Prologue: In Which Momentous Events Conclude, and Budgets are Discussed

“There's no helping it.” Fudged Numbers scowled at the spreadsheets laid out before her, as if her disgust at their contents would make any great inroads into changing them. “Tirak may not have succeeded at... actually, all things considered, I'm not entirely clear just what he was trying to do, but I'm pretty sure he failed. Point is, even though he failed, he succeeded in blowing the disaster relief budget.”

A groan arose from the table, around which, as one, a plethora of pastel ponies whose special talents ran the gamut from embezzlement (although never convicted) to accountancy (likewise) rubbed tired eyes, sipped bad coffee that had grown no better by virtue of settling to room temperature, and in one case, face-planting horn first into the cherry wood boardroom table. The meeting had gone late into the evening, and only by express order of Her Royal Highness, Princess of The Moon, Magic, Wine, Sex, Pure Math, and since she had discovered their existence, Caffeinated Beverages (who had explained that, yes, she was allowed to just take titles if they weren't already claimed), Luna Implaccibilis had the kitchens remained open. This had been a mixed bag of news for the gathered accountant-ponies; on the one hand, it had made their extended skull session possible. On the other, it wasn't as if all of those numbers were going anywhere, and couldn't they wait until morning?

Chairpony Fudged Numbers looked over at Luna, the princess nocturnal by nature, and watched with bemused detachment as the self-styled princess of Pure Math had taken aside a pair of master balance sheets and an abacus, and begun carefully running the numbers again. Celestia had classically shot from the hip when it came to matters of budget; Luna was painstakingly fastidious. Of the two, Numbers preferred Luna's practices, but found it singularly unlikely that she was going to turn up the thirty million bits still required for the rebuilding of half of the Equestrian countryside. They had barely scrounged the bits for medical relief, for pegasi who had found themselves suddenly flightless in Tirak's swath of arcane consumption; rebuilding Ponyville (or those portions of Ponyville which hadn't just had a giant-ass crystal palace spring up in the middle of them) was going to be a task for next year. Charitably next year; and that, hoping that there were no unpredictable disasters or budget shortfalls in the season to come.

Frankly, it didn't help that in a little over a year, Equestria had faced seven or eight significant threats, ranging in property damage from Nightmare Moon (which had been a net gain for the coffers, as it had furnished the royal Day Court with a nightly counterpart, allowing for twice the efficiency for much less than twice the price, once the up-front costs were settled upon and Princess Luna had settled into the role), to the Changeling invasion which had cost a little over two hundred and fifty million bits, a princessly sum that had caused the Minister of Disaster Relief to resign, and the former chairpony of the board of finance to suffer a nervous condition. Added in the number of tax reliefs that had been instituted to allow ponies who had suffered from these attacks to redeem themselves fiscally, and next year's budget wasn't looking overly clever either.

Tirak, it looked like, had surpassed even the Changeling Queen in terms of raw damage. Hospital bills notwithstanding, the magic-eating immortal had thrown around blasts of power with either callous disregard or active disdain for what was in his way, and those few buildings that had survived the savagery when it had been levelled against them had not gone unmarked by it. Obviously, ponies being basically good, a certain percentage of the costs had been sublimated by charitable donations and volunteer labour, but Celestia and Luna had both made clear that they certainly did not expect their little ponies to ruin themselves in the reconstruction efforts. And that was... fair. Excruciatingly so. That even the royals only had so much money to throw around was a consideration, but Fudged Numbers could hardly find fault with the sentiment.

Nevertheless, sums were sums, facts were facts, and Numbers was getting the distinct impression that she was mere minutes away from updating her resume, tendering her resignation, and getting a job at her cousin's quill and sofa emporium. He ran a bizarrely successful business – he could probably use a good accountant, with an enviable understanding of Equestrian tax law...

“We can do it!” The sentence didn't quite parse, coming from Princess Luna, who had only recently abandoned the Royal We. Tired heads turned to the Princess of Caffeinated Beverages, a hopeful look on a face or two.

Numbers was a bit more cautious in her optimism. “What do you mean, Highness?”

“It will strain us fairly significantly, but we can make it to the end of the fiscal year, and cover most of the more... pressing financial constraints put on us by Tirak's attack.” Luna tugged off her green visor, and rubbed her brow just below her midnight blue horn. “All we have to do is institute a one-time levy on the land-owning nobles. It will mean that they'll have to tighten their belts a little bit, but I am convinced that they can be persuaded.”

Chairpony Numbers squinted at the Princess of the Night, briefly envisioning what kind of 'persuasion' Luna had in mind – with fanciful thoughts ranging from a grand speech accompanying a royal edict, to Nightmare Moon holding some of the more odious of Equestria's nobility by the hind legs and shaking them until money came loose. In fairness, of the two, the latter had a much higher likelihood of success, and having met with any number of those ponies, reluctant to pay their regular taxes at the best of times, it was entirely possible that both might be necessary. And satisfying.

She elected to say as much. “Princess Luna, with all due respect, the nobility and their money are not easily parted. Realizing that this is more your department than mine,” although in a very real sense, mostly mine, as I have to try to sell this 'one time' levy to ponies that pinch bits until they scream she did not add, showing more political acumen than she had when first she had accepted her current position, “it may be possible that we may need to sweeten the deal somewhat if we want them to accept it.”

For all that Luna was somewhat socially awkward – an artifact of a millennium away from ever-changing language and idiom as much as anything else – the Princess of the Moon was politically extremely sharp, and Numbers saw comprehension and thought in Luna's eyes as she nodded. “'twas ever thus, my little accountant. 'For the good of Equestria' only ever carried so much weight, and recent times have been much easier than they were during my previous reign, this year notwithstanding. It is always easy to draw ponies together in the spirit of co-operation during times of strife, but there have been so few in the last few decades that I fear Equestrians have fallen out of practice. How might we, as you say, 'sweeten the deal?'”

It helped that the gathered number-crunching ponies were more frustrated than mentally exhausted – the opportunity to brace a new problem, however impossible, put a bit of spunk back into the fiscal think-tank. Discussion began. Charts were drawn up, amended, dismissed, discarded, and redrawn. The simple truth of the matter was that outright bribing the nobility had the best chance of success – while the upper crusts of Equestrian society was not without its patriots, there was more venality and self-interest than most liked to admit in the crusts of the uppers – but while few of the fiscal experts gathered were above trotting out old horses of cliches like 'taking money to make money', the simple fact was that there was little that the Crown had that the more privileged desired. Promised tax cuts were inimical to having a budget next year. Promissory notes simply turned this year's problem into next year's. And of course, even if there were no risk of precedent being set and there was the slightest chance of ever repealing such a change, expanding upon existing privileges only really worked if parliament could be brought to an agreement on it. Numbers, who occasionally made book on parliamentary decisions, would not wager a single bit on that happening.

The likelihood of outright rebellion was slender (for some reason, few ponies fancied their chances in the overthrow of diarchs that could A: stand toe-to-toe with creatures like Discord, B: currently had the support of the self-same demigod of Chaos, and C: had the telekinetic might to move celestial bodies with a whim), but there were lines that even Luna and Celestia refused to cross, for fear of being named tyrants. Divine tyrants, marked by the Ancestors with immortality and the unquestioned right to rule, but tyrants nevertheless. Celestia had spent centuries attempting to guide her subjects down the path of harmony and understanding, and it was fairly clear this would be somewhat undermined by going to the well of 'because I said so' too often, however necessary or well-deserved.

Plus, Numbers admitted in the privacy of her own head, as funny as it would have been to see Nightmare Moon shaking down the nobility for their figurative lunch money, they hadn't reached that point. Yet.

It was Small Pebble, a green stallion with a pile of pebbles for a cutie mark, that struck upon the notion. “Perhaps what we need to do is to find some way to convince them that this will be a one-time-only levy. Show some sign that we're going to do something to keep things from getting this bad again.”

