A whirlpool in the ears, a dance of red color behind closed eyelids.

A cry of distress, voice ridden with anguish and hopelessness. "I can't--! I can't take this anymore!" Her broken spirit wails.

Another voice attempts to calm her, but it warrants no comfort.

Her cries worsen, becoming frantic, muddled with gasps and sobs. "I can't take this, I can't take this... I can't... I can't... I can't breathe... I can't breathe..."

A repeated clamor turned mantra. Many voices from others around chime in ruthlessly, a conglomerate of dismay. Her voice becomes distant, falling far into the void of nothing...

... until she can no longer be heard. All of the voices, all of the talking, gone. Silence again.

...

He returns to slumber.

‎

---

‎

...

A voice again. More than one - a few. Their vibrations familiar. Comforting voices.

SEARING PAIN. Ceaseless agony, enough to paralyze.

His body is immobile, the connection to his physicality severed. His conscious, threadbare, is all he has. The voices he hears are muffled and incoherent, but audible.

Oh how he wishes to call for their names... alas, he cannot. He remains still, weathering the sweltering soreness that eclipses his flesh.

...

He eventually returns to slumber.

‎

---

‎

...

"Grck! Hehk!"

Crimson's body writhes. Sensations previously nulled return, all flooding his nerves to remind him of what he suffered. First to arise is the aching of his injuries, the initial seconds of feeling again becoming torture. But he works through it, lets it simmer and soil... soon, it becomes bearable.

Second to return is his hearing. Like a body of water draining from his head, audio becomes clear again. He hears no voices like before. Nothing at all, really. Quietness surrounds his environment, only his paced breathing to be heard.

He listens to the rhythm of his inhalation, becoming aware of it and controlling it wittingly. No blockage or crookedness. A perfectly healthy airway. Nothing important to be wafted by his reattained olfactory, save for a faint scent of sterilizer too distant to be of note.

Now to open his eyes and truly return to the waking world. The first attempt to separate his eyelids ends in nothing but a faint twitch. Movement is yet to fully return, but every passing second works in his favor.

Again he tries, trembling the blinds of his vision so they meagerly pry apart. They instantly come closed again, heavy like steel garage doors manually lifted.

Once more.

Finally, they come apart to expose a blur of shadowed colors, slowly washing apart as his vision sharpens. He stares at the ceiling above him, one that belongs to the Canterlot Castle infirmary. Their pastel-white coloration is dimmed a blue hue from the shine of the moonlight piercing through the window of his room.

He notes that the curtains of his bed are pulled back, leaving him unobstructed viewing of his surroundings. As motion restores, he first turns his neck to the right towards the window, gazing out into the starlit skies. As if the moon watches him, it presents itself perfectly in view of the top-left panel, its radiance alluring and oddly comforting.

After a moment undisturbed, he shifts his attention to his left. Another patient bed is at his side, empty and promptly made. Past it is the door to his room donned with blinds to cover the window.

... But just a bit further to his left, rested on his nightstand, is an object peculiar to the rest of the room. A rolled scroll tied with a white ribbon and sealed with a gold token. He figures himself capable of sitting up to reach it, so with a grunt and the wrinkling of his nose, he moves to do so.

Failure. He is constricted by something.

A full-body cast. Thick white bandages envelop him from the chest down, leaving the flexing-in of his abdomen unable. Was this cast really necessary, he asks himself. He feels well enough to not need it. Perhaps the damage he endured was not as devastating as he initially thought, but that is only wishful thinking. The pain waking up was excruciating.

A quick twiddling of his fingers inside the casts of his arms, a fiddling of his toes the same way, a slight rotation of the shoulders under the hard bandages... he feels okay. Nothing appears to be broken anymore, if it ever was, and the soreness is manageable. Maybe it is time he freed himself of his restraints.

He inhales to prepare. Then, in a quick flinch action, he sits up with enough force to crack and tear at his body cast around the abdomen, allowing him to sit up. Success. Easier than anticipated. He moves to lift the light blue blankets that cover him, pushing them forward to reveal his body. All covered in cast.

He commences to bash the blunt club that is his arm cast against his other arm, banging them together several times before his right cast breaks open and frees his hand. With his fist, he punches open the left arm cast effortlessly, freeing his other hand. He does quick work to remove the rest of the hardened bandage from the rest of his body, tossing the pieces to the left on the ground.

A quick inspection of his naked self reveals a multitude of deep-tissue scars in the process of healing. The worst of it is found on his left arm, the one that held the shield. Two scars, both consisting of a double scar formed in shape of a cross, are planted on the outer sides of his bicep and forearm. Bones were definitely broken, though healed already.

His gaze softens at his scars, internally grateful of the faceless collective that kept him alive long enough for his Arch to restore him.

