4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 5. The Congress of Lords
Today was finally the day. A year of careful planning, formulations, and grooming led up to this historic day for Equestria. For the first time in over a hundred years, the reigning Lords of Equestria were to convene in the interest of mutual survival; for the first time in a millennium perhaps they’d even restore some semblance of unity to the fractured Kingdom.
It was late morning, a few hours until midday. The weather chilly but pleasant, the Prince of Canterlot stood atop a high tower balcony of his castle, studying the sights down in the valley beneath his city. The past few days dozens of lords and their retainers had been trickling into Canterlot, booking lodging within the castle or any available inns. Princes and Kings expected luxurious apartments, while lesser nobles were to be contented with humbler housing.
A number were troublesome, others generous; a couple rambunctious northern barons decided it was a good idea to sponsor a two-day orgy of drink, rough-housing and debauchery. Sufficed to say, the sovereign King of Poneva was obliged to reprimand the hedonists and provide satisfaction.
It was a great irritation, but one Prince Petrafyrm was willing to abide in the interest of Equestrian unity. Most of the invited Lords had already arrived by yesterday. The last few stragglers were just starting to come, either along the well-maintained roads or deep river route.
One of these late arrivals was currently pulling into the port along the valley’s river, a veritable fleet of five cogs greedily hogging all the docks in the poor village. Tiny specks of ponies trudged down the boarding planks, unloading cargo of what the Prince could only assume were rare and exotic—not to mention expensive, wares: spices, silks, smoking leaves, and of course sugar, just to name a few.
Even from so high up on the mountainside, Petrafyrm could still make out the banners fluttering atop the boats’ masts. They were white, with a faint golden image in the center, flanked by tiny blue dashes—a field of argent, a golden seashell, and two blue leaping fish, by the Prince’s recollection.
“That is undoubtedly the Dogaressa of Manehattan,” he spoke, prompting a tall blue mare to approach and locate the object of interest.
She was an alicorn, the newest member of the Prince’s personal bodyguard recruited to replace the brave stallion who’d fallen at Windhock Vale. Stellara Nightwrath, who’d distinguished herself at the very same battle by not only devising the winning maneuver, but also saving the Prince’s life and slaying the Diamond Dog leader, was offered a place amongst the bodyguard.
She accepted readily, more than eager to achieve a position of importance just like her older sister Dame Wintermail. She currently stood beside her liege, clad in dual-layer armor and crested helmet. Ailéránen hung on her hip, on standby for the Prince if it were ever needed, joined by her own battle-axe, now affectionately given the moniker Skullcleaver.
Stellara spotted the ships and their crews ferrying small mountains of crates and barrels. “Did they bring the entire city with them?” she quipped.
The Prince chuckled, “The ruling families of Manehattan are merchants first, rulers a distant second. They intend to sell all that product, and Dogaressa Marina has expensive tastes; I’m surprised these ships are so…plain.” Petrafyrm turned to his guard, “I once traveled to that city, and saw the fleet she owns. I consider it lucky we live inland, else our harbor would be clogged with dozens of barges. Why, I’ve heard her personal yacht is covered in gold, the bow sporting a dragon effigy that actually smokes!”
Stellara raised her eyebrow, “A bit dangerous I think, my Lord; an open flame on a ship.”
“Quite right,” the Prince intoned, hearing the clopping of hooves behind him. He turned around and spotted a red unicorn galloping forth before he made a slight bow.
It was Chancellor Logostus, wearing his black felt cap and cloak. Levitating up a small book, he cleared his throat, “Your Highness, all our guests have arrived. The valet sent for the Dogaressa should have her up in the castle within half an hour.”
“Excellent,” the Prince replied, starting towards the door back into the tower. Stellara and two other guards followed, keeping a respectful distance away. Logostus walked with his sovereign, eyeing his notes and accounting.
“Our turnout is marvelous, my Lord,” the Chancellor began, “The six other Princes, three Kings, the rulers of each of the four free cities, along with a number of their vassals. Almost everypony of import from the southern shore to the northern wilds has come.”
Now within the tower, the group began descending the stairs to the main level of the castle. The Prince kept looking forward, maintain his noble gentility, “In all, how many?”
“About one-hundred, give or take any minor nobles who prefer to carouse in the city than sit during the Congress.”
“Then it’s a good thing we’re using the grand assembly chamber.”
Once they’d reached the bottom of the staircase, the Prince and his entourage emerged into a large hall, stained-glass windows filling the walls. This particular corridor of the castle boasted the windows depicting Solárindil and the Alicorns’ arrival. The Prince stepped with purpose, ignoring the numerous courtiers rushing around to alert the castle’s guests and provide any refreshments before the first session was due to begin.
But before he stepped through the doors into the castle’s main chamber, Petrafyrm took a moment and approached the window of King Sun Flare, the name Equestrians had given the leader of the exiled alicorns. A flashed of emotion came over him, and he admired the art both for its form and meaning.
“That stallion there…he is your ancestor, the source of your last name,” the Prince said to Stellara, who joined him in gazing at the ancient colored glass. The mare said nothing, preferring to keep her peace and reflect on her own heritage and purpose.
The Prince gave a soft laugh; hard to imagine only a year before, all this seemed to be a distant dream. Sun Flare had reinvigorated his kingdom, and it had flourished for two-thousand years. The Heirs had returned, proven themselves in battle, and were now presentable to the Congress. A year of work would pay off; the noble unicorn felt this with all his might.
Recomposing himself, the Prince magically adjusted his crown and cloak and straightened the pendant around his neck, the great symbol of his faith and conviction. Ensuring his slippers were clean and polished, the Prince had his bodyguards open the double doors.
He emerged into a grand rotunda, gilded candelabras and indigo silk curtains hanging from the columns within. Dozens of other ponies moved in and out, many of them discernible as the lords who’d been summoned to the city. Petrafyrm stood tall, commanding a dignified presence to remind even these haughty lords that he was the host, and was Prince of Canterlot, the most prestigious of Equestria’s peers.
There was no time for pleasantries; courtiers were to forsake protocol and direct all nobles into the assembly chamber. Even so, a few attendees took a small pause to whisper amongst themselves, remarking the Prince. He’d earned his own reputation for not only benevolent and just rule, but also for effective governance. It’d be no falsehood to assert that Canterlot was the most centralized and sophisticated state in Equestria, possessing a mature system of administration. This gave the realm a strong power-base, one which would prove critical to accrete Equestria around it under a nominal monarch.
It was a process started nine-centuries before, the Princes slowly but steadily amassing authority and expanding their influence in the region. Petrafyrm inherited a state that was well-run and connected, and only built up from there.
