Obligation 1.1

>It was pathetic.
>One so-called Princess of Love not wishing her husband hadn't died.
>Wishing instead that only Shining Armor had died.
>The “special task force” had been there a week, but she had already heard the whispers.
>Things had gone "political".
>The official report would be lionizing the brave Prince Shining Armor, cruelly struck down in a rock slide while rendering aid to travelers.
>That fact that he had brought the side of the mountain on himself, and the "travelers" were locals who had chased after his party to warn him against his foolishness, was a fact buried alongside fifteen other souls.
>Her "brave", stupid husband had survived the initial slide but had released his shield early against the orders of those trying to dig him out.
>Those pegasi members of the detail who had survived were the ones who picked up on the shift of the conversation the Prince-Consort and the search and rescue coordinator from simply argumentative to abusive and angry.

>Those who were studiously ignoring it were the ones too pre-occupied and ended up underneath several tons of debris.
>The unicorn members with sufficient training and presence of mind to teleport away instead of attempting a shield had survived, except two who hadn't teleported away far enough.
>The only earth pony members to survive had been those doing perimeter security.
>Those assisting on scene didn't stand a chance, even though at least two had seen the shift in rubble and shouted the beginning of a warning.
>And the lead rescuer had stood as much chance as the earth ponies.
>Less, really.
>The sordid rumor going the rounds was that Shining Armor didn't release his shield in a panic.
>Shining Armor released it in a fit of pique.

>Unable or unwilling to trust in his survival to the same rumor-bound individual who had allegedly stolen the affection of his wife.
>Believing himself dead already, and seeing the source of his misery, Shining Armor saw his last chance and taken it.
>She had seen some of the before and after photos, and three attempts at sketching intermediate scenes.
>She had even read some of the quickly suppressed witness accounts.
>If only Shining Armor had managed to kill only himself instead her Anonymous as well!
>It was these thoughts that occupied her in her overlarge empty bed.
>She cried freely at these times, confident in the skills of her maids, and that swollen puffy eyes were to be expected during the official mourning period.
>Soon their bodies would be commended to the earth, the investigation would over, and then she would have to get on with the business of ruling her Crystal Empire.

******

>You had snapped at Twilight today.
>She wanted to commiserate over the loss of her brother, your husband.
>It had taken a grief counselor afterwards to remind Twilight that irrational anger towards the deceased wasn't an uncommon response.
>But before then it was impressive how much shouting and "dish throwing" could be accomplished between an alicorn Princess of Love and the Element of Magic.
>Not that the palace which had survived the magical energies of King Sombra was ever in any danger.
>By the time you two had run yourselves out you had made a complete mess of your mourning attire.
>Not to mention your hair.
>And your eyes.
>Princesses! And the snot running down your nose!
>It couldn't be as bad as Twilight's because she looked ridiculous!
>But it felt worse than she looked, you suspected.
>The two of you were a sorry sight.
>But instead you found yourself sobbing, wrapping your head and wings around your sister-in-law.

>The official mourning period hadn’t stopped the day to day operations of pulling the Crystal Empire up out of the ‘Dark Ages’ of one thousand years absent from the world at large.
>But you inadvertently still found time alone during the evening.
>Dismissing your maids, asking only that they freshen the pot of tea in an hour, you tried thinking of times less bleak.
>You remember first making quiet inquiries about inducing him into your personal guard.
>He’d had two objections.
>He didn't much enjoy the idea of nominally coming under the charge of Shining Armor.
>And he enjoyed even less the idea of professionally having the obligation to do what you said in ninety-nine out of one hundred interactions.
>Not that he was opposed to serving in that capacity.
>He’d objected to your silliness, and the obligation to perform such ill-advised ventures as they popped into your empty head.

>You had objected to that characterization, to which he had admitted it was probably a bit of lese majeste for which he apologized.
>He meant the notions that popped into your empty ROYAL head, Princess.
>Which led him to becoming the coordinator for search and rescue.
>Really his job was to connect the professionals with the formally trained auxiliaries, and to organize the untrained volunteers in a manner that would prevent the necessity of another search party.
>This time for a couple adults instead of a missing foal or three.
>In the conduct of his duties even you were obligated to accede to his requests, or formally state why you were unable to accommodate him.
>Of which there were almost none, because you had staff, and when would he need to consult with a princess?
>But it allowed you to be appreciative in inviting him to dinner occasionally.
>You must have been indiscreet in watching him eat.