Without further ado, he returns his attention to the scroll on the nightstand. With pursed lips and a grunt, he reaches over to it, taking it in-hand and pulling it in. He plucks the golden token off and unravels the white ribbon, pushing the scroll open with the back of his fingers.

It is written in Ponish...

... but it seems that whoever wrote the letter was aware of this discrepancy as the text is glowing a soft-yellow hue. While nothing overtly calls for this action, he feels the need to touch the words. Doing so proves to be fruitful, as now the scroll murmurs language into his ear with the rhyme of Celestia's voice.

"My beloved angel,

This phonetic letter was written for your awakening. Many hearts plead for your recovery, including mine. Your condition was unimaginable, but it was no task too trying for our medical staff to stabilize you. Primarily, give your gratitude to Scribe Swirl, who tirelessly taxed her magical limits to ensure your survival.

As of writing this, you are comatose and the doctors are uncertain when you will come to. In faith that you awake, this letter is to inform you of several changes in your directive. Or lack thereof.

Firstly, you now have your own personal account in the Canterlot Treasury. It can be found on the lobby floor of the Castle, left-most of the receptionist. Any questions you may have regarding use of the Treasury can be answered by the teller.

Secondly, you are relieved of your requirements to the Guard. Furthermore, you are no longer allowed to participate in their endeavors. With no contempt implied, further affiliation with official duties is hereby forbidden, and punishment will be enacted according to any offenses."

Crimson furrows his brows and sits forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Despite this, payment of your duty has been grandfathered and will be awarded on its regular schedule until further notice. This is my gift to you, my angel, my appreciation for the selflessness you demonstrate.

Thirdly, your residence in the Castle has been changed. You will now reside in the Castle dormitory. At the passionate request of your former affiliates in the Elite, you are to be roomed next to Scribe Swirl. Mind for thought, this would prove to be an excellent opportunity for you to thank her for her care."

With a sigh, Crimson sits back into the headrest and softens his expression.

"And lastly, you are no longer allowed to communicate with Moonlight Wish."

"Hnh!?" Crimson jets back up, eyes peeling wide as he traces the glowing words that are read to him.

"A unanimous decision between her and I. You may no longer visit her. As I write this letter, she is currently bedridden due to a fever, a fever caused by stress. I stated at the beginning of this letter that your condition was unimaginable. It truly was. Our doctors could hardly fathom the beating of your heart. After your courageous act to protect your team, you were rushed to Canterlot. Further questions regarding this matter can be answered by your previously affiliated team.

In light of your arrival, word quickly spread amongst the Guard and the Consortium. Moonlight was one of the first to be informed, and the first to visit you in the infirmary. At the hearing of your incapacitated state, she became pale. Upon witnessing your disfigured self, she nearly fainted due to stress-induced arrhythmia.

My angel, it is for the best that you cease contact with Moonlight. At least for a while."

Crimson's trembling fingers grip the scroll tensely, his moistening fingertips crumple the edges of the parchment.

"I hope that you respect these decisions. Any changes will be forwarded to you immediately. Your citizenship of Equestria holds true, and you are free now to do as you please. If you desire, you can move from Canterlot and live elsewhere, but you are more than welcome to remain here.

I have faith that whatever you continue to pursue, it will be just as accomplishing as what you have done thus far. You have the esteem of us all, my angel. Until we meet again.

Celestia."

...

"... This can't be fuckin' right..." he mutters as he gawks at the letters, witnessing their magical glow dim away. "... A jape 'r somethin'. Moonlight, she--" He halts briefly and ponders. His eyes lift up from the scroll to stare at the wall far in front of him, mentally painting the image that rips him apart. "... She had a heart attack." An all-consuming black void forms in the pits of his stomach. His innards digest themselves as he keeps rattling the concept in his head. "... I gave her a heart attack." He swallows the dry nothing in his mouth, letting his gaze fall back down to the letter.

His fingers clench, nearly ripping the scroll in half.

"I gotta get up. Gotta move," he rumbles to himself. "Sittin' here any longer..."

Taking the letter into his left fist, he extends his arm out and carelessly drops the letter back onto the nightstand. He kicks his legs up and off the side of the bed, ignoring the aching soreness in his body through his wavering mental state. He plants his feet on the pieces of cast he tossed to the ground, crunching them as he stands up. He nearly loses balance from the shockwave of pain that travels through his freshly-used muscles. He grits his teeth and exhales through them, tweaking his body a twitch at a time until he stands up-right.

He takes one step towards the foot-end of his bed, then another, and another. He spots a footlocker against the end of the bed, assuming it to be his duster coat and apparel. He staggers towards it and falls with a thud onto his knees, slouching forward and opening it.

A throb of horrid emotion flows through his being at witnessing the contents of the footlocker. A red t-shirt and solid-grey pajama pants... the articles of clothing that were given to him as a gift. There is even a set of sandals he has never seen before, but they match the color of the pants perfectly.