He missed no beats parading across the shining marble floor, giving respectful nods to lords who passed him by. While all the guests proceeded in the assembly chamber through a certain door, the Prince had his own entrance: a small drawing room reached from a back hall.
He and his attendants made it into this hall, the crowd of ponies thinning out by then. Stellara magically unlatched the door to the drawing room, revealing a homely chamber with an unlit fireplace and various pieces of furniture. He would not linger for long, but upon entering, the Prince eyed a small pitcher placed on a table by a servant not long before. He retrieved a goblet beside it and filled the cup with wine. He took the measure with an uncharacteristic gusto.
“My Lord,” Stellara asked, “Might I question if this is in fact the best time for drinking?”
The Prince didn’t speak for a moment, trying to settle down the jitters he’d held back all the time in the rotunda. A stressed look on his face, Petrafyrm gazed at the various portraits placed on the dark wooden walls, pictures of former Princes of Canterlot.
The product of a proud lineage of glorious rulers, Prince Peter now stood to profit from their centuries of hard work and planning. “Please excuse me…I am a bit nervous,” he confessed at last, placing the goblet back onto its table, “I have to walk into a chamber and convince a hundred ponies to put aside hundreds of years of enmity and rivalry, some of which are with my own realm.”
The Prince’s right foreleg was shaking uncontrollably, his hoof knocking on the red carpet. Chancellor Logostus placed a hoof on the sovereign’s shoulder, smiling like a lifelong friend, “They all came, obviously they desire some sort of union.”
Peter smirked and gave a slight laugh, “Using my own words against me?” He calmed down a measure, affectionately reciprocating Logostus’ action back onto the red unicorn. His sight then focused for a moment on a portrait of Prince Ravenmark, his own father. A thought entered his mind, and he felt a flash of irritation and urgency, “Where is your sister, Stellara?”
“I haven’t seen her all day, Prince. Drilling soldiers, perhaps?” the blue alicorn replied, tone rife with uncertainty.
“Damn it…of course the hour I need to present a queen before the Congress, and she isn’t here!” The Prince gave a heavy sigh, “We have some time before the final stragglers’ arrival; we’ll just need to search quickly. Stellara, could you fly to the barracks and investig—“
“That will not be necessary,” a deep voice echoed into the drawing room. The Prince turned around, and his eyes bulged when he spotted a few large figures gracefully gliding into the room.
“Oh dear God…,” he muttered, not at all enthralled by the latest entrants. A tall green alicorn approached the sovereign, a lavender one in tow. Both stood stoic and eyes half-lidded, as though the Prince was beneath their notice. The green stallion though did spare a glance and smile at Stellara, who blushed slightly and curled her lips back. Behind them both came a taller white alicorn, wearing her blue courtier’s vest and bearing her ancient sword.
Dame Wintermail’s two companions stepped to either side and let their leader come forward, and the Prince quickly closed the distance, stepping with a spiteful purpose. “What is the meaning of this, Dame?? Why is Cardúnón here?”
Wintermail kept a stern face, standing with a commanding presence, “He and his sister Rhílë are my attendants today; I shall speak on behalf of Canterlot’s alicorns. We may discuss the fact that you concealed them from me later.”
The Prince was truthfully impressed with the Dame’s boldness in speaking to her liege with such authority. Even so, it was not the time. “I apologize for that, but I had my reasons. I cannot state enough how terrible an idea it is to bring this stallion,” he waved a hoof at Cardúnón viciously, “To a meeting of Equestria’s Lords.”
“How dare you!” Cardúnón shouted, flaring his wings out to appear threatening, “We’ve just as much right to be here! It is just like you Tulicëai, treating us like outlanders, when you lesser creatures should be groveling at our hooves!”
The Prince gaped, and turned his head towards Wintermail, “Do you hear this?? His haughty attitude will snuff out this congress in its cradle! Every noble in there would pack up and head home as soon as they heard Cardúnón suggesting we bring back the Alicorn Dominion!”
Cardúnón lowered his horn, invading the Prince’s personally space, “You would keep us silent and unseen! We’ve been languishing away in that cave, and now that we finally have a forum to better our people, you want to shut us down!”
The Prince matched the green stallion’s body language, the two now locking horns and engaged in a battle of force, “I am trying to promote unity and cooperation! And your rhetoric of superiority would be most counterproductive!”
“Enough!” Wintermail commanded, shoving her powerful forehooves in between the two stallions, effortlessly pushing them apart, “Save the debating for the session. Cardúnón, please control yourself.” The green pony snorted, relenting his glare at the Prince after a few moments.
The Prince had a smug look, but Wintermail then shifted her focus to him, “And my Lord, I’m afraid I must insist that Cardúnón and Rhílë attend; he is right that the alicorns need representation.”
“But…Dame, are you really going to cast the entire enterprise into jeopardy for the sake of…so small a group? Equestria has a population of millions, while you alicorns number…what? A few thousand?”
An objection was raised, but from an unexpected pony—Stellara immediately achieved a grim expression and approached from behind her liege, “We still matter, my Lord.”
A surge of heat washed over the Prince, and he soon found himself with four alicorns glowering over him. He cleared his throat, “Yes, I…well,” he sighed deeply, “You all matter just as much as anypony else, but by the conscience of my heart and duty of my office, I cannot tend to the needs of so few at the expense of so many more. My obligation is to my people, and this congress is for their benefit.”
Wintermail thought a moment, her eyes wandering from the Prince to her sister and then Cardúnón. She recaptured her dignitas and spoke, “Well, I have accepted the role of being the alicorns’ liaison. We all live in Equestria; it makes no sense that we cannot share the same Congress.”
“Then…,” the Prince conceded, “Perhaps we can be adults and put aside our own personal disagreements…for the sake of Equestria.”
“I believe we can,” Cardúnón replied, extending his forehoof. The Prince eagerly met it with his own.
The white Exilarch smiled internally, quite pleased that she managed to actually solve that dispute. The Prince spared a grin at his knight, mentally celebrating the fact his hard work grooming the Heir had made headway.
At that moment, the door to the hallway opened once more. Two more of the Prince’s bodyguards stepped forth, armor and swords clanking. Behind them followed a pretty purple-blue unicorn, clad in a silken dress with rich golden embroidery. Her ornamented tiara glittered, strings of pearls and jewels capturing the flickering light of the candles. Beside her a blue unicorn colt trotted up, looking excited and eyes shining in awe.
The Prince’s attention was thoroughly captured by the mare, and he couldn’t help but stare dumbstruck. The mare approached, and leaned forward, lips pursed. Petrafyrm met halfway, and imparted a loving kiss on his wife. The young colt then nuzzled his father’s chest, the pony too short to reach any higher up.
