Author's Notes:

No clop in this one; sorry folks! But don't be alarmed, for the issue shall be addressed in the future.

In a room, there stands a wooden cradle painted light-green. The paintwork is cracked and faded at several places, but the oaken structure remains strong and protective. The familiar smell of it makes Syllable’s memory bloom with recollections of his own foalhood. He tells that to the dark-orange coated mare that stands by him.

“You don’t expect me to believe that you remember being a baby?” answers the mare with a smirk. “Or did your parents keep you in this untill you could talk?”

Syllable smiles faintly, and gently rocks the cradle with his front hoof. “You’d think that, wouldn’t you? Do I really seem like a little mommy’s colt to you?”

She plants a light kiss on his cheek. “You’re this mom's favourite colt, that’s for sure.” The two rub their necks against each other, ever so slowly. Syllable feels light as a feather, warm as a boiling kettle, and happy as a unicorn colt that learned his first spell. The mare’s coat is so soft, it’s caress so perfect that it almost makes him tremble right then and there.

He closes his eyes, and lets the moment carry on by itself for a while. “I used to play with this once I was a bit older, you know,” he says, referring to the cradle. “That paint didn’t wear out by itself.”

The mare only hums absentmindedly, almost purring like a cat. Her eyes remain shut as she plants another kiss, a more intimate one this time, on her lover’s neck. Syllable shivers slightly.

“A castle tower, a sled, a boat, a coffin… there was no end for the uses I found for a common cradle,” continues Syllable, his voice growing slightly thinner as Chillburn’s lips pay homage to his coat. “It’s fortunate that the thing is made of oak.”

“A cradle makes a cumbersome sled, I’d say,” whispers Chillburn as she nibbles his ear, sending shivers of pleasure down his spine.

“A-ah… Magic might have had something to do with it…”

“I bet it did.” Her tongue licks his auricle.

Syllable gasps, and stops the rocking as he turns to kiss the mare on the lips. She accepts his mouth eagerly, running her tongue over his teeth. Together they lock into a passionate kiss, and almost succumb to just devouring one another right there and then. But the sharp whining that carries from underneath them breaks the moment before they lose control of it. Chillburn detaches from him softly but firmly, and a strand of gleaming saliva lingers between their lips, swaying in the cross-draught of their heavy breaths. It snaps abruptly when she turns her head.

“I think she wants to sleep now,” she says, her eyes resting on the baby filly that looks back at her with big, black, sleepy eyes. Syllable’s mind instinctively imprints the sight into the deepest depths of his memory, where it finds a warm corner and makes itself at home. The happiness he feels makes even smiling difficult.

“Chillburn… I… I have no words… I lo–”

She muffles him with a hoof. “Shh, don’t say it. Not yet. The night has only just begun.” Her eyes narrow down, and her smile turns from soft to simply irresistibly seducing. His heart adds a beat or two into its rhythm just from that look alone, he nods in response.

A flicker travels past her eyes. “I shall have a wash now, and so shall you. After that, daddy gets to kiss mommy, and he will kiss her as if it was their first time. And after that…”

“After that…?” says Syllable, his voice muffled by the hoof. She moves it away and wraps herself around his neck, leaning over his ear.

“After that, I’ll show you the stuff your dreams are made of.” Her breath tickles his ear. “But before that,” she continues while pulling back, “you shall finish rocking the baby asleep.”

“Okay…” he says dreamily.

As Chillburn leaves the room, Syllable steals a glimpse of her lean rump that sways along with her auburn tail. Another shiver seizes him, but he controls himself and turns to face the cradle, wherein the baby makes a tiny yawn. The sight makes another kind of warmth envelope the stallion from head to hoof. My two favourite mares in the whole world. The two halves of my heart. I love you both so much it makes the world itself seem ridiculous in all of its inadequacy.

He begins to rock the wooden frame again, but just when his hoof is about to touch the splintered surface, the baby looks at him straight into the eyes, and opens her mouth as if she was about to speak. And then, for the horror of every cell in Syllable's body, she says with a hoarse, deep voice:

“Get up, you bum! Get up before I flip this couch on you!”

