" That old duel with Grimy? Well, what can I say? I think under different circumstance we could have been friends, I really do. It’s such a shame we kicked off on the wrong hoof. "
~ Interview with Prince Blueblood

“You did WHAT?” Auntie Celestia shouted, making the marble walls of the dining hall shake and dust fall from the ceiling.

I cringed as her words boomed loudly around my head. I hadn’t realised that Celestia was quite as proficient at the Canterlot Acoustic Projection Spell (CAPS, for short) as her sister, or even remembered how to cast it. In any case, I soldiered on through the ringing in my skull.

“I was – ow – challenged to a – bleedin’ heck – duel,” I winced out around my brand-new migraine. Buuuuuck. She sure knew how to throw her voice.

Luna rubbed her forehead, either affected by the spell or just plain frustrated. “We are beginning to see a pattern here, nephew,” she said, rolling her tone around exasperatedly, so yep, probably the second one. She had to have developed some form of deafness by now, anyway. “Were you, perchance, in a bar at the time?” Damn, she was onto me!

“Nooo,” I said, shiftily. “Not at the time...” It was the truth, after all, or at least part of the truth. Close enough, anyway. Probably.

Luna and Celestia’s hooves made a direct course for the respective faces. Was that really necessary? Again? I mean, they must have gotten tired of it by now, and those hoof-guards couldn’t possibly be nice to be hit with.

After a good few seconds of aggravated head-punching, Celestia turned to her sister.

“Luna, how long do you suppose it would take to get a message out to every single purveyor of alcohol in Equestria that our nephew is now banned from... let’s say... everything?” What? What was she on about?

Wait a moment, this wasn’t that ‘forced sobriety’ thing they were going on about last night, was it? But- but-

“Everything?” Luna replied thoughtfully, massaging her chin. “Even cider?” Cider? No, they couldn’t!

“Well then. A day? Although, would it perhaps be faster to simply send out a Royal Edict? Inform everypony in Equestria, just in case? Oh, and make sure to empty his cellars. I hear he has some wonderful vintages at Norcolt.” Wait. My cellars?

“NOOOOOOOOOO!” I shouted, diving in front of them. “You can’t! You can’t!”

“I thought we went over this yesterday,” Celestia said, a smirk peeking past her ‘confused’ visage.

“Well, maybe you can,” I conceded, “but you still can’t! It’s mine! MINE!” I licked my lips. They still didn’t look convinced. “I-I wasn’t even drunk!” I blurted out.

“No! I mean, Yes! I got thrown out too fast to get drunk! Ha! Take that!” There, let’s see them bang me up now!

Luna and Celestia glanced at each other for a second, biting their lips, before bursting into fully-fledged, unstoppable, laughter.

“What?” I said, irritably. They continued to be stuck in the throes of their histrionics, beating at the floor with elegant hooves. “What are you doing?” I repeated, and was ignored. Every time they seemed about to compose themselves, they looked back up at me and – for some reason – immediately burst into peals of laughter again.

“WHAT!” I shouted, employing a little CAPS of my own. The magically enhanced sound tore past my fragile morning vocal chords with a flare of power, and blew a cloud of dust from the floor away in a semi-circle in front of me. After a moment of looking impressive with the sun shining through it, it settled neatly over the just-cleaned windows and portraits on the walls. I winced – not at the dirtied room, we had cleaners for that and other rooms besides – but instead at the sensation of ancient and powerful magicks being compressed into one small ball and torn out of my throat. It was just as bad on the voice as the ears. But if this didn’t get their attention, nothing would.

Apparently, I was wrong. The Princesses, for whom having had several centuries to get used to loud speaking worked wonders, were not as susceptible to the spell as I had hoped. Or, indeed, at all. The two most powerful ponies in Equestria merely rolled over and continued giggling like schoolfillies.

One who it did have more of an effect on, however, was a young serving mare who happened to be at the doorway. The maid, bringing breakfast, saw the Princesses in heap on the floor, a great noise echoing throughout the entire castle and the Prince standing over them like a vengeful demon and decided on the most logical choice of action:

Which she promptly did, turning and galloping away as fast as she possibly could. A silver platter, laden with food, clattered noisily to the floor behind her. The Royal Sisters stopped, startled.