Eyebrows were raised. Discussion shifted to a more fevered and excited pitch, and organizational charts too recently crumpled up into a mess of tree-toppling trash were carefully smoothed out and reconsidered. Small Pebble, perhaps a trifle too timid or modest for his own good, waited patiently for someone to realize that there was probably more to his plan than the bare bones of it. Given the room's average level of exhaustion, it took a couple of 'Royal Canterlot Ahem's from Luna before the gathered experts could be brought to anything resembling attention.

This was a situation calling for a cue. “So, Pebble, ah... what did you have in mind?” Numbers hadn't been chosen for her skills at a public speaker, but she could deliver a straight line when one was required.

“Well... It really seems like all of the major crises that have hit Equestria over the last year or so haven't been a result of lack of power, so much as intelligence failures. The Highnesses have dealt with Discord and the Changelings and even Tirak before.” Luna nodded, looking as if she was about to add something, but then seemed to reconsider as the small accountant continued. “The problem is, recently it's been the case that by the time anyone found out that anything was wrong, it had already gotten so big that it took artefact-deployment and weapons-grade friendship to deal with. So maybe we need to build up the EUD?”

It said a lot of the professionalism of the gathered number-crunchers that they did not immediately shout down Pebble, but took a calm moment of contemplation first... and then all began shouting at once. Choice selections from the 'rooba rooba' of fifteen ponies all attempting to talk at the same time included the phrase 'can't be done', and 'committed to cutting defence spending', but slowly but surely, the gathered accountants were quieted, and the problem was coherently explained.

It transpired that a great deal of the repair budget had been lifted from the defence budget; not so much as to prove impolitic (a major trading partner for Equestria having just had its sovereign ruler marrying the Captain of the Guard for Canterlot's standing forces), but enough that expansion was unlikely at best. Indeed, there had been dark mutterings about severe downsizing for the Defence Forces; the battles that such forces had been raised to fight having not occurred in recent history. It had been quietly decided that if Twilight Sparkle and company were willing to continue Loving and Tolerating Equestria's enemies into submission, the Equestrian Defence Forces could be quietly downsized over the next few years.

What would happen if negotiations with neighbouring Gryphodonia broke down were, such advocates claimed, merely a scare-conjecture, conjured from supposition, in an effort to maintain the Equestrian military complex. Besides, there was always the easy fallback of Celestia, and the pleasantly pointed stick that the question 'would you ever like to see sunlight again?' offered to any hoof willing to take it.

Most of the gathered ponies in the conference room were surprisingly apolitical in their viewpoints. They were none of them elected officials – they didn't decide what was important, they merely tried to figure out how to fund those things that were considered important by ponies in charge. Still, they understood the challenges inherent in trying to sell a disgruntled population on an unpopular budget, and they could recognize an unwinnable fight when they saw one. A significant increase in funding for ponypower, training, or equipment, was... unlikely at best, at least on a significant scale. And it was taken to be a truism, at least among the pencil-pushers and coin-counters assembled in the room, that without bits, nothing significant happened. Celestia moved the sun, and Luna moved the moon, but Ancestors knew, money moved everything else.

Princess Luna, ever one to wear her emotions on her figurative sleeve, continued to look thoughtful however. Holding up a hoof for a silence that she swiftly received, the princess of the night-time (et al), seemed to choose her words carefully. “Minister Numbers, national defence budget notwithstanding, Royal discretionary funds have not been significantly diminished, have they?” The Royal discretionary funds, which provided the Royal Sisters with what amounted to an allowance for a personal guard, luxuries, patronages and so forth was nothing like the amount needed to cover the reconstruction efforts, but apart from some modern appliances for her traditional rooms, Luna had barely touched hers for the year.

They had also not been considered fair game for budget shortfalls. Mostly it's a lot of work, but sometimes it's good to be the Princess.

Numbers considered this, and shook her head. “No, highness – your fund has barely been touched, apart from some personal expenditures and personnel costs.”

Luna clapped her hooves together, delightedly. “Excellent! Then I propose a solution to our problem.”

The next day, signs imploring those with the courage, brains, and chutzpah to join the Night Guard went up all across Canterlot.

Chapter 1: In Which Candidates are Chosen, and Not All That A Royal Pony Might Have Hoped.

Although the call had gone out for a sort of 'general try-out', in truth, Fudged Numbers had been able to furnish Luna with a short-list for surplussed or 'reserve' personnel, most of which hadn't made the cut for Day Guard but had missed 'only by inches'. The advantage, it was explained, was this; with the exception of a few pegasi that drew Luna's carriage (under a nifty transmutation that had adjusted the colours of their coats and given them batty features), the Lunar Guard was substantially or entirely a new force. Its mission statement of investigation, counter-espionage, and acting as Equestria's 'early warning' system against land-shaking events was substantially different from the Solar Guard's duties of protecting the palace, ensuring order in the streets of Canterlot, and looking pretty for Princess Celestia, who had been known to hook up with unattached and interested members of the guard.

Some things, Luna reflected, changed very slowly if at all.

Nevertheless, there would be at least some overlap of skill sets, and most of the reserve and surplussed forces had gone through the full training regimen, at some point or another. Looking into these ponies therefore only made sense; they had, after all, very nearly been appropriate for a similar-but-different position, and all of them had gone through the basic training required to be considered and tested for overall competence. In addition, the numbers for the general call for troops had been less than promising. And, not to be overlooked, most of the 'reserve' candidates had in the interim acquired day jobs, meaning that many had second or even third strings to their figurative bows, not something to be lightly overlooked when one was attempting to establish a military intelligence enterprise.

Not, as it happened, that this was a typical attempt at that. Equestria had a reasonably substantial intelligence community, but one that was generally pointed in the wrong directions. Absent genuine enemies, hostile in intent and fierce in determination for lo these many years, the Equestrian Intelligence Service had been refocused upon the country's traditional allies, for the reasons that most countries, like as not, end up doing the same.(1) Other substantial portions of the EIS were dedicated to counter-intelligence efforts, as it was more or less past question that their friends, neighbours, and allies reciprocated their espionage efforts, and much hay was made politically by governments catching one another with the proverbial fingers in the cookie jar, and then carefully doing nothing about it.

This, gentle readers, is known as 'diplomacy'. If it fails to make sense, you may rest well assured that this is intended.

The problem was that Equestria did have enemies; some foreign, some domestic. The changeling hives viewed the pastel ponies as an emotive all-you-can-eat buffet, the diamond dogs and the dragons viewed Equestrians as competitors for land and resources, and a variety of cultists, scholars of the arcane, and entitled noble dandysprats within Equestria viewed those around them as chumps or victims. Mostly, the Royal Guard or the military were enough to deter these threats to Equestrian sovereignty – recently, solid evidence had been furnished that this was insufficient. The big clue had been the release of Discord.

That it had happened at all was a matter of no small discussion. The official story had been that a group of arguing schoolfillies had freed the draconequus by arguing in front of his stony prison, and in a sense this was true – in the same sense that wars were begun by 'border disputes', rather than years of underlying political and social forces. Certainly, a group of arguing children would not, under ordinary circumstances have been enough to undo the magical bindings placed upon the chaotic spirit.(2) A more careful look at the area where the statue had stood revealed evidence of rituals performed around the statue's base, with sigils that hurt to look at directly, and scrawled runes that seemed to shift and squirm under observation. Someone, or far more likely a group of someones, had been actively weakening the bindings put into place by the Elements of Harmony centuries before.

There was strong evidence of spadework being done to allow for the Changeling invasion as well, although this was generally regarded as less a matter of betrayal from within, and more a matter of changelings being changelings. Luna wasn't entirely convinced that there had been no collusion, but when you had an entire species whose special magical talents were 'perfectly imitating someone else', it was a lot harder to track interactions. The added facet that most of the peoples of modern Equestria had, before the royal wedding, never even heard of changelings made it a lot easier to believe that the insectoid philophages could have gotten away with quite a fair bit without the risk of falling under too much official scrutiny.