"She... probably had them made for me."

...

He stares at the clothing for too long, sensationalizing the depressive gape within.

...

With trembling hands, he reaches for his clothes.

‎

‎

He wanders aimlessly through the vast halls of the Castle... or so he figures he is. Every corner he turns, every section of stained-glass he passes, it leads closer to a destination he knows.

Guards that patrol the Castle during the night he actively avoids. He could not know what their reaction would be to seeing him, and he will not be bothered to find out. They might try to return him to his room in the infirmary. He cannot have that happen. Not tonight. He wants to keep moving undisturbed, unquestioned. He aims to reach his destination.

Internally he scoffs at the guards he skirts. Be it the boredom of their routine or simply the lack of perception, they are easy to elude. Even with the soft clack of his sandals, none are the wiser to his shadowed movement across the dimly lit night. Their sense of awareness is non-existent in comparison to the sharp wits of the Elite.

It draws closer. Turning one last corner, he can see the large golden doors to his right down the hall. Present at the front are two guards, neither of them Bulletpoint. He figured his comrade would not be there, his post being in the morning. But more apparent than this are the guards themselves, they debut their presence with a brand of armor he had only seen once.

The steel plates of their protection gloss with deep purple coloration, highlighted with varying shades of lavender and blue. Their coats also follow this discreet aesthetic, with one mare a dark grey and the stallion next to her jaded blue.

He scrutinizes them as he approaches. Having avoided the patrol, dealing with these two should prove no task. Not accepting any other outcome, he will enter the throne room and have a much-needed word with the goddess of the sun to, at the very least, have peace of mind.

Once they notice him, sharp eyes are dilated his way. Both guards of shade turn their attention to the oddity that approaches them amidst the night.

Quickly they realize who is nearing them, their critical fronts meld to perplexity. Both of them adjust the grip they have on their spears and anticipate the man's arrival. Once he stands at their front, hands in his pockets, the stallion speaks up first.

"Angel of Arch." After he sternly utters this, they are left in silence. Crimson realizes that the stallion is waiting for a reply, but he finds it a hassle to muster one. Enough silence occupies the space for the stallion to speak up again. "We see that you are alive, thank the skies above. Are you well?"

"... Yeah."

Both guards deliver a concise glare to the man's simple reply. "You stand before the throne of the princesses," the stallion continues. "There was no conglomerate foreseen. What business do you have with her highness?"

"There's somethin' I need'a talk to her about."

"Is it dire? The princess should not be disturbed."

"It's business involvin' the Elite Guard. My Guard."

"... I see. Though, the princess does not administer matters related to the Elite."

"Somethin' she needs to know immediately. She wrote about it to me in a letter."

"Ah. Very well then. Thank your lucky star, Angel of Arch, her highness is unoccupied this night. In any other circumstance you'd be denied entry, one must first file for a meeting before it takes place. You may proceed, though we expect you to be on your best behavior. We will be swift to act otherwise."

"Yeah."

A brief hiatus in speech and action comes from both of them, followed then by their side-step of approval. The stallion salutes firmly while the mare uses her dark purple magic to open the throne doors.

Crimson blinks once at them with mild irritation. Once the doors open, he marches forward without hesitation, stepping onto the red carpet of the throne-- ... or rather, the blue carpet.

With furrowed brows, he glances up from the deep blue textile towards the throne. Only then does he realize that the center throne of gold and cherry upholstery is vacant, and instead the cobalt seat off to the right is attended by the fabled princess of the night. In the clouds of his somber heart, he had completely forgotten about the second ruler of Equestria... and with that, completely negating his plan to confront Celestia about the letter.

It would seem that the surprise present in him also displays itself on the face of Luna. She ogles him with wide beaming orbs, those that illustrate her astonishment at his unannounced coming.

Having stopped his stride to internalize Luna's presence, he continues walking again, approaching her whilst never breaking eye-contact. She was not the princess he hoped to see, but as he finds himself here, he will not simply walk away now.

He halts again, standing with stiff posture as he stares up to her. With an exchange of silence, Crimson then comes down onto one knee, bowing down graciously.

Having not anticipated this gesture from this man, Luna's eyelids flutter to return her mind to reality. Her lips part, showing teeth clenched in uncertainty, before her mouth fully opens to speak. "Rise... Angel of Arch."

Upon hearing her youthful hymn, words spoken nearly in melody, he returns to standing. "... Nice to finally meet you, princess Luna."

"The phrase I was to speak thou have taken from my lips. To finally speak with the one talked of so frequently, in a manner as sudden as this, I lack words. Many a night in slumber, but in this hour, my presence."

"You make it sound like I've been out fer a while. Few days?"

"Nay, Angel of Arch. Thou hath been bedridden for a fortnight."

The man tenses. "Two... weeks?"