The room, the cradle, and the baby disappear instantaneously around Reg Syllable as if some vacuum sucked the whole scene into oblivion. For a moment he remains in the void, but just as the hoarse voice begins to speak again, he opens his eyes. Blinding light fills his vision, and he can’t help but to close them again, for the searing pain ignites his mind. To his despair, he finds that the thumbing agony doesn’t stop even after he curls back into the blackness of his eyelids, but continues to burn his nerves.

The unfriendly voice speaks once more. “I know you’re awake, bum! Now get up before I call the guards!”

Battle rages inside the unicorn’s mind, a fierce fight between reality that tries to wake him up and the dream world into which he blindly craves to return. It takes him a few moments to gather his thoughts amidst the throbbing pain, but when he does, a sense of clarity begins to unfold. Very slowly, he sits up on the couch and cracks his eyelids, shadowing them with his front hoof. He sees a foggy figure standing in front of him, and as he blinks and rubs his eyes, he realises that it’s an earth pony stallion, and apparently he’s holding a broom.

“Wh–,” begins Syllable, but the dryness of his throat makes speaking a challenge. He coughs the rest of the sentence on the stallion’s face.

“Oi, cut it out! You’re spitting all over me!”

Syllable tries to speak again, but his tongue has allied with his throat against him, and together the two put up a decent fight. He wheezes and coughs for a few more times, but finally looks around in search of something to drink. Despite the stinging pain the light is causing his eyes, he manages to spot a bottle on a table not far away. After pulling it closer with his horn, he detaches the cork and takes a long sip of the red liquid.

The stallion with the broom watches him with horror in his eyes. “You… you drank Princess Luna’s private wine!”

Syllable lowers the bottle with a contented sigh, and looks at the horror-struck stallion straight into the eyes. The few broken blood vessels give his gaze a slightly feral look. “Where is she?” His voice sounds like gravel trying to speak.

The stallion eyes Syllable wearily. “Is who? Look, you really should be going now, I’m pretty sure you’re not allowed to be here.”

Syllable blinks slowly. The hangover isn’t the worst one he has experienced in his life, but it’s still mature enough to severely hinder his thought process. “I’m a guest at the Gala… Now, tell me: Did you see anypony else when you came to this room? A mare?”

“Uhm… no, you were alone here. I hate to tell you this, pal, but the Gala is over. Been for about nine hours.”

Syllable’s blank stare stays a moment longer on the stallion’s face, then travels over the fireplace, where a clock is ticking. It’s almost twelve.

“Uhh… you okay, pal?”

The bottle that floats in the air finds it’s way to Syllable’s lips again, and he empties the rest of it with a one gulp. The other stallion cringes as the empty glass container falls on the floor.

“You have to explain that to the Princess yourself, pal,” he says. “She is not going to be pleased about this, not one bit.”

Syllable turns his eyes on him, and without exactly knowing why, the earth pony flinches when he sees those broken eyes drilling into his skull. “Quite,” says Reg slowly. “Although she is not the only one in need of an explanation.”

Even among the personal guards of the two Princesses, there was not an agreement on the question whether alicorns slept or not. Most of the Day Guard where of the opinion that everypony needed sleep, even alicorns, and reminded their fellows in Night Guard that the newest Princess, Twilight Sparkle, certainly slept through her nights whenever she visited the castle. Her snoring, albeit faint, was a proof of that. “Besides,” they would say, “why is the castle filled with beds, if not for sleeping?”

The Night Guard knew the answer for that last question well enough, although they rarely talked about it in presence of their more “pure and innocent brethren,” as the dark ones sometimes called the Day Guard. They also knew that a common pony, with the help of practice and a bit of magic, could easily stay awake for weeks and even months at one go. There was no telling what an alicorn could do. And what came to that upstart Twilight Sparkle… The mare had been an alicorn barely a few months. “Give her a few millennia and see how that affects her need for dreams.”

Despite arguing about the issue every now and then, neither party really cared to find out the truth. It was not up to them to know what their betters did behind closed doors. Asking them about it was certainly out of the question. Questions like these were more like a game that the two Guards practiced during the dusk and the dawn, on the few hours of the day and night that they got to spend with each other.