It was with this in mind that Luna and her secretary, Paper Weight were sorting through resumes and dossiers, with the assistance of Shining Armour. Although no longer Captain of the Guard, Shining had been visiting Canterlot to liaise diplomatically and assist in the cleanup following the Tirak crisis, on behalf of the Crystal Empire, and Luna had brought him on board on the strength of his experiences as a former Captain. It was not such a grand leap of logic for her to conclude that he might have particularly valuable insight into the potentials for her new Guard, and if his experience was with a differently oriented organization, surely the brother of Twilight Sparkle would be clever enough to adapt.

Luna was not a happy pony when Shining Armour started snickering, going through the dossiers.

“Oh, wow...” Shining wiped tears from his eyes, one hoof to his ribs, sore from what was in Luna's opinion, unbecoming levels of laughter from a prince consort who was supposed to be helping. “Where did you find these things? It's like someone handed you a file-folder of all of the candidates least appropriate to be guardsponies, but still technically capable.”

Upon consideration, Luna realized that this may have been exactly what had happened. She had, in her time in Canterlot, run into the odd soldier or guardspony that had been... eccentric, inoffensively inept, or unduly crass, but which had managed to maintain their position in relatively good standing. They didn't tend to be on duty in the palace, but soldiers were soldiers. She had asked Numbers to send along the names of ponies that could do the job, which meant that the candidates had to be at least mostly proficient, which in turn meant that most of the candidates in the folio were probably going to be... a mixed bag. Of nuts.

“Surely, some of these candidates aren't all that bad?” Luna offered weakly, flipping through the dossiers like a drowning pony grasping for a life line. There had been one... “Here! This one. Almond Butter. Strong scores in most categories, passed the physical regimen, a fine example of Equestrian patriotism!” The princess of the moon gave a hopeful smile, weak around the corners of her mouth, all too aware that there were troubling second and third pages of the document, which she had not yet turned to.

Shining shook his head. “He flunked out on the psychiatric evaluation. Page three goes into more detail.” He shuddered a little bit. “Troubling obsessions. Just because a pony's name is Almond Butter does not guarantee that he goes well with pony-sized tubs of jelly.” He turned to his copy of the dossier. “Ah, here we go. 'I cannot guarantee that my uniform will remain clean due to my need to immerse myself partially or fully in jelly or jam on an hourly basis. I am the jam, and the jam is me.'” Shining's brows creased. “This being his way of asking for an exemption from the uniform code. I think he moved to Ponyville after he didn't make it as a guard.”

Paper Weight was staring at the attached photo. Luna shook her head, tearing her eyes away from the image of the jelly-coated pony, and pushing away the plate of cream and jam donuts that they had picked up for sustenance. “Okay, so one example, randomly chosen from a pile of papers, turns out to have been a bad one. There are a hundred and twenty 'not quite up to snuff' ponies in this stack, you two. We aren't leaving until we find at least a handful that we can turn into an effective force.”

Three hours later, the coffee was gone, the donuts were gone, most of the stack of dossiers were gone, and Luna's optimism was beginning to flag. The 'definitely not' pile was high, the 'perhaps' pile was low, and the 'yes' pile had five entries, albeit mostly dubious ones.

The first, a pegasus by the name of 'Sticky Wings', had worried Luna and Paper that Almond Butter wasn't the only jam enthusiast to have returned a better than mediocre result in training. Shining had remembered Sticky, and had reassured the mares that those particular fears were unfounded. Sticky Wings was less a jelly fetishist, and more... one of the finest pickpockets to have ever volunteered for national service. It was, evidently, by way of a compulsion; fish gotta swim, birds gotta fly, and Sticky Wings didn't even notice that she had taken things until some time afterwards. Shining had liked her, pointed out that she had achieved test results far in excess of the mien average for successful applicants, noted that she was currently in jail in Manehattan for petty theft, and had asked that if they chose her, could they please get his watch back?

The second, a unicorn by the name of Icewine, more commonly known as Icepick – not due to any inherent viciousness, so much as because his parents had begun his name with 'ice', he came to a point, and children could be so cruel – was an elementalist, specializing in spells relating to the cold. The spellcaster had been a student at Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns at the same time as Shining's sister, Twilight Sparkle, albeit at the bottom of the class. He had been flunked out from the Guard, Shining said, for two reasons; firstly, he was small in stature, smaller in fact than most adult mares, and the Solar Guard uniforms wouldn't have fit. Perhaps more the problem had been one of temperament; Ice Wine had a short fuse, particularly in relation to cracks about his height. It was not hard to track Icepick down – he was a graduate student teacher for Equestrian philosophy at the University of Canterlot, conveniently at hand.

The third candidate, also a unicorn, was intended to make up the second half of the enforcement portion of the squad. An elementalist as well, Hot Streak hadn't had the familial acclaim to warrant a docket at Celestia's school, and her skills were consequently less... practised. Where Icepick specialized in all things cold and frosty, Hot Streak came from a line of fire-specialists, but her control was abysmal. Luna's eyes shot up at the notation from a Guard drill sergeant that suggested that the safest place to stand when Hot Streak had been practising her craft might have been directly behind her, 'but' he had added, 'only if you couldn't make it to the moon.' Both Shining Armour and Paper Weight had argued against the pyromaniacal unicorn's inclusion, but Luna insisted. Besides the added weight that her magic could bring to the squad if it could be properly trained, she had argued, Hot Streak had an admirable knowledge of medicine. That most of it was hard-earned from treating accidental burns could, for now at least, be ignored.

Luna had actually done a double-take at the fourth pony on the list. “I think there must be some sort of mistake.” she began. “This one seems a bit... too good to be true. Skilled armed and unarmed combatant, holds the rank of Sergeant in the UEP Defensive Force, decorated soldier. I don't think that they're going to allow us to poach this Sharp Salute, and frankly, I'm not sure he's not more valuable where he is right now.” She looked down, bewildered by the document in front of her.

Shining admitted that he had never heard of the stallion, but it was Paper Weight that spotted the pertinent detail. The yellow mare pushed her green mane out of her eyes, and her glasses further up her nose. “Ah. It would appear that he's seventy-six.”

Luna blinked. “Seventy-six what?”

“Seventy-six years old.” Paper Weight indicated the 'year of birth' entry in the dossier. “He was retired sixteen years ago, but the age limitations on the Equestrian Reserve Forces are a minimum age only. If you'll pardon the expression, some of the attached paperwork suggests that he might be chomping at the bit to get back into something resembling action.” She chewed on her lower lip, a habit that had become all-too-frequent since she had become Luna's secretary. “Assuming that he remembers to put in his teeth.”

Luna scowled. “I think that if anything, I'm proof that someone can stay active and productive well past the government-mandated retirement age.”

Shining Armour, a married stallion that knew a sore subject when he saw one coming, blanched a little at that. He had heard of Luna's failed efforts to learn more about the societal shifts in pony culture by getting a part-time job around Heart's Warming Eve. After Cadence had stopped giggling, she had forbidden him to laugh. “I think the fact that he is not, in fact, an immortal alicorn princess, but rather, an earth pony in his later years may be a relevant factor here.”

Luna's scowl turned into a pout. “We need someone with some kind of experience in this team, if it's going to be anything more than a group of misfits. I know you've volunteered to help out when you can, Shining, but the Crystal Empire and your wife both need you.” Paper Weight and Shining Armour hemmed and hawed in the face of her logic, so she carried on. “Plus, it's not as if we're expecting heavy combat missions. This isn't going to be the Guard, it's going to be the 'warn the alicorns that something sneaky or ill-advised is being perpetrated' squad.”

Paper Weight sighed. “I suppose it doesn't hurt to have some experience on duty. It might even balance out the young blood we have for the rest of the team.”

The fifth candidate was the most promising of the lot, an immigrant by the name of Zorada, who had been disqualified not, it was carefully explained, because she was a zebra, but because national service was open only to those that had been born within the country. There had been some talk of amending the laws over the years, as xenophobia had waned (at least in the more cosmopolitan communities), but the simple fact of the matter was that no one cared strongly enough to push for change, and thus the subject had simply stagnated. There were only so many hours in a day, after all, and so many days in a year; a year before Luna's return, it had taken a parliamentary subcommittee seven months of intensive debate, consultation, and bonus cheques to determine that the Equestrian flag could safely retain its traditional colours and design. Luna had railed against the foundering of governance, to say nothing of the graft that she had discovered upon her return, and never one to outright ignore their princess, the governing ponies of the House of Lords had immediately convened a Committee to Investigate Allegations of Corruption.

