“What is wrong with you?”

William cringed at the sound of Mrs. Trimming’s words. Her gaze was cold and unpleasant, her tone was icier than a glacier, and he didn’t think that he had ever seen her more furious than she was now. And yet, she dabbed at the bulging bruise on William’s cheek with a tender touch, carefully applying salve here and there.

“I’m sorry, Missus Trimming.”

“Busted lip,” she scowled, daubing gently with an embroidered handkerchief. “Bruises, two cuts on the left side of your ribcage – did I or did I not tell you to stop shaking?”

“I’m sorry, Missus Trimming.”

“Hangdog look, unkempt and clearly dyed mane, and most importantly, your uniform is torn!” Trimming’s vicious tenor rose as her hoof lingered momentarily over the tear.

“I’m sorry, Missus Trimming.”

“Will you stop apologizing?” she growled, turning him roughly to finish applying a bandage to a cut on the back of his arm. “For Celestia’s sake, you look wretched.”

William said nothing, only staring emptily at the wall as the mare continued to angrily fuss over him, making a crude hissing noise as she touched a bruise on his lower back.

“That’s what happens when you go picking fights that you can’t win,” Trimming tutted crossly. “What did you do, throw yourself down a flight of stairs afterwards?”

“No, Missus Trimming.”

Trimming was very quiet for a moment as she continued to inspect the assortment of injuries, her mind working furiously as her lips pursed.

“… So that’s what happened.”

“Yes, Missus Trimming.”

Something snarled hatefully in the pit of her stomach, but she quashed it. The empty, dead expression William gave to the bit of wall before him was thoroughly unsettling, like the very life had been crushed out of him.

It wasn’t satisfying.

“Put up a fight, did you?” Trimming asked quietly as she resumed dabbing ointment on the spectacularly dark hoof mark on his back. He showed no qualms about it, not so much as flinching when her own hoof paused over the blot.

“Yes, Missus Trimming.”

“It’s about damned time you started to mare up,” she snorted softly, carefully sticking another large square bandage over a raw looking spot on his side. “Suppose you wouldn’t look quite so bad if you hadn’t, my guess anyway. Give ‘em the old one two, did you?”

“I went for the eyes,” William said at last, his voice hardly above a whisper. Still he refrained from looking at her, still she could glean nothing from the empty gaze. She didn’t want him to look at her, really. If he did she would be forced to look him in the eyes, and she didn’t want to see that look on his face. Not the time or the place.

“Name?” she asked casually as she finished, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face and refitting his uniform in a brisk but calm manner.

“I don’t know.”

“Pity.”

“I’m sorry, Missus Trimming.”

“Position?” she asked in a quiet voice, carefully turning him toward herself.

“… Guard.”

“Rank?”

“Lieutenant.”

Trimming finally managed to meet his gaze, the fire in her belly screaming for release. His small brown eyes were just as she had pictured they would be. Wide, but dull. Almost hollow. No sign of recognition, no semblance of equinity. No thought, no joy, no hope.

Only emotionless understanding.

It was a look that she had seen before, on numerous occasions. Those were the eyes of a broken colt, despair itself peering out from behind the murky glass. No pride remained, no will or strength, no focus. No courage.

No fire.

“… You’re filthy, by the way.”

William did not react at all to her words, at least not that Trimming could tell.

“No doubt this’ll be hushed up, heavens forbid the princess’s glorious reputation take a dive because of ‘accidents’ in her own castle. There is a private washroom past the fourth door down the hall and to the right,” she explained slowly, neatly parting his hair down the middle distractedly. “Hot and cold tap, just have to be patient. Get the stink off, try not to muck up the bandages because I don’t want to have to do them again. Although I’ll probably have to, because you distracted me and I shouldn’t have to do this in the first place.”

Trimming slowly became more and more infuriated, her hooves trembling with each passing moment.

“The door is always unlocked,” she continued without pausing, curiously interested in something on William’s arm. “If there’s anypony else in there, send them straight to me and I’ll beat them senseless for using a clearly labeled private washroom.” Trimming gave him a flustered look, frowning.

“And don’t take all day.”

William began to turn with the same empty look that haunted his face when Trimming halted him again, hoof lightly touching his shoulder before she forced him to look at her again.

Ever so slowly, Trimming pulled him into a loose, one armed hug.

“Now get out. Before I change my mind,” she grimaced suddenly, releasing him.

“Yes, Missus Trimming.”

“Why?” Trimming asked almost silently as his hand touched the door. “I want you to tell me, colt. Why it is that you seem to keep making your way back to me.” She had the feeling that she would know what his response would be, that it was pointless even asking.

However, William once again surprised her.

“You remind me of someone,” he replied without turning.