Luna, like Celestia, knew about these little games the guards loved to play, and usually she paid them no mind. However, every once in awhile, when the Night Court was more quiet than usual, and the dreams of the Equestrians were calm, she would actually spend time with her Night Guard. To the members of the Day Guard though this was something of a scandal, or at least it disturbed and vexed them whenever the issue came up. The thought that they could simply spend time with their sovereign, as equal friends, was alien to them; they neither craved it nor detested it. It was just something that didn’t happen.

Tonight might turn into one of those “alien nights”, thinks Luna as she lays on her luxurious bed of dark velvet and ebony. Equestria is living awfully peaceful times now. No more foul crimes to be condemned in the dead of night, no more secret pacts to be made between gryphons and ponies. The Night Court has turned into a very dull business. The dark alicorn idly stretches her wings while laying on her stomach, and slowly stands up. The heavy curtains fall aside as she gets off the bed and heads for the doors. Perhaps I shall pay a visit to the training yard again. The boys do tend to make an effort when I’m present. The doors open with a thud, and the Princess of the Night enters into a large living room, where two guards and a clerk bow to her. She acknowledges their devotion absentmindedly.

The clerk is the first to straighten up. “Princess Luna, the Night Court awaits your presence.”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure the Halls are packed with ponies. Let us go through with the formalities so that I may entertain myself with other issues.”

The clerk coughs awkwardly. “Well, Your Highness might be surprised, but there is actually a pony expecting your presence in the Hall of Secrets.”

“Oh my. Another senior citizen, I presume? Do they ever learn that despite my appearance, I cannot communicate with the dead.”

“No, not this time, Your Highness. He is quite young, actually.”

Luna raises an eyebrow. “And he has not arrived in hopes of necromancy?”

The clerk smiled faintly, and fixes his glasses with a hoof. “No, Your Highness. He has come to ‘ask some questions,’ as he so bluntly put it. I might add that he seemed a bit intoxicated.”

Seems like the boys at the training yard will have to wait for a while. “Well, we should at least give him a chance to clarify his intentions before judging him.” Without hesitation, Luna strides to the door on the other side of the room, with the clerk and two guards following in her wake. “Can you tell me anything more about this individual?” she asks the clerk.
The clerk has slight trouble keeping up with Luna’s long steps while he leafs through his notebook that floats in front of him. “An unicorn, and apparently a student in the Canterlot School of History and Linguistics. I had him fill the usual forms concerning personal information, which he did, albeit reluctantly. I must say that he was very anxious to see you, just as he was eager to meet Princess Celestia during the day.”

“You say he was present in the Day Court, too?”

“Quite so. Waited for full eight hours for an audience, I hear. Didn't go that well, though.”

“What happened?”

The Clerk dodges a pillar while they turn another corner. “That’s the funny thing – nothing. After he had presented his case, in a rather discreet fashion, Princess Celestia declared that the issue belonged to the jurisdiction of the Night Court and would be appropriately handled there.”

A smile creeps on Luna’s lips. “It has been quite a while since my sister dumped a case on my shoulders like that.” My my, the night may have something else than private fencing lessons to offer, after all.

“Would your Highness wish to hear about the account that he gave in the Day Court? My colleague wrote it down, although I must say that its discretion somewhat hinders its clarity.”

They enter into a corridor where the windows show to the West, and Luna’s mane shimmers in the light of the setting sun that cascades through them. “No need for that. What is his name?”

“Reg Syllable.”

Luna’s eyes stay blank for a few seconds as he processes the name properly, and suddenly a flicker travels past them. Oh, him. No wonder Celestia sent this one to me; I only wish I had been there to hear when he presented his case. Perhaps I’ll read the Day Clerk’s account afterwards.

The four ponies walk among the growing shadows for a few minutes, after which they begin their descent into the halls underneath the castle. On the second level they stop and enter a room twice the size of Luna’s bedroom, which makes for a comparatively sizable underground space. Large torches keep the darkness at bay. On the other side lie four heavy wooden doors with iron hinges.

