By the time Graves finished his story, sweat dripped from his brow and down a face with a pallor to match the marble around. Legs, usually so sturdy and strong, trembled like a newborn foal’s as a man who’d fought off gigantic arachnids and demonic beast melds without so much as batting an eye looked ready to keel over at the next gust of wind. In all her days, Rarity had never seen the marshal so unsteady on his feet.

But then again, he’d never done anything quite like this.

“Anyway, that’s how we met.” Graves rasped as he pulled an already damp sleeve across his forehead. “What next…? Right. So–”

Rarity would not let him speak. Grabbing his arm, the violet-haired beauty bodily tossed him towards one of the simple, polished benches. As he fell into the seat, she pulled out both wand and handkerchief, summoned a small trickle of water from the cool, evening air, and wetted the square of linen before thrusting it into the marshal’s hand. Needing no instruction beyond the demand in her sapphire eyes, Graves wearily wiped his face and heaved a shuddering sigh.

“Feeling better?” Rarity asked softly once he was done. Once she confirmed a small nod of his head, all gentleness faded away as her eyes flashed with blue fire.

“Good. In that case, would you mind telling me what the hay were you doing?!”

“I thought–”

“No, you obviously weren’t thinking,” Rarity interjected as she seized the handkerchief back. “If you were, then you most certainly wouldn’t have worked yourself into such a sorry state!”

“Sorry?” Graves blinked.

“Yes, sorry,” Rarity confirmed as she began to furiously pat at the marshal’s face and neck in his stead. “Honestly, just look at you, sweating as if you were struck with withershanks fever. What could possibly possess you to push yourself so hard?”

Though her words were still hot and miffed, it was a sort of warm, comfortable anger that matched the firmly gentle pressure laid out by her slender hands. She was obviously still upset with the marshal, but only because she was practically beside herself with worry. Maybe it shouldn’t have, but the scene brought a crinkle to the corner of the marshal’s mouth.

“Same reason I organized today, really,” he shrugged.

“And that would be?” Rarity asked, still patting, still with a frown on her fair brow.

“I needed proof.”

Suddenly, the cool dabs stopped as Rarity’s hand froze in midair. She looked Graves as the heat slowly cooled to a tremble of concern.

“Graves, you have–”

“Nothing to prove?” he interjected, a satisfied smirk appearing as Rarity’s face lit up with surprise at his undoubtedly accurate prediction. “Sure I do.”

“You… you do?” Rarity blinked.

“Don’t you think?” Graves asked, still grinning like a sober Cheshire cat. “Like you said, you got mad because you were jealous. You wanted to be, oh, how’d you put it… ‘speshul’, was it?” The flush of crimson that bloomed in Rarity’s cheeks confirmed the marshal’s suspicions.

“But… but why this?” Rarity asked, hesitant as she made a small gesture towards the monument before them. “Why tell me about them?” Though she didn’t ask them aloud, the real questions rang out loud and clear in her silence. Rarity knew that of all the things Graves did, speaking of the past was not one of them. For all the suffering those memories had caused him, reminiscing was more akin to grabbing an open coal than anything else. Why then, would he choose this path over any other?

Graves didn’t answer when the smile slid from his face. He didn’t reply when his eyes grew cloudy with thought. But when those gunmetal greys hardened with piercing intent, the marshal finally spoke.

“You, Miss Rarity, have got a lot of nerve,” Graves called out as he raised an accusatory finger. Needless to say, the Miss Rarity in question was rather shocked.

“I… I do?” she blinked.

“Yes, yes you do,” Graves firmly nodded. “You recall when you came to visit me in the Changeling camp? You left, but I chased you back down, remember?”

How could she forget? He’d blown out the engine of a Stallion-class transport with a well-placed blast of lightning, snuck past a hull of crewman, and taken multiple beatings from her friends for his troubles.

“After I tracked you down, we had a little talk, you and I,” Graves continued, his voice a gravelly rumble that sounded of a looming avalanche. “Then at the end, I made you a promise. You remember what that was?”

Of course she remembered. Each and every word of his was engraved on her heart as the promise of a man who’d given everything he had to her. Just remembering those words brought tears to Rarity’s eyes to glisten and shimmer in the pale moonlight.

“Yeah, I thought that’d be enough,” Graves sighed. “I mean, I figured that a promise like that would be enough to make you realize just how important you were. I was wrong.”

“Graves–”

“I was wrong,” Grave interjected with hand raised for pause, “because that wasn’t fair to you.”

“It… wasn’t?” Rarity blinked once more.

“How could it be?” Graves shrugged. “Making promises is easy. It’s the follow through that trips people up. That’s why we needed today. All of it.”

Though his eyes were still focused and sharp, the steely hue of the marshal’s eyes softened as he took Rarity’s hand into his.

“I didn’t expect this to be easy,” Graves frowned as he held Rarity’s gaze with unwavering intent. “Fact is, it should be anything but. You’re a fancy lady who throws hissy fits at the drop of a hat and I’m a gunslinger with issues. Lots of issues. We go together about as… well… everything I just said.”

The marshal’s eloquence brought forth a small bubble of laughter from the lady’s lips. With a knowing smile, Graves continued.

