The throng of mingling voices quieted in a wave with the thumping of golden horseshoes on marble. The gathered petitioners shuffled anxiously as the tired guards lining the walls stood at attention. Eyes shifted from guards to princess, wondering what had brought the debate to its sudden halt.
Celestia, groggy but hiding it well, cleared her throat and straightened her back, giving her wings a light stretch to work out the soreness. She twisted her head, slightly but forcefully, and elicited several loud pops that echoed through the deathly silent throne room. She shot a glance sideways at her purple pupil, who was seated on a pillow beside the throne to watch and listen to the daily Court of Dawn and learn how to run her own when the time came.
Twilight Sparkle was fast asleep.
Celestia extended her right wing a little further, poking the younger alicorn in the ribs and making her squeak and snap to attention, then cleared her throat again and addressed the snickering and confused audience.
“I believe,” she began, stifling a yawn, “that this Court of Dawn may, once again, have carried beyond its jurisdiction.” She looked sideways out a window, the rest of the room following suit, and the many gathered ponies shifted awkwardly as they realized that the moon was steadily rising over the horizon. “I am sorry, my little ponies, but I’m afraid this session of court must come to an end. If you will grant us a moment my sister Princess Luna will arrive shortly to begin the Nocte Curia.”
The gathered ponies bowed respectfully, though some muttered dissatisfaction at waiting so long to be turned away. Celestia returned the bow with a dignified dip of her head, then lit her horn and pushed open the massive doors at the end of the long hall her throne looked over. The crowd turned and filtered through the great archway into the Throne Room Ante-Chamber to await the change of royal authority and the start of the night court. The tall princess smiled and nodded at some further bows from lingering ponies waving sedately as they moved themselves or were gently but firmly ushered out of the room by a nearby guard.
With the room free of common-folk, the doors quietly swung closed and a collective sigh escaped the ponies that remained inside. Guards relaxed and took the opportunity to stretch, some removing their helmets and wiping the sweat from their faces and manes. Princess Celestia herself let her stiff shoulders relax and finally extended her wings to their full length to get blood running into them again.
“How was your nap,” she asked the younger princess at her side.
Twilight shied away from her sly grin and wiped the spit from the corner of her mouth. “F-fine. Sorry about. . .”
Celestia laughed and swiveled her head, drawing out a loud crack and a long sigh. “I don’t blame you, Twilight. One can only devote so much of their day to fairly adjusting the price of corn.”
“Wow,” the purple princess mused, arching her back, “is that what I missed?”
“Oh don’t worry. It’ll come up again in a few months,” Celestia smirked, rolling her shoulders. “It always does.”
Twilight snorted and turned to her teacher with a cocky expression and witty retort on the tip of her tongue, but both instantly vanished with the sight of polished steel hovering inches from the elder princess’ heart.
The young alicorn’s eyes darted to the hilt, taking in the magical aura that held it in place. They then shifted further to the unicorn that was standing on the dais behind the sword. They took in the timberwolf gray coat, amber eyes, disheveled gunmetal mane, and confident sneer. Finally they shot up to Celestia’s face—expecting to find her contentedly stretching her forelegs—and found a calm yet somehow ferocious gaze leveled at the would-be assassin.
A shout echoed through the room as guards noticed the newcomer and took up their weapons, only to find themselves with blades hovering at their throats as dozens of other dark robed figures materialized seemingly from the air. Quickly, silently, the gathered guardsponies were restrained by the threat of cold steel pressing into their necks, and the throne room was once again left quiet.
“Hello. . . my little ponies,” Celestia said evenly. “Is there some grievance you have to voice?”
“Grievance,” the unicorn parroted in a thick accent. “Aye. I’ve got a grievance.”
“The Nocte Curia will begin shortl—“ Celestia closed her mouth as the sword twisted and slid up against her jugular, lifting her head only as much as would keep the blade from biting into her skin.
“Our grievance is not with the Night Mother,” the unicorn growled, narrowing her eyes. “Do not try me, false one, or I will cut your elder down.”
Twilight, who had been rising and flooding magic into her horn, cautiously lowered herself back into her seat and let the readied spell slip away. She looked to Celestia for guidance, but the more practiced alicorn kept her lilac eyes fixed on those of her attacker. Twilight looked nervously out at the guards, who were all predisposed with swords and knives pressed to their own necks—though some met her eye and tried to give her a reassuring look, one that utterly failed to put her at ease. She glanced momentarily at the sword that lay ready at the throne’s side, debating whether she could draw it without being noticed, then looked at it again when she thought she saw a faint movement.
“And what is this grievance?” Celestia asked calmly, still keeping her eyes locked with the unicorns.