“Finally,” I said, then stomped over to the mountain of toast, cereal and tea. I pulled out an only slightly sodden sandwich and bit into it. “It’s only a duel,” I sighed. “I don’t know why you’re getting so worked up about it, anyway.”

“Blueblood,” said Luna carefully. “Doest thou happen to remember exactly whom thou were challenged by?”

I waved a hoof dismissively. “Oh, you know. Just some old earth pony fella. Erm, Grimy Skies or something, I think.” I turned back the most important issue at hoof: my sandwich.

The newly standing Princess Celestia froze in place. “Did you just say Grimy Skies?” She said slowly.

“Hruph?” I said around a bite of asparagus and dandelion sandwich (with just a hint of orange juice). “What was that? Oh yes, Grimy Skies. You know him? Grumpy face, fancy sword, looks like he needs a good exorcism or two?”

“Why, yes, that’s who I-” Celestia said unthinkingly, before snapping to. “Blueblood! Please refrain from insulting my subjects in such a manner.” If that was the case, in what manner was acceptable then? Smoke signals? The postal service? Massive, fifty-foot high letters on the side of an important government building?

“So you do know him, then? Good, you can tell me how badly I’m going to defeat him.” This was gunna be a doddle.

“Blueblood.” Celestia said, suddenly serious. “Blueblood, please, be serious for a moment. If – if – this pony is who I think it is, then I would advise extreme caution. Grimy Skies is a highly accomplished veteran, serving in both the RAG and the Army as a war pegasus, he-”

“Yes, Blueblood,” she said frustratedly. “A war pegasus, highly trained and-”

“Stop,” I said, raising a hoof. “We can’t possibly be talking about the same pony here. He’s earth pony, for crying out loud! Not a war pegasus,” I scoffed.

“Yes.” Auntie Celestia said; face expressionless, before looking dead into my eyes. “Blueblood, Grimy Skies is not an earth pony.”

“But... wings?” I said, confused. Last time I’d checked, pegasi had wings. It was a bit of a distinguishing feature, really.

A grim look crossed her face. “No, Blueblood. He’s a pegasus. A pegasus who just so happened, very recently, to receive the Blue Acorn for outstanding tenacity and bravery under unforeseen circumstances, and was given six months leave for exemplary service.” She stared imploringly into my eyes, as if expecting something to suddenly click.

I was puzzled. Whilst Auntie was adamant that he was not, in fact, an Earth Pony; there was no way that Grimy would’ve been able to hide a hoofkerchief under that thin jacket, let alone a pair of frickin’ wings. And, like I’d just noted, wings were kinda included in the whole ‘Pegasi’ package deal.

That said, him being a pegasus would explain a few irregularities I’d noticed the other night. Hey, cut me some slack; I’m pretty observant when I’m not sozzled. Article number one, his surprising swift-hoofedness in the alley – I wasn’t the most athletic of stallions, but that sheer speed was ridiculous! Not only that; he’d taken a suspiciously long time to recover from being thrown into a wall, for one with apparent Earth Pony endurance. I’d seen some of the utterly ludicrous things that some ground-huggers could achieve – pulling immense weights, functioning for days without sleep, the most incredible endurance (cough) – it all seemed a bit odd that a simple knock would impair him so. I had recovered in only a few seconds, after all.

But that, then, begged the question: if he could fly, why had he not just flown after me in the alleyway? It was cramped down on the ground, but up in the air it would be as simple as picking apples off a tree, or swindling money off taxpayers. If he could fly, it would’ve been a question of how badly did he want to humiliate me. If he could...

I ran through what I knew of him. He’d won the Blue Acorn – for what? It wasn’t exactly an honour given out on a whim; off the top of my head I could only name two other instances, and both of those posthumously. And to get six months leave: no stray arrow shot to the hoof was going to get you that sort of absence, I’d checked. The facts added up, but how?