Eight months later, after heated and intense discussion and no small debate, the committee had changed its name to 'The Committee to Investigate Suspicion of Corruption'. 'Allegations', it was put forward, was a loaded word, which might bias the investigation. If there was one thing that Luna truly wished for, it was the return of the Elements of Harmony, the better to turn disharmonious self-important bureaucrats to stone, if not outright banish them to the sun.

In addition to holding a doctoral degree in theoretical ritual magic, Zorada was a trained alchemist – both areas relevant to the tasks that the team was likely to face, if they ended up ever being used as anything more than nominal proof that the Princesses were making an effort to forestall future problems. She was also employed in Canterlot, as a consultant for some of the make-up firms that were attempting to use alchemical techniques to improve the quality of their products.(3) No real objections were raised to the zebra's inclusion in the team, and as this was technically a part of Luna's personal guard, there was neither law nor precedent forbidding the choice.

“It's... a small group.” Luna managed with dwindling cheer. “But there's always the chance that we can make up some of the numbers with new applicants.” If there was a chance, it was a slender one; the notice had been up for a week, and the number of serious, potentially qualified applicants was measurable only because in some ancient age, some camel philosopher had invented the concept of 'zero'. It was possible that when the university turned out a new crop of graduates, the pressure to pay off student debts might generate applicants who, if not wildly enthusiastic, might at least be capable and job-loyal.

Until that point however, between the admirable but inconvenient employment initiatives that Celestia had in motion, as well as the disaster relief efforts, employment was at an all-time high; good for Equestria, bad for Luna trying to recruit a force. Although neither Shining Armour nor Paper Weight had said it out loud, there was also the matter of Luna's reputation working against her; even though the majority of Celestia's faithful subjects had more-or-less accepted her assertion that Luna had been redeemed, there was still an undercurrent of fear and hostility toward the traditional view of Luna as the boogeymare Nightmare Moon.

A handful of ponies had applied, and had turned out to be, in order, a changeling, a second changeling that had apparently not known that the first applicant had been a changeling, a twelve-year-old filly who had been hoping to lie about her age, a pegasus who had gotten the address confused with another poster and had been wondering why free piano lessons were being offered at the royal palace, a Nightmare Moon cultist (Luna hated those), Discord, and yet another changeling. For a species so naturally specialized in infiltration and espionage, the Swarm really didn't communicate all that well. In the recovery after the attack on the royal wedding, three copies of the same high-ranking ministry official had been discovered, knocked out and secreted away in various parts of her residence, as well as the official herself.

Still, universally competent or not, they were a predatory species that fed upon ponies. Luna wasn't about to allow them to join her personal guard, and Shining Armour had taken an almost uncalled for delight in booting them out of the application hallway, followed by the city.

Almost.

There was the chance that she might get lucky, and find a few more ponies to round out the numbers, but this would be enough for now. For now, these five ponies, be they ever so... eccentric, would be enough to convince the nobility to fund the levy. And if they didn't last three months, it would be enough for now. This, at least, was something that Luna could work with.

1: A combination of curiosity, amiable suspicion, and the sort of snoopiness that being a government lets you get away with. It is not, as many have noted, at all difficult to hazard a guess as to what your enemies think of you.

2: Some of the scholars from the university had been curious, and Celestia had been able to confirm this almost instantly upon being asked. If a simple argument had been enough to free the spirit of disharmony and chaos, she had added, the statue would have been buried in a mountain somewhere, possibly under some especially serene monks, not in the same city as parliament.

3: One would imagine that not using something called 'Poison Joke' in face cream would be universally intuitive, with 'poison' right there in the name. One would be wrong.

Author's Notes:

If you are curious about Luna's attempts to find a job, as mentioned within the chapter, noble reader, be well assured that it is forthcoming closer to Hearth's Warming Eve, a piece of short fiction that shall bear the name The Night Princess and the Day Job.

Chapter 2: In Which The Team is Contacted.

Some days, Sticky Wings considered, as she sat on her stupid bunk, in the stupid cell, in the stupid prison, in the stupid bucking city, it did not pay to do one's civic duty. Or, for that matter, get out of bed.

For entertainment, she had two things; firstly a red rubber ball, which she had by this point mastered the art of rebounding off of the small cell's various surfaces, to return unerringly to her. Briefly, she found herself wondering whether or not there might be some use for this skill. She didn't recall seeing anything like it in the Equestrian Games. Perhaps fortunately, far more consuming and entertaining was reflection on the day that she'd had, which had brought the pegasus pony to this point.

She had hit Manehattan in an effort to start a new life. She'd been seeking help for her... bad habit. She'd been doing extremely well, until she had accidentally walked into that pony on the sidewalk outside of the First Bank of Manehattan. He'd been nicely dressed, and carrying any number of important looking documents in a telekinetic field, which of course had gone flying everywhere. She had apologized profusely, helped him to gather up the papers that had gone wandering in the wind, and only realized ten minutes later that she had, out of habit and not a little compulsion, walked off with the businesspony's wallet.

Well, she wasn't screwed yet. After all, he might have lost it in the confusion, and he'd been off in a hurry when he walked away. A quick look inside suggested that he worked at the bank, and she could go in, explain what had happened (edited for content), return the wallet, refuse any reward,(4) and go about her merry day. Fantasy-Sticky, swelled with pride and confidence from her (almost) good deed would then go and get that dishwashing job down at the diner run by Greasy Spoon, continuing her work at being a better and brighter pony. It might be a little stretch to suggest the Princess Celestia would be proud of her, but if not personally, then she was sure that the Princess would approve of the general approach.

Going into the bank, she had been referred to the office of Golden Fortune, evidently the slickly-dressed pony that she had walked into. She had shrugged, sat back and made herself comfortable, and maybe dozed a little bit. Sticky had awoken to the sound of Golden Fortune clearing his throat noisily.

“Do you have... the item?” He had asked.

Sticky had blinked a little at that. She was not aware of any particular need for a euphemism in wallet-related matters, but then, it was his wallet. Maybe it would have been embarrassing for him, a pony charged with looking after the fortunes of others, to admit that he had misplaced his own wallet, even in the security of his own office. “I sure do! I picked it up outsi-” but Golden Fortune had hushed her.

And then thrust two large bags of bits into her hooves. “There. The amount discussed.”

Sticky Wings was getting the very real sense that something strange and possibly criminal was going on. “I couldn't possibly accept any sort of payment or reward. Just doing what any good pony would do, after all.” That was safe enough ground, even if not explicitly true; many of the ponies she had known would have kept the wallet.

He had nodded, with what he must have imagined to be a sly look on his face – it more closely resembled constipation – and gave her a wink. “Of course. I must have misspoken. Consider this, a... gift. Unrelated to your giving to me the item. From me to you.”

Sticky Wings had never been a serious criminal; in the grand scheme of things, her crimes had been more venal than anything else, first out of a need to eat, and later out of a compulsion that she was only now getting a hold of. Probably the worst thing that she had ever done, outside of causing the odd object to go missing, had been to keep the newest Daring Do book out of the library for an extra three days – fast hooves, slow reader. This... felt different. Like something out of a crime novel, or worse. She had picked up the bags, and stood, about to put them back on the desk...

When the weight of the Manehattan constabulary had broken down the office door. Of course.

Golden Fortune had been trafficking in illegal magical items, and had thought that he was going to be receiving an item with the unlikely name of 'The Alicorn Amulet' from a blue mare dressed somewhat shabbily. The Manehattan constabulary, under the command of Captain Apple Peeler, had gotten the tip-off, and had broken down the door to see Sticky Wings receiving what was supposed to be payment for the arcane contraband. When it had turned out that she had just been there to return Fortune's wallet, they had... not taken it well.

