It was afternoon, only a few hours before the Military Ball. Clyde was in his cabin, standing before the mirror, adjusting his dress uniform. His hind legs were bare, but he wore a sage green coat and a matching tie over a black shirt, a black beret adorned with the Guardian’s insignia sloping down the side of his head.

He inspected his reflection, examining the condition of his appearance for several minutes before concluding that the clothes rested perfectly on his body. He walked outside, and slowly began the flight into town; he had arranged to meet his guests, be picked up in the town square and chauffeured to the ball by carriage.

He had spent the majority of the day’s young hours making sure that his absence for the night wouldn’t end in disaster at the hands of evil for the Equestrians under his watch. He saw nor found any possible threats, and was confident that the night, like countless others as of late, would be uneventful.

As he neared the town’s edge, he set down on the road’s cobblestone, his hooves clapping against its surface. He could have flown the rest of the way, but he felt like walking. This way, he could watch as all the ponies in town turned their heads as he strolled by; it wasn’t out of pride as much as it was out of fascination. When he wore that uniform, he stood for something noble, and all in Equestria recognized him for it. It also meant that he had to act accordingly so as to represent the honor he signified when he adorned his ribbons and insignia.

He strolled through the square; sure enough, he drew attention. He sat on a bench in the center of the square and began waiting for his companions to arrive. He waited alone for several minutes, crowd-gazing. Foals and fillies pointed at him, asking about the ‘soldier’ in town, to which their parents responded in fabricated answers; none of the town’s citizens, excluding seven and a few of the hospital staff, knew him, at least not yet.

He could hear voices around him, and his curiosity peaked. He dare not use the sight in broad daylight, let alone within the town’s limits; it would raise too much of a panic. But, his hearing was heightened enough to hear most everything around him.

A group of mares at the diner across the square turned the topic of their conversation to him, and he could hear them laughing as they cooed over his muscles, scars and ‘handsome’ mane. They called him ‘cute’; he pretended not to notice. Some colts behind him, though he couldn’t see them, began wondering aloud why he was there; unaware of the volume they were speaking in.

As he sat, a young family walked by very near to the bench; an aqua colored mare pushed an orange infant foal in a buggy, and dragged a slightly older brown colt behind her. His left hoof was clenched in his mother’s, but his right dragged a toy wooden sword. As they passed him, the foal slipped from his mother’s hoof without her taking notice. He stared at Clyde for a long while, then, though in very shabby form, he saluted him.

Clyde froze, his heart gripped by the innocent and simple, yet profoundly meaningful gesture. He stood, snapping to attention as if the toddler were a superior. He raised his right hoof to his brow, and looked down at the young one, smiling. The colt blushed and smiled, matching the expression of his mother as she retrieved him. Clyde watched them go enviously, dreaming of the family he so dearly wanted back.

He looked to the clock tower; it was just about to strike 5. The ball was to start at 6.
Their carriage arrived as the somber tone of the bell rang out above the square, four gilded royal guards hitched to the front. He nodded to them, their faces shielded by halcyon helmets, their crests the same color as his own mane.
He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could explain to the guards that he was waiting on a few others, he heard the sound of hoof beats behind him and spun around.

The six mares were breathtaking, and the looks in the chauffer’s eyes matched Clyde’s emerald bedazzlement. Rarity had done an amazing job on their gowns; each was unique and elegant, yet still not excessive in show.
The color schemes molded to each one’s personality; vibrant pinks and blues, earth tone green and sky-blue, hearty red and brown, complete with a new hat, all shades of purple, all the colors of the rainbow and then some, and the fanciest of ball gowns for the designer herself. They looked beautiful.

Once he chased the flabbergasted look from his face, Clyde bowed to his guests, bending a knee slightly and descending to their height.

“You all look wonderful,” he said, looking up.

“You don’t look too bad yerself,” complemented Applejack.

“The uniform is a good look for you,” added Rarity.

Clyde opened the door to the large carriage, and the others filed inside with Spike taking up the rear; it was the first time Clyde had noticed him in the group. He was wearing a black tuxedo that was a bit too big for him, especially the bow tie. His spines were groomed and his claws shined, and his face was beaming; it was obvious that he was excited to be going, and Clyde hoped he would not be disappointed.

Clyde signaled to the stallions at the front of the carriage as he entered, taking a seat near the window. He removed his beret and held it in between his hooves as the mares started excitedly asking about what was to come.

“You’re sure the Wonderbolts will be there?” asked Dash, fidgeting a bit in her multicolored gown; she was obviously not used to dressing up.

“I’m sure. They’ve been there every other year.”

“What do the princesses normally do at the Military Ball?” asked Twilight.

“They host, they meander, they chat; if the party goes late enough, Luna may even drink a bit.”

The joke spawned a few giggles.

“The other Guardians will be there too, right?” asked Spike.

