becoming painfully focused. When again she spoke, the gravel of her voice felt even more pronounced, her anger making her just a little bit more a creature. Just that little bit more her.

“Fine,” relented the Lady, alive for just a moment. “Rivermoon.”

“…Mender.”

“In my bedroom,” she replied, every word resentful. “There’s something you might find useful.” And then her lilt softened. “Use it if you want. Go now before I change my mind.”

Thrown off but still curious enough, she bowed her head slightly, if only out of respect. “Yes, Mender.” 

As the changelings fell into conversation, already starting to discuss the trip, Twilight made her way towards Mender’s bedroom, opening the usually closed door with her magic and stepping in. 

Weapon, weapon, weapon, she thought, scanning the room for any sign of one. She scanned and scanned, past an empty desk, past shelves full of multicolored yarns and knitting needles, and it was only when her eyes landed on the bed that, in shock, she found what she wanted. 

There, resting against one of the pillows, wrapped in red satin, was a sword whose hilt Twilight recognized, if only because she’d made it herself. 

She kept it? 

Her haste utterly forgotten, her heart pounding, Twilight made her way towards the bed, her horn alighting with magic as she picked up her sword, the weight and feel of it just like she remembered. The satin slipped off it, onto the bed, and Twilight’s shock continued at the state of the blade.

It was pristine. It was clean. It looked as good as when she’d had it, cared for just as much, and when Twilight glanced around, what a tug to her heart when she recognized sharpening stones and polishing wax on Mender’s bedside table. 

She hadn’t just kept it. She’d taken care of it. 

The weapon that had been used to almost kill her. 

All because it was Twilight’s. 

When she emerged from the bedroom a few minutes later, it was with the sword in tow, the satin wrapped around it as a makeshift sheath. 

Mender’s head turned only slightly towards her. 

“…Did you find it?”

“I did, Mender,” Twilight replied. Her tone betrayed nothing. “This should work fine.”

“Alright,” quietly replied Mender and nothing else. 

The Elder observed Twilight carefully. “Are you sure about this?” 

Twilight nodded. “Yes. Nothing will happen to her while I’m with her. You have my word.”

She would not fail again.