In the dim lights of the maternity ward, the Night Guard Pumpernickel sat silently, as if he feared to make a single noise. Tears poured down his cheeks in a constant stream, his sobs nearly controlled to small twitches that barely made ripples in his outstretched bat-like wings, curled up to either side of his face. He had been like this for nearly an hour, but the nurse who peeked into the room every few minutes wisely allowed him his space.

Almost within touching distance, his beautiful wife Laminia slumbered onwards regardless of the silver light of the moon that engulfed the world outside the hospital. Her position as Princess Luna’s Hoofmaiden did not keep her from being carried off in the drug-assisted hooves of Morpheus this evening, but sleep she did, for rest was desperately needed to heal. Her body had been stressed nearly to the breaking point by the delivery of their expected child, ripped cruely from her womb by doctors insistent on saving her life.

Beside them sat the hospital issue crib. Silent. Cold. Unused.

Ten months ago…

“Dear, will you lighten up and enjoy the trip? If you don’t stop carping about it, I’ll go back and get Luna.” Laminia giggled like a filly and flicked her tail over her obstinate husband, looking uncomfortable in his uniform jacket while waiting at the train station. It had only been with great effort and direct Royal Command that he had been convinced to leave his armor behind, and even then Luna had personally inspected the newlyweds and their bags before their departure from the castle, removing a pair of Royal Guard vambraces that had ‘accidently’ been included in their luggage.

“I don’t like it. We’re short-hooved at the night watch since seven of the pegasi came down with the Feather Flu. I should be at my post instead of gallivanting off to Van Hoover,” sulked Pumpernickel, his golden eyes looking backwards at the castle with all the intensity of a drowning pony looking at a life preserver.

“Six days and seven glorious nights,” said Laminia, rubbing up against his side before throwing a membranous wing over her husband’s back. “Just because we’re having one or two teensy-weensy little meetings with the Town Council in my official capacity as Princess Luna’s Hoofmaiden doesn’t mean I’m going to be busy at night. After all, we never did get a honeymoon and I packed my pajamas.”

Pumpernickel quit looking back over his shoulder. “The silk ones?”

Eight months ago…

“It’s just for a few nights while the Griffon ambassador and his entourage storm around and make some threats. We’re a little short-hooved, and I’m substituting for one of the married guards over at—”

“Lumpy, you’re a married guard too,” snapped Laminia. “You’ve been working double shifts every opportunity you’ve had over the last few weeks. What is it you’re not telling me?”

“Well…” The bulky Night Guard paused, fidgeting in his purple armor and unable to meet her eyes. With his obvious body language, it was fortunate he did not take part in any of the off-duty poker games with the rest of his fellow guards, or the tidy little nest egg they had been building up for the birth of their first child would have consisted of two bits and some gum wrappers.

“Dear, look at me.” Laminia took her husband’s face in her hooves and lifted it up from where he had been inspecting the floor. “I love you as much as the world is large, the night is deep, and your head is thick. Now tell me what’s bugging you or I’ll have Luna come over here and we’ll tickle it out of you together.”

“I’ll do it too,” sounded a voice from across the hallway that separated her quarters from the tiny room assigned to the Princess’ Hoofmaiden (and husband). The rustle of paper from their Dread Sovereign, Princess Luna, Diarch of Equestria, Guardian of the Moon and Stars, continued unabated as she continued to read through reports in her room, her corridor door and bedroom window open to allow a flow of fresh air during her stuffy task.

Pumpernickel frowned and closed the door to their room before turning around carefully, as not to knock any of their few possessions onto the floor. After all, the room was barely large enough to house one servant in normal conditions, and although neither of the newlyweds had much in personal possessions, fitting two of ‘not much’ into ‘really not much space’ left little room to maneuver. “I’ve been noticing some… things.” At the puzzled look of his wife, the guard blushed and continued. “How much you’ve been biting lately, your mood swings…” He paused, lowering his voice to a bare whisper. “Your heat.”

