Your Alicorn Is In Another Castle

by Estee


Coding Of Honor

She was walking within his shadow: it would have been hard to be in the hallway with him and not be occupying a portion of lesser light. He was huge, gigantic in a way which should have left him barely able to stand within the corridors, let alone navigate them. Wallpaper should have been tearing with every resounding thomp of a step, with the walls themselves threatening to buckle. And yet he moved normally (if somewhat loudly, with a solidity that matched his frame), never seeming to quite come into contact with anything, even when every basic rule which said two physical objects couldn't occupy the same space (at least without a phase-shift spell) seemed to be constantly, and happily, breaking itself.

There were moments when it seemed as if his size changed. There would be a chandelier (a magnificent specimen, of no style she'd ever seen before), his right horn was about to snag a section, potentially bringing the whole thing down, and -- he would walk directly under it without so much as the faintest rattle of crystal. He would turn a corner as they moved through the hallways, and the spikes on the back of his shell which should have been gouging trails along the curve would recede without moving. His proportions remained consistent, no part of his physicality could be caught in mid-alteration -- but changes had to be occurring, and Twilight would ultimately spend a significant percentage of her time in his presence in trying to figure out how they worked.

She had a few minutes to do so, as they moved down the hallways. To her, the creature -- the King -- had the air of a researcher in the middle of intensive internal review, someone whose first-ever paper had only gained the notice of academia several decades after its composition, and had naturally been asked to come before his peers to defend it. It made him look both thoughtful and slightly distracted: someone who had long-ago convinced himself that he was absolutely right and was trying to remember the exact reasons as to why.

There were things which paused him in that process. Doors would open, and the latest room's occupant would say something to him. There were inquiries about food, questions about future bookings, and more than a few sapients kept asking about carts. Every brief discussion took place in a language she knew, so many used terms she didn't understand, and none came from species she recognized. There were completely alien forms of intelligent life occupying the castle, and most of it wanted to thank him for the recent upgrades to in-flight sedation services. At one point, he pulled a small notepad out from the gap between shell and left arm, then jotted down a few things about scents. Twilight spent most of that time trying to figure out how some of the beings he was speaking with could even exist, and largely gave up after the grumbling purple cloud with the half-nasal, half-whining voice flattened her ears with badly-phrased complaints regarding blue shells: the poorly-constructed sentences mostly concerned how unfair and stupid they were, which seemed to mark the cloud as something of a bigot.

(Some of those beings would open the door and, upon seeing Twilight, start to close it again. He would quickly, softly explain that he was getting things in order, and that would be enough to keep them from shutting themselves in again. Most of them kept at least one eye on her at all times, which was somewhat easier for the thing which had eight.)

But eventually, they cleared that portion of the myriad hallways. The corridors widened, as did the doors: potential exits which now bore words she didn't understand, ones which rearranged themselves into Kitchen B and Spa: Heat Therapy as she watched.

Further along, as paintings began to appear on the walls, the ceilings raised, colors shifted towards peaceful hues -- and finally, the King stopped in front of a particularly large door, one which eventually labeled itself as Titanium Club, Lounge C: Oxygen-Breathers. He opened it, slipped inside, and a huge arm gestured for her to follow.

She did so, and found herself looking at plush couches. Chairs, suitable for bipeds. An irregular shape which shifted like slow-setting gel. A small group of shelves held books, and she resisted the urge to move directly towards them. Other walls bore panels of dark glass, and a nook in the corner had one which was currently lit from within: the angle wouldn't allow her to make out anything beyond glow.

There was also what would have been considered as an Equestrian-standard cushioned bench, at least once somepony scaled it down by Quite A Lot. It was made from dark wood and burgundy comfort. It radiated richness as it promised relaxation, along with up to five minutes of trying to climb in or out.

"That's hers," the creature said. "I had it made for her. Other clients use it now and again: it's been a long time since she's been here, so people forget. Some of the ones she used to see when she was here, who are still around... they might not fully associate it with her any more. And there are generations of Princesses who have no idea who she is, who would only see her as another head bowed low under its crown." A small shrug, especially for such a large body. "So you sit there."