“Cut it. I thenk y’ know well enough why ‘m here,” the unicorn snorted in her heavy accent, her cocksure grin turning sour. “And I thenk y’ll find that there won’t be any interruptions this time.”
The sword pushed roughly into Celestia’s skin but she moved her head no further. The unicorn made her threat clear, but it was apparent that there was something she wanted the soon-to-be-dead Princess of Dawn to know first. Or perhaps, Celestia wagered, something she wanted her to remember.
“’This time,’” Celestia repeated dryly. “Strange. I don’t recall being in such a situation before. Certainly not in your lifetime,” she mused, taking a closer look at the mare. Something about was familiar, but what exactly set her apart from any other gray unicorn was not immediately apparent.
“Not with blades,” the unicorn admitted, “but you were a prisoner all the same. Y’ found yerself powerless to protect th’ ponies ya sweur ta protect—and worse, ya fell victim to an ambush by a foe y’ had no right ta be surprised by. A proper ruler would be embarrassed by ya, and indeed I am!” the unicorn snarled, leaning into her words—and the sword. “Ya may not reco’nize me, but I was there when ya failed yer public, and I’ll be there when yer public puts ya to th’ gallows for it.”
While the growls and controlled words were slung Twilight watched, entranced, as the sword drew itself inch by inch further out of its scabbard seemingly of its own accord. The gray unicorn, too occupied with her threats and always returning Celestia’s steely gaze, failed to notice as the sword shimmied a little looser in its holding with every angry word.
“Gallows? You expect you’ll get me out of this room yourself?” Celestia asked, the smirk in her voice not visible on her face. “You have quite an impressive pair of balls to make such bold claims.”
That had surprised the unicorn, and apparently everyone else in the room. Whatever they had been focusing on before, all eyes were now squarely centered on Princess Celestia. The unicorn screwed her face in confusion, her focus wavering, and it was in that instant of hesitation that her captive saw a flicker in her disguise and realized what had felt so familiar about the unassuming assassin.
She was a changeling.
Realization flashed over both of their faces—Celestia discovering the identity of her assailant and the unicorn noticing her revelation. The smaller combatant snarled and whipped her head aside, taking the sword with it, and, in doing so, just missed being decapitated by the self-wielding sword beside the throne. Twilight watched in horror as the assassin’s shining steel bit into her mentor’s flesh, tearing a deep gash across her throat, then spin out across the room and clatter to the floor. She felt her heart slam into her ribs, her breath catching in her throat, as the marble white alicorn sat motionless in her place, appearing, Twilight thought, as a statue so like her memorial would surely be. And then, as she watched, brilliant golden light crisscrossed over the open wound like sutures and pulled the skin back together—leaving nary a scar in its wake and spilling not a drop of blood as it went.
The unicorn was not as lucky. Though her head remained stuck fast to her neck, her ear, and more importantly her horn, had not been left undamaged. The gray flap of skin and hair flopped quietly off of the side of her head and plapped onto the marble floor before reverting to its natural black and withered state. Her horn, meanwhile, clacked and clattered down the steps between her legs, changing as it fell, and skittered away from the dais a few feet in its knotted, nicked, and oddly bent form.
Gasps rang out in the silence—from guards and gathered assassins alike. The once-unicorn now-changeling took no notice, instead whipping he head the other way with the intent to slice at Celestia again. But the broadsword once held firmly in her magic did not respond to her will. The anxious but confident grin vanished from the changeling’s face as she looked up and saw Celestia towering over her with not a mark on her coat to show the lethal slash she’d just taken to her throat. Adrenaline turned cold in her chest, and the blood running down her neck was suddenly, distractingly warm. Lime colored sparks crackled and fizzled out of her halved horn as her spell traveled through the gnarled bone only to snap and backfire. The changeling, eyes wide, raised a shaking hoof to her diminished horn, and the pain of her injuries struck her like a hammer to the face.
“AaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUGH!!!”
The shriek reverberated through the room, followed quickly by another as the pain-wracked changeling dropped to the floor. The heavily robed entourage of would-be assassins shrunk away from her howls, shooting worried looks at each other and their wounded leader. The ear-shattering scream was silenced by a loud metallic clang!
The changeling’s eyes opened wide. Her breath caught in her throat. She cautiously turned her eyes to take in the gleaming blade that rested against the side of her neck and extended into the stone beside her head. The eyes shifted up to Celestia, who sat stone still in her throne, the same harsh yet emotionless mask still covering her face. The changeling whimpered and started to move when a second sword, this time cloaked in the alicorn’s golden aura, slid across the entrapping blade and speared into the ground at the opposite side of the changeling’s neck. The former assassin caught back her breath in short, shallow gulps as she took in the long, thin swords that crossed over her and pinned her to the floor before her face changed. Once again she looked up at Celestia with a firm resolve, glaring at the stoic lilac eyes that looked down at her from what now seemed so high above. She set her jaw, turned as much as she could, then bared her teeth and hissed a guttural growl.