>He’d met with you privately afterward, asking if there had been anything wrong with his face.
>He then displayed a crooked, toothy grin, touching one canine tip to another instead of allowing them to interlock smoothly.
>Wiping the grin and insouciance from his manner, he more evenly stated that if he had offended he'd be happy to accept a certificate of appreciation instead of making you uncomfortable with these dinners.
>The same that the untrained volunteer support were like to get once a year.
>Okay, maybe it was worrisome that he associated your attentive gaze with being upset.
>Or maybe he was telling you tactfully that he was uncomfortable with the idea.
>You felt a thrill of panic at the idea.
>You moved to freshen your tea, but the pot had since long gone cold.
>Your maids had long since retired, but you didn’t maintain the 24-hour schedule of Canterlot either.
>It tasted terrible, but the biscuits tasted terrible as well.
>Sitting in the dark, you spent another evening waiting for morning to arrive.

******
>The power of love was a terrible thing, or so Anon had said.
>Normally being visibly bored was a terrible breach of etiquette, but the rules of statescraft dictated a studied insult from your government for the delegation from somewhere or other.
>Saddle Arabia or someplace equally...blah.
>Okay, suppose the insult was a studied tactic from your team, but it was also incidental to your overwhelming depression.
>So while members of your government received the delegation with every appearance of interest, you loomed in the background, appearing to undermine the earnest efforts of your government.
>Unfortunately, actually being bored while projecting an air of boredom left your thoughts free to wander.
>But yeah, Anon regularly told you your power basically made you “a freak”.
>It was shocking how his terrible words were made without malice.
>And his rare smile that always accompanied it made you happy to hear it.

>Other than your cooperative display of power in which you expelled the changeling menace from the city of Canterlot, he didn’t really have a grasp at what it was your talent entailed.
>But whatever it was, he didn’t approve.
>He felt his feelings could be best summed up by the cautionary tale of somepony called Orpheus.
>Orpheus was a man who had lost the love of his life prematurely.
>In a feat that immortalized him in story, he ventured into the underworld to reclaim her soul.
>Working his way past the guardian of the realm of the dead, the three-headed dog Cerberus, he met with and bargained with the Lord of the Underworld for her return.
>And then, according to Anonymous “he fucked it all up by failing to pay attention to the only goddamn warning given by Hades!”
>Love drove a soft, pampered man further than he had any reason to go, and in turn blinded him to his own failings, tripped him up and dragged him down further than he could ever have managed on his own.
>Finishing in a harsh whisper, he looked around to see if anyone was giving him “the hairy eyeball” for his vulgarity.
>“Mr. Anonymous”
>“Prince-consort Whitehorse Magicshield!”
>Ponies had later said they thought the Prince-consort’s head would explode at the informality.

>It took your husband a few seconds to find his words again.
>“W-why is it I always find you with my wife?  Shouldn’t you be socializing at these functions?  With ponies other than my wife?”
>“Prince-consort, please!  There are maybe two primary activities going on at these things: gossip, of which I officially disapprove and do not participate in; and business, of which these poor diminutive equines hear about all too much from me.”
>“I’d wager that if I tried that you would find any number of these ponies suddenly all too interested in their drinks, the floor, the walls, etc.  I don’t wish to task one to be the first to openly flee  my attempts to discuss with them *business* at one of these things I keep being invited to,” he added with a nod towards you.