I gulped, and turned back to Auntie Celestia. “They didn’t, did they? They- they couldn’t have.” My voice broke slightly.

“With his... and his... my word.” I frantically ran through my conversation with Grimy Skies at the bar. I hadn’t mentioned anything relating to him being an earth pony, had I? Please, Celestia, say I hadn’t. All it would have taken was one slip, and if this pony was as large a hero as Auntie had implied, I might just be somewhat screwed.

I resolved to put the consequences of what I may or may not have done behind me, and instead to get working on how to solve this. It was too late for diplomacy, I feared. He was likely out for blood and I wasn’t about to blame him for it. But that would come later. First off, I had to figure out who he even was. Who is Grimy Skies? How did he become only the third stallion ever to be awarded the Blue Acorn, and word of it not reach my ears? How did something like... that... get done to him? And, now I thought about it, where did he get that sword? If there was any information to be found, I needed to find it, and find it now.

So, where does one go to acquire knowledge? A faint memory of hoofball and mares invaded my mind, and I smiled unconsciously. Yep, that’d do.

I was hitting the Library, and hitting it hard. Just as soon as I’d sorted out some contingency plans.

I entered the market with just the tiniest bit of apprehension. I knew I had to find some way of wriggling out of this now, I wasn’t going to get any help dealing with this one from my immortal relations. I had to find my own way, help myself. Therefore, I had six hours to think up some way of saving my life, and only infinite funds, a massive intellect, the love and appreciation of Equestria, and my undeniable sex appeal to do it with.

Thus, the market. What other place could I possibly find a solution to my problem than this melting point of equine despair and depravity, darkness and death, the ultimate depth to which ponykind could sink; the proverbial Tartarus; Hell on Equestria; Discord’s bedroom; call it what you will! Why, Auntie Celestia said ponies actually work here! Farmers, country ponies, the working classes, allowed through the Walls of Canterlot to peddle their petty goods to the noble populace! Ugh, even as I saw foals playing happily in the dappled sunshine, I could smell the sweat of a dozen brutish farm labourers earning – sweet mother of Luna – an honest living! I shuddered in my custom-made buffalo leather boots.

But it was here, in this unholy place of cutthroats and pickpockets and commoners, that I was to find my salvation, if I just knew where to look. So, steeling myself, I ran my eyes over the bustling square. From the old and creaking sign proclaiming “CANTERLOT OPEN-AIR MARKET” (I’d campaigned to get the ugly thing removed, but apparently it had ‘historical value’), to the rows of rickety stalls and salesponies (which I’d also campaigned about, but had been again rebuffed, for entirely different reasons), to a gaggle of ponies in threadbare clothing who looked suspiciously like the group from Clopton I’d met the other day, to a group of mares with medical-related cutie marks, giggling and chatting in a sunny corner, to a tired, pudgy buck who had apparently stopped working to stare creepily at said mares, to a- wait a moment! I turned back to the peeping Tom.

I trotted over, avoiding the various disgusting spills and detritus in my path. The stallion, purple in colour with a dodgy manecut sat there slack jawed, staring unabashedly at the group of twenty-something medical students. Or at least they looked like medical students. Definitely too young to be nurses, and certainly not doctors, why, some of them seemed younger than me! From my (quick) look I could say that they were way out of lover-boy’s league. Which was, from my perspective, a distinct plus.

“Good evening, my good pony!” I interjected suddenly into the poor stallion’s brooding. “You know, I couldn’t help but notice that you’re a bit of a pathetic sap. Do you disagree?”

“Wha- who are you?” He said, quickly, jerking his head away from the direction of the mares.

“I said, ‘do you disagree?’” I raised my eyebrow pointedly. I didn’t have much time. If this didn’t work out, I still had half-a-dozen other things to try before giving up.

“A-around mares? Um.... I suppose so...” he scuffed the floor with his hoof and glanced down.

“Weeeellll...” I was more going for ‘pathetic sap’ generally, but meh.“Yes, you most certainly are!”