She nods once, blinking ever-so calmly as she does. "My sister will be relieved to see thyself in bloom."

Crimson fails to add to the conversation at fault of his muse.

"... Indeed, a long time to be adjourned."

"Two weeks... that's... that's way too long. Can't be right."

"The grim reality, Angel of Arch."

Crimson balls his hands into fists as his frustration builds, but soon, his self-discipline autonomously kicks in. Anger flows out of him like a ghost escaping his body. He relaxes his hands and exhales, returning his attention to Luna.

She tilts her head slightly as she gazes back at him. "For what reason does thou bestow upon me thy graces?"

"... Eeh," he sighs solemnly. "Honestly, I was hopin' to find Celestia here." Luna's expression scrunches questioningly. "'N before you say it, I know... was a ridiculous thing to think that I'd find Celestia here at this time. I'm just..." he lowers his eyes from hers, down towards her hooves, "... not quite feelin' myself right now. I wound up here 'cuz I needed'a not be where I was. Just had to move around. Walk a bit. ... I beg yer pardon fer randomly bargin' in."

Luna scans the features on his face, catching every detail even in dimness. The slowly fading scar that travels across his right cheek, the multitude of smaller aberrations that litter his tan skin. Many physical marks tell of his ventures, but what attracts Luna the most is the dark circles under his eyes. Despite being asleep for many days, he still appears exhausted. Depraved, even. The look of a man who cannot find a light which he so-desperately reaches for.

She shakes her head once, blinking again in the manner she had done before. "There is nothing to apologize for, Angel of Arch. Thy presence, while unforeseen, is not unwelcomed. There is a matter that I wish to discuss... pertaining to what thou'st said. If I could be indulged, of course."

Crimson raises a piqued brow. "Sure thing, princess. ... You mind if I step a little closer? Conversin' at this distance ain't what I'm used to."

"... By all means, Angel of Arch," she replies with a tiny hint of reluctance in her voice.

He nods with a smile to her gracious yet slightly quirky nature. He moves forward and ascends the staircase, taking two steps at a time, hauling his body up with slightly exaggerated motions until he reaches the top. He continues a few more paces towards the princess...

... and she did not anticipate this, his coming so close. She sits up in her seat and tucks her chin, staring at him move even closer, until he is only three feet away from her throne. He sits down and gets himself comfortable, sitting criss-cross with his knees at his thighs.

"Ain't gotta be so formal with me, princess Luna. Crimson is just fine."

She lines her lips at his forward-moving demeanor, visibly treading new interactive territory with another being. "... Crimson. That is your name?"

"My nickname, but can't imagine bein' called anythin' else. Ain't big on titles 'n what-not."

"I was never informed of this name, my guards and sister only refer to you as the aforementioned title or 'My angel.' I suspected this was enacted through your will, but I suppose that it is not the case." Luna notices him smirking wryly, driving her to question. "... Is something amiss?"

"Yer mannerisms changed. The fancy pronouns are gone."

"But you advocated for the levity of formality, did you not?"

"Heh, sure did. Wasn't tryin' to prod at'cha, just found it charmin'."

"Charming?" she turns her left cheek slightly to him. "The word you would use to describe my manner of speaking is... charming?"

"Yeah. You speak Eng-- mh... Ponish, you speak it real proper 'n formal-like, more than any one else I've met so far."

"And you speak it very much akin to the residents of the southern establishments."

"Like a hick?"

"... A hick?" she repeats with emphasis.

"Someone who ain't smart."

Luna's expression flashes at his implication, "No! That is not what I infer. Our subjects from the southern cities are intelligent ponies, as are you an intelligent human. It is simply their founded dialect."

"Ah, you ain't gotta be nice about it. I ain't all that smart. Put me up against one of yer researchers 'n I'm left swimmin'. Never stayed in school long enough to learn how'ta speak, have nice hand writin', or... much of anythin' really. Probably the same case for them pony-folk from the south."

"You are correct, schooling is very limited in the region. ... Hm. How thought-provoking. Such a detail I have rarely considered. Through my own up-bringing, I seldom think of such things. Now do you see? You are very much intelligent, unlike a 'hick.'"

"If a gal like you thinks so, I ain't got an argument for it."

"Hmh... 'gal.' If you would not mind my saying so, but the interest you spark in many is well-met. Though you have resided in the Canterlot Castle for over a month, I know nearly nothing about you."

"I can say the same about you, princess Luna."

"Luna, if you would. You endow me with the comfort of relaxed speech, I will grant you the same."

"Luna," he echoes with a smile. "Don't take it the wrong way, but you're kinda like a fable t'me, too. There'r whispers about you every so-often, but now only seein' you? You could say I'm curious."

"As am I about you."

"Well, if you ain't any sorta busy right now, my book's open."