“We knew it’d be hard. But I made that promise because I knew it’d be worth it. You’re afraid we’re too different? I can handle a full day of fancy living and the bucking opera. Think that’s a one off? A day of croquet and tomorrow’s ballet says nothing, but nothing can keep me down.”

Laughter came again, much louder and stronger despite the tears that once again welled in sapphire eyes. Graves raised a calloused finger to wipe a stray drop aside as he continued once more.

“You also said that you didn’t feel special. You said I was too nice to Neida and that made you feel… replaced?”

“Graves–”

A finger pressed to her lips silenced her protests as a grimace came to his face.

“Yeah, about that. Maybe… you were right,” Graves sighed. “I’ve saved your life before, but I’ve also saved hers. We’ve gone on adventures, but Neida and I have more. Looking at that, it sort of makes sense how you’d think she was special. I didn’t want you to, but I didn’t know any way to change that, except… well… except for this.”

Even as he spoke, a faint sheen of perspiration came to the brow as the recollection of his ordeals burned at his mind once more. Rarity’s hand squeezed his till her knuckles turned white.

“So,” Graves continued once he finished swallowing the lump in his throat. “Right now, you’re the only one I’ve ever told that story to. There are others, and I’ll… get to them. Eventually. But I want you to know that those stories? Every last one of them is yours because no one could ever, ever replace you. Got it?”

Rarity merely nodded.

What more needed to be said?

Far out of earshot, just close enough to see, a blonde-headed woman turned and began walking away.

“Seen enough?” Shining Armor asked as he fell into step behind her. Quietly, she nodded.

“Take care of him, yes? He is now… open.”

“You say that as if it’s a bad thing.”

“I fear for him. The heart can drive any to madness, even wolf.”

“He’ll be fine,” the captain shrugged. “Right now, I’m more worried about you.”

“Because I failed, yes?”

“I… tried to warn, you,” Shining Armor answered, bringing a hand to his navy hair as he awkwardly scratched his head. “Rarity and Graves have something special. You weren’t going to get between that.”

As she passed beneath the now unguarded archway, the woman paused in the shroud of shadows cast.

“Your Cadance. If she was in arms of other man, would you not fight, even against impossible odds?”

“I… would,” the captain admitted. “But why like this? Why not another way?”

Out from the darkness, laughter came.

“Perhaps is only way I know how.”

As the steps resumed to carry the woman away, the soft peals laughter slowly faded into the night. Or maybe they were something else. It was honestly hard to say.

Beneath the moon’s soft light, Rarity and Graves sat together, her head resting lightly on his shoulder as his arm held her close.

“So that’s really why you organized today?” Rarity smiled. “A personal test?”

“Eh, mostly,” Graves smiled. “Plus, having you in a good mood never hurts.”

“Oh, it may,” the young lady laughed. “Now that I know you’re so comfortable in Canterlot, I may just expect you to join me more often.

Graves blinked.

“… That was not my intent.”

Rarity laughed aloud once more as a weight sitting on her shoulder for days was now free and lifted. However, she paused as a thought transformed her smile into something less.

“Graves,” she began, “I know you probably don’t want to talk about it anymore, but there is one last question I have. About us.”

“Shoot.”

“Do I…” Rarity paused to gather the courage needed to speak, “do I make you weak?”

Slowly, the marshal turned meet her gaze.

“Rarity… I nearly passed out telling you about them because I wanted you to feel special. If anything, you give me a reason to be stronger.”

Those words sent a warm tingle to the very core of her inmost parts.

“… Funny you ask though,” Graves frowned. “Neida said something like that too. You guys talk about that, or something?”

And here, Rarity paused. They had, in fact, discussed the issue, though it was more of Miss Roamanov lambasting her for being a liability over her own inability to protest. She could tell the marshal that of course and let him know just how harshly the visiting woman had been. Knowing Graves and his protective nature, the next meeting between them would be decidedly cooler.

“... We did,” Rarity nodded. “She thought I was bad for you because I might end up distracting you from the fight. She was worried.”

And surprisingly, Rarity found that she believed it. Though Araneida had wielded words with a skill to rival the dressmaker’s own, even all of that cleverness could not help the lady spy hide one simple fact: she cared about Graves. A lot. Whether or not Rarity agreed with her cause, she could understand that feeling. So whether it was because of concern for one of the marshal's few friends, or a simple act of solidarity for one who loved the one she herself loved, Rarity left her words at merely that.

“Heh, that’s Neida,” Graves replied with a fond smile. “Sometimes I think the fight’s all she thinks about.”

“But is she right?” Rarity pressed.

Graves paused.

“Ironside had a saying. ‘Only thing more deadly than a man with nothing to lose is a man with everything to lose.’ You, Rarity,” he grinned, “are way too much to lose.”

And surprisingly, Graves found that he believed it. For years, he’d thrown himself into battle because there was no reason not to. Now that he had Rarity, things were different. He had a place to come back to, a person to welcome him home after the battle was over. He’d always fought knowing that duty was something to die for, but Rarity was finally something he wanted to live for.

So he would fight. Demons may come and devils may block his path, but the marshal would press on. He would complete his mission, survive the ordeal, and live to come back to the woman at his side.

Survival had always had a cost, but now? Now Graves was finally willing to pay the price.

The Journey of Graves concludes in the final story: Journey's End.