“Wonderful! Now we’ve got that sorted, we can get down to the nitty-gritty. First off, what can I call you?”

“Well then, Mr. Custard: judging by the way you were looking at those fine specimens of fillies in the corner,” I nudged his shoulder and winked, “I reckon you’re looking for a special somepony of your own, am I right?” I sniggered inwardly. Dusty here was about as likely to actually get a fillyfriend as Auntie Luna was to start playing party games, but I wasn’t about to tell him that.

Featherwieght, or whatever he was called, looked around glumly, murky green eyes nervously flicking back to the corner every few seconds. “I’m alright, thank you,” he murmured. “I’ve – I’ve got no chance with them anyway.” True, true. But he didn’t have to acknowledge it! I was trying to blatantly take advantage of him, not crush his self-esteem!

“Nonsense!” I cried, throwing a foreleg around his weedy shoulders. “Why, I believe you have every chance in Equestria of bagging one of those buxom babes!” I waved a lazy hoof at the group of nurses and as one they swooned. “See? They’re falling for you already.” I said smiling winningly.

“If you say so,” he said, doubtful, then suddenly shook his head. “Wait a moment! Who even are you?” He rose to his full height (a good few inches shorter than me, not that it was important or anything), and squinted square into my eye. I batted him away.

“Pah!” I brushed off with a wave of my hoof, ignoring him completely. “That’s not important right now! I’m just here to get YOU,” I prodded his chest, “on a DATE!”

“I glad we agree! So, what I need you to do is go over there and ask one of them out. Go on!” I prodded him again.

Feather froze. “W-what?” he stuttered, looking for all the world as if I’d just asked him to attack a dragon with a banana. Which was nonsense, of course: should I ever need any dragons killed with fruit there were plenty of foolhardy knights wanting a cheap thrill. And I was all out of popcorn, so it would have to wait until later anyway.

“It can’t hurt, can it?” I said enthusiastically. Although, it would be fun if it did.

I raised an eyebrow theatrically. “’No’ as in ‘No, it can’t hurt’, or as in ‘No, I won’t do it’?” I said.

“And whyever not?” I said, faux-angrily. “I’m not giving up my time for nothing, you know!”

“I’m scared!” Feather Duster shouted, causing half the marketplace to stop what they were doing and look at us. He cringed, and I waved them on. After a moment, everypony shrugged and continued.

“So... you’re too scared to go over and ask one of those mares on a date, correct?”

“Yes,” he said after a second, then looked up angrily. “I’m not like you, y’know! With your- stuff, and your- other stuff! Whoever you are!” He kicked at the ground, causing a small puff of dirt.

“Hmmm,” I said in fake consideration. “Well, then, let me give you some advice.”

“Correctamundo, my dear chap! Now I want you to take what I say very seriously, do you understand? I’m not saying this for my own good.” Well, I was, but just being seen in my vicinity would probably help him despite my ‘advice’, so it didn’t really matter what I said.

“I want you,” I paused dramatically, “to consider how ridiculously gorgeous I am.” I gestured to myself and nodded.

“Just consider it!” I interrupted, indicating my toned legs. “Take my legs, for instance. You can’t help but notice how irresistibly perfect they are, right? Not too muscle-bound, but certainly not flabby, just... sex. Sex in leg form, you understand.”

“All in good time my good pony, all in good time,” I said, cheerfully condescending, then continued. “Not only that. This flank is the stuff of legend! I tell you, friend, mares with flanks that pale in comparison to mine often come up to me and confess, ‘Blueblood, oh, how I wish my flank were half as perfectly exquisite as yours!”

“...” said the buck, obviously struck dumb by the sheer awesomeness that was my flank.

“Oh, but it’s true,” I said. I clopped my hoof on the ground. “You! The charming mare in the corner! Do come over for a spell!” I gestured at one of the fillies that Mr. Pathetic-with-ponies-and-ugly-to-boot had been drooling over.

Blushing and looking as if she might faint at any moment (always a danger in my company, I fear), the filly trotted daintily over and stood, lust clear in her bubblegum-pink eyes.

