Doubt is a sharp blade: Starve

Starve? Starve? What was she…

 

Pas D’arms felt as though his thoughts scattered like fireflies as Queen Vespa lost her composure. The beautiful, butter colored form ripped away in a roiling darkness that sent an unexpected shudder through his entire body.

 

Where. Where did her colors go? She’d looked like sunshine and rainbows before, and she’d been so lovely it had fueled a sense of guilt in his doubts about how to feel about the orders they’d received. This though, cut into him like a sword. Especially that his first thought was that she had become a monster.

 

Monsters lived in the dark. Were dark, and twisted and frightening. Things like Umbreon, which he’d been so… no that he was still afraid of. Still had nightmares about becoming when things were really bad. 

 

He tried to shake it off, but he couldn’t seem to pull together his thoughts. What were their orders? What were they supposed to do when things went this sour? He still didn’t know what the circumstances were behind the need for a treaty, didn’t know if Vespa had compromised their own ruler. 

 

If he protected the changelings and the protesters would he lose his place in the guard? 

 

Would it matter if he did?

 

What good was being a Knight if it was for the wrong reasons.

 

What good was being a knight if it brought him closer to being a monster. 

 

There were others here that had more right to give orders, but if they were shouting them, he didn’t hear them, or maybe couldn’t with fear thundering in his ears.

 

“PROTECT THE FALLEN!”  He lunged forward to get between a warped guard and their target, horn blazing to life with magic as he did so. Protect the fallen, stop the attackers. Something about this was profoundly wrong, and he couldn’t solve it, but he could maybe try and keep it from getting worse before someone else could. 

 

He was honestly surprised when he saw others react not only as though they heard him, but as though they might follow it.

 

He saw Brave Storm, powerful as she was, shift to hold her ground, and intercept attackers. She had no magic, and that felt particularly brave under the circumstances after what he’d seen Vespa do. What it seemed like the changelings he’d seen stagger and go dark like extinguished lanterns might do. 

 

There was a ravening light in their eyes and behavior that made him positive. He was shaking even while he tried to keep them at bay without hurting them. Dreaded knowing what it might feel like if they got hold of any one of them.  Better him than civilians… but he didn’t want it to be him either. 

 

It was tempting to call Brave and tell her to be careful, but that would insult her skill and bravery as she hip checked a starved looking thing away from another changeling, and head slammed another. She could have easily felled most of them with a kick, he knew how strong she was, but there was as much kindness as power in her and she held back from shattering carapace with those stone shattering hooves.

 

He saw Pearl as well, a flash of white fur and protective goggles to keep the sun from damaging sensitive eyes. Their eyes apparently were more sensitive than their feelings. He saw a flash of gritted teeth and pinned ears, and determination in bright red eyes, and watched with a sense of dawning horror as the Albino pony used his sweeping horns to scoop and *throw* an unaltered changeling into the swarm close to Vespa.

 

“MOON, NO!” He tried to roar in protest, but there was just no time to engage the other pony. Too much chaos, too many innocents being hurt. If he tried to break through the crowd to him, he’d only put more ponies at risk.

 

“Get back! GET THEM BACK! CONTAIN THE CHANGED!!” He yelled, desperately, forging ahead and trying to buy time for as many as he could. 

 

Fascinating how the front he had been certain would stand in glory and honor and the protection of others seemed to be shattering like glass in front of him. Amazing how he couldn’t seem to do anything to stop it. He didn’t have the power, the rank, the strength, or the wit. 

 

Remarkable how he could still feel so helpless.