Night Lord in Equestria part 11

>By the time you returned to Ponyville, the sun had poked through the storm, ending the otherwise dreary day on a high note.

>The long flight to the town had likewise cooled your anger, but your intense disgust with Gilda remained.

>Fluttershy came to meet you when you had touched down near her home.

>”Hello Chosen. Where’d you head off to today?” She seems to have pulled herself together after the funeral.

>”Out,” you reply flatly.

>”Oh…” She responds timidly. “Did you meet anyone along the way?”

>”Yes. Gilda the griffon.” No emotion seeps into your voice.

>Fluttershy’s expression darkens ever so slightly. “Oh, her. Was she mean to you?”

>You snort at this. “In a manner of speaking, yes.”

>”Why don’t you come and have some tea with me? We can talk for a while, if that’s ok with you…” She asks, face half-hidden behind her mane.

>Fluttershy never stopped caring, did she?

>”Yes, I would like that.”

 

>After apologizing for the holes your foot-claws punched in the floor, you sit at the dining room table of Fluttershy’s cottage.

>Due to your weight, you sat crosslegged on the floor, lest you crush a chair under your weight.

>Your powersword stands next to the door, too long to remain mag-locked to your thigh in such a position.

>Fluttershy arrives from her kitchen with a tray laden with an obese teapot, several dainty china teacups, sugar cubes and sweets.

>Blinky hovers beside her, bringing up the rear with several teaspoons.

>Setting the tray down, she takes her seat beside you on the round table. Because of the disparity in your respective heights, you’re both at eye level with the other.

>While Fluttershy pours you a cup of the aromatic tea, you remove your helm with a vent of escaping air pressure.

>After placing the midnight blue helm delicately on the table, you take the cup from Flutteshy.

>”My thanks.”

>”It’s no problem,” she smiles back.

>Blinky ‘barks’ code in approval.

>The teacup is comically small in your hands.

>The faintly sweet, brown liquid slithers warmly down your throat.

>”What did you wish to speak to me about?” You inquire while Fluttershy sips at her cup quietly.

>”Is something wrong, Chosen? I know when I first met Gilda she yelled at me for no reason and called me names. What did she do to you?”

>”I would rather not talk about it, Fluttershy.” You respond sharply.

> ”Ok…  I-i just wanted to get to know if something was wrong,” she replies, timidity brazen in her soft voice.

>”Nothing is wrong. Is there anything else you wish to know?”

>For several moments, she says nothing, seemingly trying to build up her courage.

>”Don’t take this wrong, but just w-what are you? Y-you never really explained what an Astartes was.”

>”I am a human, elevated to the ranks of the Space Marines. An angel of death. Made for war, and nothing else.”

>She seems slightly shaken by this.

>”Doesn’t the princess have an army? Isn’t there wars here?” You continue.

>”Th-there was a war a long time ago, against Discord and Chaos…”

>That must have been how he was imprisoned before you fought him…

>”And there was the Griffon Wars, but that was 450 years ago…”

>”What happened?”

>”The griffons wanted more land, and they thought taking it from us was the right way to do things. The war lasted decades. A lot of ponies and griffons died…”

>Blinky makes a sad dwoo sound.

>”I’m sorry.”

>”It’s alright. It’s in the past. The war hurt them more than us. Some of them still hate us for winning. It’s sad, really.”

>”War is rarely a happy affair,” you chuckle.

>A ghost of a smile passes Fluttershy’s lips for the briefest of moments before she hastily changes the subject.

>”Where did you grow up? Was it a place like here?”

>”No.” You take a further sip of your tea. “The planet I was born on was covered by massive cities. The sun that Nostramo orbited was dying, and little light got to us. Imagine midnight here. That was how bright it was at noon.”

>”Oh my…” She responds. You hear her ever-present kindness creep even further into her voice.

>”When I was born, The Night Hunter’s reign had begun. We loved him, like you all love your princesses.  I grew up hearing stories of how he brought order to the streets, one crucified rapist and disemboweled corrupt politician at a time.”

>”That’s horrible!” Fluttershy gasps, a hoof over her mouth.

>”There was peace though. I heard stories from my grandfather how it was before the Night Haunter came. Gangs ruled the streets. Murderers, rapists and thugs were everywhere in the cities. The ruling class bettered themselves on the backs of billions of poor people while ignoring their plight. Death was an everyday part of life. After Conrad Curze, the Night Haunter, came into power, criminals were the ones who lived in constant fear, not the law-abiding citizens.”

