Author's Notes:

So here is the sequel of 'To See Both Faces', and I cannot stress how important it is to read the first in order to understand the world this is set in. In short: Anthro ponies are tastefully nudists. No rude or explicit material will be described in this story. If you wish to see how this works, again, read the previous one.

As always, please comment and like if you favourite. Feedback is always welcomed. And now back to the story...

The Canterlot Gardens were alive with both flora and fauna. Such a thing was common.

Stone paths lead the way like pebbled streams passing through rich green embankments, flowing under vine-entwined arches. Trees lined the way, shrubs blossoming with fragrant flowers, and in between, all manners of creatures roamed this animal sanctuary. It was where pony and nature connected; aged and tended statues were scattered, depicting historic beings of great importance; flowers from distant lands, of bizarre shapes, of unique magical potential, flooded the hills and mazes that was Princess Celestia’s back yard.

In a small corner, not too far from the rear entrance that the guards used to the castle, stood a newer garden within this public domain. It wasn’t official, nothing here was, but ponies knew the maze portion, ponies knew of the garden party sector, and ponies knew of the alchemy patches.

Yes, ponies with permission could grow mystical plants in certain areas of this patch of land. One would need to see Her Majesty of course, as not just any plant could be plotted here. A large portion of the land had been bestowed to the alchemists of Canterlot, and the castle managed to make a hefty profit on either renting the land out or selling such rare plants.

It was in here, inside a gazebo shaded from the sun by the tall hedge and over hanging trees, that Ser Vincent was sat without his mask.

He was in his usual garb; viridian long coat, earthly pants, freshly cleaned boots. A new pair of gloves sat on the table next to him as worked, as did the metal stallion mask that stared down the long path. Both were in pristine condition. Beneath the coat was a darker woodland shirt, a simple white waist coat brightening his chest. He seemed to have fully recovered, his bruises and cuts nearly all vanished, his jaw and chin freshly shaven. The green eyed human combed his timber locks to sweep to the side, his silvered finger tips returning to mar the white table. A shortened pencil was laid to rest as he regarded the book before him with small smile.

He had finished recuperating from his month long slog of various death defying missions. He had little time to fulfil his little hobby of drawing his missions. Vincent usually took three days to get his pictures to an ideal standard, and quite frankly, they were very decent. He had just finished the background, composed of a farm, for a forest-minx of insectoid appearance. Now he’d try to recall what stood out the most.

It slinked with a feline grace but growled and hissed with a chitin tongue. Blue? Yes, the two pairs of beady eyes filled with hunger were definitely one of the first things that came to mind when he reminisced about the attack and his victory. Aqua saliva, slick and seeping from small mandibles were what came next. The body? Well, the plates moved as one, but were not teal or of similar shade. They would be coloured graphite.

Ser Vincent reached for the large art case with his multitude of colours, and found them to have been slid towards him.

“Eurgh… I hate cats.” He gave an amused huff as his mother turned away to sip from her tea cup.

She had a scholarly air, scented with a fragrant perfume. Golden locks fell to shoulder length, curling upon a scarlet dress. It was silver trimmed and buttoned, befitting the diamond studded earrings. With a wry smile on her ageless features, the elder women looked to him with jade eyes behind thin glasses. Her accent was strange, or English as it actually was, but it was gentle and catching the Canterlot cadence. It was more off-key Trottingham and he’d been told he had something similar himself.

“It’s not just a cat, mother.” His mirth spurned her to lean back.

“God, don’t tell me it can fly as well.” She placed her tea upon its saucer, her tailored pearl-white gloves falling to her lap. They were made for humans with five digits, not ponies with three. “Allergies and arachnophobia… I guess Satan couldn’t settle with putting raisins in cookies.”

“No, it’s still more cat-like than anything else.”

“Cats are evil things, Vinnie. I bet it lays eggs in its victims.”

“Just the one.”

“I knew it.” She then belched into her palm, something that seemed to take her by surprise. “Oh, pardon me.” She giggled, an aged and fine laughter brought about like wine. He smiled with an arched brow. “Roman military, renaissance landscape, and Victorian styles, and the one thing that’s constant throughout history are manners.”

Roaman… Similar to the small Equestrian county where traveling ships docked in the country of Gryphonia, but spelt with the one ‘A’. Victorian England. His parents were English, and so was his heritage, but the Victorian aspect was a historical period. Ancient Eegipt, British Rarj, Common Wealth… all names of time references belonging to him that he won’t ever understand.