Fortunately, Golden Fortune had been so flummoxed by the fact that he had been about to hand over fifty thousand bits to someone intent on returning his wallet, that he had developed a case of diarrhoea of the mouth, spilling all of his plans, his long-term schemes, and the not incidental fact that the money he had been handing to Sticky had been embezzled from the bank. The first piece of bad news that Sticky heard that day had been that no, she would not be allowed to keep the bits.

The second piece had come when they had checked their files on a pegasus named 'Sticky Wings'. The long file, rife with petty crimes from fillihood onward. Coupled with her unlikely presence at the scene of a major crime, they had given her a non-optional invitation to join them down at the station, 'to clear up some details'. Sticky had a good idea what that meant.

The interrogation had been gentle and polite, and Sticky had decided to tell the truth from the outset. Her therapist had, once upon a time, given her the piece of rather worn and frankly cliche advice that 'the truth would set her free', and she had decided, perhaps optimistically, to give it a shot. They had nodded understandingly when she had explained her condition, about how she had gone back to return the wallet, and how she had insisted that she was planning to refuse any reward. They had even said that they believed her, but couldn't she stick around for a day or two, in case they thought up any additional questions that only she could answer?

The words 'flight risk' had been bandied about when they had thought she wasn't listening. Frankly, she found that tribalist.

And so she sat, on a stupid bunk, in her stupid cell, and so forth, bemoaning a world that apparently disliked pegasus ponies, or perhaps her in particular. Sticky's downward spiral of anger and depression was interrupted by the gaoler clearing her throat. “Captain Peeler wishes to speak with you, Miss Wings.” Of bloody course she did. Sticky took a moment to wonder where it all had gone wrong.

* * *

Icewine was pretty sure he knew where it had all gone wrong.

He stood before a classroom of unimpressed looking undergraduates, trying to impress upon them the great gravity of the lesson he was giving. Whether he knew it or not, the diminutive brandy-coloured unicorn was managing a result better than the mean average, in that the majority of his students were awake, and more than half of them were actively listening to the lecture. He might have been content with that, were it not for the fat that his class – an introduction to the philosophical musics of Clover the Clever – had been scheduled immediately after an introduction to the writings of Mane Rand, and, as was the case every year, a few of the students had taken the Objectivist philosophy to heart.

The two most irksome, a pale green earthpony mare named Shrugging Map, and a pink unicorn stallion by the unlikely name of Fountain Head, were interrupting his lecture with 'questions' every five minutes or so, asking how the philosophy of Harmony benefited them personally, pointing out shortcomings in other students, and generally making nuisances of themselves. There's one in every classroom, mused Icewine to himself, and just my luck, I got two of them. If I had paid a little more attention when I was in Celestia's school for gifted unicorns, I might have gotten a nice quiet job as a country librarian on the strength of that alone. Instead, I slacked off, and for my sins, needed a Master's Degree.

The fact of the matter was that for all of his griping, Icewine really did love the study of philosophy. Although the Royal Pony Sisters held something resembling divine status in the eyes of the ponies under their care, they were understandably cautious when bestowing anything like holy commandments. The caution had been well-earned – in the Third Century after the banishment of Nightmare Moon, Celestia had tried her hoof at giving a holy order for ponies to be 'good', but had neglected to give a functional definition for same, leading to not a little chaos. Then, in the seventh century, pressed for holy commandments by one of the more... zealous ponies in her care, she had flippantly suggested starting each day with 'a good breakfast'. The Breakfaster Cult was still one of the dominant beliefs in Equestria, with their holy fibre-rich cereal, but it had taken some time to stamp out the cannibalistic sects that had remembered the third century commandment.(5)

In the absence of divine mandate or instruction, the ponies of Equestria had been left more or less to their own devices in discovering the answers to the big questions: the meaning of beauty, the nature of truth, and What Was It Really All About, When You Got Down To It? Philosophers like Immanuel Canter, Neightze, and Hay Carts had posited their ideas, and students of magic had built upon them as ideas like Harmony had emerged as sound thaumatalogical principles. The best mages were students of metaphysics alongside physics, because the study of ideas was genuinely useful in understanding magic.

Of course, not every idea was right either. And so you got ponies postulating bizarre or selfish notions, and it was only by virtue of rational discourse that such notions could be dismissed. Every year, some new undergraduate would internalize the message 'Mane Rand was right about everything', and the cycle would begin anew.

Honestly, Icewine could have lived with that. But Fountain Head and Shrugging Map had cottoned to the notion that he was irritated by jokes made about his height, and had latched onto that as their primary form of subtle attack. Actually ejecting them from the class over a minor sleight that he would have difficulty proving would damage his academic career, not least since both students came from privileged backgrounds. On the other hoof, he was moments away from deciding that he didn't really need a Master's degree, and defenestrating both students.

Ah, decisions, decisions.

The earthpony and the unicorn were spared unsolicited and impromptu flying lessons by a knock at the door, and a summons to the Dean's office. Apparently, some piece of mail had arrived from the palace.

* * *

Nurse Hot Streak was fretting over the piece of mail that had come from the Palace in Canterlot. Usually delighted to get mail, the burns ward nurse hadn't been able to open it when it had arrived, and while initially she could conceive of no possible reason for them to have sent her any kind of missive, her mind had begun to fret and come up with any number of possible horrible contents for the letter. Perhaps fire magic was being made illegal. Maybe she was being audited. Could it be that they had discovered that she was the one who had sent a poorly-spelled and punctuated letter to Equestria Daily? Did they still throw you in gaol for bad spelling? She was sure that she had read somewhere that they had at one point.(6)

Hot Streak had only recently secured her current position, and if she was a bit clumsy outside of work, she had been doing extremely well at it. Her employment history had haunted her a bit – in all honesty, the fireworks factory had been a poor choice, as had the 'all things tinder-dry' emporium – but she had a natural affinity for treating burns, complimented by what some might have called excessive practice. If some of the orderlies made jokes behind her back, about 'drumming up business', well, she could just ignore them. She was doing well – but more importantly to the mostly good-natured unicorn, she was doing good. Seeing ponies, wounded and hurting, convalesce under her care was exceptionally heartening, and she felt, possibly for the first time in her life, like she was making a positive difference. If she wished that she could apply her special talent and her magic more to her work, she could at least console herself, knowing that she was helping other ponies.

But now, there was this envelope, with the Royal Lunar seal on the back, threatening all of that with vague, stationary-oriented malfeasance. It could have contained something positive – and, if she were being perfectly up-front about things, she had no proof that it did not. But the burden of experience weighed heavily upon the usually chipper unicorn. Unexpected envelopes almost never bore positive fruit.

So lost in thought was Hot Streak that when she finally realized Head Nurse Soothing Salve was trying to get her attention, it was difficult to say how long the other pony had been trying. Embarrassed at her own woolgathering, she blinked, and tried for an apologetic smile. Soothing Salve was understanding, kind, and considerate. Surely, she had only good things to say.

“Streak, you're an extremely talented nurse, and one of the best experts in burn care on our staff.” So far, so good. Positive feedback, from a respected superior. “But I'm afraid we need to talk about your future with Manehattan General.” Less promising. Steak swallowed hard.

“Is this about the soup incident?” It had been one of those 'we'll look back at this and laugh someday' things that had seemed to plague Hot Streak for her entire adult life – and, for that matter, a great deal of her childhood. One of the patients had been distressed by the tepid hospital soup, and the kitchen had been two floors away. A little bit of unicorn magic could heat that soup right up, and Streak had been overjoyed at the opportunity to use her magical focus to do something nice for somepony. She had even been careful not to create any actual fire...

“The third floor is STILL a sauna, Streak.” Soothing Salve shook her head. “One of our patients is an expert in persistent magical effects, and even she can't figure out how to undo it. We've had to move everyone off of the floor.” Streak winced. She had been so focused on bringing the soup to a low boil that she hadn't noticed everything else heating up as well. As to why things were staying as warm as they were, she was completely lost at sea – she had always been magically powerful, but for the trifling problem with control...

“Ah... at least the soup was heated up?” She offered weakly.