It took a few wing flaps to get herself situated, and then the King sat down on an opposing high-backed chair. There was a moment when his spikes sank deep into the cushions, failed to tear them -- and then he leaned forward, looked directly at Twilight as short fingers steepled under the deep cleft in the reptilian chin.

"It's been a while since I had to explain this," the King began. "In person, from scratch. This generation of prospective clients generally knows enough to contact me. Plus I get referrals, and I appreciate every last one." A small snort. "Something else Celestia appears to have forgotten. But to start at the beginning..."

One more moment of long thought.

"I used to talk about this all the time, when I was getting started," the creature said. "I had to make people understand. And it wasn't all that long after this part of my life began, when she and I met. I had this talk with her. And it was actually a little easier, making an Equestrian understand. Because ponies know something about destiny. They accept destiny. It's easy to do that when you all trot around with a little piece of it on your hips every day." He pulled his torso back a little, separated his fingers: the left hand began to descend towards where the shell met the leg. "So I want you to imagine something, Twilight: the same thing I asked her to imagine, a long time ago. That one day, your destiny came to you in a blaze of light, and when that faded --"

He stretched the leg forward, enough to let a little more of the base slip past the shell, then raised the hard edge by a half-hoofwidth or so, allowing the light to reach it.

"-- this was your mark."

For what felt like a full horrible minute, Twilight stared at both the crown and the thick chains which surrounded it. The knot of metal links where they all came together and united into the grip for dragging everything away.

"...I..." she just barely managed. "I..."

"What," the King asked, with that powerful voice so soft, "would you do with your life?"

She wanted to cry. She wanted to find whatever had been responsible for inflicting that kind of future upon him and kick it into the lava, with her tears adding steam to the plumes of ash. "...I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..."

He simply moved his hand away from the shell, let the image fall back into darkness before leaning forward again.

"That was my talent," he stated in even words, the edges worn off by years of verbal flow. "The planning and execution of perfect Princess kidnappings. That was my destiny. And when you get a destiny like that... oh, I tried to lead a normal life, or as normal as I could. But the urge was always there. I would have dreams, Twilight, and some of them turned into motion. I would sleepwalk, wake up at my desk, find plans I'd sketched during the night. Get through security here, manage the extraction there. Some part of my mind was constantly thinking about it. I moved in my sleep, and I made it to my desk. I kept waiting for the night I would wake up and find myself standing in a royal bedroom. Or to open my eyes one morning and look at my prisoner through the bars of the cell door. Because when you get a destiny, it doesn't want to be denied, now does it?" Looking at her a little more closely now, "Your mark... I don't get anywhere near enough ponies to recognize what that icon stands for. What's your talent?"

"Magic," she half-swallowed, choking back the sob which had nearly emerged with it -- then realized it had been too general a term. "...an increased learning capacity for workings. I'm stronger than most unicorns, I'm good at research, there's been a few times when I've even figured out how to duplicate somepony's personal trick..."

Slowly, he nodded. "And what happens if you don't research for a while? A moon or more? What if you were in a position where you couldn't learn about magic, or even try to use it? If you were in a place where casting was illegal, forbidden, something no truly good pony would ever do..."

Ice wrapped itself around something very close to the center of her heart.

"...I would..." Her mind tried to grasp a waking nightmare, found intangible acid burning at the edges. "...I would start hating myself. I'd be going against so much of what I was, denying my core..."

"Celestia once told me," the King continued, voice somehow steady, his tones almost matter-of-fact, "that for a pony, 'the mark is the soul made visible to the world.' You would be going against your own soul. Fighting destiny is just about as bad. But I didn't want to be a criminal, Twilight. I didn't want to spend my life in prison. I'd gotten married, I'd had a son, and -- it just kept building. My wife found me standing over my night sketches. I told her I was writing a book. Then I did start writing one, because I thought it would be an outlet. Turned out I wasn't all that good at it or lying. Destiny kept pushing, it was pushing itself between us, and... then I didn't have a wife anymore. Just a set of divorce papers, and dreams which told me I could go out and get a replacement any time I liked. Dreams I was having every night. And for a king to be dragged away in chains of his own because you can only go so long before you do get caught, for his son to watch his father fall because destiny just kept calling..."