“My dear, lovely mare,” I began, ignoring the increasingly incredulous looks I was getting from my new friend and the increasingly lecherous ones from the filly. “I have a question for you!” I grinned enthusiastically, but inside I was wondering just how much it’d cost to get her to forget this conversation ever happened. Something involving physical contact, probably.

“Unngh...” she moaned in excitement, before quickly catching herself and wiping the saliva off her muzzle. “Aaa- yes?”

“Tell me,” I said grandly. “What do you think of this flank?” I turned to give her my best angle.

“Oh my CELESTIA, it’s beautiful!” The nurse shouted in ecstasy, a hoof to her forehead. “May I... may I touch it?” I thought it over for a second before deciding it couldn’t hurt.

She moaned, whimpered, and otherwise acted as if she were about to explode from pure bliss as she gently brushed a hoof over my hair. “It’s so, so, GORGEOUS!” She sang in astonishment. “And you’re so muscular! I want to touch it forever! OH!”

“Now, before you faint, what do you think of my dear friend, um, Feathery Dusthead here?”

The mare blinked and seemed to notice Featherbrain for the first time. “Oh. Hi! You’re friends with famous ponies!” Well, I didn’t like to brag...

“Hmm, well, you do have a promising amount of flank. Way too much of it, of course, and not attractive at all.” The buck’s head lowered with each statement. “But, if you worked to tone it, and make it the best flank it could be, why, I think it could even be a quarter as good as... Blueblood’s.” She fluttered her eyelids.

“What, really?” He said disbelievingly. I was quite put out by her comment. A quarter as good? As me? Fatty-fatty-feather-face?

“But it’s terrible right now. Just so you know. Like, really, yuck.” She said shortly.

Right, now that was over with. “You’re dismissed,” I said, waving her away.

“I am sorry my dear,” I wasn’t. “But I have very beautiful, wonderful and incredible things to do now that are much more important than you. So be a darling and get the heck away from me, there’s a good filly.”

“I was actually about to say that she was strikingly pretty,” Leather Mustard said, quite seriously. Pff. Newbies.

“Well, there’s no accounting for taste,” I muttered. “So, you understand?”

I frowned. “Put it this way: do you think that I was born so completely, utterly perfect?”

“Don’t be stupid. Of course I was! But you have to work at it, see? To be fair, I have a few advantages – being me and being me – and you have a few disadvantages, but the point remains! If you ever want to be one-tenth as utterly fabulous as ME one day, you need to knuckle down, Dustbowl,” I said. “And I can help!” I threw a hoof over his shoulder. “I just need you to do me one teensy-weensy favour first.”

The birds sang, the Canter River gleamed like a jewel, the sunrise reflecting off the whitewashed walls of the castle dappled the landscape for miles around, and Equestria slowly began to shuffle into its morning routine.

I awoke, head propped up on a stack on dusty books and eyes bleary with a night filled with absorbing knowledge. Useless knowledge, as it turned out.

Not one – not one – of the five hundred and seventy three thousand volumes that lined The Library’s ancient shelves had a single jot of information about my enigmatic foe. Not one mention, line, reference, anything! Equestria’s premier source of knowledge had, for the first time, drawn a complete blank. And that meant that all that stood between me and a quick death at the business end of a duelling spell was Feathers-for-brains and his acting skills.

I peeled my face off the embossed dragonscale cover of a particularly unedifying tome and dressed in a mute haze. Moving over to my walk-in wardrobe, I reached for a particularly grim black suit unconsciously. It seemed appropri-

Abruptly, I shook myself and dumped the expensive outfit in a pile on the floor. Really, what hope had I if my own subconscious was rebelling?