Soothing Salve sighed, a slow release of breath coloured by genuine regret. “Streak, you're a fine nurse, but it's out of my hooves. I can keep you on for a couple of weeks, while the paperwork goes through, but the hospital board of directors are mad as Tartarus. I'd suggest updating your resume – you're likely to need it, in the not-too-distant future. I'm sorry.”

Streak's heart sank. “I... understand.” The pyromancer was downcast, and she fought back tears. She had managed to land a job that she had been genuinely good at, and then this had happened. What a rotten day this was turning out to be. First that probably awful letter, and now...

Now she was getting kicked out.

* * *

“We have to kick him out!”

It was one of the orderlies at the Happy Pastures Retirement Home that had finally put voice to the thought that had crossed more than a few minds among the staff, regarding Sharp Salute. Most ponies, upon reaching their retirement, were content to settle down a little bit – maybe pick up a hobby or two, catch up on the reading, or engage themselves in the various pass-times made available by the retirement home. Many was the pony that had discovered the joy of shuffleboard or bridge club, or who kept themselves sharp through yoga or perusing the Happy Pastures library.

When Sharp Salute had first come to Happy Pastures, the facility had been honoured. A decorated military pony, in his twilight years, gracing their facility with his presence. It had been a feather in their figurative cap – not quite a celebrity guest, but certainly one well-respected and with the well-earned prestige to back it up. When it had developed that he was still every bit as active and vivacious as he had been reputed to be in the prime of his life, they had been far from dismayed – after all, Happy Pastures catered to keeping older ponies well-looked-after and entertained. And Sharp Salute had been, by all accounts, happy to be there, enjoying their facilities. If he was slightly sour about his forced retirement, he was no more cantankerous than many of the other older ponies, and Salute had always been extremely polite and courteous to all of the staff and fellow residents of the home.

That had changed, however, when the retirement home had been bought out by a group of investment developers. Happy Pastures had always been fiscally in the black, but the high-quality care that they had made their reputation upon had come at a premium cost – and thus, the margin of profit was small, considering the not-inconsiderable price of admission. For Golden Fortune and his investment group however, a small return on investment was simply not good enough. The residents had been upset when pizza night had been cancelled. They had been outright irate when the free jazzercise classes had been cut. But not even the long-term employees of Happy Pastures had expected them to literally go to the barricades over the removal of half of the dessert menu.

Had the staff at Happy Pastures been students of military strategy, they would have known that an entrenched militant population can indeed be difficult to winkle out. What they had rapidly learned was that there were few populations more entrenched than the septuagenarians under their care, particularly when that latter group had reached the kitchens. Now, it was an all-out warfront, with walker and cane-wielding ponies hurling foodstuffs at staff that dared to intrude upon the seized domain. Needless to say, there had been a few deserters in the face of the dessert.

Mostly, the staff didn't have the heart to press the old-timers. They were, generally, not particularly pleased with the changes that had come down from Corporate, but were limited in their options – disagreeing with policy was fine, failing to implement it was grounds for dismissal. The siege of the kitchens had lasted for three days so far, with Sharp Salute leading the elderly rebels, and with regular supplies being delivered to the kitchen entrance, they were in no danger of running out any time soon.

Personally, Orderly Friendly Face, a mauve pegasus with an amiable temperament and a genuine love of her job, thought that the whole exercise probably wasn't bad for the residents. They certainly seemed more engaged and energetic than they had in the past few months, as their recreational activities had been whittled away by fiscal demand. That said, she could certainly understand how... problematic the current situation was for her colleagues and friends. Attempts to negotiate in good faith were undermined by the fact that they couldn't offer much and retain their own jobs. Attempts to negotiate in bad faith had been met with weaponized pastries and pie tins filled with meringue. One of the retirees had even developed something that could only be described as a party howitzer that shot full cakes, claiming that some party pony that played the accordion had given him the idea.

The real problem was that when it came to numbers, the staff were already at a disadvantage. When it came to raw volume of life experience, they were outnumbered twenty to one.

The outspoken orderly from before reiterated his point. “We have to kick him out, and soon, or we're all going to end up unemployed!”

Friendly Face raised an eyebrow. “We can't even expel them from the kitchen. How precisely do you imagine we're going to remove him from the nursing home?” The dissenting pony had paused, considering this for a moment. Friendly Face continued. “Besides, technically they haven't broken any of the rules of the nursing home.” It was true. Seniors occasionally being cantankerous, the nursing home had always been a place where dissenting opinions could be safely voiced by the residents, with a certain amount of 'like it or lump it' toward the staff, who were expected to continue to serve with a smile. Granted, 'armed rebellion' exceeded this general advisory by a broad margin, but similarly, hadn't been anticipated by the owners, and thus no specific exception was printed. This technically fell under the broad umbrella of 'the residents being difficult', which according to the brief that had come with the cut in services, 'was to be expected, within reason'.

The day, it turned out, was saved by the mailpony, who arrived at that very moment, bringing with her two important pieces of news.

Firstly: the investment group owned by Golden Fortune had turned out to be a front for an illegal artefact trafficking ring. The assets – including the nursing home – were being seized by the state. For now at least this meant to the various orderlies that, barring specific instructions from the new owners, the austerity measures could end. They could negotiate once more, and perhaps bring the Siege of the Kitchens to an end.

Secondly, a letter addressed to Sharp Salute from the Palace, re-activating the elderly pony's commission and assigning him to a new special task-force being put together by Princess Luna. There had been some debate about opening the mail of one of the residents, but given the address upon the envelope and the royal seal on the back, the thought of some respite from the former Master Sergeant had convinced even the sticklers among the staff to 'accidentally' allow the letter to 'fall open' so that its contents could be inspected. That solved the other problem... and while Salute was gone, some bylaws in the nursing home could hopefully be drafted, strongly discouraging his return. It would leave the grumpy senior relatively happy, an old warhorse called again to the front, and the staff equally so, leaving any future rebellion of old ponies without leadership quite so capable.

“This,” said Friendly Face, “is perfect.”

* * *

“This,” said Zorada, “is perfect.” She looked over the letter again and smiled.

There was no amusing anecdote specific to the zebra's decision to leave her high-paying job which afforded her a great deal of influence and respect. She made her arrangements, paid her last month's rent, collected her few possessions, and headed toward the palace with all reasonable haste.

Perhaps she was just a patriot.

Wasn't that convenient?

4: Her reasoning was thus: while finding something and then returning it for a reward still counted as a good deed, stealing an item and then returning it for a reward ranged from 'extortion' to 'kidnapping', depending on what was 'found'.

5: The ponies of Equestria, it should be said, were basically good, but frighteningly literal.

6: This was actually true. A short-lived coup d'etat led by the librarians of Equestria had rendered illegal poor spelling and grammar, the re-shelving of books by patrons, and speaking loudly. Celestia, returning from vacation, had ended the takeover with grace and aplomb, noting that it had been 'a necessary chapter' in Equestrian history.

Chapter 3: In Which an Amusing Anecdote is Recounted, Cultural Differences are Discussed, and a Brawl Ensues

The typical formation of a new squad of the Guard would involve either training or a formal meeting; this was no typical formation, and it was not for a new squad of the Guard, so Luna, Shining Armour, and Paper Weight were unburdened by precedent. All of the gathered guardponies-to-be were trained as soldiers to greater or lesser extents, and all of them had some manner of expertise beyond that basic training.

While Icewine and Zorada had been in Canterlot already, and Hot Streak had actually been fired from her job the day that her summons had arrived, leaving her free to catch the next train into the capitol, it had taken some time for the other two to arrive. Sticky Wings had actually been in gaol, and Sharp Salute... Luna wasn't entirely clear on what had been going on with Sharp Salute. Someone had mentioned something about a siege situation, but the old soldier was retired, and certainly not doing mercenary work. How serious could it possibly have been?(7)

Thus, the ponies had arrived separately, and been briefed separately. Luna and Shining Armour had both wanted an opportunity to interview the ponies, to ensure that their eccentricities wouldn't pose too great a risk. The results had been mixed; Shining Armour had been more or less able to guarantee that in a more formal guard regiment, the candidates would have had mediocre success at best; for the task that they were genuinely being set to, Luna was convinced that she had made the right choices. Either way, they only had to hold out until the end of the fiscal year.