“Was it really necessary to bring him here?” asks Luna to the clerk. “The poor thing must be sweating profusely by now.”

The clerk corrects his glasses. “I’m afraid the rules of the Night Court have not been updated since your… absence. And they say that all issues requiring discretion and secrecy are to be dealt with in the Hall of Secrets.”

Luna sighs. “I suppose that is something I need to address one of these nights. Until then, we might as well follow the procedure.” Luna goes for the door, and the clerk follows by her side while the guards stay back. “You can stay back too, Inkeye,” Luna says to the clerk. “This matter is private enough, it does not need to be recorded.”

“But the rules–”

“–I wrote the rules of the Night Court, Inkeye, and even though they bind me, they only do because I will so. You shall wait here.”

The clerk stops and bows his head. “Of course, Your Highness. He’s in room number–”

“–Two,” finishes Luna, to the confusion of the clerk. “How do I know? Because that room is meant for ‘dealings with carnal pleasure and obscenity’”. She smiles at the clerk’s expression, and enters into the room that has the symbol “II” inscribed into its door. As she closes it, a weary face turns to look at her. It’s a face she recognizes without much difficulty.

“Hello, Reg.” Her voice is soft, and it sinks into the cramped walls and ceiling. Syllable is sitting in a chair by a large table that fills the narrow room from one end to the other. Besides those, and the few torches, no other furniture exists.

Reg Syllable stands up, and bows in front of the regal lady. “Your Highness. I’m honoured to make your acquaintance.”

Not as blunt as I was led to believe, but there clearly is an edge to his tone. But how sharp of one? “Please, call me Luna. Everypony does nowadays.”

“As you will, Princess Luna.” He is still bowing, and a bit deeper than would be necessary.

Luna smiles while she set herself not quite opposite to him, but a few chairs to his left. “There really is no reason to be formal now, Reg. It is just you, me, and Red Peak who are present.”

A confused look breaks Syllable’s blank expression. “Red Peak? The griffon warlord?”

“A colonel, more like, but the same creature. You study history, correct? Did you not know that his ghost still haunts the Hall of Secrets, for it was here that his demise fell upon him. Or rather, where that demise was stabbed through his heart in the form of a horn.” The dark alicorn smiles pleasantly.

“Is Your Highness trying to frighten me with ghost stories?”

Luna chuckles shortly. “Oh, stories would hold last place on my list, it was not my intention to frighten you”

Silence fills the room, and the faint current makes the torch flames flicker, sending shadows dancing on the walls. Luna studies the young stallion over the table, resting her head on her left front hoof. “Why did you come here, Reg?”

The stallion’s eyes remain fixed to the alicorn, and his breathing carries over quite audibly. “I already gave an account of my case to the Day Clerk.”

“I wish to hear it from you.”

Syllable shifts in his seat, but doesn’t break the eye contact with Luna. “If I may say so, Princess Luna, I think you know full well why I’m here.”

The flames make Luna’s deep eyes flicker as she moves her head. “Quite frankly, Reg… I really do not know why you are here.”

“Your Highness invited me to the Gala.”

Luna knocks on the table rhythmically with her hoof a few times. “Yes, that is true, as are the other things that Chillburn told you last night. I am saying that just to save time.”

“How did you… Did you spy on us?”

Sharp it is, the edge. And it just cut out the formalities, it seems. “Of course I did. How else would I know whether you two would have sex or not?”

Reg stands up so quickly that his chair falls down with a bang, which is immediately followed by another loud noise as he slams his front hooves on the table. “You can’t do that! You can’t just play with ponies lives as you please!”

One, two, three, four… counts Luna in her mind. After four and a half seconds the door slams open and the two guards push through, their horns glowing dark. “It’s okay, boys!” Says Luna before anything else has time to happen. “Situation under control, but since you blessed us with your presence, how about you go to the kitchens and fetch some food for mister Syllable here. I would say he looks quite famished.”

The guards look at Syllable, who is still halfway on climbing on the table, then at Luna, who is smiling calmly, and finally they look at each other. “We shall obey, Princess Luna,” one of them says. After that, they disappear and close the door behind them.