Names of the fantastic marvels his people have created, names of harsh times his people pushed through, and names of machines operating at such an extent that if not for his mother and father he’d believed to be of a different magic altogether. But that’s what they were to the boy growing up in another world. Just sounded syllables and streaks of ink he could read. Still, it was nice.

“Don’t ever change, mother.”

Honestly, he couldn’t imagine her any other way. Nor did he want to. She was already good with etiquette and in love with living in Canterlot. Again, the ‘Victorian charm but late twentieth century society’ was her favourite description of his everyday world.

“So which job was that?” For someone who hated cats her eyes could narrow like an irked one. “Out of the fifty or so that left you paralysed in your bed for nine days.”

‘I could talk and eat and… bite that tongue Vincent, bite that tongue.’

“Well since you asked, it was the third of eleven. A pack of mantis cats had found refuge in the farming fields of Hoofendover. All fifteen of them.” He sighed, already knowing where this was going. He reached for his own brew: tea, two sugars, milk, and a hint of ginger.

“Eleven…” She shook her head in dismay, raising a gloved hand to her forehead. “What on earth were you thinking?” One eye, as sharp as a malachite dagger, bore into him. A mother’s sorrow could plunge deep into the hearts of their children, and Vincent was no different. He loved his mother, and he understood that it scared her at times to hear how he lay sieged to villainous beings, pony or otherwise, who could just as easily strike him with lightning or a sword.

But he was content where he worked to the best of his ability, and everypony knew about it. Here he was well respected, here ponies knew of him and his monumental accomplishments. He was carving his own history for humanity here in Equestria.

“Looking back I can see that I pushed myself a bit too far.” She huffed with frustration. He still continued. “But I proved I was capable of doing it all till the last.”

“Speaking of which…” his mother began, changing topic as smoothly as a cat slinks around its prey. He winced, eyes clenching as he realised the pitfall trap he had managed to avoid all week had finally caught him.

“Oh no you don’t!” She stood up, her chair grinded out from under her as she leant over the table. With a deft hand, she hooked her fingers over the neck obscuring cloth and under the shirt. She brought her son closer over the table, meeting his frown. “You’ve been dodging this long enough, so now out with it!”

She wasn’t strong by any means. Heck, she was chest height. But he couldn’t help but obey and not resist.

“Or else you’re grounded.”

“I’m almost twenty five.” He replied flatly.

“And I’m not getting any younger!” He kept silent, his honest face almost stoic save for the glint of smug indifference in his eye. She could squawk all she wanted, she could channel her maternal rage all day, but such things wore out as he aged.

“Mother—mo—mum, please calm down.” Her thin-lipped glare remained as her fingers slipped out. “I’d rather not talk about the details.” He sat back in his seat, glancing to the mask with discomfort.

Ponyville. He had mixed feeling about that town and it showed upon his face with every feature-shifting thought. On the one hand it was an easy success, paling against the gryphon mercenaries pestering caravans. To him, however, it was another reminder of how varied ponies could be.

Like all the other rare instances of being exposed, there was screaming, there was fighting. Save for the accusations it was very typical. He’d once escorted a group of nobles through a mountain path, the detour being rushed due to the pursuing tribe of sasquatch. A harsh enough butt of the head against their rock-like forehead broke off the muzzle. Being suspected of luring those he had been protecting of preparing to dine on their flesh was rather disheartening to say the least.

They did thank him but it was half-hearted and mostly in fear of him as well as looking ungrateful to their peers and Celestia. He’s only ever seen them at functions when he was guarding the prince.

Before all that, before the mask? Surge of melancholy and spite boiled within him as he recalled days, weeks, and months on end where nopony took him seriously. He was either another problem posing as a knight or something to be feared. There was always one pony who cooperated. They told him what needed to be done. Then Vincent was gone, walking between the curious ponies that bombarded him with questions of his people, and those that questioned his authority.

But… Ponyville had something happen that had never happened before. Miss Rarity’s shrill scream rung in his ears the following morning he awoke, hers and the other Element’s frightful stares floating adrift in his mind. Not the best of mornings, to be certain.