“So now you have this sudden trust for me?” her lips slanted downward again, awaiting him to turn at any second. But he remained facing the door, shoulders slumped and hand lightly brushing the knob. Unmoving.

“I wouldn’t trust you as far as I could throw you.”

“I-”

“Shut up, Missus Trimming.”

She blinked as he gripped the doorknob tightly, his knuckles whitening from the strain.

“Don’t think yourself above anyone else,” William’s voice never rose a single octave, but he still somehow managed to make himself heard over the pleasant chirrup of birds outside Trimming’s office window. “Because you’re not. You’re awful. You’re a conceited, miserable, despondent wreck of a woman, and no matter what level of good you attempt it will never outweigh everything else.”

He lifted his opposite hand, staring at the palm. There was no comment on lack of gratitude from her, no angry rebuke. Only stunned silence.

“Your soul is tainted with sin, and you’re lying to yourself if you actually say otherwise. You are easily one of the most horrendous people I have ever met. You make everyone’s lives a living hell because you’re too much of a bitch to deal with your own problems that you have to make problems for others, you can’t move on, and to top it all off, even your supposedly helpful actions are rooted in selfishness that prevents anyone from even getting close to you at all.”

“… Are you finished?” Trimming asked quietly. “Got to throw your little fit and tell the big bad mare how much you hate her?”

“I don’t hate you, Missus Trimming,” William answered with a low, sad tone as he opened the door. “I never did. I feel absolutely nothing for you but pity.”

She heard the sound of her door latching and felt it echo in her ears, but Trimming seemed not to notice it. She spent a long, long time simply staring at the place where the boy had once been, Shear’s face smiling forlornly back at her.

After a while, Trimming sidled wordlessly back into the chair behind her desk. The clink of empty bottles as she rummaged silently through her drawer was quieted in time for the sound of a cigar case snapping open to take its place.

Just one left, by the way.

I don’t smoke, that stuff will kill you, you know?

Yeah, but everypony dies someday. Besides, I think you look cool when you smoke.

Peer pressure much, Trim?

But you still took it, by the way.

You’ve got me there. Guess you want me to say ‘thank you’ now, eh?

Are you going to?

Baby, have I ever been anything less than an incredibly handsome ungrateful bastard?

You’ve got me there.

“… You’re welcome, by the way,” Trimming cried softly to no one.

“Just keep following,” Eris said quietly, urging the boy along. “Not much further.”

The midday sun gleamed off of the vigorous shrubberies, the trickling of a stone fountain nearby peacefully filling the air. A nourishing breeze tickled the grass in the garden as swooping birds sang overhead and began littering the sky with their melodies. William numbly followed Eris, his hand never leaving hers as they trailed through the hedges. After a while of silent walking the pair was met by a cast iron archway leading into the garden’s square, assorted topiary and statuettes adorning the entire area beneath the shade of a miniature forest.

William could understand the princess’s love for the place. Quiet, calm and secluded, it was like the little orchard was completely isolated from the rest of the world. Only the sound of peaceful nature bridged the gap between them, like time itself had all but stood still just for her.

“Ah. There you are.”

If William was surprised by Princess Celestia’s appearance before the statue laden garden, he did not express it.

“You haven’t moved much,” Eris said in a much less discreet tone as they approached, her paw shifting defensively to William’s shoulder.

“I’m patient. Come,” Celestia turned to the both of them, her gaze unwavering. “Take a closer walk with me.”

William felt himself guided by Eris’s touch, the serene chirrup of a pair of bluebirds dancing above whistled by.

“Your train shall arrive in approximately three hours,” Celestia explained, alabaster wings tucked in loosely at her sides as they advanced toward one of the many statues. This one stood as a silent companion to a miserable looking droopy rose bush, and cast a short stubby shadow. William looked to Eris for an answer.

“We’re leaving,” she said simply, grip on his shoulder tightening slightly.

“In lieu of… current events,” the princess halted before the statue, gazing up at it without difficulty despite the midday sun shining in her eyes. “I believe that it would be best should the two of you return to a more hospitable environment.”

“All payments dissolved,” Eris added quietly. “We don’t owe a single buck.”

William’s empty stare slowly swiveled toward the princess, who tilted her head to look at him. Trimming’s words echoed in the back of his mind, but he was hardly bothered by them.

“Silence,” he stated smoothly. “Don’t feed me that line. This isn’t about us, it isn’t about some bogus lesson to teach. This is about protecting your image, plain and simple.”

Celestia did not stiffen at his words. She didn’t even blink. Instead, she turned her small smile toward one of her statues, which she began to carelessly inspect with one hoof.

“Er, Will…” Eris began.

“How much is it worth?” William asked without pausing, crossing his arms over his chest. “How much is silence really worth to you, hmm?”