Syllable sighs heavily, and his hooves shake a bit as he clearly tries to decide what on Earth is happening to him. Finally he sets himself down again, although he keeps his eyes on the table this time. “How did you know I’m hungry?”

Luna sighs. “It is obvious, Reg. First of all, one does not usually eat that much when they spend their whole day waiting to get an audience with my sister, especially if they did not bring their own lunch along. Second, you just slammed you hooves on the table in the presence of this realm’s other sovereign. Heartbreaks or no, that is still an act one does not commit with a full stomach.”

Syllable glances at the alicorn, and an unexpected blush raises to his cheeks. “My sincerest apologies… Luna.”

Progressing, are we now. Or is the blade only better hidden this time? “It is quite alright. My guards haven’t had this much excitement in their shifts for a few months now – and last time it was a hoofful of falling snow that electrified them.” Her smile is sincere, as are her words, and together they help Syllable relax himself a bit. He is still tense as a bow, though. “So,” continues Luna, “what is it that you came to seek from me?”

Another silence, another veil, descents between the two ponies, although this time it’s somewhat less oppressing. Syllable breathes deeply a few times, and finally raises his eyes to meet Lunas. “I need to find her.”

“No. You want to find her.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

Luna rolls her dark eyes. “Do not fool yourself into believing that you cannot make the difference already. Why is it that you want her?”

“Because I love her.”

Then you’re a fool to believe so. She almost says it, but something, be it the flicker in Syllable's eyes or the mad moment of compassion, stops her. Her mane floats around her as she changes the hoof to rest her head on. “But is the feeling mutual?”

Syllable’s head turns down, and his shoulders almost collapse.

That’s what I thought. “Reg… she never wished for a husband. All she ever wanted was to start over again, alone. It was written all over her, but you could not see it because she would not allow you to see it. You were her means for an end, and dreaming of other truths will only make you suffer more.”

“But it was not only she who used me…” Syllable’s clenched jaw gives a crimson colour to his words. “You offered me to her. You invited me to the Gala for her to use. You used me like she did.”

And there is nothing you can do about it, so why don’t you just eat my food, have another bottle of my wine, and go home? “Nopony forced you to come to the Gala. Nopony forced you to succumb to her lust, not in the alley nor in the living room above us. You did that yourself; you allowed yourself to be used all the while knowing that would be the case.”

Syllable sniffs angrily, but says nothing for a while. “So that means you won’t be telling me where she is?”

“I would not help you with that even if I could. She left the Gala during the night, and by now she has most likely left the city, too.”

“With my child in her,” he says quietly, so very quietly.

That is one dangerous thought to foster, Reg. “What makes you think that it is love that drives you to her?”

Syllable rubs his temple with a hoof, as if trying to pull thoughts out of there. “I can’t get her out of my head… At night, I dreamed of a life with her, with our child… It may sound insane, but it feels that we were meant to be together.”

Luna’s eyes reveal nothing but the reflection of a sad, exhausted pony who stands in the brink of a mental breakdown. This was not an outcome I anticipated. “Obsession and fixation sometimes go by the name of love, and for one who is trapped in between the triangle, it is often impossible to tell the difference.”

“I know that well enough,” says Reg with annoyance in his voice. “I’ve read my E.A Poeny like you have. No need to quote him on me.”

Luna taps the hard table a few times. “You are not a completely dim individual, Reg. Do you happen to know why the Night Court assembles underground, in the Five Halls below the castle?”

“What has that got to do with anything?”

Luna ignores the question. “Day Court is meant for the symbolic unity of Equestria; it’s a public arena where civil cases are dealt with, along with grand politics between nations. But the Night Court… “ Luna pauses, and waves her front hoof in a wide arc. “...is where the real power lies.”

Reg’s frustration shines from his face, even in the dim of the Hall. “Yes yes, it was meant for wartime meetings, criminal cases, and other such issues that couldn’t be dealt in public. I know my country’s history.” A gloating smile spreads on his lips. “I also know that the Night Court practically died during your exile. Princess Celestia changed her policy into complete openness.”

Luna’s smile, on the other hoof, remains as pleasant and casual as ever before. “That was something you read from a history book approved by my sister, is it not?”