He took a slow breath, held it.

"Not my best days," he drastically understated. "Not even close."

"Your Highness --" Twilight weakly began.

"-- Bowser," he cut her off. "We're both royalty. Most of what titles do here is get you in the door."

"Bowser," she tried, and couldn't quite seem to make it fit. "How does that... lead to this?"

Quietly, "What's the central requirement for a criminal act against an intelligent being?"

She didn't understand. "The act has to be illegal --"

Which was when he grinned.

"-- the supposed victim," he cut her off, "has to be unwilling."

She blinked.

"One pony kicks another in the street: that's assault," he shrugged as he turned his hands palms-up, spread his arms. "Do it inside a springwire fence, in front of a paying audience, and it's combat sports. My talent is for kidnapping Princesses, Twilight. Perfectly. When I put my mind to it, there is nothing in all the realms which can stop me from making a plan that gets past every possible defense. And on the worst day of my life, just before it turned into the best, I finally asked myself the right question: what if there was a Princess who wanted to be kidnapped?"

Again, hard enough for the edges of her eyelids to sting. "But why would any Princess --?"

"Because it's not a job which comes with vacations," Bowser told her. "You can go to the beach, if your realm even lets you travel. You can tell everypony or everyone that you want a few hours to yourself. But the land always comes calling, Twilight. Or the sky, or the sea -- anything which can be ruled over knows who that ruler is, and it will always find a way to reach you. There are those around you who can't conceive of why you'd ever need a day off, even with everything arranged and people who'll cover for you. They sure won't understand why you might even have the occasional fantasy about quitting. And you can't take a true day off, you might get anger and rage and stupidity if you even mention it, accusations of not caring about your realm --"

The grin got wider.

"-- but who can ever blame you for being kidnapped?"

He leaned back into the cushions, pure satisfaction settling into his face.

"I reached out to a bunch of realms on the sly," he smiled. "Took a lot of time and magic, but I've got both: I made contact. And it turned out that if it meant getting a few days off, there were Princesses everywhere who would be perfectly content with a temporary kidnapping, because there's no part of my destiny, talent, or urges which says I have to keep them. As long as I'm snatching away royalty on a regular basis, I'm happy. I sleep well at night. I also happen to get paid. And those rulers come here and get a few days off, because that crown has a weight which doesn't go away and this is where they can try to take it off. They relax, because I've got games for them which release stress, and the people they play those games with are people they can talk to about the stress. People in the same position. They stay for a while, until their teeth, for the ones who have them, aren't on edge any more. Until they aren't having fantasies about using major attack spells when someone commits a minor etiquette breach, or just because the Princess in the neighboring realm got the best dressmaker first. Until they're fit to rule again."

Bowser took a slow, relaxed breath.

"I like to think," he told her with open satisfaction, "that I've prevented a few wars."

She was staring at him, and his smile would not fade.

"But -- !" There had to be something wrong with what he'd just said, there was an abomination against nature hiding in the center of his core philosophy and she was going to find the thing if she had to weave it out of whole cloth. "-- what about the realms? They've lost their leader! How are they supposed to --"

"Most realms," Bowser casually interrupted, "can manage themselves: they just don't want to. The royals arrange things before they leave, make sure someone can take over for the duration. For most of the kidnappings, there's even a person who knows what's really going on and covers for everything. But what most of the realm knows is that their Princess has been kidnapped, and a Hero can save her. The Hero always saves her, because that's what a Hero is for. So they find one, send them down the pipe -- and when the vacation's over, saving her is exactly what the Hero does. The realm gets some legends out of it, and maybe a big party when their Princess comes back. I fulfill my destiny without anyone ever getting hurt. And the Hero gets to be a Hero. I've even had a few Princesses who ran the whole routine just to see how much of a Hero they had."