“I’m afraid it’s true.  I found Anonymous hiding out in one of our sitting rooms before it was decided to return to the party, even if it meant grabbing him by the neck to get him here.”
>That Anonymous had been the one adamant about returning to the party instead of remaining secluded with you was a detail you felt comfortable omitting.
>“Ahem…”
>“AHEM,” came the insistent refrain on your right.
>Right, the concluding remarks!
“Honorable delegates, I would like to thank you for…”

>Your own princely husband had bitten Anonymous once.
>Anonymous had disappeared during a weekend garden party, and had found something other than new wine to drink, or “damned grape juice” as he liked to phrase it.
>Shining Armor still felt more comfortable disappearing early into the social gatherings and sticking his hooves into the business of security.
>It was then that he found Anonymous in his cups.
>“Your wife approached me about giving me your job, y’know?”
>Anonymous, in rare spirits, was grinning wildly.
>“Not *this* job, obviously.  Your old one, y’know?  Back when you two were still dating.”
>Your husband was equally dumbfounded by Anon’s drunken incidental shenanigans as by his usual sober, studied remarks intended to cut him down.
>“Ha!”

>It didn’t help that at the time you and Shining were dealing rather poorly with the rumors of chilly relations between the two of you.
>The noise of the party descending to a dull roar was due to those in the immediate vicinity desperately trying to eavesdrop.
>Needless to say, those who had heard immediately gasped.
>Oblivious to Shining Armor’s ears laying back, Anon had moved to pat his shoulder.
>Which was when Shining Armor struck, biting Anon’s shoulder in turn before realizing the gravity of the prince-consort biting a guest.
>Even if it was Anonymous.
>So Shining withdrew with a minimum of dignity, but aside from Anon’s initial growl of agony he seemed okay.
>He joked later, privately, that he now had matching “passion marks” from both members of the royal couple.
>For about equal reasons, even.
>He had been understated in his first refusal to join your service, but he had taken altogether too much enjoyment the fourth time around.
>Which was when you too had bitten Anonymous.

>Anonymous had objected to going out that day.
>Spending another sleepless night alone in your overlarge bed, hours yet until dawn, you were troubled by the persistent intrusive thought.
>Some of the more inventive training and planning had been outside the scope of Search and Rescue.
>More like disaster relief and other crises, such as operations without pegasi, unicorns, or both.
>But seeing how he invented the position, he set his own scope of operations.
>So while his detractors may have claimed he contributed nothing materially, any time there was an interagency operation required everyone knew Anon.
>And Anon knew somepony everywhere, or knew somepony who did.
>Some ponies described his networking efforts as the result of the Magic of Friendship.
>By which you meant your sister-in-law and her friends.
>You sometimes repeated it just because you could see how much it hacked him off.
>To which he replied that while he may enjoy the company of his friends, it took a lot more effort to maintain cordial relations with the organizational bureaucrats who made things happen, none of whom thought of themselves as minor.
>Your husband’s continued day to day involvement in the operations of the Royal Guard had undermined the nominal Captain of the Guard’s authority and judgment.
>The insult of which would have led a more principled officer to have a blunt conversation with your princely husband to either let him get on with the conduct of his office or accept his resignation.

>Or so Anon had explained to you discreetly at some social function.
>You’d asked Anon if he’d ever brought it up.
>To which he explained, as though put upon, that the internal politics of any organization he liaised with was none of his business so long as he could nail them to a wall should they bring that to any interorganizational effort that endangered “his people”.
>So when what should have been an internal guard operation, they dithered instead.
>Even as you hated the captain’s indecision, you quietly approached the feckless officer to take the matter from him.
>Knowing in that moment that he would need to be relieved of command after this, you asked the captain if he thought the unprecedented nature meant it would be appropriate to request assistance from Anonymous’ office.
>He appeared disgustingly relieved at the suggestion, and you offered to accompany him to make this request in person.
>You remember waiting in your sitting room, observing the pleasantries more to calm the captain.
>And so it was when Anonymous swept into the room ahead of the palace functionary who should have been leading him.
>You remember the look on his face as the captain had asked for his assistance.
>“No.”
>You had flinched as though slapped.
>He’d seen right through the captain.
>“I can organize some hot meals here.  I can get quilts and blankets.  But that’s nothing that the guard can’t do for themselves, and without getting civilians underfoot.”
>"Or under ‘hoof’, as the case may be."