Syllable's grin evaporates. “What are you hinting at?”

Luna stretches her limbs and wings as if all the hurry had just died from the world. “Tell me… if the Night Court was truly terminated after my exile, why does the Canterlot Castle include the Five Halls? The city and the Castle were built only after my little incident.”

Reg’s lips remain sealed.
“What I meant to tell you with this little story,” continues Luna, “was that strife is unavoidable in life. Even my sister could not deny it. She merely hid it and hoped that one day, she wouldn’t even remember it anymore.” Her eyes gleam as she sinks them into Syllable, who flinches instinctively. “I suggest that you follow her example,” she says.

After recovering from the intense stare, Reg coughs. “Is that what you would do?”

“It was something I once did not do. And what did my rashness win me? A one way ticket to the moon.”

Reg moves his head from side to side, avoiding her gaze as well as he can. “So you say I should just… forget her?”

It is that, or either you embrace the lunacy as I did. “You never even knew her; forgetting her should practically come by instinct.”

Reg’s figure collapses on the chair, and his head droops as if all the power had fled from him in one go. The sight almost makes Luna feel bad for him.

Her voice turns a tad softer. “You’re not the first pony who has faced hardships in love, nor will you be the last one. That is strife right there, the engine of life itself.” Her words seem to have no effect on the unicorn. “A young and handsome stallion like you will find other mares to couple with. And with the lessons you have learned from this experience, you will mix the mortar to glue together the life you really want to live, the one you really need.”

“What lessons have I learned?” Reg’s voice has a hollow tone to it. His head is still drooped down. “What mortar can I mix from the shards of my dreams?”

Desperation. “Endurance,” says Luna. Bitterness. “Willpower,” she continues. Hate. “Rationality,” she finishes. “All that, and much more.” She stands up, and heads for the door. “The food will come shortly, I’m sure. You can eat here. Good bye, Reg Syllable.” She waits by the door for a few seconds, waiting for an answer that doesn’t come. She is about to leave when a faint whisper carries from the stallion’s direction.

“Thank you.”

Luna looks at him for a few seconds without smiling. “You are welcome.” She leaves him without another word. Syllable stays on his seat, slumping. After a while, a waitress pony comes through the open door, holding a tray filled with different dishes and a bottle of cider. She leaves them in front of him and leaves as quickly as she came. Reg stares at the food for a long while. He has eaten nothing for the whole day, and his stomach is about to cave in on itself. He is starving so bad he could eat the chair he is sitting in, and the smell of the meal makes his mouth water.

He leaves without touching one bite of it.

***

Two stallions, an earth pony and an unicorn, circle each other with their gazes in a gridlock. Around them, a crowd of couple hundred is cheering, yelling, and stomping their hooves or beating them against the benches. The noise and mood in the sizable hall is fervent, almost primal, but the two ponies keep their calm, calculating every move with an instinctual finesse that’s near perfection. Suddenly, the earth pony lunges at the unicorn, and aims a front hoof kick at his head. The unicorn raises his own hooves to block, but his assailant doesn’t finish his first attack. Instead, he starts another one, aiming his kick at his chest. The blow makes a clean contact, and for a fraction of a second, Syllable loses his composure. That is all what the earth pony needs him to do.

A series of blows hit home, and even though his hooves are covered with stuffed gloves, the beating is fierce. The crowd lives for every strike, but it’s only Syllable who feels them. He tries to back away while throwing a few blind jabs at his opponent, but the earth pony is dictating the rhythm now and simply blocks or dodges the random blows. He counters with a new combo of brutal accuracy and efficiency. Mad rage is beginning to build up in Syllable, but he fights to keep his emotions at bay. However, when the earth pony manages to knock a good hit on his muzzle, his vision turns red.

Syllable stop backing away, and pushes himself forward in a sudden lunge. The move surprises the other stallion, and Reg manages to land a blow or four into his torso and neck, although he has no idea how he did it. He is just attacking, striving to maim the other pony, craving for his blood on his gloves. It’s at that moment when he loses the match. The earth pony, with delicate precision, smashes his right hook on Syllable's temple. The blow not only knocks Syllable clean out of his consciousness, but also incites a collective “Ouch!” from the crowd. The judge blows the whistle, and the match is over. Everypony cheers and claps their hooves or beats the benches. Everypony except Willow Fall, who buries his head into his hooves in the coach's seat.