“Just because my cycles are erratic, and the last few months we haven’t…” Laminia paused, one hoof tracing down to her belly. “You don’t think…”

“No, I try not to. I’m married,” responded Pumpernickel unnoticed as Laminia scrounged furiously through a bottom desk drawer, finding the tiny plastic strip of a pregnancy test before bursting out of their room and across the hall with a rapid shout at a confused Luna.

“I’msorryYourHighnessIneedtoborrowyourbathroom!”

Seven months ago…

Laminia shuddered in the chilly armor of the Night Guard, flapping in synchronization with Pumpernickel’s friend, Redoubtable, as their chariot approached the Misty Mountains aerie. While the griffon guide flew out to guide them through the upcoming approach, Laminia tried to keep her anxiety under check. After all, she had never flown in the mountains before, and the violent updrafts and downdrafts raised by the jagged peaks only made her constantly nauseous stomach more willing to spill its meager contents. This was certainly not what she had expected when she had met the handsome stallion, looking so rugged and strong while wrapped in steel. She should have been in the chariot with the ambassador while Pumpernickel should have been dressed in armor as a proper Night Guard, harnessed to the traces and ready to fight any danger that would show.

We serve the Princesses.

For whatever reason, Luna trusted both of them on this mission, even as wounded as her husband was and as pregnant as she was. There were things far greater than either of them, even greater than the small life she could feel in her gut like a trapped butterfly who would occasionally tickle the wall of its cage. The Nocturne served Equestria, in life and in death, and she would hold to that promise to her last breath.

Six months, two weeks ago…

Pumpernickel lay uncomfortably on the cold steel slab in the doctor’s office, listening to the whispers of the surgeons and the whirr and click of machines as various experts gathered around his body to examine the lines of painful stitches that held him together. He had drank the various noxious substances they had given him, dressed in that absolutely silly paper dress that left his tail sticking out, and endured the countless mosquito pricks of needles drawing blood without once shouting at the nurse to just pull out a pint and be done with it. Now their conversation was wandering into a place he had been fearing it would go, and he cleared his throat, startling several doctors who had been treating him like some inanimate lump of flesh.

“No, you’re not pulling all these stitches out and starting over. That’s about four hours worth of my wife’s best needlework we’re talking about, and I trust her more than I trust you to put all my parts back where they came from. Isn’t that right, dear?”

Laminia blinked awake at his side, shaken from her constant touching of her flat belly, still not showing any sign of pregnancy to the outside world even with the borrowed Royal Guard armor she had been unwilling to remove since they had left the Griffon lands. “I’ve gotten accustomed to where all your parts are located, Lumpy, even if they are a little unevenly distributed.”

“You labeled him!” said one doctor, pointing at the ‘L’ and ‘R’ embroidered into each tattered wing. “And there’s a heart crocheted into this major wing laceration. I’m surprised you didn’t stick your name on him somewhere; he’s got enough stitches to support it and then some.”

There was no conscious decision to get up off the floor and jam her armored nose in the doctor’s face, it just flowed out of Laminia in a spitting rage. “You weren’t there! You didn’t see that big griffon tearing strips out of my husband like he was going to be breakfast! You didn’t have to think about what was going to happen if he lost, or d-died. They were going to eat us, you blithering twit, and all you can talk about is how i-i-inconvenient it was that some seamstress stitched together his body instead of you!”

Pumpernickel’s reassuring wing (L), even badly battered and stitched, felt warm across the back of the Night Guard armor she still wore. Laminia was beginning to think she might never take it off, even to bathe, as the memory of that horrible bloody battle refused to leave her mind. It stayed with her as they tucked her husband into a soft hospital bed with her at his side, and long into the day as he slept peacefully under the effect of whatever sedative he had been given.

“Sleep, my husband,” she whispered. “You will be safe. I promise.”

Five months ago…

“It itches,” grumbled Pumpernickel while biting at a line of stitches adoring his left wing.

“That means they’re healing, dear. Stop biting at them.” Laminia remained curled up on her side in the bed, trying to ignore the way her husband made the springs shake, and she was doing a good job too until he managed to put a knee right into the back of her armor with a loud ‘thud.’

