Rarity stood by the bow of the ship, taking in a moment to appreciate the beauty of the ocean, an action she had not been able to do for the past few days thanks to Jack.

Though, frankly, who doesn’t know they get seasick? she wondered with a roll of her eyes.

At least the earth-folk was asleep now—medicine she had kept down kept her down. Rarity hadn’t realized a side-effect of the pill Jack had swallowed included drowsiness—and with her traveling partner asleep, she took the time to herself to think, to plot to… to not roll her eyes at the sparse decorations of the ship. The bare-chested mermaid at the bow reinforced the tacky nature of the ship. They could've at least went with something more presentable. An eagle, perhaps? Or a swan? Perhaps a trout—well, if trout lived in saltwater. Taking a freshwater fish out into the ocean would be bad luck. Probably. One of the seamen they were traveling with said that women on a ship were bad luck in the first place, so perhaps a trout would make a terrible choice, doubling their misfortune.

Turning away from the decoration, she put her thoughts into what work needed to be done. The most obvious, of course, was to contact Ms. Pommel at the shop, check inventory with her and see if there were any orders that Rarity could work on while on the road, as it were. She didn’t take two suitcases worth of fabrics, dyes and gems for no reason, after all. Saving the world or not, one had to make time for their passion.

So, you’re saving the world, then? she questioned herself.

With no obvious answer at hand, Rarity sighed.

Celestia’s approach to keeping the peace, despite the woman’s virtuous heart, keen intelligence and impeccable fashion sense, was something Rarity disliked. Celestia was still a human being, and human beings made mistakes, even with the best, noblest intentions in mind. Jack was being obtuse about the situation, unable to see what the issue was with Celestia gaining power.

It was like Jack forgot all the laws she skirted, toyed with, or outright broke in order to protect her. If there was some person able to watch over everything, then Jack would be just as guilty in the eyes of the law as the instigators.

But would the situation have even happened if there had been someone like Celestia watching?

The thought gave her pause and she felt her lips tighten upon not having a clear-cut answer.

Leaning against the railing of the ship, Rarity frowned, frustrated. She was a proactive woman—one had to be if one had grand dreams, after all—and so the thoughts constantly battling within her like two stray mutts over a piece of meat was maddening with no outlet to express herself with.

Oh darling, she chided herself, you have an outlet for just such a thing.

That she did now, and she moved across the wooden deck of the ship and to the bedroom to do just that. Opening the door, she saw Jack, still in bed, the sheets thrown about across the floor from her tossing and turning in discontent, and still within a troubled sleep, judging by the grimace the earth-folk carried. Rarity put the back of her palm to Jack’s forehead.

No fever.

Pleased with this, Rarity rolled the blankets up over Jack’s body once more, then, after brushing the woman’s blonde, beautiful bangs away from her face, she planted a kiss on Jack’s forehead.

It dawned on her more what she was doing; Rarity realized with a small blush that she was acting more a mother than a wife to Jack at the moment.

Emotionally, they’re not so far apart, darling, she tried to convince herself. At their peak, their paragon, they embody the lady, after all: knowledgeable, gentle, delicate, impeccable bedside manner, and faithful to whoever they dedicated their lives to.

She coyly smiled, watching Jack’s chest rise and fall with each breath, the mermaid from the ship’s deck looking pathetic in comparison to every movement of Jack’s body, unrestrained by her usual clothing.

The farmer was mesmerizing to Rarity, mentally, of course, but also physically in her own way. Though she was not conventionally beautiful, Rarity had grown to appreciate Jack’s body and now saw her broad shoulders and narrow hips belonging to a seductive dance of flesh that the tailor only barely managed to fight against joining, Jack sick or not.

Admittedly, the wife gets the better deal, considering her dedication sometimes comes with more, er, fringe benefits.

Putting aside her unladylike thoughts on what they could be doing if Jack were on solid ground and promising to revisit them with the farmer when they found dry land, she moved past Jack, towards their equipment. They all hoped they would have no real use on the trip, but it was reliable security.

Rarity’s eyes first came to focus on Jack’s armor.

There was a sense of pride that swelled in Rarity as she looked at the armor, at her own handiwork.

It was a practical beauty, with minimal room for weakness, housing pauldrons, a gorget, knee guards, gloves—a full suit. Within its layers were chainmail—a gift from a metal-working companion Rarity had collaborated with for many-a year regarding jewelry and bangles. Though he had, admittedly, raised a brow when she had first requested it—magically enhanced chainmail, the power within it dulling the elements, dampening and cooling the heat generated within, alongside dispelling the chill of winter.