The candidates, for their part, had been variably enthusiastic about the task being set before them, but mostly pleasant and positive. Sticky Wings had been a trifle too defensive, frequently re-iterating her efforts to become a better pony. Icewine had begun staid and academic, but had turned out to be an expert at earthpony-style brawling, an artifact of having three younger siblings that had all been bigger than him. Hot Streak had actually impressed Luna with the raw power that she could conjure – the Princess of the Night had some inklings as to what to do to improve the unicorn's control. Sharp Salute had been coarse and gruff, but Shining Armour had approved of his discipline, and for his years, the earth pony had been in remarkably good shape. Zorada had been terse but polite, asking a few intelligent and relevant questions.

To allow the formative squad an opportunity to meet and greet, a small affair had been arranged; somewhere between a formal briefing and a cocktail party, with, Luna hoped, the best parts of each. It had even worked fairly well; for all that the ponies gathered were variably sociable, they all had begun with some common factor about which they could speak, and a not-unreasonable amount of free liquor helped to loosen tongues and allow the various ponies to speak slightly more freely.

At present, although Luna was slightly too distant to make out the exact words, Sharp Salute appeared to be sharing a story with the rest of the recruits. They were alternating smiling – occasionally laughing – and favouring Sharp Salute with looks of bemused horror, and the moon princess found herself wondering as to the contents of the anecdote. She moved slightly closer, the better to hear.

“And when they came to, the castle was on fire, half of the artefacts in the Museum of Natural History had exploded, and every piece of food in the royal kitchen that began with the letter 'L' had mysteriously vanished without a trace.” Sharp Salute finished with a bit of showman's flourish. “The Guard never did find out all of the details, but some of the boffins over at the Royal College said they figured it out, and ever since then, it's been illegal to make Clover the Clever's thirteenth formulation for cosmically good macaroni and cheese.”

This, Luna reflected, was the peril of eavesdropping. Not that you would hear things you hadn't wanted to – but rather, that you would hear only half of a story, and it would be socially awkward to ask how it had begun.

“I had wondered about that.” Icewine said thoughtfully. “It was already on the forbidden list when I was in Celestia's School, but they never did say why.” He shrugged. “I didn't even know you could do that with an extradimensional entity.”

Zorada, sipping her own drink – something that the alchemist had whipped up with a few minutes unsupervised access to the bar, and which was smoking lightly – laughed gently. “It is true, that the perils of magical cooking can have unexpected consequence. There are some memories I have of my own training that fairly accentuate the point.”

Sticky Wings tilted her head at Zorada. “Actually, regarding that... do you mind if I ask a personal question?”

The zebra shrugged assent. “I cannot guarantee a fruitful answer, but you are free to ask.”

“Well...” Sticky seemed to have second thoughts about the question, but continued anyway. “I've read a number of books about Zebrani culture, and at least a few adventure narratives with zebra main characters. And they all...” She decided to stop beating around the bush. “Why don't you rhyme when you speak?”

“Lazy writing.” Zorada gave a self-effacing smile.

Sticky blinked. “Beg pardon?”

“The books that you have read – I have likely read a number of them myself.” Zorada took a sip of her drink, looking unoffended and mostly at ease – it was not, after all, the first time that she had been asked the question. “It is true that the Zebrani language has a natural rhyming cadence, as a result of the way that it handles subject-verb agreement, and that there are zebra nationals who have a practised enough mastery of the Equestrian tongue to rhyme their speech regardless of the fact that Equestrian does not have the same structure. They will often do this as a way of keeping connected to their roots, and writers who wish to emphasize the distinction between our cultures use this language difference to demonstrate it. However, while I am fluent in your tongue, I am not a native speaker, nor so practised that I can easily form my thoughts into rhyming couplets.”

Hot Streak nodded thoughtfully. “I suppose that makes sense. I took a couple of years worth of Gryphaan lessons, but I'm not exactly able to write poetry in it.”

Zorada smiled. “Besides, many of the concepts that I have to convey in the course of my work are... difficult to set to a rhyme scheme. It is difficult to make the meter work for 'the amount of water hemlock that you have put into this face cream could kill three ponies and give a fourth organ troubles for the rest of their not-overlong life.”

This caused a slight lull in conversation. Luna decided to move in to fill it. It was refreshing to be the solution to an awkward moment, rather than the origin. “I am sure, Doctor Zorada, that we all appreciate your efforts.” Luna certainly did. The practice of adding potentially lethal ingredients to beauty products was hardly new – before the Nightmare Moon incident, there had been a pigment in mane-dyes that added a scintillating effervescence and also cut an average of twelve years off of the lifespan of a regular user.(8) The practice had modernized, but hardly gone extinct. “If I may interrupt the festivities a moment, now that you have been somewhat informally introduced, I wished to speak on the subject at hand – the task to which I intend to set this group.”

The pronouncement affected different ponies in different ways. Sharp Salute stood at a wary attention, the older pony graying at the temples but by no means deficient in the contents between them; he had been earmarked for a leadership position, and given a rough briefing, but was curious as to the contents of the more formal discussion. Icewine and Zorada were both curious, but for their own reasons affected expressions of studied bemusement – it never did to wear one's expression fully upon one's sleeve. Hot Streak was genuinely interested, but hadn't gone through the academic rigours that had trained the two scholars to guard their curiosity; she looked expectantly up at Luna. Sticky Wings was similar in interest, but there was an undercurrent of dread; formal announcements almost never seemed to end up going her way, and her curiosity was intermingled with an unspoken dread that had become so familiar as to be unnoticed.

Luna had considered sugar-coating a little bit – 'you're the best of what was available' did not tend to be the ego boost that one desired on the first day of the job – but had decided against it. Whether or not they were being seconded to the guarding of Equestria, the ponies gathered before her were being inducted into her personal guard, and lies, even well intended, did not become such a relationship well. The result of her labours – a speech that didn't fib, but also wasn't horrendously depressing – had been managed only with great effort and not a few late mornings with Paper Weight.

“I do not believe,” she began, “that it will come as any shock to anyone here that an alicorn princess of Equestria really doesn't need bodyguards. When, in ancient times, my sister and I went to war against outside threats, mountains were levelled and seas were boiled. If I have misled anyone with the belief that I am looking for any form of personal defense, you have my apologies. Neither have we any real need for an additional mundane constabulary. The Royal Guard serves well for Canterlot, as well some of you know, and the towns and cities outside of the capitol have their own policing forces. Nevertheless, you are officially members of my Lunar Guard, and it behoves me to welcome you as such. Welcome, to all of you.”

So far, so good. The assembled ponies looked variably flattered and thoughtful, and it occurred to Luna that it may indeed have been some time since any mortal pony had seen an alicorn cut loose with magic – the handful that had been in Ponyville for the Tirek incident notwithstanding. Probably best to keep it so.

“That being said,” Luna continued, “neither my sister nor I have any interest in being blunt instruments, and we can only attempt to contain those threats of which we are aware. The half-dozen or so near disasters that have occurred over the last year or so were as bad as they were because they were allowed to fester – or because safeguards that were meant to prevent such incidents either failed or were unaccountably absent. The former could have happened either through ignorance or negligence – I am told that few ponies had even heard of changelings outside of bedtime stories, prior to their invasion of Canterlot. The latter...” She let the pregnant pause hang, morning sick, in the air a moment, before resolving it. “It is the belief of myself and a few others that there is active malfeasance in Equestria, and that foreign or domestic powers are ultimately behind many of the problems we are now facing.”

She paused for effect, and was somewhat surprised by the lack of shock on most of the faces before her. Some thoughtfulness, perhaps – as if a question, long standing in the backs of some minds, had finally been resolved to the personal satisfaction of Icewine and Sharp Salute. Zorada actually looked nonplussed, but had a habit of not showing her emotions for general consumption, and Luna wasn't sure that she wasn't just misreading the enigmatic zebra's face. Sticky Wings had the expression of someone who had been bracing for one piece of bad news and had instead received a different one – Luna supposed that was the possible upside to what the pegasus' psych report had called 'a groundbreakingly pessimistic outlook'.