After Syllable is carried away from the ring and into the recovery room, Fall throws a bucketful of cold water on his face. The effect pulls Syllable back into reality like an electric shock.

“Hey, that’s to clean his wounds, not to give him a heart attack!” says a nearby nurse who looks disapprovingly at Fall. He turns an indifferent glance in her direction.

“Rest assured, after my treatment, a heart attack will be a blessing for him. Could we have a moment in private?”

The nurse narrows her eyes, and looks at the trembling Syllable, whose numerous bruises are already turning a healthy blue. She then looks at Fall’s forced smile, and sighs. “Fine. But don’t you dare to be too rough on him. I suspect he might have a mild concussion.”

“That is what I suspect too, although the match had nothing to do with it.”

The mare raises an eyebrow, but Fall’s smile is immobile. She sighs again, and closes the door after her. For a moment, the two stallions wait in silence, with Syllable laying on the mattress while Fall towers over him. The blue-grey stallion glares down at his friend.

“Reg. What. The. Hay?”

Cold shivers criss-cross on Syllable’s coat, and his front hooves are locked around his torso. One of his eyes is welling up quickly. When he speaks, it sounds as if a few of his teeth were trying to break out of his mouth. “The new guy has a pretty good right hook, I’ll give him that.”

A frustrated snort makes Fall’s nostrils widen momentarily. “I saw it coming a mile away, as you should’ve, too. And what was that last attack all about? I mean, what were you thinking?! Throwing yourself like that on his hooves, you might as well have tied your limbs together!”

Reg slowly licks his broken lip, and cringes as a fresh trail of blood trickles down his jaw. “Who cares, anyway? It was only one match.”

Fall’s eyes go wide. “One match. One match? One match!? It’s the friggin second qualification round! One more loss and you’re out of the whole season!”

Fall’s last words sink into the walls of the recovery room. Above them, the crowd is cheering again, and the noise carries through the ceiling like a rumbling of some great beast. Reg only stares above, his open eye glinting in the light of the oil lamp. He remains silent, although Fall is clearly waiting for him to say something, anything. After a while, Fall simply lays down on the other mattress next to him.

“Don’t tell me it’s about her again,” says Fall, his tone much more neutral now. “Just… don’t say it’s about that. Tell me you lost your house at gambling or something merry like that.”

A drop of blood falls on Syllable's chest from his jaw, and continues its trail all the way onto the soaked mattress. His lips barely move when he speaks. “I can’t remember her scent anymore.”

“Fuck,” says Fall, stretching the letter “F”. “How long has it been since she left you? Six months? Seven?”

“192 days.”

“Shit.” This time, it’s the “S” that gets cared for during the enunciation. “That is about the unhealthiest thing I’ve heard in my life.”

A ruined smile spreads on Regs lips. “How about the time you boasted you could empty a barrel of ‘Old Faithful’ in one go…?”

Fall turns on his side to look at his friend. “I’m serious, Reg. You’re scaring me, and you know I don’t like admitting that. Ever since the New Year’s party you’ve been living on half the power you used to. This match was only the tip of the iceberg. You can’t carry on like this.”

Syllable’s smile turns into a cringe as he supports himself into a sitting position. “You’re right on that, friend.” With some difficulty, he stands on all fours and goes for the great cowl of water that stands in the corner of the room.

Fall stands up behind him. “That’s what you said a month ago. I’m serious about this. You need to see a doctor or something.”

Reg sinks his head on the cowl and shakes it underwater, after which he dries himself on a towel that he pulls from a rack nearby. On a table to his left there are bandages, salve, and some pain dulling herbs. He grabs the greens and stuffs a bunch of them into his mouth while unrolling the bandage with his horn. “Doctors can’t help me. Only I can help me.”