“They will.”

“I hope so,” the young drake replied.

The carriage bounced along the road to Canterlot as they continued to chat. After about an hour of excited small talk, the carriage came to a steady stop, and Clyde stepped out onto the lawns of the Canterlot palace. He placed his beret on his head and waited for the others.

Together, they walked towards the castle; Clyde held his head high, and the guards and soldiers they passed showed him instant reverence, stepping aside for him and his guests and coming to attention. Spike scampered alongside the tall pegasus, looking up at him admiringly; he only wished he could command such respect.

Clyde couldn’t help but notice some of the gawking faces on the stallions they passed. His company sure was winning a lot of attention.

They reached the gates to the palace, in front of which stood a unicorn guard levitating a long scroll and a quill in front of her face. The party followed Clyde as he approached the horned mare.

“Name and rank,” requested the guard.

“Captain Sterling, Clydesdale T.”

The quill began to write on the paper.

“And how many civilians in your party?”

“Seven."

Again, the quill began to drag itself across the parchment, and when it ceased fluttering above the paper, the guard stepped aside, allowing them to enter.

They found themselves in the castle’s expansive hall; banners of each military unit draped over the majestic archways and balconies. Countless tables were set up and covered with food and drinks, a band was playing to which a few ponies danced on an open ballroom floor, and myriad uniformed stallions and mares joked and laughed together. Clyde turned to check his friends, but only three remained by his side.

He looked back around the room, and quickly located the missing; Dash had already found the Wonderbolts, and had struck up a conversation with a few of the members, while Twilight was doing the same with Princess Celestia at the far end of the room. Rarity had gone off to inspect all aspects of the festivity, and Pinkie Pie was bouncing around the room, also inspecting everything, though much less critically, but Applejack, Fluttershy and Spike adhered to his side.
Clyde checked each of the banners, searching for one in particular. He recognized the colors of the Magic Brigade, the Celestial Infantry, the Royal Guard, the 11th Cavalry, the Equestrian Marine Corps and Special Forces, until finally, he spotted a crimson flag bearing a golden shield, a silver lightning bolt at its center. Beneath the flag, four ponies sat together at a large circular table, laughing.

Clyde turned to his guests, smiling reassuringly, pointed to the other Guardians, and led them to his comrade’s table.

As they drew nearer, Fluttershy grew nervous; the ponies at the table were intimidating. They wore the same uniform as Clyde, had the same cutie mark, but they were different somehow. One of them, an immense, jet black earth pony stallion, was bellowing and laughing in a voice much deeper than even Clyde’s. He pounded the table as he laughed at jokes or stories a smaller orange unicorn stallion was telling in between drinks of cider. Two mares also sat at the table; one, a turquoise crystalline pegasus with a dazzling white mane, and another, a light brown unicorn with an elongated and very sharp horn. The mares laughed as well, but in a much less eruptive way.

They reached the edge of the table, and the black earth pony rose suddenly, easily pushing the dense furniture away from him with a grinding screech.

“Clyde!” he boomed as their hooves met with a powerful clash, “Finally, you’re here! It’s good to see you again!”

He towered head and shoulders over even Clyde, more the size of a bull than an equine.

“Likewise Brutus; how are things in the West?”

“Better than ever since it was placed in my care,” he rumbled, gutturally laughing as he finished.

Clyde smiled as the orange stallion stood to greet him as well.

“Sebastian. It’s been a while.”

“Yeah,” he responded in a very thick east-coast accent, “I’d a come by to say hi, but things in the East have been pretty busy. Friggin’ city punks keep gettin' in gang fights; I don’t even have any time for mares anymore. You believe that?”

“I hear you brother,” he said, clapping him on the shoulder and moving on to the remaining two.

“Persephone; looking beautiful,” he crooned, but the crystalline mare only looked at him disapprovingly.

“For all your charm, you still think I’ll fall for a lame compliment?” the sparkling pegasus answered, raising an eyebrow at him.

“I wasn’t trying to flatter you,” he began, “and I didn’t think it was that lame; I also didn’t know you thought I was charming?”

He smiled as he teased her, and she gave a brazen grin back as he moved down the line.

“Dawn,” he said as he and the mahogany mare embraced, “It’s good to see you. Has the South been good to you?”

“More than you know,” she said in a slight drawl, her lips drawing up in a smile as her chin rested on Clyde’s shoulder.

Fluttershy, Applejack and Spike stood in place while Clyde greeted each of the Guardians, sheepishly waiting to be noticed. Now that they were closer, Fluttershy could see them each a bit better.