>The captain had attempted to protest at that but Anonymous had interrupted him again.
>“There is NO reason for me to be involved here!” he angrily exclaimed.
>“I don’t conduct these operations, I just make sure that the right ponies show up, and that somepony remembers to take roll occasionally.”
>He emphasized the word suffix ‘pony’ with a snarl.
>You intervened before the brittle Captain did something stupid.
“Please, Anon.”
>He withdrew his gaze from the Captain and turned to you, attentive but unsmiling.
“There are skilled ponies in the guard who can do this.  They just need some*one*” you enunciated clearly, “who is willing to .”
>Your words are perfunctory, but he reads the unspoken plea in your eyes.
>You can see him reading the promises you can’t fulfill.
>He looks at you, lips pursed angrily, breathing deeply through his nose as though trying to keep still in spite of a desire to move.
>He gathers himself up, swelling larger for a moment before appearing to reach a decision internally.
>“I’ll babysit this operation then; Guards only, no civilian auxiliaries.”
>He raises a hand to forestall any objections.
>“They’d be a danger to us and themselves if they don’t need to be there.”
>He looks at you again before turning to the useless Captain.
>“Right, let’s begin already, Captain ‘Dumbass’,” he dismissively added.
>And with that the two of them swept off.
>“To tend to that idiot husband of yours,” he added on his way out of your sitting room.
>Out of your life.

>The flames have since died down to embers.
>Exhausted, you rest a while in its comforting warmth.
>Dirty and bruised, you curse quietly.
>Six feet down and they had piled a rock on top to boot.
>Since you were here they had clearly disregarded your ‘last wishes’.
>Or you hadn’t bothered to write them down.
>Yeah, that was probably it.
>Hearing the clop of hooves on cobble stones, you realize you must have attracted the attention of the local cemetery keeper, and whatever beast of burden he kept.
>You have no idea who you are, but clearly have a lot of shit to deal with.
>At least cause appears to precede effect, so you’ve got that going for you.
>But at this rate the overburdened horse is going to be a couple minutes getting to you, if you’re any judge of gait and sound.
“Hey!  Is your pony a cripple, or did you just get saddled with a loser?”
>The plodding steps of the ungulate slow to a halt.
>This is the point where you need to listen to whether the graveskeeper judges that sometimes bodies aren’t the only residents of what are traditionally repositories of the dead.
>It’s best to be upfront about these things because this is probably among the places you least want to encounter trespassers.
“Hello?  I said ‘Is your pony a cripple, or did you just get saddled with a loser?’”
>You hear the clatter of whatever items a graveskeeper on patrol is like to carry being rudely dumped to the ground.
>And a steady, but rapid increase in hooves striking the ground causes you a flash of alarm.
>You attempt to “dash” for cover, but your stiff legs can’t handle the transition of rolling from your back, standing up, and then subsequently running.
>Best you can do is a lurch about 45 degrees off from where you’d like to go.
>In this case, that means falling into the open grave immediately next to you.

>Goddammit.
“Goddammit!” you attempted to shout.
>Except you were winded from the fall, so it wasn’t anything like shouting.
>Painful wheezing really, but thankfully quiet.
>“...nyous! Anonymous!” came the worried shout, growing louder as the rider presumably closed in on your position.
>In taking up occupancy in the empty grave, you had dislodged some dirt which proceeded to fall on you.
>“Anonymous?” the now decidedly female voice asked again, tentatively.
>Remaining still as you were, you could still pinpoint the moment that she found the open grave.
>Whose grave it was you don’t know, since the characters appeared so stylized that you couldn’t read it earlier.
>“Who would dare?” asked a small voice.
>“WHO WOULD DARE?” asked the same voice, much harsher this time.
>And just as quick you heard a panicked cry cut short as  a scrabbling of hooves presumably  reached the edge of your current residence.
>“No no no no no no…”
>Unable to see, you had a moment of panic of your own as the image of a distraught woman jumping down on top of you.
>And she manages a rough four-point landing before collapsing on top of you.
>Which is when it becomes immediately apparent that this is not a woman.
>Not a human woman, anyways.
>In a moment of terror, you tense up and move to fend off the embrace of the female who appeared to be partially feathered.
>Which is when the screaming began.