Rarity trailed a finger down, feeling its texture, smooth, hard, and so deeply-oiled no sun would crack it, past its chest, scarred and stitched back with precision, over the shortsword, still easily sheathed diagonally across the stomach, a testament to Jack’s width and height, down to the groin, where a fur loincloth sat over the crotch, the one fashion statement Rarity insisted on—what was once a solid piece of leather now sat an opening similar to a coin-purse, tied together by string, for the less… glamorous aspect of life. It was too risky on the field to completely remove her bottom just to use the facilities, so Rarity had made a few changes to the original piece that had existed beforehand.

At the back of the armor was a half-scabbard. The weapon Jack carried was too large to unsheath properly during an ambush, so Rarity had made one for Jack that held only the last quarter of the weapon, with a simple strip of buttoned cloth supporting towards the handguard.

It was funny to her: she didn’t know why exactly the armor drew her in this much this morning. It wasn’t like she never saw the thing in the house, after all.

You have time invested into it to, do you not? she asked herself.

It was true. She had slaved over the suit almost as much time as Jack had worn it, had stitched up every tear into it, had performed every improvement, listened to every comment Jack made on it, created it as a testament that even an article of war, a paragon of practicality, could have some standard of beauty, of uniform design.

Giving it one more appraising look, she felt content with its appearance for the moment and moved a few steps over, where the second part of Jack’s equipment sat.

Jack’s sword. Durandal. A gift from Iron Will. It was a beast of a blade, standing as tall as Jack’s temple and made, from what Rarity understood, generations ago, even before Arthur’s time on earth, using a metal-folding technique the Norfolk had practiced throughout history. Even by the Norfolk’s standard, the sword was made by a master; despite the immeasurable years the blade had to hold within it and the countless battles, the weapon held no nicks, scrapes or cracks. It remained as steadfast and single-minded as Jack herself.

If Rarity hadn’t seen first-hand the results of the fights Jack went on, the idea would be almost painfully romantic: a gallant lady-knight, a divine blade blessed by the hands of a master and, of course, the innocent princess that stole the knight’s heart.

But she had seen what battles did to Jack, the earth-folk now snapping to attention the instant loud or unnatural noises sprang to life around her, or how she withdrew at times after long days away from the farm and talked about the creatures she had seen and work she had done only when forced. Rarity was becoming quite adept at gauging Jack’s thoughts and how she needed to express them. The soul-folk only tended to quiz Jack when she thought the farmer needed to get something out.

Even with the occasionally antisocial behavior, Rarity knew her and Jack were lucky. She had heard more than one tale of soldiers returning to home changed completely. Her Jack, no matter how much she changed superficially, would never have her core altered. Rarity wouldn’t swear on much, but she would swear on Jack.

She pushed herself away from the greatsword and moved to her own weapon.

It had been a few months into the marriage that Rarity decided on training with a blade. Jack had been reluctant, but not outright refusing. The earth-folk seemed to understand why Rarity wanted it. They had both been so lucky last time, they couldn’t afford to be complacent now by assuming they were invincible.

Rarity took grasp of the saber locked within its blue sheath and pulled, drawing it with the song of metal meeting metal as it escaped the rim of the sheath.

Jack had been a wonderful teacher, instructing Rarity on parries, feints, proper one-handed stances and striking motions. Thrusts, admittedly, Rarity had to perform independent study on—Jack’s use of heavier weapons limited her skill at thrusts—but other than that, Jack had succeeded at making Rarity respectable with a sword.

She took the weapon and turned, intending to head back upstairs, when she was stopped by a mirror. As she expected, a part of her bangs were out of place and with an irritated tsk, she brushed it back, making it look magnificent once more.

Running her eyes over the mirror, the soul-folk took stock of her body.

Lean was a word that she never thought she’d describe herself with, but lean was what she had became. Her stomach showed more than a hint of definition, as were the muscles on her arms and legs, no doubt from the work she had done on the farm, alongside the training Jack had gave her with a weapon. The thought came with an indifference that would've left her younger self flabbergasted.

But she had no reason to really be disgusted by what she saw. The leanness did nothing to adversely affect her womanly grace. Her breasts remained as pert and proportioned as before, and the muscle definition had seemed to enhance the curve and widening of her voluptuous hips from her waist. If anything, perhaps, the tone fit with her height. Though she was far from a giant compared to all of the Apple kin, a woman, a soul-folk woman at that, hardly ever reached five feet and six inches, yet here she was at a hair’s breadth over six feet. She, truthfully, was envious of Chylene. The sky-folk was the perfect height for a model or whatever you wished to do as an exceptionally talented and well-presented woman. Rarity herself, while she could wear heels, she knew there was only so much she could do in order to keep her elegance.