“I heard shouting; is everything alright?” Princess Coruscina asked, eyes filled with concern.
The Prince looked embarrassed, “Yes, Dear. We were just…discussing politics. You seem very lovely today.”
Coruscina smirked, “If this day is as important as you’ve said, I should like to impress.” She placed her slipper-wrapped hoof on little Lord Vale’s back, lightly drawing him closer, “He keeps asking about that alicorn colt.”
“Yes, Father! Eldowas! I would like to play with him today!” Vale said, beaming with excitement. Stellara and Wintermail shared a glance at one another, grinning slightly.
“I’m afraid Eldowas has returned home.” The Prince immediately regretted his action when he saw his son’s face fall. He placed his hoof on him, and led him towards the door to the assembly chamber, “But today I have something special for you!”
The lordling cocked his head; the Prince continued, “You will one day wear this crown, and be Prince over this land. So I’m going to show you a very important part of ruling: negotiations.” Vale’s face fell, and he practically dragged his hooves as the Prince proceeded through the door. Coruscina giggled and followed her husband, their bodyguards moving in turn.
“Everypony ready?” the Prince asked as he made it through the threshold.
“Of course, your Highness,” Cardúnón responded, putting on his best face. He nudged his sister, and the two joined the others.
That simply left the two royal sisters, standing for a moment alone in the drawing room. ”Where did that come from?” Stellara asked, “Actions, not words, are more your style.”
Wintermail just let off a sardonic chuckle, “I don’t know…but now I have to play diplomat out there.” Her yellow aura grabbed another cup on the table, and she was set to pour herself some wine.
Stellara frowned and placed her hoof over the pitcher and shoved it back down, “No. You need to be your best.”
The white sister frowned, “Oh I see: the Prince can have a drink but the poor mare who has no idea what she’s doing can’t.”
“Precisely,” Stellara quipped with a wink, “Now get out there; the Prince and Cardúnón are expecting a leader.”
The pair began towards the door, each adjusting any articles on one another to perfection. “Very well; wouldn’t want to disappoint your ‘object of affection’.” This remark earned Wintermail a shove from her now-blushing sister. That earned Stellara her own hoof to the shoulder; though protected by armor she still felt the impact, disturbingly similar to the mace-blow she’d suffered at Windhock Vale.
A shiver crawled up Stellara’s spine: her sister probably could have dented the iron plate if she’d wanted to.
Creeping through the door and out from behind the curtain within the far larger room, the sisters emerged striding with utmost poise and dignity. Meeting the other members of the Prince’s entourage, the sovereign himself sitting on a large throne, Wintermail took her place on his right side and Stellara on his left.
The sight greeting them was an open room filled with dozens upon dozens of ponies, all shuffling and muttering, the collective voices all lost in a background dim of gibberish.
The Assembly Chamber itself was rectangular in shape, a giant marble box depressed about a story downwards. The upper floor possessed a balcony that wound around three walls; quiet and distant for observers, as all citizens had the right to attend. Some wealthier and more communally-active ponies were doing just that.
The fourth wall however was reserved for the great stone foundation of the assembly’s throne. Currently occupied by the Prince of Canterlot, the velvet –cushioned gilded chair once hosted Equestria’s King. Canterlot had been built by King Sun Flare as a southern capitol when the Kings toured the provinces. Once upon a time the Assembly chamber held the nobility of Equestria, all given right to be consulted by the King on important matters.
Today it did again. Marble seating, individually furnished with cushioning and a desk, was arranged in a downward slope from the entrance level, culminating in a polished floor, the center of which had colored tiles mosaicked into Equestria’s now-defunct coat of arms: the image of a white alicorn, wings splayed proudly upon a field of azure speckled with white stars. In front of the alicorn’s chest was a special emblem, the silver crescent moon within the burning silhouette of the golden sun—united in perfect harmony.
Illuminated by large standing torches, the major occupants of the room were speaking with one another and eyeing the new arrivals on the main platform. The seven Princes, three petty Kings, and three leaders of the Free Cities today would usher in an historic moment, one of renewed unity in Equestria. Each ruler sat with their entourages, attendants and vassals, bronze poles with their realm's banner fixed beside them. Most wore extravagant clothes, richly woven and embroidered. Decorated with earrings, horn rings, necklaces, and brooches, they proudly showed off the wealth of their holdings and the skill of their metalworkers.
The seven Princes of Equestria sat in the first row, given the most dignity and respect. They were largely descendants of the last governors of the ancient provinces who took charge when the King had fallen in battle, but still held themselves, at least in name, simply as stewards of their lands. The ideal Prince understood they were holding their territory in lieu of the King, and should he ever return rulership would be restored.
Prince Petrafyrm of Canterlot presided over the Congress, seated on the throne at the front of the chamber, as the First among Equals. As the viceroy of Equestria’s southern capitol, his office held the most prestige. His banner, the blue chevron on a field of argent made to resemble a mountain, accented by the purple six-pointed star, hung to his right side, just beyond Wintermail’s head.
Prince Rufus of Fillydelphia sat in the spot closest to Peter’s left. A deep red unicorn, mane a fiery orange, he boasted a glittering crown crafted in the likeness of laurels, each leaf inset with a small gemstone. Of average size and build, the stallion was joined by other similar courtiers in discussing the four alicorns visible on the royal platform. His banner hung proudly, a verdant field trimmed by gold, the image of a blooming yellow rose symbolizing the great fertility of his realm.
To his left sat a stern and older mare, Princess Nephele of Cloudsdale. She was a tall and thin cerulean pony, mane a multicolored mix of red, yellow, and orange; though all faded with age. No less than ninety-three, she had the vim and vigor of a pony a fraction of that age. Princess Nephele’s size and longevity were clear indications of strong alicorn blood; most of Equestria’s high nobility possessed alicorn ancestry, Petrafyrm and Nephele especially so. But unlike most of them, the Princess of Cloudsdale was a pegasus; though this was all but required in the airborne city.
Her crown was silver, made into an intricate and realistic wreath of clouds. The central emblem was a stylized lightning bolt, this made of gold. Her banner held itself just as powerfully and nobly as she; a field of sky blue, a brilliant rainbow looming over an iron sword, and two golden pegasi carrying a slogan saying “Ever Higher, Ever Beyond”.
Next the Prince of Detrot, Wealthford. A stout, round and jovial cream-colored unicorn, a large auburn beard was his most prized possession. Unlike most of the other lords, Wealthford didn’t pay much mind to Petrafyrm and his alicorns, instead lost in a rolling laughter at his companions’ bawdy jokes. Prince Wealthford’s crown, a copper rendition of tree branches, was set on the desk, perhaps in a gesture of parity to his courtiers.