Brutus, the biggest one, was all the same shade of black, mane included. Though it was hard to distinguish from farther away, he had surplus hair around his lips and on his chin, forming a very neatly groomed goatee. His bulk built around a towering frame, and it was obvious that he was the biggest pony she had ever heard of, let alone seen. The orange unicorn, Sebastian, though average sized as equines go, seemed exceptionally small next to the other Guardians, all of which were astoundingly large. However, he made up for his stature with wide shoulders and defined musculature; it was obvious he was powerful, despite his size. He had taken off his beret and placed it over the white tablecloth, revealing a styled light blue mane, spiked up in front and neatly cut along the sides with a chipped horn protruding from his forehead.

The turquoise pegasus gleamed; it was obvious she was from the Crystal Empire. Though not as thickly built as the stallions in the group, she matched them in height, able to look Clyde in the eye. Her white mane was long and very full, extending down to her shoulders, and her fierce yellow eyes pierced the soul of everypony she looked at. Dawn, the brown mare, unlike her comrades, was very calm and relaxed, and moved with a certain grace and composure. She had kind blue eyes and was also very tall for a unicorn, coming up to Clyde’s chin. Her coat was clean, and her black mane held an obvious luster, a long slender horn rising up through a hole in the top of her beret.

All of them had abundant scars much like the ones on Clyde’s obsidian hide. Rough lines and discolorations covered their bodies, necks and faces, each one no doubt telling stories of battles fought and won; after all, scars only form if the wound did not kill.

“Are they with you?” asked Brutus, interrupting Fluttershy’s analysis, his dark eyes turning on the three onlookers.

“Yes, these are a few of my guests tonight; the others ran off somewhere,” Clyde trotted in between the three, extending his wings around them.

“This is Applejack,” he said as she gave a tip of her hat, “Fluttershy,” who coyly curtsied a bit, “and Spike,” the dragon vigorously waved as he was introduced.

“Well, would your friends care to sit with us?” asked Dawn, her tone a blend of sophistication and drawl.

“We’d be delighted to, ma’am,” replied Applejack politely, and they each took a seat at the secluded table.

Applejack started a conversation with Dawn, Fluttershy occasionally adding a few words of her own, and Spike darted straight for a chair in between Brutus and Sebastian. His head barely cleared the lip of the table. He looked at the colossal earth pony, his eyes glimmering as he smiled up at him. Brutus returned a blank look down at the drake as Clyde sat beside the orange unicorn, and asked, “Seb, can you believe this?”

“Nope,” came the reply, both stallions intently staring down at the reptile with expressionless faces.

Spike began to panic, “Oh no. What if Clyde was wrong? What if they don’t like me? What if they make fun of me instead? Oh, please, let this night go well.”

“I never thought I’d meet a dragon here,” rumbled Brutus, and Spike’s spirits immediately shot from the pits into the sky.

“Me neither,” added Sebastian, taking a drink.

“Well, I’m glad I could be the first,” said Spike nervously.

Brutus let out a very hearty laugh as Sebastian patted Spike on the back and said, “I like this kid.”

“So where’d Clyde find you bud?” asked Sebastian.

“In a library.”

“You’re kidding?” rumbled Brutus, and Spike began to realize that it was impossible for the imposing stallion to speak in anything less than a shout, “Why would anypony put a dragon in a library?”

“Well, I help Twilight out when she needs me to,” he said, pointing across the hall to the purple mare, still chatting happily with Celestia, “She’s the closest thing to family I have.”

“Well that’s respectable,” said Sebastian, his thick accent making it difficult to understand, “Ya know, they say that a couple hundred years back, dragons used to fight alongside the military. They must’a been somethin’ to see. They say one dragon could kill hundreds, alone too; and we used to have dozens of ‘em! But that alliance ended, abruptly too.”

“Why do you think that was?” asked the purple drake, sincerely intrigued.

“They probably got mad that they couldn’t come to all the feasts and celebrations in the palace over the years. Couldn’t fit their damn heads through the door,” laughed Brutus, pounding the table as Sebastian chuckled with him.

“Oops, sorry,” he apologized to his small scaly admirer, “I’ve gotta watch my language while you’re around.”

“You don’t need to mind your damn language,” said Spike in a way that felt forced.

He knew it was wrong to curse, but he was trying hard to impress the Guardians.

The two stallions only broke into laughter, Brutus pounding the table again and Sebastian doubling over, belly laughing this time instead of just chuckling. Spike laughed too, but he didn’t really see what was so funny; he was just trying to talk like them.

“You’re alright kid! Here, have a drink,” Sebastian reached for a glass and the bottle of sparkling cider on the table, but as he was pouring, he looked down to Spike and stopped smiling.

“Wait, no. You can’t have this.”

He raised his hoof and whistled at one of the many waiters traversing the room, and asked him to bring some drinks over. When the waiter carried over a bottle of cola, Sebastian bit out the cork, poured Spike a full glass, and handed it to him.

“To new friends,” said the orange stallion as he lifted his glass, and the three drank to the toast.

Spike was overjoyed.