>Part of you hated painting your gene-father in such a positive light, but the truth was the truth.

>”B-but still, did he have to kill them? Couldn’t he just… send them to jail?”

>”People must know that there are consequesnces for breaking the law. DIRE consequences. Humans are not like ponies. We are selfish and unkind.” Downing the last of your tea, you place the dainty cup on the table.

>”B-but you’re kind and unselfish though, Chosen,” Fluttershy mumbles, having once again retreated behind her pale pink mane.

> You laugh at this. “You’ll have to explain that little joke to me, Fluttershy, I seem to have missed the punchline.”

“Y-you warned us about the Blood Angels and you nearly died fighting that daemon a few days ago. You looked out for us and gave us enough time to get the elements of harmony. I would say that makes you pretty kind.”

>Another breathy chuckle leaves your lips. “Whatever you say, Fluttershy.”

>Silence steals several minutes of your conversation. Another cup of tea is poured for you. You’re enjoying yourself, if ever so slightly.

>”What were your parents like?” Fluttershy asks, revitalizing the exchange between the both of you.

>”If you mean my birth parents, I know very little. When they made me into a Space Marine the memories from my childhood… faded. I can’t even remember what my parents look like. The only thing I can remember clearly is the stories my grandfather used to tell.”

>”I’m sorry. It must be terrible.”

>”Not really. Can I miss what I can’t remember?”

>”I guess not...”

>”My gene-father, the Night Haunter, on the other hand, I remember very clearly.”

>Fluttershy looks confused at this. “Wait, what do you mean ‘gene-father’? How can you have two dads?”

>You effectively give her a rundown of the history of the space marines, a general history of the Imperium and the basics of the genetic enhancements in your body, how they function and what purpose they serve. Surprisingly, she seems to understand at least a portion of what you said, although she still remains shocked at the callousness and bloodshed that characterizes the galaxy.

>”…there were 20 Primarchs, each the head of an Astartes legion. Conrad Curze commanded the 8th. It was the one I joined.”

>”Why did you leave your home with them when the Emperor came? Why didn’t you stay with your family?” Fluttershy inquires.

>Once more, you chuckle. “I wanted to be a hero. “

>Fluttershy smiles at your nobility. “That’s nice.”

>”In the end, that’s not what I became, though.”  

>Fluttershy once again seems confused. “What? Why not?”

>Thunder booms outside, and rain returns. Looking out the window, you notice night has fallen.

>”Perhaps another time, Fluttershy. It is late, and I still have to fly back to Canterlot. I enjoyed our time together. Perhaps we can have tea together again, sometime?” You say, rising to your feet, gathering your things and heading for the door.

>”Anytime you’d like!” Fluttershy practically beams at you.

>”But it’s raining too hard to fly in this weather, Chosen. Why don’t you spend the night here? I-I mean if you want to…” She’s scuffing the floor lightly with her hoof, once again hiding behind her hair. She certainly seems to live up to her name.

>It wouldn’t be any trouble to fly back in this weather. Your jump pack could handle the rain and your autosenses would guide you back to Canterlot.

>But something about the way Fluttershy talks and acts radiates such a pure innocence that you’d hate to do anything to upset her.

>The princesses could last the night without you.

>”Alright Fluttershy, you’ve convinced me. I’ll stay the night with you.”

>Blinky chirps in approval and Fluttershy makes a delighted ‘squee’ sound.

>A grandfather clock chimes in the living room behind you. 12 long, slow bongs resonate through the house

>”I didn’t realize how late it was getting. We’d better head to bed, Chosen. The girls have a special surprise planned tomorrow morning for you.” Fluttershy adds, yawning for effect.

>”I’m going to need your help getting out of this armor, then,” you reply, already working the seals loose around your gauntlets. After having crushed the bed Celestia had given you in Canterlot the two days ago, you had decided to sleep without your armor on. It’s not like danger abounded in Ponyville, after all.

>At hearing your request, Fluttershy’s face shifts to a bright shade of crimson.

>”Wh-what?” She stammered, going quiet for several moments.

>”I can’t reach the seals on my shoulders and on my back,” you reply, pulling the adamatium claws off your feet.

>With a thump to the restraints, your jump pack disengages from your armor, sliding slowly to the floor.

