Discrimination. What an ugly word. It is nothing but pure hatred for somepony because they were not born like yourself. I should know, for I have dealt with it every day since Bodyguard and I were found to be in love. We'd walk through town together, other ponies turning their heads and protecting their foals. I'd hate them all, but then who's really the better pony? Instead, I'd try to teach them that love isn't about gender, but about who you really are. Of course, nopony ever listened.

I suppose if I'm going to tell you about my life being a stallion who loves a stallion, I'd better start from the beginning. But where, though? When is the start to love stories? I guess I'd start with our first meeting, if I could remember it. Oh yeah, I was dying.

---

I remember staring death in the face. It had blue buggy eyes; a pair of thin, buggy wings; straight, long ears; a fish-like mane and tail; a black horn to match its body; and it was covered in holes. Death, it seems, ironically chose the form of a changeling, a creature who has the ability to change its own appearance.

The changeling was inching its way towards my dying body laying on the ground. It had just hit my left foreleg in a critical spot, leaving me befallen, bleeding to death. The filthy creature was smirking at its accomplishment, eager to finish the deed. I had thought to myself So this is how I die, at the hooves of a holed creature during the middle of an invasion in Canterlot.

I had closed my eyes, preparing myself for whatever the bastard creature planned. At that moment, death seemed merciful, a friend helping a friend in pain. Images flew by me at great speeds, images of family, friends, peers and colleagues. My mind must've been trying to show me reasons to live, but it had sadly failed. I wanted to die, not caring about anypony else. I still to this day wish I'd have listened.

And then, he came. My own savior, my guardian angel. I had opened my eyes when I heard a shot of magic and the sound of a changeling screaming. There, only five feet away with his back to me, was Bodyguard. He was white with blue hair, like most other royals guards such as ourselves. His cutie mark was three shields; very close to my four shields.

Bodyguard turned to me, a warming look of protection in his blue eyes. He trotted to my assistance, helping me to my hooves and balancing me with his right wing. He guided me to a nearby home, where we asked the owners for some temporary hospitality. They kindly greeted us in, helping Bodyguard set me on the couch.

The mare of the household fetched some bandages, being, luckily for me, a nurse who always had first aid on demand. She gingerly dressed my wound, commanding me to try and stay off my hooves as much as possible for a few weeks. I was resentful that I would no longer be able to fight for the princess, that I would miss a royal wedding, and that we might lose to the changelings because of my stupid mistake (it so happened that later on the princess's personal student had defeated the changelings and their queen with the help of her friends).

Bodyguard had tried to reassure me, clearly seeing the self hatred in my soul. He even promised to safely guide me back to the guards' chambers after the invasion and stay with me until I am good enough to be on my own. Here he was, a complete stranger, and he was treating me like we were kid brothers. That moment was the first time I ever saw him as more than a colleague; I saw him as a true friend. It's true, we definitely weren't in love at first sight (hell, we both were still into mares at the time). Oh no, it took years before I found out that Bodyguard was the one for me.

After the failed invasion, which lasted only a few more hours, we left the house, thanking the kind owners, and Bodyguard kept to his word. He had escorted me to the guards' chambers, never leaving my side the entire two miles. For two days afterward he stayed by my bedside, only leaving when one of us needed to eat, sleep or use the restroom. Royal nurses came by every so often, whether to feed me or otherwise tend to me, but none were ever as generous as Bodyguard, who took the time out of his life to humor and entertain a complete stranger whose life he'd just saved.

Although I did not fully recover for two weeks, I made Bodyguard leave me and continue his own life. I thanked him for his unexpected kindness, never before seeing anything like it. He was very hesitant, but agreed that I do need my privacy. That didn't stop him from visiting me for an hour every day, though. What'd I say, the guy was amazing.

When I had finally healed enough to leave my bed, I was put on temporary leave, until I could fully walk on my own for more than three minutes. Bodyguard offered to house me, but I turned him down, preferring to stay at my mother's house (I lived in an apartment, but I was not able to climb any stairs. I ended up staying in her guest room under the stairs, ironically enough). I did not want to trouble my newfound friend with any more of my burdons.

The next two weeks were absolute hell. I barely left my bed, I had to listen to my mother's rantings about how I should've been a lawyer (bless her soul), and to top it off I had no connection to the outside world save for Bodyguard. Let me tell you, I'd amputate my hoof if it got me out of there (but that, of course, would have the opposite effect).

After my shoulder finally healed, I was put back to work guarding the front gate to Canterlot. Bodyguard, it turns out, had asked to switch his position as a royal escort to guard the gate with me. I think he was actually the first to fall in love with me, considering his undying need to be near me at all times. At first I took it as a bromantic-type thing, like we were going to be best buds. Oh, how I didn't know it was going to be more. Much more.