That thought brought her to who Chylene was dancing with the other night.

Gilda.

Rarity was trying to remain neutral on the woman, but it was difficult. She had every reason to not trust the griffon-folk. Every reason. Yet…

Yet if Jack was willing to forgive her transgressions, she should too.

She sighed.

There you are once more, thoughts swimming about with no answer, she thought, irritated.

Unable to stand her neutrality on several subjects, she returned to the deck, blade in hand.

Grasping it, she clasped it with a practiced hand as her other held lower, cupping at the pommel and with a flick of her wrist she swung, cutting in an arc across the air. It was foolish, but she liked to imagine the issues giving her trouble, the small things like taxes, filing forms for gem acquisition when she was unable to find her own, having to do physical labor around the farm, and the big things like her reason for standing here now, everything was lined up. All her problems meticulously cut with the precision only someone used to pin-point accuracy with their hands could accomplish.

“You were honestly the last person I thought I’d ever see with a weapon,” a familiar voice said. Rarity turned her head, catching sight of Spike.

“Mmm,” she wordlessly agreed, paying him no mind as she continued the motion of her sword, graceful and elegant even while watched. The boy had watched her work for years, ever since Twila and herself entered the school for soul-folk magic training together. Rarity trusted the boy and his views in almost the same level as Jack’s. She trusted the boy and, as she chewed her lower lip in thought, she decided to ask him a question.

“What do you think of being out here, darling?” Rarity questioned

“Well,” Spike thought for a moment, putting his hand to a chin. Rarity, for a brief flight of fancy, felt an overwhelming sense of affection for the boy.

Man, she corrected herself.

She had always seen him in a way she had assumed Twila had: a younger brother or even so far as to be almost a son, depending on what day you asked them, and right now she had a sort of swelling pride as she looked at him. The closest thing she could relate it to was the when one of her pieces was shown on a walkway in Manhattan. The thought of an inconspicuous concept within her mind growing to be something that awed the world was something that pleased her greatly about her job. In the same way, Spike had grown and matured into a good man, naive—as seemed to be the trend with the friends Rarity held—though he was smart enough to know when he was.

“Celestia should know what to do with it, uh, shouldn’t she?” he finally questioned. “If it helps the country, I’m for it.”

“Mmm,” Rarity answered. “I… perhaps I’m simply too jaded as of late.”

“And maybe you’re right to be,” Spike replied with a shrug. “I don’t know. I just know her personally, I don’t know if her, uh, policies are good.”

Rarity slowly paced across the deck, a frown on her face. “I have no doubt that she’s a good woman, Spike. But…”

“But you don’t want anyone hovering over what you’re doing. You’ve never been one to just, you know, go how people tell you to do. And Celestia with the grail would do just that.” He scratched at his hair. “Or could. I guess it’d just depend on how she wanted to do things.”

“I see,” Rarity remarked. She continued her motions for a while longer, twisting, countering an unseen specter, striking out with thrusts and disorienting blows until, finally, she was spent and she sheathed the sword, wiping at the sweat on her face. “Oh, heavens. I should get a shower to freshen up. I’ll see you later on today, darling.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “See you then.”

Stepping downstairs, Rarity vanished, leaving Spike alone. He wandered to the starboard side of the ship and took a moment to himself.

Rarity had seemed… disappointed wasn’t the right word for her look. Rather, Spike thought that maybe she was more disheartened. Before Rarity had Jack, Spike would of probably followed after the soul-folk until she’d finally give in and admit she had a problem, rather than this sort of evasiveness she was fond of doing.

Now though? She had someone. Someone really special. Spike thought that if it was anyone else, anyone he knew that wouldn’t go to the ends of the earth for the woman, he’d be bitter. Not for himself, at least he didn’t think, he had Diane, one of the best girls in the world, but for Rarity not striving for the cream of the crop in partners. She was a perfectionist in everything else, she damn well better do the same for love.

There came footsteps nearby. Spike turned towards them. Just past the mast stepped out Celestia, looking towards the boy with a warm smile. She moved to join him, stepping with an almost impossible grace across the rocking ship.

“I hope the ocean is treating you well, Spike.” The all-folk beamed down at the boy.

“Better than Jack,” he quipped back. Celestia chuckled.

“We all have our weaknesses.”

Spike shrugged after a beat. “Well, you might not after the grail.”

The all-folk said nothing at that and instead moved to the railing. Spike followed suit.