Raucous laughter caused the broad stallion to brush against his banner pole, bearing a deep blue field. A majestic white pine dominated the banner, surrounded by five rings of gold, silver, copper, iron, and tin. All this symbolized the sprawling forests and mineral wealth of this most northerly princedom.
To Prince Wealthford’s left sat Princess Brynhilda of Horsava, no more than twelve years old. A festive pink color, the filly was not to be crossed. The story went when news of her father Prince Duncanbane’s death in battle against a rebellious count reached her, Brynhilda took up a lance and led the counterattack. Purportedly she speared the rebels’ leader straight through the mouth and out the base of his tail, and then mounted his impaled corpse over Horsava’s gates.
Almost supernaturally strong, Brynhilda enjoyed carrying Rectitude, a massive alicorn great sword that was larger than she was. The Horsavish were a notoriously hard people, living on the wild marshes sitting at the edge of civilized Equestria. A dull iron tiara topped the earth-filly’s champagne mane, nothing more than a practical metal band with the Princedom’s emblem in the center. The same illustration of a charging white earth pony graced the red banner of Horsava, in recognition of their incomparable hussars.
Ensuring to keep his distance from Princess Brynhilda, a pure white unicorn sat with utmost gravitas. The unicorn had servants ensure his maroon mane was perfectly styled, worthy of Luminescent, Prince of Hoofington. His hooves wore slippers with elegant lattices of gold and his neck was adorned with the symbol of the ancient alicorn faith, the very same design Wintermail, Petrafyrm, and the Librarian wore.
Known for its fancy court and architecture, Hoofington sent only its best here, and the Prince would ensure his city’s reputation was not in the slightest diminished. Luminescent’s aureic diadem curled around his head, the exquisite mimic of a wreath of bushes shining with dozens of tiny diamonds.
Prince Luminescent looked utterly fabulous, though rumors did abound that his prim appearance indicated a more…unconventional proclivity. All the same, Hoofington’s highness superbly represented his realm, bearing the argent banner speckled with three yellow images of hoof prints arranged in a triangle.
And on the far right of the first row, watching Petrafyrm and his alicorn cohorts with shineless red eyes, sulked Noblesse Oblige, Prince of Trottingham. A joyless orange-brown unicorn, always so dour in the face, Noblesse did little more than brood, hardly touching the goblet of wine given as a courtesy. He did not like one bit this business. Trottingham historically had been Canterlot’s greatest rival; the second-most powerful realm in all Equestria. Four-hundred years before Prince Sablecrine had very nearly submitted the others beneath his rule, and reunited the old Kingdom.
A unique crown graced Noblesse Oblige’s charcoal mane, a shimmering point on an otherwise stony and dull pedestal. It was made of crystal, the lifeblood of Trottingham’s trade. The finest jewelry was quarried in the realm’s deep gem mines, none more precious than iridean diamond. This exceedingly rare gemstone could shine any color of the rainbow depending on what angle the light hit it; one, a few, or all six at once.
It was totally unbecoming of so gloomy a stallion. In fact, his banner was rather appropriately sable, six diamonds each color of the spectrum arranged in a star, a white central one the largest.
There was little he enjoyed in this city, even less in its sovereign, and Noblesse Oblige spent the time before the session officially began simply tapping his hoof.
On the second row of seating, three kings and their courtiers resided. Descendants of ancient governors left without their true King, they forged their own crowns in the wild and poorly settled northern and western regions, doing away with the formalities of viceroyalty. Such hubris and betrayal was distasteful to Prince Petrafyrm, but it had been nine-centuries; long time to wait for a new ruler.
King Hillwick of Poneva and his attendants were on the left section. His father had met a mysterious alicorn wanderer some thirty years before, and Hillwick had been reared on those stories. When he’d been invited to Canterlot, much of his enthusiasm was caused by the chance to meet this “Wintermail,” now evidently in service of Prince Petrafyrm.
The tan unicorn had nearly burst from his seat when he saw the white alicorn enter the chamber. He rose with such a pace that a courtier had to magically catch his bejeweled golden crown after it was thrown from his scarlet mane. The young King’s chamberlain had to remind His Majesty of protocol; perhaps he’d get a chance to meet the Wintermail after the session.
He’d returned to his seat calmly, and adjusted the banner pole he’d knocked upon his eruption, straightening the forest green banner with its white circle-cross of the Alicorn god.
On the center section, second row, the King of Coltorado. West from the northern realm of Poneva, nestled in rugged hills and mountain valleys was this frontier kingdom. The Coltoradans were independent in spirit; their own ruler had only loose control over some of the more isolated tribes. Nevertheless, the King had abided to work with the other Equestrian lords, in the hopes that his kingdom would not suffer the same fate as Mareposa.
Dull blue in color, and a mane of onyx, King Cobalt Stone’s and his people’s looks gave rise to rumors that their pegasus blood had mixed with those of thestrals from the high western mountains, or the savage mustangs of the prairie—both utterly preposterous. The Coltoradans hated both groups with equal passion. He was an Equestrian, and by his black steel crown a King at that. His blue banner with a transverse white stripe and golden emblem of a pickaxe deserved to hang in the chamber as much as any perfumed southern prince.
Thirdly amongst the royal lords was Auburn Flare, the exiled King of Mareposa. His father King Crimson Blitz had fallen in the siege of his city last autumn, Mareposa with him. Auburn Flare therefore possessed no crown, no fine vestments, no army or treasure…all he held were his name and title. The red unicorn had come to Canterlot for help—unity be damned; his city and people were being killed while these lords feasted and drank.
Auburn sat restlessly, eager to finish this dithering and avenge his kingdom. The yellow banner of Mareposa, the green image of Queen Goldsoetha and her sword Hordebreaker a mocking reminder of what he’d lost. He spotted the alicorns beside Prince Petrafyrm; perhaps these lesser gods might be the key to winning back the west from the barbarian swarms.
On the third row, ranked least amongst the sovereign lords of Equestria, were the rulers of the Free Cities. These were four large and wealthy settlements that had at one point broken free from vassalage to the Princedoms. They traded across the known world in vast merchant fleets, and their coffers allowed them the resources to stave off domination from far larger neighbors. The cities’ leaders were not lords per se, but they were included because Equestria needed their resources if it was going to survive the coming storm.
Neapony, in the furthest south of Equestria, was famous for its wine and sugar imports. Sea Lady Kalleia, a purple unicorn, adjusted her fine silk robe and the laurel wreath atop her peach-colored mane. Her hoof wrapped around the banner pole, bearing the deep ocean blue standard with its golden laurels beneath the image of a bunch of grapes.