“Ow!”

She rolled over and regarded her husband with hooded eyes, considering just how little of the day had passed and the relative small amount of sleep she had gotten over the last few days due to her aching hooves. “Look, Lumpy. I know you don’t like to sleep alone, but if you can’t quit thrashing around in bed, armor or no armor, I’m going to sleep on the couch.”

“Can’t I just get…” The stallion had a completely unfair puppy-dog eye pose that he only used in extreme emergencies, and the dogs were certainly out tonight. Lamina sighed and rolled ponderously out of bed to shuck out of her armor and get the medicinal salve.

She almost had made it back to the safety of the warm covers when she froze in position, one hoof gently moving to rest on her swollen abdomen with a surprised, “Oh?”

“What is it, dear?” Pumpernickel had flipped over and rotated almost instantly at her exclamation, and was watching her with the intense look of a panicked husband who was trying to figure out just which way to direct his panic.

“I think she kicked.” Her delicate hoof was joined by Pumpernickel as they both held their breath, waiting on the feather-like touch to repeat.

“If he’s active during the day, do you think that means he’s going to be a Day pony?” asked Pumpernickel, holding a hoof on her belly as gently as if she were made of fragile candyfloss. “You know. Feathers and such?”

“No,” whispered Laminia in return. “She is going to the best Night Guard in history, just like her father.

Four months ago…

“I’m a whale,” moaned Laminia, laying at Luna’s side as the diarch addressed correspondence with a large tray of snacks between them. “All I do is eat. Are those croutons?”

“Dear, don’t snack off Her Highness’ plate, please.” Pumpernickel looked on uncomfortably from his position at the secretarial desk, holding folders open and sharpening quills for Luna while she wrote. His patchwork of scars was still a bright pink, and the Captain of the Night Guard had cleared him for light paperwork that did not involve wearing armor, which of course meant that Luna had promptly snapped him up for secretarial duties.

“Go ahead, Laminia,” said the Princess of the Night absently, her quill not even pausing as she moved from one letter to another. “The kitchens have been fully advised of your dietary needs for low non-structural carbohydrate foods, and the trays have been prepared with the nutritional requirements for treating your laminitis for the last several weeks.

Laminia paused with an alfalfa puff halfway to her mouth. “You mean you knew about this, and you still let me snack off your plate?”

“It has been an educational experience from my perspective, both in learning more about how my little ponies experience the whole birthing experience, and in the advances made in obstetric and pediatric medicine during my absence. For example,” said Luna, as she slipped out of one of her silver shoes and placed it next to Laminia, who promptly looked inside.

“Sole supports?” She slipped out of one of her own shoes and compared the two with substantial poking and prodding. “I had no idea you wore orthopedic shoes, Your Highness.”

Luna winced, putting down her quill for a moment. “Please. The proper term is ‘elastic sole supporting medium’ instead of that other phrase. They assist in reducing any inflammation caused by excessive standing, much like those of our guard.”

Pumpernickel placed a neatly sharpened quill to one side before addressing the matter with great formality. “From what I remember of my history, Princess Celestia awarded a barony to the pony who invented them.”

“Cheap at twice the price,” said Luna, retrieving her shoe and picking up her quill again. “I only regret that I had not properly considered the stresses of pregnancy when constructing the spell which I placed upon your ancient ancestors.”

“We don’t have that many more problems with birth than other races of ponies,” said Laminia, halfway through the alfalfa puffs. “It’s just that there are so many things that can go wrong anyway.

Three months ago…

“Hm,” said the unicorn obstetrician as he ran an ice-cold stethoscope up Laminia’s barrel and near her spine. “Hm. It appears that your diet and the cushioned shoes are helping keep your laminitis in check, and have headed off a possible episode of gestational diabetes, which is good.”

“I’d kill for a cupcake. I mean that, too.”