“Vivat reginam.”
To Twilight’s utter horror, the changeling lurched forward and began furiously sawing through her carapace with the crossed blades. Celestia watched silently, making no move to intervene, as the thick, black shell split and the changeling began to choke and sputter on her viscous blue-green blood.
Silently one of the hooded figures raised his foreleg, a blade springing from somewhere in his sleeve, and he punched the hidden dagger into his neck, collapsing instantly. Swords fell from hooved and magical hold as more blades appeared from within the folds of the assassins’ robes and choked and gagging cries filled the room as they were swiftly plunged into their owners’ throats.
Twilight’s wide eyes took in the scene with mute horror. She opened her mouth, desperate to say something, something, to stop the gory scene playing out before her, but all that escaped was a strangled squeak. Metal crashed to the floor in front of her and made her jump. She looked down and found a sword bouncing down the stairs away from her. She looked right and felt her body become rigid. Scared, wide, blue eyes stared back at her from a masked and hooded face.
Twilight felt a cold shiver run down her spine. ’Was he there the whole time? How did—‘
Twilight’s eyes darted down and found a hoof trembling at the pony’s chest, a blade extending beyond it and hesitantly pressing into his neck. Her eyes doubled in width and shot back up to his, screaming silently to lower his arm. The pony—she was sure he was a pony—narrowed his eyes and pressed a little harder, piercing the thick cloth around his neck, but stopped once the cold metal touched his skin. Twilight shook her head, begging him to stop, and the stallion quietly stopped shaking. Twilight paused, hope flashing through the terror in her eyes. The assassin withdrew his knife.
Then he lifted his chin and speared the long blade through the softer part of his jaw and into his skull.
Twilight screamed, the piercing cry drowning out the choked sounds of death around her. Celestia blinked for the first time since the invaders had appeared, glancing sideways at her pupil, then shook herself and took stock of the situation. The changeling laughed a disgusting, burbling laugh as she drowned, grinning madly as Celestia’s stoic mask broke.
The Princess of Dawn spread her wings, brilliant golden magic filling her horn, and a warm, sunny light swept across the room.
Blackening pools stopped their flow, color returning to them, and began to shrink. Lungs inflated and emptied of stifling, suffocating fluids. Skin pulled itself taught and stitched together as arteries were once again filled with their spilled contents. A thick, chitinous shell cracked and popped as its pieces snapped back into place, and a mad grin dropped from a terrified face.
Short swords were kicked across the floor as guards turned on their attackers, spears raised, but found no resistance. What few assassins attempted to stand quickly had their legs taken out from under them by a shining aura and a powerful sleep spell. Celestia looked sideways at her apprentice, noting that the hollow fear lingered on her face despite her efforts, and sighed as she turned back to the changeling at her feet.
“Sleep,” she murmured, lighting her horn.
“Death to the Sun!” the changeling hissed, leaning into the blades again before collapsing in a heap.
Celestia closed her eyes and took a long, deep breath before opening them again. She straightened her back, adjusted her hooves, then addressed the guards.
“Confiscate their weapons. All of them,” she ordered, snapping the guards to attention. “Have their skin strengthened and set repulsive fields around their teeth. Hold them separately, do not allow line of sight between them, and have the changeling sent to the Royal Lockup.” She paused thoughtfully, then added, “Let no one see you.”
The assembled guards saluted before turning to their work. Celestia looked down at the sleeping changeling and frowned. She drew the swords out of the floor on either side of her then deftly slashed them over her head, cleanly slicing off the changeling’s newly mended horn.
A squeak as she cut drew Celestia’s attention to her right, where Twilight sat in shock on her pillow. The elder alicorn’s face became somber as she quietly sheathed the twin rapiers on either side of her throne. Seconds ticked by in silence as the guards arranged the slumbering bodies for easy transportation, all the while Celestia searched for some reassuring thing to say to her star student.
“Still bored?”
Twilight slowly turned her head to look at Celestia, the dull glassy look in her eye telling the older mare that her attempt at humor had fallen more than a little flat. The pearly alicorn studied her junior’s harrowed expression, quietly hating herself for allowing her to sit in on this particular session of court. With a sigh Celestia turned her attention back to the guards.
“It might be best if you got some sleep.”
Without waiting for an answer—and with a subtle flash of magic—the regal figure sent her apprentice topping forward into a gentle, downy surface. She carefully lowered her wing, letting the sleeping mare slide safely onto the dais. Celestia spared a final, disdainful look at the disarmed changeling, then picked up her student in her magic and left the room.