Baltimare was unique amongst the cities; it actually sat a little inland on a wide and deep river as opposed to the coast. Grand Mayor Fenraker was a green pegasus, possessing a modest dark cloak and felt cap over his seafoam hair. The Grand Mayor was an elected servant of the citizens; there was no need for garish displays of wealth and power. This Baltimarian sentiment for simplicity and modesty extended to its coat-of-arms: a cloth checkered black and yellow.
Then there was the First Lord of Trotterdam, a city built on a series of marshy islands. With his fancy embroidered robe, he looked rather stilted and constrained, but First Lord Tulip Hollow had to dress to impress. A bright orange earth-pony, a luminous emerald pendant hung from his neck. Imperiously gazing over the Congress, he removed his wide-brimmed hat stuck with a golden feather and ran a hoof through his blonde mane. Something wasn’t right; how could he flaunt his city’s wealth to his greatest rival if she wasn’t here? He gazed at the orange standard of Trotterdam, completed by the image of a white manticore rearing up.
Indeed something wasn’t right. There were thirteen lords present in the chamber; there was one missing. Only three cities were represented currently, and Petrafyrm was becoming impatient. He wanted to begin the session soon, but one of the arguably most important guests was not here.
Like some divine jest, right when the Prince gave a sigh of frustration, the doorway out of the chamber burst open, revealing no less than ten ponies dressed in silk vests lined with gold thread that individually must have taken days to sew. The first four held up brass trumpets and blew them, another clearing his throat before the Congress.
“Presenting her Most Serene Eminence, Marina, Dogaressa of Manehattan!” the herald announced, puffing out his chest and closing his eyes in perfect dignity. Two unicorns processed into the chamber, each bearing the white banner of Manehattan, with its golden seashell and flanking blue fish. Behind them came the Dogaressa, clad in a violet dress that had pearls and jeweled sewn into whatever places they could fit. She was tall earth pony, coat a pristine amber and mane a dark bold red. Each step she took was accented by her golden slippers and the jingling of the numerous chains on her high crown. Inset with effigies of seashells, starfish, and other bounties of the sea, it was one of the most intricate pieces of headwear ever crafted, specifically just to show others just how wealthy the Dogaressa was.
Indeed, she was the richest pony in all Equestria, perhaps all the world. And that alone made her a precious asset. The Prince kept his welcoming smile; now was not the time to alienate potential allies. She took her seat in the center section, third row. Her courtiers crowed in wherever they could; by now the room was filled to the brim with lords, vassals, and other ponies.
Prince Petrafyrm stood from his throne and surveyed the Congress. Princess Coruscina gave him his scepter and he magically raised it, “Esteemed Lords of Equestria, Princes and Kings, I welcome you here to Canterlot, and thank you with utmost humility for your attending of this Congress,” he began, pausing to gauge the attitude in the room. The room’s chattering died down swiftly, all eyes focused on him. “Before we begin, however, one finds it prudent to ensure blessing for our endeavors today.”
He bowed his head, and the rest of the ponies did the same. Wintermail especially craned her neck low, but Cardúnón and his sister preferred instead to retreat slightly to avoid sight. Prince Petrafyrm removed his spired crown for the duration, “Oh Great Divinity of our Land, whichever name we might give to Thee, we humbly ask as servants of Thy design for wisdom and courage. Please overlook, that we might not stray from our mission. Amen.” The room filled with solemn “Amens”, the Congress raising their heads back to the Prince of Canterlot.
Petrafyrm restored his crown, and resumed his imperious visage, “It has been quite a time; we can count a period of one-hundred years and more since last we all convened in one place. Yet it is of the highest priority that our efforts here be fruitful; a threat of ancient magnitude threatens our very foundations.”
Mixed affirmations and scoffs mumbled from the assembly. The Prince continued when they quieted down, “I speak of course of the newly-unified horde that has ravaged the western lands. Minotaurs and Mustangs have already taken Mareposa, as King Auburn Flare can no doubt attest.”
“Yes!” the young exiled ruler of Mareposa shouted, practically leaping out of his seat, “These damned savages have slaughtered countless thousands already! It is now spring and it will not be long before they resume their march.” Faint whispers came from the lords, both incredulous and concerned. Auburn Flare stomped a hoof to regain the floor, “They intend to reduce to desert all from the mountains to the sea; they will wipe us from the face of the Earth!”
“Utter nonsense!” objected King Cobalt Stone, flaring his wings out, “Coltorado has fought these creatures for centuries; they’ve been united before, and always a chieftain dies and they regress back into infighting. We need only wait; my people can defend in our mountains.”
“Well I’m so happy your half-bred wildlings have that luxury. Mine did not!” Auburn shot, teeth gnashing in a seething rage.
“’Half-bred’? You forget your manners!” King Cobalt yelled, standing up and readying to exchange blows.
Petrafyrm raised an eyebrow at the clash of egos, and knocked his scepter on the marble platform, “There will be no fighting in here.” The Prince unleashed such authority and presence that the two quarreling kings sighed and resumed seating.
“Nopony expected such a force to rise in the first place, and nopony expected Mareposa to fall. It was tragic, even more so that the path lies open for the horde to advance deeper into Equestria. Fillydelphia is next, and I should like my realm to remain unspoiled,” Prince Rufus rose and said, “This army is unlike any we’ve seen from the wild lands, and I think we can expect it to behave in unexpected ways. Something must be done.”
Petrafyrm gave a courtly nod and smile to Rufus, “Enough have already died. There remains only one course of action: We must all raise our banners together.” More mutterings from the crowd.
After a time, Princess Nephele of Cloudsdale stood up, “Prince Rufus, you give the barbarians too much credit. Why, right now tribal chiefs are likely fighting over who gets what in Mareposa. We need only wait.”
“Not so,” Wealthford of Detrot voiced, stroking his great beard as he spoke, “The tales we’ve heard from refugees talk of the Minotaurs and Mustangs being spurred onward.”
“By what, exactly?” Luminescent of Hoofington asked in a perfectly posh voice.
“Discord the Draconequus. They say blood magic is being used to restore him; soon he shall be free from Tartarus—free to wreak havoc on us all!” Wealthford warned, a bit melodramatically.
Half the Congress simply giggled. Grand Mayor Fenraker of Baltimare, a pragmatic and faithless stallion, replied with palpable condescension, “Certainly. Why every night I make sure to check under my bed for dread gods, and my closet for an ursa major!” Fenraker’s courtiers and other ponies all laughed.
“You expect us to go far on faith, Prince Wealthford. Do we have any proof of this?” Noblesse Oblige of Trottingham spoke up. Wealthford raised a hoof to object, but could produce no argument. “That’s what I thought,” Prince Noblesse smugly retorted. He then turned to Petrafyrm, narrowing his red eyes, “But even without these…rumors of Discord, we still have the horde to deal with. But who may I ask is to lead our united coalition? You, Prince Petrafyrm?”