Yet, he found an odd warmth to the cake Pinkie Pie had given, long after the delicious treat had gone cold on the train ride home. The sweet scent of Miss Fluttershy’s shampoo was uplifting as he recalled her kindly tending to his wounds, his mind now drawn to the fresh plaster spanning the bridge of his nose. It was an odd sensation, akin to how one becomes aware of the weight of their chest whilst breathing. Miss Rarity’s silken touch on his bare face as she apologised within the hour, seemingly more hurt than he. Then again he tried not to take such things to heart, he was more angry than upset about losing his mask. He recalled the small fillies that disregarded his appearance and welcomed him, the little white one inquiring if he was okay.

It felt so wrong. He doubted he would draw anything for that little town, haven forgotten a reason to return in the first place. He could draw the blasted ogres that he put a stop to, but without a reason to head back to Ponyville it wouldn’t be the same. All he could remember was how the locals looked at him.

“Hey!” A click of the fingers brought him back to his mother standing with her arms folded across her chest. “Given that you spaced out there, you must have been thinking real hard about that little town.” He waved her off.

“It’s just a small town. If it wasn’t for the apple farm and Princess Twilight then it wouldn’t have any other worth of mention.” He said diplomatically as she reached down to her ivory tea cup. “The locals were probably wonderful ponies, and I regret dragging the ogres towards them.” He sighed as she shook her head, a tired and saddened expression taking her features. “If I had known that it would put the Elements of Harmony in harm’s way then—“

“Then you would have confronted the ogres back at the dog den and potentially clawed back in a worse state than you already were in.” Entering from a path to the right came Prince Blueblood. If memory served Ser Vincent correctly, then he had returned the evening before from Baltimare after a decisive meeting in regards to further establishing guards into the south. He fired a merry grin towards Vincent’s mother.

“Good afternoon, Lady Costello, I—“

“Abubub!” She cut off with something she would call a Cheshire cat smile. Whether those cats could grin in such a predatory manner was something Vincent was glad he’d never find out. To this the prince chuckled, shaking his head.

“Forgive me— ahem-- good evening, Emily.” She beamed her own smile, eyes closed as she migrated round to Vincent’s side, her gloved hand trailing the table edge for guidance.

“Good afternoon to you too, Little Blueykins.” Ser Vincent hid a small smirk behind his cup. His jade sight glanced to the splayed-eared, eye-shrunk, grin-strained, mask His Majesty wore and he chuckled into his beverage.

Given how his parents were quarantined to the castle upon arrival, both Ser Vincent’s father and mother wound up getting to know Celestia, and after eight months, other members of royalty. His parents, it is said, got along swimmingly, despite his father’s small town charm. Or rather, because of it. Especially with Princess Celestia and Prince Blueblood’s parents.

Even after the year of being kept to the castle, the two made it a point to keep in touch with both Celestia and Blueblood’s parents, though the latter met up with their human friends once a year. It was said to a joyous occasion too. Vincent didn’t really see much of Prince Blueblood growing up.

So when Blueblood came to be, Emily Costello was quick to give him a nickname that stuck. It wasn’t even as if he could convince her to stop given that his own mother also endorsed the name… his own mother has foal photos of him with a bib bearing that title in gold embroidery.

“I don’t suppose you’re here to tell my son to play safely now?” She asked, resting a hand on Ser Vincent’s shoulder. Any other time she’d simply let him be, but whenever Vincent returned more beaten, bruised, and burnt than usual, she always confronted Prince Blueblood at the earliest.

“He isn’t the one to delegate missions to the board, mother,” Ser Vincent piped up. He rested a hand on top of hers, looking up to her. “The threats go through the knight captain before being passed to the knight commanders and then they’re posted for us to pick from.” With a soothing plight in his eyes, Vincent continued with small smile. “What His Grace had ordered me to do was below my usual threat band and rank, easy recruit work for even the royal guard.”

With a flat stare his mother spoke.

“You mean to say you would have chosen a tougher job?”

“Absolutely.” Vincent visibly flinched under Emily’s fearsome glare. It was at this point Prince Blueblood stepped in with platinum horseshoes.

“He’s correct,” he said whilst drawing attention to an expensive looking briefcase. “I assure you, Emily that I had no idea that the mission to Ponyville would turn out the way it did.” Prince Blueblood then moved to plant his briefcase on the table top, mindful of his knight’s personal effects.

“I don’t suppose this means he’s back to business?” She inquired with bitterness lightly lacing her voice. Vincent for his part leant forward, sitting up straight and placing his hands on his knees. His attention was solely on the prince.