“I don’t know what it will bring, really,” she admitted, brushing her long hair behind an ear. Spike always was reminded of sherbert ice cream when he looked at her hair. It was vibrant and beautiful, but not as vicious on the eyes as Dash’s rainbow-hued hair and complemented Celestia’s sun-kissed skin. The only thing stunting her mystical beauty was the troubled expression on her face.

The all-folk continued, “if the druidic legends tell the truth, then immortality, magic channeling that ignores the limitations of the physical, perception that borders on omniscience, it’s all possible.”

“What if it’s all just stories?” Spike questioned, letting his shoulders rise and fall. “What if the grail is nothing?”

“It has to be more than relic. It has to house power within it. The spell I cast stated that much.”

“And if it’s black magic?” Spike asked, turning to face her fully. “If it’s necromancy?”

“Then we need to take it with us all the more.” Celestia clasped her hands behind her back. “If it falls into the wrong hands, we’ll have a lot more to worry about than a mere assassin of flesh and bone. Putting it under lock and key seems the best answer we have.”

Spike smiled, a bit relieved his better was able to quell his fears with such ease. “You’ve thought this through.”

“As well as I could when flying by the seat of my pants.”

Celestia suddenly looked towards the horizon and gripped the railing tight enough that her hands trembled.

“What’s wrong?” the boy asked. She shook her head.

She was silent for a time until she finally took in a breath. “A feeling. I’m just being paranoid, surely. Don’t pay any mind to it.”

Spike debated on challenging her, but decided against it. She knew better than him on what was what so instead he nodded.

“Besides. I’m sure a certain woman is waiting for her man in the cabin.”

At that Spike blushed, shuffling a bit on his feet. “W-well, maybe I should go and check up on her,” he mumbled out.

“Good. I’m sure she’d love to talk with such a bright and well-mannered man as yourself.” Her smile turned coy. “At least, I assume talking is what you two do during free time.”

Spike looked down at his hands, unable to meet the Daywalker’s gaze. He instead rubbed the back of his neck.

“Usually,” Spike finally stammered out, already taking a few steps away. “I guess if you insist I pay a visit…”

“Of course,” Celestia answered. “I’m making a quick round of the ship, then I think I’m retiring back to my room to read.”

As he left, Celestia’s expression changed from a serene smile to a concerned frown.

The warning she felt within her had not passed in the hours since the meeting. Rather, the small pebble of worry within her had grown to a palm-sized rock; her breathing had increased in pace, only slightly, not enough for most to spot, but enough that she worried. Now, no matter how much she tried to, she couldn’t deny something came fast approaching. Celestia couldn’t blame it on nerves or exhaustion from hosting that many people in her Dreamscape. She could, but it’d be a lie.

Despite the beauty of the morning and the quiet, tranquil waves, something was wrong and now was the time to act.

Setting a course, Celestia marched to the wheel of the ship, where a middle-aged man stood, attentive and focused, his stance prideful and in its own way majestic as he observed his world. Captain “Salty” Mcree.

Strangely enough, the Captain got the nickname before even deciding on becoming a man of the sea; he favored foods with exotic spices and salts piled high on every sort of meat. Celestia remembered the last time she had tried a stew the man made, she thought she was going to die from dehydration.

“Mornin’, your highness,” Salty addressed.

“Hello,” she replied. Normally she’d be more than interested in catching up with the man, ask about his children and how travel was faring, but now seemed like a time of urgency, even if there came nothing in sight.

“Salty,” Celestia addressed, “Anything regarding foul weather ahead?”

“Bet my watch and wallet it’s smooth sailing for at least two days. Maybe a storm on the third day. Right now, though the current and how the fish are behaving tells me all that I need to know,” he said, tapping at the wheel.

“And how are navigations being handled?”

He raised a brow, but decided to humor her.

“Got the first mate verifying our directions. Star charts are up to date, sextant sets us to Scandinavia within a week’s time.”

“I see.” Celestia wanted to pressure him further, question food supply, the magic wards that gave the ship freshwater, find some justified reason for her maddening paranoia, but decided against it. An overzealous mind searching for a problem was just as bad as a complacent one and so she took a step away from the wheel of the ship.

“If there’s any change, please let me know. I’ll be in my cabin,” Celestia said.

“Of course, majesty,” he replied with a nod, not taking his hands off the wheel as they made their way across the ocean.

Spike returned to the cabin, rubbing his head. After the curious talk with Rarity, he really did want to wind down some and looked across the cabin.

“Pinke?” he called out.

A paper airplane flew a lazy loop, prodding right up against Spike’s nose. He followed its trajectory, seeing Pinkie lying on her bed, staring up at the ceiling.

“Heya Spikey,” she said.