Oh how he hated Noblesse’s face. But the Prince of Canterlot gave a coy smile, “Actually…I believe I have the perfect candidate.”
Wintermail felt her heart drop; this was exactly what the Prince kept her around for; the precise moment all his work was for. And she was not ready, not in the slightest. He saw the hesitation in her face and glared, compelling the mare to obey.
The alicorn stepped forth, just before the edge of the platform to be presented to the Congress. Her best mask on, she gathered the nerve to stand straight and imposingly, focusing on the far wall to calm her mind.
The Congress was greeted by an immensely tall mare, white coated and with a pink mane that curiously covered her right eye. Whispers leaped from ear to ear: who was she? What makes her so special?
Their inquiry was indulged by the Prince, “May I present before Equestria’s Lords Dame Wintermail Flamecaster. She is a knight in my service, and has proven herself a powerful warrior, having aided in the destruction of the Diamond Dog presence in the South. Thanks in no small part to her, they are no longer a coherent threat to us.”
The Prince paused and licked his lips, heart beating quickly, “And you might notice she is an alicorn. Moreover, she is of the Royal House, a direct descendant of Thunderhoof, our last King. She is therefore the rightful Heir to the Throne.”
Immediately the lords rose up and began exchanging fierce words, some in favor of the newfound “Queen”, and others in absolute opposition. Dogaressa Marina was first to address Petrafyrm, “There is no King, no crown, no kingdom. As far as I am concerned, my city will not submit to some…relic of the past! Manehattan has prospered by its own, and will never kneel to a Queen or her…taxes.”
“You intend for her to lead us?” Prince Rufus asked, “And we’re expected to believe she is in fact descended from Thunderhoof?”
“Of course!” Wealthford of Detrot interjected, “Look at her sword! The Sword of Light and Darkness! Through our old Kings’ veins flowed the blood of the God Lionheart, and through hers the very same!”
“A pony goddess would help a great deal!” Auburn Flare spoke, “The alicorns have come to our aid; we mustn’t turn them away.”
“True, the alicorns would be formidable allies,” Princess Brynhilda of Horsava replied, “But the line of Sun Flare no longer has right to the throne.” The little pink filly gave a ferocious look at Wintermail, one that sent a shiver down her spine—no mere feat, “The crown was given to Sun Flare; not by the Gods, but by ponies. When Thunderhoof was slain, it deferred back to us.”
“Princess Brynhilda speaks truthfully in this regard,” Prince Noblesse conceded, standing up and migrating to the center of the chamber, “But not about the alicorns. Captured foes reveal that their orders, from their shamans who claim to hear the voice of their fell god, are to kill any alicorns.”
Cardúnón was roused by this, and approached next to Wintermail and narrowed his eyes at Noblesse. The brown unicorn noticed this and grinned, “Regardless if we choose to believe the rumors about Discord, they’re true enough for the barbarians. I say we give them what they want! They want the alicorns, not us!” A number of attendees cheered, stomping their hooves.
Spreading his green wings, Cardúnón could take no more of this talk. He leapt up and slammed onto the floor, bearing down on Noblesse. The unicorn simply kept up his stare. Cardúnón maintained his wings open and wide, “Why don’t we give them you?”
“Is that supposed to frighten me?” Noblesse Oblige then turned to the Congress, “These…remnants do not belong here. They look strange, they talk strange—their own god forsook them!”
Prince Petrafyrm was now livid, the Congress becoming derailed all because of that blasted Cardúnón. He gave a fierce glare to Wintermail, who responded with a look that said “I can fix this.” The white alicorn flew down to the floor.
Meanwhile Cardúnón and Noblesse Oblige were locking horns. The alicorn stallion bared his teeth like a wild animal, “This is our home as much as yours. You should consider yourself blessed that the Highborn race even contemplates helping you.
“Your home was lost because you are wretched, depraved creatures, hiding your inequities behind a haze of bygone glory!”
The two broke off, and Noblesse trotted around to get a larger view of the Congress, “And we are to entertain the notion of these things ruling us? These alicorn…atheists!” he pointed an accusatory hoof at Cardúnón, “Shun the Gods! That is why they allowed our kingdom to fall to ruin! We should have cast the alicorns back into the sea whence they slithered forth! If there is to be a King once again, he shall be Equestrian, blood untainted by the poison of alicorns!”
Petrafyrm, Princess Nephele, King Hillwick and Luminescent of Hoofington considered their alicorn heritage very proudly, and recoiled in great offense.
Now Noblesse Oblige was fully enraged, and headed up the stairs of the chamber, “It is clear to me this…sham is nothing more than an instrument to reassert alicorn dominance, and our ‘Queen’ is a pathetic attempt to install a Canterlot puppet.” The Prince of Trottingham gestured for his courtiers to follow, and he spat squarely on the image of the alicorn on Equestria’s coat-of-arms on the floor, “Trottingham has no more business here. Good day to you all.”
The doors were slammed shut. The room erupted into arguments and gossip, quite unsure of where to go from there. The First Lord of Trotterdam giggled to his attendants, “And I thought this would be dull.”
Prince Petrafyrm slumped back onto his throne, unable to think straight with the throbbing ire he had for Cardúnón. The alicorn returned to the platform and stood before the Prince. His Highness prepared to speak, but Cardúnón beat him to it, “I was not going to endure insult from that fool! My people have suffered enough!”
The Prince really wasn’t in the mood for Cardúnón’s…assertive personality. The two then engaged in a heated debate, lost amongst the dozens of others occurring in the chamber. Stellara met her sister on the floor, who was standing around utterly at a loss. All control had evaporated by now.
“You must do something!” Stellara urged, nudging Wintermail.
“Like what? Half of them hate me! The other half probably wouldn’t listen!”
“Then make them!” Stellara ordered, “You’re the Queen, yea? Be a Queen!”
Wintermail looked over the Congress and thought. She came to speak for the alicorns…and did not. She came to be presented as a Queen, and disappointed everypony. She’d spent the session just standing around, while all the important ponies talked. If she truly was the Queen, then this was her Congress. Strong words would need to be said, for strong deeds would need to be done.
She unfurled her wings and ascended over the Lords of Equestria. Flashing her horn she readied a vocal amplification spell and inhaled. “Order! Order I say!” Wintermail boomed. The room fell dead silent.
The mare recalled the Prince’s lessons; his little musings on ruling and speaking. Wintermail waited a moment; not too long, else they’d lose attention. She swallowed the lump in her throat, “None of you know me…’Wintermail’ is an Equestrian name I use as a knight—Nikóleva is who I was born as. Prince Petrafyrm has called me your Queen; I cannot pretend to that.” A quick glance revealed the Prince’s face falling into a mix of confusion and disappointment, “His intentions though are earnest. I have royal blood, and the Prince felt such a pony could provide a symbol for all Equestrians to rally around.