I switched to the hangar holding my Royal Guard dress. Unlike the golden plates which I had seen adorning the Guards which roamed freely about the castle, this was designed for use in the deep rainforests and jungles that decorated the southern border of Equestria. A thin, sturdy fabric dyed in the richest crimson from the Zebra homeland and embellished with gold buttons, the handsome ensemble was a contributing factor in me choosing to serve in the 11th Horssars. Onto it, I carefully pinned the numerous award and titles that I had accumulated over the years. There was my MEE, of course, and the massive shiny one saying “Greatest Nephew in Equestria”, and, well, I had lots, that’s for sure. I polished the gleaming awards with a burst of magic, brushed my teeth, then spent fifteen minutes sorting out my mane and tail. One has to look one’s best for the public, after all, even if they’re just there to watch somepony get their head blown off.

I roughly shook my head again, and resolved to quash all of my clearly unnecessary fears. There was nothing to be worried about!

Looking myself up and down in the full-length mirror on my bathroom wall, I decided that the only thing that could possibly accentuate this sort of outfit would be some kind of hat. No uniform was ever complete without a hat, after all. Unfortunately, I only had about two dozen hats, and none of them seemed to go! I mean, Military never went out of fashion, so one would suppose that I would have something, but after five minutes of frantic searching, I could find nothing that had that perfect mix of rugged individualism and casual practicality that was needed to pull it off. Disgruntled, I teleported down to the (recently re-cleaned) dining hall.

My aunts were absent, which was odd, but not uncommon. They had their duties to attend to, and actually running the country meant that I ate at odd times anyway, so I did miss them occasionally. Shame, but I think I’ve probably had enough of being lectured by now.

That reminded me, how was Hole Punch doing? I’d have to check and make sure he hadn’t blown up anything too important. He was a bit useless, that one. However, I reasoned, he couldn’t possibly break things that badly. I was only leaving him alone for a few hours, after all!

I heard faint hoofclops at the door, and a maid trotted in carrying a tray of hay toast. I raised an eyebrow, and she blushed and curtsied, before setting down the silver platter. I waved an absent hoof at her and she curtsied again, before trotting off.

Glancing at a clock, and mindful of the time, I grabbed a couple of pieces of toast (no butter, dairy made me fat) and teleported once more to the front of the castle. There, dressed in my livery of royal blue and silver, stood an earth pony stallion.

“Sir?” He said, shivering and expelling clouds of fog with every breath. I briefly wondered how long he’d been standing there, before deciding I didn’t actually care. He stamped his hooves to keep warm.

“Hmmm?” I answered. “Oh, yes. Be a moment.” I snaffled down the last few pieces of my dry toast, checked my hair in a small conjured mirror, and nodded to the servant. He let out a relieved sigh, and then whistled piercingly. After a moment, a team of four more ponies came huffing and puffing around the corner, hauling an ornately decorated carriage, also in my colours, behind them. I tapped my hoof impatiently at the spectacle, wishing I could use one of those fancy ‘time control’ spells I’d heard about. I didn’t want to be late to my own duel!

The coach, lavishly embellished with ivory and silver, pulled to a smooth halt before me. The ponies pulling it took a quick break, panting. I permitted them fifteen seconds of recuperation, more than generous really, and then hopped inside via the hastily erected spindly staircase.

The interior was cloaked in luxurious blue velvet, with carved inlays on the oak-panelled floor. Set in the side opposite to me was a large, glazed, window, which at the moment had a spectacular view of the hills of Equestria sweeping away in broad strokes from the base of Canterlot Mountain. Facing each other were a set of matching cushioned seat, two across. I selected the one nearest to the door, which I then closed with a flash of magic. As I sat, the magical warming charms activated, heating the brougham to an acceptable temperature, and fogging the window somewhat.

When I was comfortable, I tapped on the wall briskly. The stallion whinnied something at the ponies pulling the cab, took their seats on top, and after a second of pulling, I began smoothly down the winding, weaving path from the Castle to Canterlot proper.

I barely noticed the scenery that rushed past the window as I made my way down the mountain. It wasn’t that I had seen it before, though I had, and nor was it that the juddering, rough ride was distracting my attention, though it was. It wasn’t the twisting, turning snakes of apprehension that curled in my stomach, or the loose thread in my starch-stiffened collar, or even the thought that I could genuinely lose this duel.