“What you up to?” he asked with a smile, moving to sit beside her.

“Nothing,” came the grumbled response. “There’s nothing to do on a boat like this. There’s no buffets, no karaoke machines, no swimming pools, nothing!”

“Well, it wouldn’t be fun if it was just us. All the buffet food would just go to waste.” He gave a small press to her cheek. “Not even you could clear a huge table like that.”

Pinkie rolled over, giving him a playful smirk. “I could try.”

“And why would anyone put a swimming pool on a boat? Why put water on top of water?”

“Are you saying you actually enjoy getting salt water in your mouth?” Pinkie asked, wincing at the mere thought of it.

Rather than continue that conversation, Spike moved to the bed and plopped down next to her. After a beat, he cut to the chase.

“I had an odd talk with Rarity a second ago.”

She blinked, looking over to him. “Huh?”

“I don’t know,” he replied, bridging his fingers behind his head. “She seemed… maybe not sad, but distracted, I guess.”

“Do y’know what about?”

His shoulders rose and falll. “This trip, kinda. And Celestia.”

Pinkie rose, resting on her elbows. “Celestia?”

“Yeah. Rarity’s I guess a bit… reserved on Celestia getting the grail. It’s weird for her to think like that, but it’s more or less what she said.”

“She doesn’t trust her with it?” Pinkie asked, her brow raised.

For every bit Pinkie’s brow raised, Spike’s narrowed in thought and he once more gave a shrug of his hands. “I don’t know. Maybe. Or maybe she doesn’t like the idea of anyone having something like that on-hand. I didn’t get her worries. Celestia’s the best person I know, what could she do that has Rarity so worried? Her policies can’t be that bad, going by the woman behind them.”

Pinkie’s gaze drifted upwards, towards the ceiling. “Maybe I should ask her… I mean, there is the whole ‘with great power comes great responsibility’ angle but this is Celestia talking about so surely—” With a sigh, she concluded, “Rarity is a complicated woman.”

“Totally,” Spike instantly agreed. “But it’s Celestia. There’s nobody else that matches up to her. Why would you try and take away her chance to make things right with the country?”

“Nobody’s perfect, Spike. Not even her,” Pinkie countered. “And she really seems to want this grail badly, even when everything else is going on… maybe Rarity’s just being a worrywart but let’s not make any rash judgments on both sides just yet.”

“You don’t think she’s just being a bit silly over it?” Spike questioned. “I dunno, Diane. It’s just… I know she’s not perfect, but she wouldn’t hurt a fly. Would she?”

Pinkie rolled over, looking Spike in the eyes. “Do you think I’d ever hurt somebody?”

“Never,” Spike replied, meeting her gaze.

“If I felt like you were ever in danger from someone, I would. And I’d do it again, if I had to. I wouldn’t enjoy it very much but… sometimes you gotta get a bit dirty to get the dishes clean, you get me?”

He sat for a moment longer, but after a beat, nodded. “I think so,” he agreed.

“I’ll pick Rarity’s brain later,” Pinkie said, resting her hands behind her head. “Celestia’s always going to be a mystery so no use talking to her about it.”

“Maybe you’ll have more luck. Rarity’s still a mystery to me sometimes, even after all these years,” Spike said, a touch resentful. He sighed, crossing his legs. “You guys are hard to figure out.”

“We sure are a colorful bunch, aren’t we?”

He frowned. “That’s… one way to put it.”

A knock came to Celestia's door a few hours after she had returned to her room to meditate. The door opened after a moment. It was the captain, his face was hard, solid concern as he walked to her.

“Majesty,” he said, giving a small bow. “Something has come up.”

Without a word she rose and followed him onto the deck. The instant she saw, she knew this was what was causing her feeling of foreboding.

A cloud. Black. Ebony-black, was on the horizon. She stared at it and, at first she merely called it a trick of the light, her eyes weary from today’s exertions. But no. There was more to it.

“What do you make of it?” Salty asked, “Suppose we’re in for a storm?”

“That’s no storm. At least not in the way you think of one,” the Daywalker answered, already stepping away from the ship’s railing, her mind a whirl of gears.

“Majesty?” Salty asked.

“It’s been lifetimes ago since I’ve seen one, but I know it is one.” She pointed at the man, then pointed across the ship. “Get every able man on board for briefing. Only people integral to keeping the ship moving are excused.”

“Ma’am,” he answered with a salute, running off.

Celestia gave a gesture over her body. Within the beat of a heart, she became clad in a majestic set of off-white ethereal armor and clenched a gauntleted hand open and shut. Satisfied with it, she put her hands behind her back and waited.