His scales abruptly darkened. The chair groaned under his weight.

"Which does mean," he muttered, "getting the occasional sadist..."

"...huh?" There were other words she could have said, and she couldn't seem to think of a single one.

He sighed. "Personal matter. I've got this one client right now... it's at the point where I swear she's just coming here to see what her Hero will do to reach her this time. And the fat man is good. It's reached the point where I started recruiting extra help to design his courses, just to keep him from getting here too fast. Two more speedruns and I might even think about asking him for some obstacle ideas. And he just keeps rescuing her, and she smiles and thanks him and never, ever gives him so much as a single peck on the cheek because she's herozoned him -- but a few weeks later, I get the message, I send out the squad, sometimes I go in person because she pays extra for that, and they start all over again."

Bowser snorted.

"Textbook abusive relationship," he announced. "Two more speedruns and I'd joke about consulting him. Five and I just might tell him the truth. But you know the worst part? I think he's into it. All the leaps of faith, every trick block which goes bad on him... maybe this started because he wanted to save her, but now there's something in him which just needs to see the lava. I keep thinking -- one day, when we're on the bridge together and he's expecting the fireballs, all that'll come out of my mouth is truth. And my biggest nightmare is that he's just gonna look at me with those big blue eyes, the mustache will twitch a little, and he'll say 'So?'"

Which was followed by a small sigh.

"You meet a lot of weirdos in this business," the professional kidnapper stated.

Twilight blinked again. (It seemed to be justified.) She could feel questions pressing against her lips, and tried to keep any of them from openly inquiring about the sanity of all parties involved. "How are there enough Princesses to keep you in business?"

"There's a lot of realms," he casually stated. "Plus I started out with Princesses, and that's what keeps my destiny happy -- but I'll take anyone who's in charge. Emperors, presidents, incarnates, avatars, the occasional queen -- just got one of those in two days ago, actually -- and when you add up all the titles, the total says profit. You've seen part of my staff, you've seen a section of the castle, and you know I've got at least fourteen kidnap squads. Think about what I've got to take in just to keep them all on salary."

"And --" it should have been the first question, but she'd felt an odd need to work into it "-- Princess Celestia?"

"Contacted me for the first time in you-don't-want-to-know, a few days ago," he shrugged -- then, disgruntled, "Without bothering to toss any kind of update into her scroll... anyway, she's one of the oldest accounts I have, even if she went inactive for a while. And she's always been a little more complicated to work with, because Equestria can run without her -- but your Sun can't. I had to find a way of leaving this tiny channel open at all times, so she could reach out to her home and keep things going. It's about the size of one of your coins, as ridiculously small as those get. Works fine."

"She wanted to be kidnapped," Twilight tried, because it seemed to be something which required a full explanation. "Four days' worth of it."

"Paid in advance," Bowser confirmed.

Which was when the outrage broke through, along with most of the decibels. "She was abandoning --"

The sound went off.

It was a strange sort of sound. There was a musical quality to it, but it was a note which had never known an instrument. It was a tonal song played by air and power, with a descending quality which made her picture a small metal object going through a very short plummet. It was also enough to cut her off, and that was before the creature raised his right hand.

"Hold up," Bowser told her.

"...why?"

Another grin. "Because your Hero is taking his first look at the pipe, and my spells know a Hero when they feel one. Since this is your first rescue, why don't we take a peek? Because personally? I'm kind of curious to see what you've got coming for you." And without waiting for an answer, he gestured at the closest panel of dark glass.

It lit from within. And then Twilight was looking at Canterlot.

She watched for a while, initially in shock, then in instinctive contemplation of the magic involved, and eventually in (temporary) silence. But before her own laughter finally began, there was a slow moment: one which allowed another question to reach the front of the queue.

"Does your species even have marks? Or did you just create an illusion, to help me understand?"

"No marks," Bowser confirmed. "But it wasn't an illusion, either."

"Oh?"

"Nah. I adjusted my resolution. It's a lot more basic." He twisted his chair somewhat, leaned towards the screen. "Now hang on: I want to see what the rookie does with this..."