No, the thing that stopped me from sitting back and enjoying the morning air was a sudden, strange consideration: what in Equestria was I doing?

I didn’t have to be here. That was a fact. Even if I was opposed to simply walking away, there were a thousand and one ways I could’ve slipped out of it, reputation intact. A few strings pulled here, a couple of bits towards ‘growth-targeting investment portfolios’ there...

I could – should – have bucked this guy three ways to Sunday, and here I was giving the undertaker an extra customer! Heck, all it’d have taken was a quick word to the constabulary and he’d be at their Majesties’ pleasure before you could say ‘ten to fifteen years’!

And yet, here I was. Was from it some form of masochistic pride that I continued? I could knock on the wall, and in twenty minutes I’d be back at the castle. Twenty more and I could have a meeting with the Mayor of Canterlot; ‘old Grimy’ would be behind bars before he even figured out that he’d been stood up. All it would take was a knock. Just a knock.

“Sir!” A voice shouted from outside, and I jumped, my foreleg a fraction of an inch from the wall. Quickly, I noticed that we’d stopped moving.

Oh. Suddenly, all thoughts of running were emptied from my mind. For a moment, I just sat there unmoving. Then, I looked up.

I strode down the hill at a fair clip, my steward trotting along beside me. From my perspective, I could see a smallish field, flanked on all sides by light forest. Clumped in tight groups were ponies ranging from the curious noblesse (“Did you hear? The Prince is going to be here!” “To the death, oh my.”) to some of the various businessponies that infested Canterlot these days (“Fifty bits on Crack Shot!”) to some uniformed guards. A quick scan of their faces revealed Shining Armour, of all ponies, along with a few subordinates.

Despite being confused by what they were saying (who in Equestria was ‘Crack Shot’?), I was confident I could win them over, given time. In fact, winning this would probably boost my public favour to all-new heights!

There was a rough cobblestone path leading down the steep embankment, and I made my way quickly. Due to the way that it had been constructed, the ponies in the field couldn’t see us until we got all the way down, and the sun had risen just above the hills surrounding the field, pooling light into the small valley and further restricting their view.

I changed my angle somewhat, aiming for a rocky outcropping directly between the sun and the meadow, indicating for my servant to follow. The ponies below continued gossiping, unaware, and after a few moments, I was in position twenty feet above the plaza, but out of sight. The sun was directly behind me, and the angle made everything – trees, ponies, flowers – cast long, shallow, shadows. In fact, the angle was such that if I were to walk forward just a few paces, and stand in just the right position-

I walked forward a few paces and stood in just the right position. Suddenly a great, dark silhouette was cast over the field, turning day into night.

The ponies – perhaps fifty in number – jumped like startled rabbits, and began glancing nervously around. I heard panicked cries – “Who turned out the lights?”, “Help!” – and, my personal favourite, “It’s Nightmare Moon! Run for your lives!”. They continued looking frantically. One by one they saw me, and their jaws began to drop.

I stood above them, nothing more than a regal profile before the sun that burned like some glorious seraph behind me. As it passed though my lustrous white coat, the brilliant radiance caught me just so, forming a dazzling aura of flame, and at that moment, the wind whipped up causing my mane and tail to flutter as gloriously, as brave as any battlefield standard. From my brow, a spiralling alabaster horn erupted, and from the horn came a mystical cerulean shine. The sound of ghostly trumpets (created by my spell, not that the enraptured crowd below knew that) echoed majestically across the land and the steward, equally in awe but hiding it better, stepped up beside me.

“Announcing the presence of His Royal Highness Prince Blueblood the Majestic, Crown Prince of Equestria, Grand Duke of Buckshire, Lord of the Eastern Isles, Major-General of the Royal Guard (11th Horssars), Air Commodore, Lord Chancellor of Canterlot, Ark’at of the Wandering Tribes, Patron of the Arts, Defender of Tranquillity, and Order of the Plough 1st Class.” He paused, and eyed the crowd “All rise.”

A Prince's Folly

by Doctor Whooves

Breakfast, Buffoonery, and Boasting