“Somepony beyond politics, beyond the vested interests of any one realm. A pony who could inspire and lead, stave off the grand peril that bears down our land.” Wintermail slowly eased her hovering and touched down on the floor, “But that pony is not me. I am an outsider—an alicorn. I don’t belong here commanding great Princes and Kings. I’m simply a northern peasant girl.”
Faint mutterings escaped from the attendees as they shuffled about. Wintermail watched them with stern eyes, letting some of the noise die down first before she continued, “I am not asking you all to name me your Queen, or be made leader of our host. I’m not even asking to even spare a glance in my direction.” She straightened herself, standing taller than any other pony in the chamber, “I do, however, beseech you all to place aside your enmities and mistrusts for just a time, long enough to destroy this creeping threat. We have ponies in Canterlot who’ve witnessed it; Mareposa’s exiled King can attest—this horde is real, and it shall sweep across our country until we ponies are nothing more than a memory.”
Wintermail approached the seating, and stared at King Cobalt Stone, “You may be able to hide in your fortresses and mountains—for a time. A month, a year, perhaps even a decade, but they will come for your lands and people.” She then backed off turning her head to all attendees as she spoke, “A hundred-thousand blood-thirsting savages sharpen their blades. Only the combined banners of all the Princes and Kings and Free Cities can stand against them. We can stand and debate who might rule over whom; it won’t matter when the horde comes, and they leave nothing to rule.”
Princess Nephele rose slowly, holding herself with all the gravitas she’d cultivated over nearly a century, “One does not doubt the severity of these claims, but to call one’s banners and make war is not mere business. Cloudsdale shall need more evidence that this army is in fact different.”
“And what ‘proof’ might one need?” Prince Rufus asked, sneering quite visibly.
“I concur,” Kalleia, Sea Lady of Neapony voiced, “Like waves crashing on the breakwater, this army would burn itself out pillaging the western counties. The deep south and east would have little to worry then.”
“So you’d be perfectly content allowing cities like Fillydelphia becoming ruins, while you sit in safety?” Rufus rose from his seat.
“I am a public servant of Neapony, and I must ensure I look after my city’s interests first.” The Prince and Sea Lady looked almost ready to come to blows.
“My Lords, please!” Wintermail bellowed, utilizing her grand magical voice. The knight had again flown upwards, now understanding just how to use her presence, “Stories of blood magic and resurrecting gods and encroaching armies…it’s quite a lot to simply…accept. Understandable then that you all request proof.”
Most of the lords expected the mare to produce some evidence, a specimen, a correspondence—something. Instead Wintermail continued to hover above the Congress, heart beating rapidly. She had an idea, one that filled her with both resolve and dread. Leaving the session in suspense long enough, she steeled her nerves.
“I shall go west. I shall see this horde of Mustangs and Minotaurs. I shall see if these rumors of Discord’s return are real. And I shall return and tell you if they all are true or not.”
None spoke for a long while, air still as the grave. Wintermail scanned her eyes across the Congress, their own eyes meeting this alicorn with equal parts doubt and awe. Princess Brynhilda, the tiny filly, rose first and made herself visible in the crowd, “You…Wintermail? You would brave the perils of that journey? Trot right into the Lion’s den?” The young Princess leaned back and toyed with her massive alicorn blade, “You’d certainly die.”
Wintermail paused to retort, but first magically drew her own great sword, Eónadin’s black steel bared for all the Congress to see, “Mmmm…possibly. Better a mere nopony than a lord.”
Brynhilda smirked and began chortling, “Very well; travel west and present proof, and Horsava shall give its full support.”
Tulip Hollow of Trotterdam stood next and cleared his throat, “I agree; Dame Wintermail, complete your quest and I shall pledge my city and its resources to a united front.” The First Lord then gave a coy glance at the Dogaressa before sitting back down.
Stellara, standing on the floor, was not about to let her sister risk life and limb, and travel to some god-forsaken corner of the world into a nest of vermin alone. She opened her dark blue wings and joined Wintermail over the assembly, dressed in her armor.
“Our quest, Your Highness,” she spoke in perfect deference.
“And who might you be, alicorn?” Prince Luminescent asked, stroking a golden slipper-clad hoof with another.
The midnight mare looked at her sister for a sign of encouragement, “Stellara Nightwrath, sister of Dame Wintermail. I fought at Windhock Vale, and I will travel west if it means…you will come to the defense of Equestria.” And in an act of symmetry, Stellara telekinetically drew Ailéránen, matching the stance of her sister.
Imposing individuals the two alicorns were, giant mares suspended over the Congress and wielding their ancient weapons. Wealthford of Detrot immediately conjured images of elder struggles, the sort he’d seen many times in the murals of the grand temple in his home city. Flashing his horn, he raised his mundane blade in toast, “And so it comes to pass: the fate of our plight resting on the shoulders of Twin Goddesses!”
“Then it’s settled,” Princess Nephele spoke grandly, beginning to hover at the sisters’ level, “Young alicorns, may Almighty Lórian protect you. You will go to a brutal place; show us that the brutality will not simply go away.” Wintermail and Stellara nodded and sheathed their weapons, returning to the floor. Nephele responded in kind, folding her cerulean wings back against her, and then turned to the Prince of Canterlot, “I believe that concludes our session today, if our president finds it appropriate to adjourn us.”
Petrafyrm, having long calmed down from his argument with Cardúnón, rose up, “Uh…Yes! One week’s time to prepare, and the two sisters shall begin their journey. Upon their return we shall meet again. In the meantime, enjoy the pleasures my city has to offer.” A knock of his scepter signaled the end, and ponies began to shuffle out.
The Prince of Canterlot turned to his wife, who’d stood beside him all this time. She kept perfect dignity, but he knew he’d catch an earful for his completely unprince-like behavior with Cardúnón earlier. Little Lord Vale though was napping at the base of the Prince’s throne. This earned the colt a very soft kick from his father.
“Wake up, Boy!” the Prince ordered, wearing his dissatisfaction on his foreleg.
Vale grumbled back to life, rubbing his eyes, “Is it over yet, Father?”
“Yes. I am very disappointed in you today. Falling asleep dur—“
A swift bop to the head shut the Peter right up. Coruscina levitated up her son onto her back and scowled, “The audacity! Why, you go and behave like a little colt, shouting with that dreadful Cardúnón! I should count this a blessing that Vale was not awake to see you make a total fool of yourself!” She stepped to the door leading to the drawing room, several of the guards following her.