“She’s not kidding, doctor.” Pumpernickel put a comforting hoof on his wife’s shoulder and patted. “One of your nurses brought a sack lunch, and my wife caught a scent of it. Tried to drag me down the corridor towards the break room on our way here. Think I popped a stitch.”

“Once she’s born, I’m having ice cream for breakfast, every day for a year.” Laminia stirred uncomfortably on the doctor’s bench, trying to crane her head up high enough to read the clipboard. “How’s everything else?”

The doctor did not say anything for a full minute, scratching notes and checking little boxes on his clipboard. Finally he flipped the cover over and ripped off a prescription, floating it over to Pumpernickel. “Iron’s a little low, so is potassium. If you can get her to eat more bananas and maybe some raw spinach—”

“Ick!” declared Laminia.

“—we can get away without adding supplemental pills to her regime.”

“All right, you sadist!” growled Laminia, taking the prescription away from her husband and reading down it with a frown. “My diet is half pills anyway. I swear, I rattle when I walk. Our little filly is going to be all the colors of the rainbow from all the dyes and chemicals.”

“It happens,” said the doctor with a shrug. “Just remember that because you are still wearing this steel psychological crutch—” The doctor nudged the discarded Night Guard armor piled neatly by the side of the examination table “—doesn’t mean any of that iron is soaking in through your skin. Spinach, Miss Laminia. Or broccoli. Just don’t cut down on your prune juice.”

One month ago…

The same unicorn obstetrician applied his stethoscope with much greater care around the swollen midsection of the pregnant Nocturne, not strictly because of her increasingly gravid condition, but perhaps because of the close proximity of the Princess of the Night standing directly behind him with an expression that indicated a desire to double-check his work.

“What say you, chirurgeon? I didst hasten her here the moment our Hoofmaiden complained of discomfort in her duties.” Luna watched impatiently as the doctor lifted each one of Laminia’s hooves in turn, examining them carefully before returning to a very delicate prodding of his patient’s sore abdomen.

“It seems to be a fairly minor Class 1 placental abruption, I’m presuming. It’s relatively common among the…” The doctor trailed off with a nervous glance at the princess. “Among the nocturnal pegasi.”

“You mean bats, don’t you, doctor?” Laminia winced as she turned to look into his eyes. “What treatment are you recommending?”

“Well, that’s where it gets a little funny.” The doctor wiped his forehead and scribbled on his clipboard, which by this point was quite thick with pages. “Due to the placement of the placental separation, and the angle at which we need to keep it pinned down until the healing is complete…”

“This is the most humiliating experience of my life,” groused Laminia as the nurses attached restraints to her back hooves, winching her nearly upside-down in the gravity bed until the frown that Luna wore looked almost like a smile, if she squinted and used some imagination. The princess had taken her place in the treatment room and was observing the procedure with great interest, although she was not at the present taking notes, Laminia was fairly certain she was going to write it all down when she returned to her chambers. An upset flutter from inside her stomach turned into a sharp kick as the unborn foal protested the change in orientation, which she decided to take as a good omen.

“Keep kicking, my child,” murmured Laminia to herself as she ran a hoof over her swollen belly. “Never give up. Never surrender.”

Once all of the straps and clamps had been put in place and the busy chaos died down, Princess Luna stepped to her side and gently caressed her Hoofmaiden’s inverted cheek. “We are sorry for the inconvenience, child. If I had considered the problem more thoroughly when I created your race, I could have possibly alleviated some of the difficulties you are going through now.”

“That’s fine, Princess. We serve you in whatever orientation we can. I’m just glad you’re here until Lumpy get off his shift.”

The door to the room popped open and a young earth pony nurse trotted in with a collection of bags and tubes sitting on a tray carried on top of her head. “Hello there, Miss Laminia. My name is Nurse Coldhooves, and I’ll be doing your catheter this evening. Oh! Your Highness. I didn’t know you were in here. I’ll just—”

“Carry on,” commanded the Princess of the Night. “I’ll step outside for a minute and let you work.”