>Fluttershy slowly moves toward your back, her wings now rigidly extended. Curious, they had been at her side the whole night… A pony thing, you suppose.

>”Alright, there’s a couple clasps and seals to break on my shoulders. Unlock them, then hit the red button on my back.”

>She complies, but slowly and awkwardly. Not having fingers tends to do that.

>You pull your shoulderguards free, setting them on the ground, followed by your chestplate.

>Your armored greaves, thigh protectors and crotch guard follow suit, leaving you standing in nothing but your skintight black bodyglove.

>You stretch out, rotating shoulders, arching your back, and so on. It had been hard walking upright in that Raptor armor, so it felt good to get out of it.

>Turning back to Fluttershy, you notice she is still red in the face and her wings seem to faintly pulse, in tandem with her elevated heartbeat.

>She must be suffering from some kind of fever.

>”Fluttershy, are you alright? You look unwell,” you ask, bending down before the mare, gently pressing the back of your hand against her forehead.

>Her redness deepens at your touch, her heart beats faster and it’s easy to feel her temperature is elevated.

>”I-I’m f-fine, Chosen…” She manages to mumbles out, three attempts at speaking later.

>”No, you’re feverish. You need rest and fluids.”

>Her eyes glint slightly at the word ‘fluids’.

>”Yeah, I just need to lie down…” She replies, swooning.

>She’s out like a light, a smile on her face.

>”She must really be sick,” you muse.

>Scooping her up, you march up the stairs to Fluttershy’s bedroom.

>A rather expansive bed spreads out before you. Ever so gently, you set the yellow Pegasus down upon the soft mattress, pulling the covers over her.

>Taking a spare blanket from a nearby hamper, you trudge back downstairs, lie down on the too-short couch, and go to sleep.

 

>Meanwhile…

>The flight had been an agonizing ordeal, but you couldn’t afford to stay away from home tonight.

>”Ugh... I hope Chosen’s gentler next go ‘round,” the griffon moaned, landing on the balcony of her room. Just talking from her cracked beak elicited a shooting pain throughout her entire face.

>Opening the glass paned doors, she entered the bedroom, sitting back on her four-poster bed.

>A lamp clicking on in the corner made her jump.

>A familiar voice called from a familiar face, its owner seated comfortably in a high backed chair.

>”Enjoy your little excursion, princess?” Her captain of the guard called, a regal air of bemused authority coating every word.

>”I didn’t go- urgh…” Gilda starts angrily, only to stop, pain once more lancing through her head. A dull pulse resonated through the wound, mirroring her heartbeat.

>”Then how, exactly, did you break your beak and earn those bruises? In a fight with one of your little “friends” down in that backwater Ponyville?” He asks contemptuously, a smug smile spreading across his face.

>”None of your business,” Gilda hisses angrily, holding her face together with her hand.

>”Your father would HATE to hear those accursed ponies hurting his only daughter. He may just burn down that little town to show those stupid ponies we don’t take any offence lightly…”

>”Shut up, Valcoran…”

>”They’d all be made examples of, the ponies I mean. Even your little blue friend, Rainbow Dash. Executed, to show Celestia that we do not take kindly to our royal family injured, even one so insolent as you…” Valcon continued, rising from his chair and striding toward Gilda.

>She knew she was backed against the wall here. Gilda’s father didn’t trust her anymore, not since she had snuck out on more times than either cared to remember to play in Ponyville, blowing off royal balls, tutoring sessions and more than a few of her own birthday parties. It was all too formal for her. Too many fancy dresses, too much talk, not enough action. Of course her dad didn’t care. All he cared about was tradition and the way things used to be. And the only person the king listened to stood before her, taking the opportunity of his lifetime.

>Valcoran had always been a sadistic, driven, griffon. Born a bastard son of a minor noble, he had viciously and cunningly wormed his way into power, one cold-blooded murder and backstab at a time. Now, the ultimate seat of authority was his for the taking, thanks to Gilda and her rebellious nature.

>”…Of course, all that bloodshed can be avoided. You know what my price is, Gilda,” He finished, secure that his prize was won.

>She spat on his face in a truly unladylike way, before growling, “I’ll never marry you, you bastard!”

>”Suit yourself,” He replied lightly, wiping spittle from his eye as he moved to the door. If the barbed words had hurt him, Gilda could not tell.

>”Now the fun begins...” Valcoran smiled sadistically to himself.