"Very brash, thou art. Your kind is seldom had in a place such as Canterlot."

"Reckon that ain't a good thing."

"On the contrary, it is quite refreshing. Though, I admit... I do not know what to expect of you."

"That's what I'm here for, right?"

"Indeed... then, a question, the first of many."

"Shoot."

"How long have you been awake?"

"... Probably like, eh... half an hour now? Maybe more. Not sure yet. Just woke up, if that's what you were askin'. Made my way here first thing outta bed."

"Mm. To speak to my sister, I assume?"

"Yeah."

"I see. Your body is in good condition despite having just arisen if you have managed to traverse through the Castle."

"Guess so. Still rough around the edges, but two weeks is more than enough fer my type."

"Your type being an Angel of Arch."

"Bingo. You know much about it?"

"Only what my sister receives from her pupil, Head Researcher Wish." Crimson purses his lips and drops his eyes to her faded-blue hoof slippers. Luna tilts her head in concern to his reaction... until it dawns on her. "Ah. Yes. You must have read the letter written by Celestia."

"Listened to it, more-like..." He tries for a light-hearted retort, but it visibly falls through him. "Yeah. I got it. You, uh... you know what it said?"

"Not precisely. My sister spoke briefly to me about it with much paraphrasing. I do, however, know the status concerning you and the Head Researcher."

"... Strange that you call her by her title. More formalities?"

"I do not personally know the Head Researcher as my sister does. It would be tacky for me to refer to her in such a belittling manner."

"Yeah, I got'cha. ... This mean you, uh... know. That I can't see her."

She nods firmly, "Yes, it is forbidden."

"... Wouldn't be a chance you could... do anythin' about that?"

"I do not encroach on my sister's rulings, neither she does mine. It shall remain that way." Crimson's eyes fall desolately towards the carpet under him. "... I am sorry, Crimson."

"Nah, I get it. Forget I asked. ... Don't suppose anythin' changed since I've been out?"

She slowly shakes her head, "It has not. The topic has not been brought to light after the day the letter was delivered to you." Crimson brings a clawed hand to his forehead, gripping it before running his hand back to slide his nails through his hair. Luna quickly notices his rising anxiety, prompting her to continue, "You have my sympathies, Crimson. I could not know what toils you suffer. Despite my attempts, never have I been able to reach through the Dream World into your realm, if only to understand you better."

"... You what?"

"Mh, forgive me. It escapes me that you may not be familiar with my ability to see into the Dream World."

"That mean you can... see into dreams 'r somethin'?"

She nods twice, "That is exactly what it means. A birthright, you might say. Despite this, I am incapable of seeing into your dreams."

"Can't say I've had one. Not lately."

Luna leans closer to him with sharpening eyes. "Do elaborate."

"What it sounds like. Just don't dream. Used to dream all the time when I was younger, almost every night. My imagination was a wild thing. Surprised myself, even. ... Somewhere along the rails of my life, those tracks ended. Gone. Nothin' but dullness in the attic. Didn't think much of it then, 'n I don't now."

As he continues speaking, Luna's mouth slowly drops in rising stupor. "That is unacceptable! A tragedy! To not dream is to not live! We must dream, thou must dream! The release of mind and spirit, the reaching of one's own thoughts, to become familiar with one's own self! What thou speaketh surely cannot transpire!"

"You even said it yerself, you can't reach my dreams. Not because you can't, but because I haven't had any."

"... This cannot be. A dreamless being of sentience?" She glosses his face with her orbs with disbelief radiating from them...

... but she regards it again, what she noted earlier. His eyes, how tired and uninterested they look, despite his relaxed speech and mannerisms.

She leans in a bit closer, scooting herself across the cushion of her throne to sit at the edge of it. "... Thyself art the reason for it." Her rather accusative words draw a lifted brow from him, not of anger, but curiosity. "There is something inside thine eyes that... I have seen within myself."

Crimson says nothing, giving her the air around them freely.

"Because of this indescribable phenomenon, I feel as if... you may understand. Perhaps I am mistaken, but a degree of confiance emanates from you. Though, I feel that I am not, as Celestia has said the same. There is something-- ... I apologize if I ramble."

"If you need'a get somethin' out, I'll rightfully listen."

"Then... I beseech thee-- y... you, that what I say remains between us."

"Not a word," he runs a zipper across his mouth.

As if having-second thoughts, Luna fidgets in place and stares down at the man's idling hands which sit on his criss-crossed legs. "And how am I certain that you will hold yourself to this promise?"

The night-shaded mare widens her eyes as she sees his left hand lift and reach towards her. He gently rests it on her right arm, fingers around her smooth blue coat. Her eyes jump from this contact up towards his face, which also approaches closer.

"Trust is important, Luna."

Her lips come together abashed, continuously treading new conceptual territory inside the man's unfiltered reciprocal action. "... Truly thou-- ... you. You are impetuous."