Twelve hours ago…

“Lumpy! Wake up!” A hard-driven hoof to the gut rolled the big guard out of their narrow bed and onto the cold tile floor below, which did not stop Pumpernickel from getting one more snore in before starting his slow rise to wakefullness.

“Huh? Wha? I’m all wet?”

“My water broke, you idiot! Now help me out of this bed.”

“Water? Uh. Oh! The baby! You’re foaling!” Pumpernickel darted around their tiny room, which was fairly easy, considering it only took one step for him to reach all the items he needed to grab for their trip to the hospital. “Basket! Book! Blanket! Pacifier! Slippers! Llamaze book! Hospital registration packet! Keys!” With all the items thrown into their basket, Pumpernickel darted from the room, clattering down the corridor at high-speed until the boom of a closing door cut off the sound of his rapid hoofsteps.

“Idiot,” muttered Laminia, heaving her rotund bulk out of bed and groping around for her shoes.

Five hours ago…

In other circumstances, Lamina could have been mistaken for a young Nocturne mare who had decided on a rather unfortunate number of gem-studded jewelry placements, but she fit right in among the halls and beds of Canterlot hospital maternity ward. Little blinking green thaumetric indicators were strewn across her chest and back, up one leg, and even one in a rather indelicate spot near the base of her tail, but one of the green gems had just turned yellow and was making a rather pathetic blerting noise that brought two nurses over in a rush.

“What’s wrong? Why is it making that noise? Why won’t you tell me anythi—” With a muttered curse, Lamina bent over in another labor pain and panted, “Breathe. Huurrgh! Breathe.”

“Now don’t worry about it, Ma’am,” said the older nurse, running a hoof over the blinking sensor to make sure it had not just come loose.

“Better look at this,” said the other. “We’re getting some blood back here, and the venous oxygen sensor is blinking.”

“What’s that mean?” asked Pumpernickel, trying to keep his wings down as not to jostle the two nurses looking over his wife.

The first nurse stepped back with her lips drawn into a tight line. “Nothing very good. The foal’s just a little stressed. Let’s get you into the operating room, just in case we need to do a caesarean section.”

Four hours ago…

“How is she?” Pumpernickel fought to keep from grabbing the nurse traveling out of the operating room. As much as he wanted to hold her against the wall and scream until she answered his question, he knew that kind of behavior would only make things worse. Instead he bit the inside of his cheek and tried his best not to look intimidating despite being taller, heavier, stronger, and considerably more scarred than the mare. As well as more scared.

“We’ve got the epidural in and she’s quit cursing, at least very much. We’re just waiting on the doctor to show. She should be here any minute.” The nurse glanced past the looming pony in the hopes that the phrase would somehow cause the doctor to magically appear and give the guard a different target, but to no avail.

“And the foal?”

“Stressed, but still fine. You’d be amazed at how much one of them can take during a birth.” The banging of a door behind Pumpernickel made the nurse light up with joy. “There’s the doctor now. If you’ll please excuse us.”

Three hours ago…

“So. Have either of you been through this?”

Pumpernickel looked at the two other stallions in the waiting room who shared his nervous tension. Slipstream, Laminia’s biological father and retired Night Guard, glared back, running a hoof through his disheveled mane and the thin line of metallic blue hair that streaked through it, looking almost exactly like his daughter. Her adoptive father, Rusty Pin the Royal Seamstress, held his bowler hat in his hooves and maintained his intent stare at the floor, as if he was expecting it to jump up and bite him at any moment.

“You know Safety and I can’t have foals of our own,” started Rusty, “and we’re both only children. I-I didn’t think it would be this difficult. I can’t imagine losing either her or the foal. How can you stand it?”

“You get used to it,” said Slipstream with a sideways glance at his son-in-law that somehow indicated this was all Pumpernickel's fault. “I’ve been here a couple of times. Lost one. You never get over that; all you can do is just go on.”

With a sigh, the older Nocturne got up and put a membranous wing over Rusty Pin. “Come on, all we’re doing here is making Lumpy nervous and maudlin. We’ll go get a drink and be right back. You can talk dresses and things, and I’ll… try not to strangle myself.” Slipstream stood up straight and saluted Pumpernickel, causing an instinctive return salute from his son-in-law.