There was nothing to do but to move forward. “The service that you are being called upon is to uncover these cabals and conspiracies before they bear the fruit that is threatening our nation. If this program is successful, it will be expanded, with greater numbers and more extensive resources. If it is not...” Luna paused, as if considering, purely for effect – the elements of rhetoric had not greatly changed in a thousand years, simply the details. “If not, then there is little harm in trying.” A fond smile, to her little ponies. “Are there any questions?”

Perhaps surprisingly, it was one of Sticky's hooves that shot into the air. Luna considered telling the pegasus that hoof-raising was not required, but then, it kept everyone from talking at once, and it was polite. “Yes, Miss Wings?”

“Not that I'm trying to put us all out of work or anything, your highness, but aren't a few short blasts of weaponized friendship usually the ticket when it comes to this sort of problem?” Sticky didn't seem to be happy to be asking the question, but there was approval in the eyes of Icewine – a school teacher would appreciate that line of inquisition.

Luna smiled. “That certainly has worked on many of the recent problems. That said, we are hoping to try to forestall these problems entirely, and possibly even to treat the underlying problem, rather than the symptoms. Anything else?”

Sharp Salute asked about organization structure, which necessitated the bringing of charts. The members of the Night Watch – Luna had decided to revive an old title, from her previous reign – would be of approximately equal rank, but specific duties would be assigned to specific ponies based on experience and merit. Luna would be the de facto commander, but as her duties as a princess would often preclude a hooves on approach, Sharp Salute would serve as a de jure leader, and handle the day-to-day operations. Icewine and Zorada would serve as analysts and researchers, with Icewine doing double duty on enforcement with Hot Steak, who was also the team nurse. Sticky Wings, in addition to areal reconnaissance, would serve as the team's quartermaster.

There was not precisely friction, but a certain amount of sizing up, as the ponies reassessed one another from a professional rather than social standpoint. Sharp Salute's military record was above reproach, but a scuffle nearly broke out when Hot Streak asked if the greying pony might be a bit old for this sort of thing. Icewine served as the voice of reason, until Sticky Wings mentioned that he might be a little small to act in an enforcement role, leading to a fully realized scuffle. Luna was briefly impressed with the way that the diminutive unicorn had managed to tackle the flying pegasus out of the air from a standing start, and made a brief mental note to ask Icewine if he might be willing to teach some of those Earth Pony style martial arts moves to the rest of the team.

They weren't perfect, but they were a lot better than she had feared. Rather than a fractured mob, they were... well, in all truth, they were a mob, but there was a chemistry to them that Luna could see working. It had been one thing to pull a hoof full of names from a stack of dossiers, and to say that she felt there might be something to them. Watching Zorada and Hot Streak prise Icewine off of Sticky, Luna could actually see that there was something. Certainly not harmony – but what were the odds that a few random ponies would have that level of connection the first time they met? Perhaps with time, they might grow into that, but for now, not harmony, but a joyful noise.

A noise of family.

Paper Weight, Shining Armour, and Luna were sitting in Pony Joe's Doughnut Shop, enjoying a coffee and doughnut each. Shining Armour was holding a cold compress to his eye, which would not quite forestall a shiner that was forming beneath it, the wages of an attempt to break up the all-out brawl that had broken out amongst the recruits. Seeing, if not recognizing, an outsider attempting to pull them apart, the team had unexpectedly closed ranks against the outside invader. An errant hoof to the eye had been the only scrape that a quick and liberally applied healing spell hadn't been able to mend almost instantaneously, and Luna, when she had finished tallying up the score, had pulled everyone apart.(9)

“To paraphrase Duke Wellington Boots,” Shining began, “I don't know what they're going to do to the enemy, but that mob of yours sure scares the crap out of me.” His hoof moved up to touch his eye, but hard won experience dropped it again. Rubbing it would not help.

Luna smiled broadly. “I know! Is it not wonderful?” Her doughnut was daintily nibbled, her coffee greedily glugged.

Shining arched an eyebrow, then winced. “I might quibble about your definition of wonderful.” It hadn't been 'striking a superior officer', since he was officially retired from the guard and wasn't in their chain of command. Barring a desire for an international incident, it had been filed under 'the sort of accident that happens sometimes, and don't do it again'. No particularly hard feelings, although it did lead Shining to wonder if he was losing his edge a little bit. Roughhousing amongst the guard was a pretty old tradition, and his favourite part of participating had always been winning.

Luna shrugged. “They are still a little rough around the edges.” That particular choice of words had been suggested by Paper Weight on the walk over, and Luna had adopted it with speed that would have made the fastest of the Wonderbolts blush. “But once the fires were put out, they all seemed quite enthusiastic about the challenges that lay ahead, and did you see the way that they moved to defend one another once the threat became external?”

“I confess,” deadpanned Shining Armour, “the Day Guard never destroyed a conference room that quickly.” A pause. “The Hearths Warming party doesn't count. No matter what the papers said.”

Luna grinned hugely. “So, what you're saying is, my personal guard is much more interesting than Celestia's? How delightful.” She mused for a moment. “I wonder if there is an appropriate greeting card to send to her, to emphasize this point? Something tasteful.” She turned to her secretary. “If you find time in the next few days, Paper Weight, could you look into it?”

“Of course, your highness.”

Luna nodded. “Right then. Tonight, we shall let them sleep it off. Tomorrow, we put them to work. The presentation of the levy is scheduled for the first of next month. I know that it may take some fine tuning, and they may or may not be equal to the challenge, but I find myself cautiously optimistic. Once we get some little victories, we can move to big victories, and once we get some big victories...” She savaged the last doughnut in the box, washing it down with the balance of her coffee. “There will be no stopping us!”

“Soon, there shall be no stopping us!” Somewhat more ominously, but almost simultaneous to Luna's declaration, came the voice of a hooded pony, to a large but intimate group of similarly hooded ponies. Their garb, coupled with the flickering candles, and generally 'occult' decor(10) might lead one to believe that this was either the meeting of a dark cabal, or at least a college fraternity that took itself way too seriously. This is shameful stereotyping. For all that you might know, gentle reader, it could have been unseasonably chilly in the dark room, prompting a long, warm, hooded cloak. The decor might be left over from Nightmare Night. Do you see what happens when you snap to judgement?

“Yes, my brother! The Order of the Golden Scoop shall return the monsters of old, and our rise to power shall be unchallenged!” Then again, some snap judgements are occasionally accurate.

The first pony to speak sneered. “Those fools in the Castle think that their governance keeps ponies from falling to chaos? Let them see how quickly their illusions vanish when they are tried sorely by our machinations.”

“All hail the Golden Scoop!”

7: The exclusion of the siege of Happy Pastures from the history books would, in a fair world, have been viewed as a disgrace; good ponies, who had their entire lives ahead of them, had received thorough pastry-related drubbings, and could thereafter never again walk past a dessert table without pause.

8: The origin of the phrase 'drop dead gorgeous'. Luna had always admired the expression for its cold-blooded dedication to its play on words, the sort of pun that knifed you in the stomach several times before tittering and capering off.

9: The more curiously minded reader may wonder how the brawl had tallied up. Honourable mention had been given to Zorada, who had kept a level head, and had only joined the fight due to proximity. MVP had been awarded to Hot Streak, for raw property damage and managing to avoid actually setting anyone on fire. Shining Armour had been edged out for outright loss by the boardroom, which took 15605 bits worth of damage in a little under seven minutes. This, after much persuading, Paper Weight had charged to Princess Luna's entertainment fund, since it was broadly accurate.

10: Dribbly candles and rocks carved into vague skull-shapes, a bunch of intricate chalk markings on the floor, and wall-hangings dangerously close to the candles. Most competent unicorn magi could have told those gathered that almost none of this was necessary, and that it might constitute a fire hazard, or at least a tripping one.

Author's Notes:

Kind words and a heartfelt request have encouraged me to put this chapter up for popular consumption, but it may yet face some further editing. Thank you to all who have encouraged the writing - this chapter took a little while to gain momentum.