"Hm?"

"It is no wonder you wound up mortally wounded. Your gallantry knows no bounds..."

Crimson stifles a chuckle and shakes his head, retract his hand to point at her. "Hey, now that ain't nice. ... Not big on bein' touched?"

"... I am... unsure. Startling, certainly. You are the first being to make physical contact with me in countless moons."

Crimson's blithe attitude slowly sobers.

"... Even my sister I seldom embrace. I am alone most nights, as apparent by this one. I patiently await for the Dream World to call upon me to comfort a struggling subject. Once my duty is complete, I return to the solitary waking world."

"All alone, mm. ... Couldn't imagine it. I'm one of them folk that likes to talk to others... bein' on my lonesome fer too long rusts my iron. Does it bother you bein' alone all the time?"

"Another matter I am unsure of. I have been alone for most of my life, rarely broken by my sister or a Night Guard needing to speak to me. Rarely. I know no other way."

"Couldn't you just order one of yer guards to come in 'n keep you company?"

"... I would rather not."

"You've thought about it?"

"Of course. Being in solitude for a time as mine, much comes to thought."

"It seems to me like you prefer bein' alone. You sure I ain't botherin' you right now?"

"Nay, Crimson. Your presence is not unwarranted. Why do you insist that you intrude?"

"... Just gettin' mixed signals, is all. Gives me a feelin' that somethin' else is goin' on." He lifts his brows at her. "Reckon it has to do with what you wanted to tell me. Wouldn't be the case, would it?"

She averts her gaze and visibly wrestles with her inner self. With a huff, she looks at him again. "There is much I wish to say, but none to say it to. You... would you listen to me ramble?"

He scoots in closer, closing the small gap they had between them. His crossed legs sit perpendicular to her, having his left knee slightly rested on the cushion of her throne. With his left shoulder to the right armrest of the throne, he looks to his left to smile at her. "'M all ears."

"... Then, I hold you on your promise. You will speak of this to no pony."

He nods once. Luna proceeds to, in quite a suspicious manner, quickly shift her gaze left and right... and shortly after, she turns her head left and sneezes. Her muzzle scrunches as her eyelids squeeze close, even her horn twinkles with magic from the force of the sneeze.

Crimson feels a bit strange watching her. It was pretty damn cute, but very sudden. It did not dawn on him that even these ponies could be prone to sickness, though, she hardly looks ill. Before he has the chance to really ponder on it, he blurts out of reaction, "Bless you."

"With gratitude. ... Now, with your promise to uphold the sanctity of this conversation, I will tell you. I am... losing myself. My resolve against her is wavering. The things she speaks, and how they make me feel... I am losing control."

Crimson tilts his head at her and furrows his brows, saying nothing to allow her continued speech.

"A kind of pure darkness that resides in my very being. She and I are one in the same, yet we are nothing alike. She... wants to break free - enabled through my own emotions. Nightmare Moon."

"An alter-ego?"

"Threadbare conceptualization agrees with your statement... but she is more than simply that. In essence, she is her own being that will use my flesh as a catalyst. She is much greater than a mere concept, beyond a personality, she is alive. And I harbor this demon due to the same birthright I spoke of earlier... a consequence of it, one might say."

"So this Nightmare Moon, you're tryin'a keep her from takin' you over. But?"

She turns her face towards the blue-shade carpet that spans across the length of the room. "It is... it is completely selfish of me to feel this way."

Crimson tilts his head at her, moving his face closer to her stargazing eyes, watching her with profound curiosity.

"I have only myself to blame for my sentiments, but I cannot help but-- ... " She sighs, visibly recomposing herself.

"What sentiments?"

"My sentiments against... Celestia."

"Never expected you to have a grudge against yer sister."

"That is not how I would describe what I feel, but I am indeed irked by our differences. Many of her qualities are immaculate, and she lives the life of a noble as a noble should. Her daily affairs allow her comforts I do not have. You already know this, but I am the princess of the night. Luna; Moon. A light in the sky shone onto all, but seen by few. I exist only in the dreams of my subjects, but even accounted, rarely so. I do not have a true presence. My light does not shine like that of my sister's. I am a shadow while she glows."

Crimson keeps a firm gaze on her front as she speaks regardless of her looking away. As she continues, her tone sharpens and her air glooms. To the unwise, she looks calm and collected, a natural air that radiates from her presence.

"When I say this," Crimson begins, "I mean it with respect." Her eyes move to him. "Yer jealous of Celestia. No two ways about it."

Again, she looks away, expression unchanging. "No. It is not jealousy. It is disdain. Not for my sister... but for myself. She was blessed with the soul of the sun. There is no reason to be jealous of such a gift to my loved one... but the curse I hold is another matter. A life hardly lived; my birthright."