“Master of the Post, I request relief,” said Slipstream, holding his salute perfectly.

“Watch Guard, I am here to relieve you.” The ancient words of the guard flowed without thought, and a sense of peace snuck in through the tension around his soul.

“I stand relieved. The watch is yours.” Dropping his salute, the older Nocturne looked every inch his years as he strode away next to Rusty Pin, the two dissimilar stallions falling into step as they walked. Pumpernickel just stood and watched them go, feeling his inner being settle into an awkward tranquility that lasted only until he heard a strident noise from the operating room.

“Code Blue, Operating Room B. Code Blue, Operating Room B.”

Now…

The door to the maternity room opened just a crack as three sets of eyes took a moment to observe the situation and determine if it was safe to intrude. Soft lamplight filled the room, enhancing the ray of moonlight that streamed in by way of the unshuttered window, and showing both the hospital bed with a sleeping Laminia, and Pumpernickel still sitting next to the empty crib with his wings drawn up about his head and the occasional soft sniff or sob still to be heard.

After waiting an appropriate amount of time, Princess Luna opened the door the rest of the way and strode slowly inside, being followed by two very hesitant ponies. In a very quiet voice that even Fluttershy would have approved of, Luna whispered, “Optio Pumpernickel. We have spoken with the nurse, and we all believe there has been sufficient enough time for you to give somepony else a turn.”

A gentle indigo aura surrounded Pumpernickel’s wings and folded them back to reveal a little sleeping filly, all tucked up in a pink blanket with little green monitoring crystals scattered across it. If there was any doubt as to her heritage, her soft grey coat and little membranous wings made it quite obvious, although her mane was somewhat different than most Nocturne. Where her mother and her grandfather both had a thin thread of blue in their manes, the little filly’s mane fairly blazed with a vibrant blue in such a brilliant hue that it seemed as if it was filled with electricity, ready to shock any unwary supplicant who dared to touch it. Princess Luna reached out first, gently moving a thin wisp of mane away from her forehead, which made the little filly yawn and smack her lips. She even opened her eyes briefly to reveal a flicker of blue even deeper than her mane, before closing them against the lights of the room and wriggling back down into her blanket.

“She’s beautiful, Pumpernickel. Please inform your wife of our approval upon her awakening.”

“How could I sleep with you three tromping through my room?” grumbled Laminia, her eyes still closed as she shifted position on her hospital bed. “Thank you, Princess. If you want any more, you’re going to have to make them yourself. I’m pooped. I feel like somepony sawed me in half and sewed me together with two left hooves.” One bloodshot eye opened partially, and she smiled. “Hello, Princess Luna. Hi, Dad. Dad.”

Both stallions made appropriate noises of grand-foal adoration and parental concern, which Laminia permitted to run for a while before saying, “Dads. Both of you. Stop. I’m fine. Get out. Come back tomorrow.”

Princess Luna nodded with a smile that filled the room and covered all of the occupants, regardless of their age or lack thereof. “We shall see to it that you are not disturbed further this evening. From what we gather, the nurse will be here in a few minutes to assist with your foal’s first nursing. Have you considered a name for her yet?”

Slipstream spoke up rather quickly. “The family has gathered a number of prospects to choose from the Book of Tradition. As you know, Princess, by our Tradition we name our kind after those who were loyal to you and lost their lives during the…” He trailed off with a little squeak at the sudden realization that the abstract Nightmare Moon who had created their entire race during her rebellion against Princess Celestia, and who was also responsible for their subsequent near-extinction, was standing just inches away from his nose and giving him the most dry look he had ever experienced.

“Laminia and I have discussed this at length, and we have decided to break with Tradition, Your Highness,” said Pumpernickel in his rumbly tenor. “She shall be named after an earth pony who was Princess Sun Shines’ most loyal companion and trusted friend.”

“Her name is Stargazer.”