“I’m afraid so,” Blueblood replied with faint smile, “Fret not, its guard duty with a small matter. It should be brief.” It was then that Blueblood glanced down towards Vincent, regarding him with an apprehensive look. With an arched brow and a habitual tilt of the head, he witnessed His Majesty regard his mother with wilted ears and a contrasting hopeful smile. “I think it’s finally time for outpostings, Lady Costello.”

Vincent felt his mother’s hand slip off his shoulder, and when he looked up to her he found a studious mask had taken her. Yes, though she looked as curious as he, his mother had tell-tale signs; she gripped her scarlet skirt with her clenched hand, swallowed a dry throat, and bit her lip when looked away in deep thought. Something had her nervous.

“It’s time to get you back to work.” Clarity took Vincent’s features at the prince’s words.

‘Ah, so that’s what it was.’ She always treated his departures as if they were the last. Nothing new with any guard that’s sent out, but given that Vincent was still recuperating he could see why she’d still be worried. Still, the prince knew he was only nine-tenths of the way to prime condition so he doubted he’d be doing anything strenuous.

“Then I’ll leave you to it, Bluey.” Blueblood’s tail lashed as the rest of him jerked and froze with a toothy smile. She laughed as she leant down and lovingly hugged her son across his broad shoulders. His mother was short, something that she’d whine about in jest as he grew up. “Stay safe and… try not to be so stubborn.”

He grimaced with embarrassment when she planted a kiss atop his head, his body instinctively leaning away. She chuckled as her grip slipped as she walked away.

“Make sure you visit! Your dad wants to make dinner for us all. Feel free to drop by as well, Your Highness. The more the merrier for him.” Vincent’s mother kept the pet names to private corners and low volumes, out of earshot to preserve some dignity.

“I may just do that. Farewell.” Prince Blueblood waved back alongside Ser Vincent, and as she turned a corner, he took a seat. With an exasperated sigh the prince shook his head. “I swear, anypony else but her.”

“So what’s the problem?” Ser Vincent was quick to ask, his eyes locked onto the briefcase.

“No problem as such,” Prince Blueblood dismissed with a flick of his hand, “Simply a bit of bodyguard work as I continue my meeting with the mare who is helping me set up a few outposts. Nice and easy for you.” Ser Vincent heard the briefcase unlock as His Majesty horns sparkled to life. The knight also cocked a brow.

“Outposts but no barracks?”

“I have plans for a forward barracks in Appleloosa, Equestria’s forerunner in its expansion to the south. Trouble is, it doesn’t have a direct line to Canterlot, only having the one railroad to Tailington. Even that only branches off to two other towns. Transportation is key here. For now I’m planning to post sentries in most towns, perhaps members of the reserve guards mixed in to bulk numbers. It would help a few I know of who are unhappy with living in Canterlot and also make room for less incompetent fools.”

Blueblood seemed to magic out some papers to shuffle but his eyes wandered to the open book depicting the bug-cat. He grimaced before shaking away the expression, looking the Ser Vincent with a curious stare.

“You know, I’m rather interested in what you drew for the last mission, Ser Knight.” Vincent folded his arms and tilted his head.

“Really? Well then.” He closed the book before folding his arms once more. “I’m sorry to disappoint you but I’ve not yet drawn anything of Ponyville.” He offered a shrug and his voice shifted to one that would suggest dismay at missing a once in a lifetime opportunity, “I found the dangerous element but no matching half, no place I want to go back to see.” Ser Vincent’s face betrayed him. It was clear he didn’t wish to return to Ponyville, and it wasn’t difficult to recall why.

Prince Blueblood simply smiled.

“Well then, the Fates are certainly kind to the both of us.” Ser Vincent tilted his head, apprehension written across his face. “The mare I’m meeting is Princess Twilight Sparkle, at her home in Golden Oaks library.”

Blueblood regarded the knight coolly as a small glare sprouted forth, the jaw also clenching. Vincent swallowed and took a deep breathe, never losing eye contact but slowly releasing the shock and fear that rattled his heart. Malachite eyes fell upon the mask and he steadily reached for it before regarding his prince in an icy manner. The Prince had no worries in how Vincent looked to him and bluntly ignored it.

“I’ll be sure to allow you some time to yourself—you know how these things go time wise—so feel free to… find the thing worth returning to Ponyville for, just keep in mind I would like to return on time, so don’t get lost.”

With jade eyes as cold as the very stone, Vincent replied.

“So when do we leave?”