Crimson ogles at her with toiling muse, the connection is almost uncanny. A cursed birthright...

"It is even as you said, dearest Crimson. I am but a fable. To my very own subjects, I am seen merely as a parable. Then, beyond the scope of recognition, I do not have the pleasures that many have. I am awake when all are asleep, thus is my duty. To this effect, I do not consume luxuries such as the Castle spa, dining with acquaintances, or general commuting. What many perceive as a normal living stature, I have never found it fit to understand. I have seen it in my sister's gaze... a pity in her heart laid for me. A life hardly worth living all because... I am the princess of the night. The lesser of two halves."

"... You're wrong, Luna."

With this simple retort, her orbs move to glare at him. "How could you possibly say such a thing? You do not know the life I lead. You do not know what I endure."

"Yeah, I don't."

"Then your prude calling has no place!" Her voice does not raise very much in volume, but the severity in her tone is grating.

Crimson shakes his head slowly, lifting a palm to signal her ease. "I'm not sayin' yer wrong 'cause you think yer life is unfair... I'm sayin' you're wrong because you think you're the lesser of two halves. I know you're wrong about that. You and yer sister, you're two links of a chain. Sturdy, made of the same metal. Not one'a you is better than the other, 'n without each other, yer not a chain at all. You both matter the same. Sayin' otherwise is just ignorin' a fact of life. What's day without night? 'N night without day?"

"If we are a chain, then I am the feeble link, strained until shattered. Nightmare Moon awaits for that day..."

"Not if you don't let it. I'd wager you're stronger than she is, and the only thing keepin' her from comin' out is you. You just gotta keep on fightin', and I see plenty fight left in you," he says as he mires deeply into her orbs, seeing his own reflection in them.

Luna softens her gaze at him, silently admiring his rising determination. "I cannot see a way to escape her wrath. There is little I or anypony else could do. She plucks at every pedal until the very last. One day, truly in the dead of night, she will take ahold. As we speak, keeping myself contained is proving difficult. I struggle against her tirelessly, unremitting mental anguish, one I cannot have the privilege to admit. This tribulation I wade through alone, through the dark nights I cast..."

The hardness in her voice finally gives in for a quiver. Her morose orbs shimmer elegantly under her own moonlight, mingling with the despondency growing in her air.

This princess of the night, Crimson could not know what she has gone through or what she holds. As he gazes at her, a melancholic resonation waves through him at realizing how young she must be. Perhaps older than the average mare, yet hardly a fully-grown adult. More about her aura speaks youth rather than royalty... yet here she is, combating an inner demon that strives to use her existential crisis as leverage to ruin her life.

A cursed birthright, something Crimson sympathizes with. Fortunately for him, he needed not trudge through it alone.

He knows exactly what Luna lacks.

"... You're not alone anymore."

Luna slowly lifts her head to look at the man who spoke.

"I'm here. I'll be here. With you."

"..." she lowers her gaze again. "Please do not speak such fooleries. Do not impede on your own life for the sake of mine, it is not what I desire."

Crimson smiles slightly, slouching forward a bit to fit his face in her peripheral. Once she turns her orbs up to him, noting his wry smirk, it grows a bit wider. "You weren't kiddin' when you said you didn't know me very well." Luna takes this response with a degree of hesitance. "I'll be with you if you need someone. You're not alone. You can count on it."

"Again, I ask that the absurd claims cease. You would not even be awake when I am in need."

"Awake? That yer concern, that I won't be awake? Luna... 'case you haven't noticed, it's some-damn-hour at night. I've slept fer two weeks, and I don't feel a lick-a tired. Safe to reckon my internal clock is shot." In growing realization, the young princess tilts her head. "Reckon bein' a night-owl can't be so bad." He slowly reaches in, giving her leeway to react... but she remains still. She allows his left hand to her right cheek, cupping it softly. She quivers at the touch, akin to a feline being oddly uncomfortable with contact only to slowly meld into it. "... Any time you need me, Luna. You're not alone. You say you're not strong enough to fight 'er, but I gotta disagree. I'd even say yer stronger than Celestia, if not physically..." he moves his hand to gently brush the back of his fingers at her chest. "... spiritually. Takes a real strong type to deal with things alone and in the dark... but everyone knows that you can't be strong forever. So I'll be here to lean on if you ever need rest, get you back on yer fours."

Her glittered eyes stare fondly into his. Her first smile of the night turns on her lips. "... Yes, well... the same grace is upon you, Crimson. You, as well, are not alone." The man raises his chin, surprised by her fortified reply. "You cannot hide it from me, it is present in your gaze... you are as I am. You have been strong for too long. Perhaps this meeting was in due to fate."

The word resonates in his head several times... Fate.

"Nightmare Moon does not rest, and I am weary... but you believe in me more than I do myself. And your own steadfast courage for yourself is proof enough that you sustain through the drudgeries of life despite all that you have been through."