“If I didn’t know any better, young mister Klaskovsky,” Celestia started with a tiny, miniscule sliver of danger in her voice. “I might assume that you were attempting to blackmail me. And I take the safety and security of my citizens and subjects very, very seriously.”

Eris was slowly growing more and more uncomfortable, nervously flicking her eyes back and forth between the quiet princess and the boy, but her hand never left his shoulder.

“Blackmail?” he responded unobtrusively, examining his fingernails. “No, Princess. Of course not. I’m simply making a small request. In lieu of current events.”

“Uh, bud, this-this might not be the time…” the draconequus started, but her voice withered and failed.

For the first time, William saw Celestia’s lips purse as she turned to face him once more. Eris grew decidedly uneasy, her tail coiling worriedly around one of her own legs. But Celestia seemingly didn’t even see her, her entire focus devoted solely to the expressionless boy before her.

“I want a catalogue.”

“Of?” the princess inquired, her face as blank as his own.

“There is a restricted section in the library. I know for a fact that there are books on unrevised Equestrian history in there, as well as a myriad of magical anomaly research.”

“You want my personal collection of books?” Celestia asked slowly, unable to resist raising a single eyebrow.

“I want access,” he replied instantly, his gaze unwavering. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

“… A library card,” Eris’s grip tightened a little on his shoulder, her voice full of disbelief and tinged with anger. “Of all things, a library card. No… bits, no political advances, no… nothing. A library card.”

“That shouldn’t prove too difficult for one such as yourself, I should hope,” William nodded curtly, standing at attention.

“I shall… take your request into account,” Celestia said at last, and Eris’s dumbfounded grip loosened a little.

The heavy tramping of hooves alerted them, and the snowy princess eyed the oncomer without a hint of surprise.

“Tia,” Princess Luna seethed quietly, her eyes narrowed to venomous slits and her breathing heavy. “A word, if you please.”

“Something the matter, Lu?” Celestia asked pertly, but her voice was low and sharp.

“Sister, we talked about- now, kindly?” Luna’s exasperation showed through, and for once, William saw another side of her that he did not expect. The bedraggled mane from lack of sleep, the dejected and upset tone in her voice that belied one too many arguments lost – in short, Luna looked absolutely nothing like her usual regal, impossibly unreachable self.

She just looked… tired.

It was deeply distressing to William, although he could not place exactly why.

“Don’t bother,” Eris said quietly as Celestia turned to her. “We’ll be gone shortly anyway. No need to stick around.”

Celestia followed her sister toward the exit without another word. The moment they were both gone, Eris slumped miserably at the base of the statue, her back to the granite figure. William simply stood and watched the place where the princesses had once been, his mind feeling strangely dull. Eris blew out a long, arduous breath through her fingers, running her mismatched hands down her face in silence.

“… FUCK!” she screamed suddenly, kicking at nothing and startling a group of nearby birds. Her face contorted into a number of uncomfortable looking expressions seemingly all at once, fury being one of the most prominent. Eris’s left eyebrow twitched violently before she hissed hatefully through her nostrils, jamming her arms together over her stomach and glowering at her knees as she drew them up.

William sat on the stone step beneath the statue next to her, hands clasped noiselessly in his lap. He didn’t budge an inch, didn’t say a single word as she scowled bitterly at her own tail tip, which she twirled in one of her hands at last. The silence reigned for a long while, neither of them speaking.

“You know,” Eris muttered at last in an attempt to break the awful, unnatural stillness of the garden. “I tried getting her to give me my powers back.”

William didn’t speak, instead staring unblinkingly at the spot of ground beneath his feet. An ant crawled over the dust, skittering this way and that.

“She didn’t,” Eris continued coldly, readjusting her arms as she held herself. “Fucking ‘course not. God, I shouldn’t have even went to her first. I should have mangled that sonuvabitch and confessed, at least it wouldn’t be… well. I mean, just… fuck, man. Just... man. Fuck.”

William noted her odd refusal to look at the statue that they sat beneath, and it took him a moment to realize precisely why they had been brought to the garden in the first place. A stone sank into the bottom of his stomach, and the sudden urge to retch rose again as he took a closer look at the stone sentry.

It wasn’t a perfect replica of a stunned stallion. It wasn’t even a replica.

Author's Notes:

Holy balls, was this a rough couple of chapters.

As for the previous chapter's title, it's from a quote 'Old soldiers never die, they just fade away.' The chapter was originally twice as long before I decided to split it into sections, partially because it was quite a bit for one chapter. That, and it just seemed like a bit much to drop all at once. The next chapter will definitely be longer, and hopefully much more satisfying as more and more pieces fall into place. I've been writing and rewriting the scenes with Fluttershy and Dash, but none of them seemed to fit in naturally with this chapter at all. I think it's best to leave it as it is for now, even if it is a bit shorter than I'm used to publishing.