Fall studies his friend as he spreads the white fabric around his head to cover a nasty tear on the right temple. “That is just what a sick person would say. Come on, do it for me; I can come along.”

“The doctors would only repeat what Princess Luna already told me. I know their cure to be a false one now.”

Fall shifts his legs uneasily. “Well… what did you have in mind, then?”

Reg finishes tying his head wound, and begins to spread some of the lotion into his damaged brow, wincing as the cool stuff meets his sore coat. He waits when he is done before answering.

“I’m going to find her.”

The two stare at each other. The roaring above is reaching a climax of sorts, but neither of them pays the noise any attention.

“Don’t do it, Reg.”

“Then I might as well hang myself, for those are the only options I have of finding peace with myself.”

Falls makes a sudden move towards his friend, and after crossing the few steps that separate them, he pins him against the wall in such a force that the bottles on the nearby table shake. Syllable doesn’t make a move to resist him.

“You ever say anything like that again, I’ll beat the livin hell out of you, I swear that on my mother’s grave.” Fall’s eyes are two embers inside a furnace, and for a moment, Syllable hesitates. But then he pushes his friend back.

“I didn’t believe you would understand me, and neither do I need you to. You can’t talk me out of this one, Fall.”

Fall’s gaze keeps on searing Syllable. “I’ll write your parents, tell them what you’re going to do.”

“That would only save me the trouble.”

“I’ll tell Axiom! I swear I will! You know he has been burning to find an excuse to fire you from the School ever since the New Year’s Eve! This will give him just the right opportunity.”

Reg’s eyes remain unyielding. “I’m actually going to pay the good old Axiom a visit myself. There are some issues I wish to discuss with him.”

A questioning look masks Fall’s face. “Issues? What issues you could have with that old demon?”

“I heard a rumour that he was one of Chillburn’s clients. He might know where she lived in the city, perhaps even where she went.”

A mocking, short laugh escapes from Willow Fall. “And you think he suddenly turns into a little colt scout and points you to the right direction, all the while granting you leave from the School! You really are something!”

“I’m going to ask him real nicely, you know…. Who knows, maybe he even sings a little song for me while I resign myself.” A nasty grin spreads on Reg’s lips, and Fall’s smile dies instantaneously.

“You wouldn't,” he says. Syllable only keeps on grinning like a lunatic.

Fall takes a deep breath, and says: “If you leave this School… and me… in search of that mare… you might as well return the keys to my place, because we won’t be seeing each other after that.” His eyes have lost their fire, and the flames stand frozen.

It’s Syllable’s turn to look confused. “Do you… really mean that? I can’t tell. I seriously can’t tell.”

The glacier of Fall’s stare leaves no room for a doubt to grow. “I’m not going to watch you ruin your life because of this, not in a million years.”

Reg swallows slowly. “Well… if that’s how it’s going to be… then I guess I shall drop the key to your apartment tomorrow.”

The ice in Fall’s eyes cracks ever so lightly. He turns his head away, shaking it slowly. “Damn you, Reg… You really leave a pony no choice, do you?” He turns away, and heads for the door. “Don’t bother coming over. You can send it in the mail.” He doesn’t slam the door, but closes it in a precise and discreet fashion. Reg is left alone in the room, the noise of the crowd above quieting down as a break takes place. The nurse enters the room after a while, carefully walking to Syllable, who is staring at nothing.

“Uhm… Is everything okay?” she asks. “I met your friend in the corridor and he seemed… a bit more grim than usual. A lot more.”

Reg suckles his broken lip, which is still bleeding a bit, his eyes trailing aimlessly. “He wasn’t… very pleased with my choice.”

The mare sniffs. “You bet I wasn’t, either. You could’ve easily got under that earth pony’s guard if you’d have gone for a longer match. You have a good stamina, Reg. Why not wear him out?”

Reg glances at the mare, whose bright eyes light up her cute face. A sudden recollection invades his mind; the mare’s name is Tender Heart. He remembers chatting with her a few times, perhaps exchanging a meaningful look or two. She is beautiful, kind, and has similar interests as him. She is everything a stallion could hope from in a mare. But her eyes… her eyes are cyan.

And he finds himself hoping that they were carmine.