"And I'll be here to share that strength with you."

"..." Luna's smile grows slightly, turning her face to the left with closed eyes. "Worry not, dearest Crimson. I will not need your presence, but only your faith. As long as you believe in me, I will persevere. Truly, it is all I ever wanted - to be acknowledged. My subjects may never see me as they do my sister, but you helped me realize something I already knew. It is not necessary for them to see in such a way. What you have shown me tonight is something I have beheld only in Celestia. Such unadulterated... compassion. True benevolence. The intimacies of being alive remind me that I am capable of overcoming all obstacles."

She realizes that Crimson is only watching her speak while smiling, cheek rested on knuckles with half-lidded eyes.

"... Is... there something amiss?"

"Anyone ever tell you you've got a soothin' voice?"

Luna's gaze fixes for a rather stern stare, ever-so slightly tinted with embarrassment. "... You are uninhibited, Crimson."

Suddenly, the doors to the throne room are bashed open rather viciously. The pair turn their heads quickly, seeing that both shadowed guards that were protecting the door outside have charged in with pointed pikes and charged magic.

"Princess Luna!" the stallion yells in worry.

Both guards freeze in their action, seeing that the human is sitting close to the princess, but nothing appears awry.

Luna's front quickly solidifies, taking on a mild hint of annoyance. "Explain this bombastic display."

"... We..." the stallion lowers his pike quickly, followed by the mare letting her magic fade. "W-We... t-the... the moon, princess. It has not moved. We allowed the Angel of Arch entry, and soon after, the moon ceased any movement. W-We..."

"You assumed that he attempted at my life?" Luna descants. Crimson's expression hardens and he stands up, taking a shred of offense at the deep accusation.

Both Night Guards bow humbly, "We sincerely apologize, dear princess Luna. We are only worried for your safety."

"Return to your post," the princess demands calmly. Both guards peak up and salute sharply, turning about-face and marching out side-by-side. After they make their exit, she turns to the standing man. "My sincerest apologies--"

"Sorry fer distractin' you, Luna," he apologizes before she can finish hers.

"Mm. Worry not, it was my mistake allowing my responsibility slip through my mind." Her horn softly glows but stops shortly after.

He witnesses in real time the moon steadily move across the sky, making up lost time in the span of a few seconds. He shoves his hands into his pockets and smiles, still watching the moon. "Reckon that means I should let you be. I tend to do that to people."

Luna turns to face the night light in the sky as well, contemplating briefly. "... Yes, well... I am certain that there are places you must be. Is there?"

"... Guess I can check out the new room Celestia moved me to. The guards gonna give me issues if they see me struttin' about at this time?"

"They will not. There is no curfew, and my sister has granted you unobstructed access to all Castle faculties. Save, of course, for the Head Researcher's domicile."

"... Hmn." He rubs the back of his head, realizing that the effort he put into sneaking past the guards was pointless. His eyes shift towards a new luminescent light, that found on the plot of the night princess. The mark on her rear has started to glow, pulsing with a gentle strobe. "Somethin' wrong?"

"The Dream World calls to me. The timing for our departure is impeccable."

"Someone havin' bad dreams?"

She nods once, "And oddly enough, again from the same kin."

"Reoccurrin' nightmares, huh. Not somethin' I've ever had."

"It is highly unusual, especially since it is different families with the same nightmare."

"Hm," Crimson purses his lower lip upward. "... It might be pryin' to ask, but... mind tellin' me what nightmare this might be?"

"It is perceived differently by the eyes of my subjects, but the outcome is the same; a formless, shadowed force consuming the entire junction of Dodge."

The man's expression beams in wonder. "Dodge. ... This mean..."

"The magical anomalies that my sister's Royal Elite strive to abolish has attacked the junction? I confirm that is not the case. My subjects have yet to encounter it, yet have had reoccurring nightmares. It is highly irregular."

He crosses his arms and stares at the ground in a brief moment of muse. "... Hm. Think I might pay Dodge another visit soon."

"Do be cautious with this endeavor."

He turns his face to Luna now, giving her a rather satisfied smile. "Yeah. It was nice seein' you, Luna. Talkin' to you... think this is just what I needed."

"Likewise, dearest Crimson. I am certain thou'st heard this many-a time, but... take care of thine self. As thou understand well, the world is a dangerous place."

Crimson begins his descent down the throne stairs, stopping midway to look back to her. "Know I will. G'night, Luna."

She smiles wryly and nods in response. She watches him as he makes his trek across the room, moving across the blue carpet towards the golden doors. He pushes the doors open manually and makes his exit. The doors close, leaving her alone once again. The familiarity of being alone...

... though now, it feels comforting. A warm hearth kindled in her heart previously cold. Her eyes come to a close, and her duties as the night's guardian reassume.

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