“Yes, Ma’am.” The Prince said, rubbing the back of his head.
He’d have to chase after her and make it up, but before he did, the Prince trotted down the stairs to meet the royal sisters. “Dame,” he shouted, causing the alicorn to turn around. He stood in place, looking down at the floor and kicking a hoof, “You managed to accomplish something here. It wasn’t necessarily what I’d hoped for, and it was done somewhat unconventionally, but…well…thank you so much.”
Wintermail became surprised, but then curled her lips into a smile and bowed her head, “I do my duty to Equestria.”
Petrafyrm frowned a bit, taking a deep breath, “Prince Noblesse Oblige however remains an issue.”
“Yes, my Lord, I deeply apologize; you were right in saying Cardúnón should not have attended.”
The blue unicorn sighed, “He was simply…provoked. Noblesse has always been a rather…disagreeable individual.”
“Even so, I shall wish to make things right. Allow me to speak with him later tonight.”
“No no no…I cannot ask that of you.”
“You aren’t; I am,” Wintermail replied, her voice betraying nothing but sheer confidence and resolve.
Prince Petrafyrm pursed his lips and grinned, “Certainly, Your Majesty.” The Dame rolled her eyes, but the Prince paid no mind. “Now excuse me, please. I must attend to my wife, lest she make me sleep in my study tonight,” the two shared a laugh, “And do not forget that I am more than willing to provide any supplies you require for your journey. You only have one week.”
“I think traveling and adventure are what I’m best at, my Lord,” Wintermail replied. The Prince nodded and turned back up the stairs, disappearing behind the marble platform.
Stellara meanwhile approached her sister, frowning somewhat. She’d done well to keep her peace, but truthfully felt irritated, “He spared an awful lot of words; none for me.”
“Now, Taby, we are not doing this for glory,” her tall sister admonished, patting Stellara’s metal-plated back.
“It doesn’t hurt though,” Stellara retorted lightning quick. Her disaffection though evaporated at once when Cardúnón and Rhílë swooped down next to the sisters. Both gave a courtly bow to their Exilarch.
“Accept my sincerest apologies, Nikóleva. I think I was right in endorsing you to be our representative, if only to put out the flames a firebrand like me lights,” Cardúnón conceded, giving a nervous smile.
Wintermail raised an eyebrow and sighed, waiting a moment before speaking, “What is it about politics that makes stallions act so foalish? What are you, seventy? Acting like…well, myself at my worst. Though…Prince Noblesse was out of line; completely uncalled for to make such comments about our people.”
“I did choose right. And now you’re going to selflessly risk your life for the sake of Tulicëai.”
“All ponies, I see it as.”
“Best of luck, Ma’am.” Cardúnón then spotted Stellara, moving closer up to her until they were but a hoof’s breadth away, “Going west is no slight journey. How far will your courage take you, Taberanyn.”
Taby’s teal eyes met Cardúnón’s silvers, narrowing slyly, “To the ends of the Earth.”
“There’s an awful lot of danger there; can your sword handle it?” Cardúnón’s deep voice had now lowered to a whisper.
“Sword and axe. I’ve seen quite a lot in my days; nothing west can scare me,” Taberanyn moved her snout to just the slightest length apart.
Rhílë glanced over to Wintermail, making a face that said, “Can you believe these two?” The Exilarch had a similar countenance.
“Ahem,” Wintermail intoned, giving her sister an unamused look. Taby just rolled her eyes.
“Yes I believe that will do, Cardúnón,” his lavender sister said.
The green alicorn scoffed, but perked at attention when his leader address him, “Now Cardúnón, I expect you to inform all able-bodies alícëai that they will be fighting in the coming war.”
Cardúnón wanted so dearly to say something sarcastic, or otherwise insubordinate, but yielded to authority and respect, “I suppose it’s only fair.”
“Right, Brother,” Rhílë said, draping her wing over Cardúnón and leading him from the chamber, “You may consort with Taberanyn later; we have work of our own to do now.” The siblings were soon lost with the rest of the exiting crowd.
Wintermail and Stellara stood for a bit to let the throng thin out. Once a passage to the exit was open, the royal sisters began their trek.
“So what now?” Stellara asked.
“You’re one of the Prince’s bodyguards now; find him and see what he has for you. We’ve only a week, and he’ll probably release you from service to prepare,” Dame Wintermail responded in a tone that felt a little more condescending than was meant. Stellara did not mind however.
“Ah,” the blue mare spoke, waiting until the pair was nearing the door before resuming, “You really surprised me out there. I think you’ve a knack for this sort of thing more than you give yourself credit.”
Wintermail chuckled at this, “Don’t heap your praises on me just yet; there’s still the matter of Prince Noblesse Oblige.”
“Oh he was probably just concerned for his ponies; I’m sure your meeting with him will be fine,” Stellara waved a hoof, “And if all else fails, a mare has certain…methods over a stallion.”
The way her sister said that indicated it was a complete joke, but Wintermail still got a shiver up her spine, “Good God I hope it never comes to that.”
The sister alicorns giggled together as they left the assembly chamber and split apart to their separate ways. Stellara broke off rightwards to locate her Prince, while Wintermail continued straight.
By tonight, hopefully Trottingham would be corralled back into the Congress; failure was certainly not something Wintermail was interested in. Yet if it did in fact come to more unsavory terms, the worst Noblesse could do was leave Canterlot.
Right?
*――――――――――S――――――――――*
It was night now in Canterlot Castle, the only sound the faint trotting of hooves. Dimly lit by the flickering candelabras, one pony was still out of her chambers. Dame Wintermail found herself composing her pitch dozens of times in her mind in an effort to abate her nerves. Now with her target door in sight, she could now recite her words with perfect accuracy. This was her first instance acting in the capacity of a diplomat…perhaps this was a mistake after all.
“Why can’t I simply duel him? That’d be so much easier…,” the alicorn thought out loud, spotting two guards positioned beside the door.
Each was respectably built, both unicorns in special gilded steel armor and helmets. Holding out spears with their hooves, they crossed them together when Wintermail approached. She gave a courtly bow to the guards and spoke, “I came to speak with your liege. I believe a request was approved several hours before.”
The guards looked at one another, nodded, and the left one opened the door and crept inside. Faint voices could be heard before he emerged moments later, resuming his rigid stance held previously, “The Prince will see you now.”
Wintermail flashed a smile and allowed them to open the door. Inside the knight found a living room fairly standard for the guest apartments in the castle, yellow-orange light moving as the candle flames rose and fell. To her right stood an old desk, a few books stacked on one another. The top shelf however possessed a headless crown, wrought of crystal. Wintermail’s eyes were captured by the wonder of its centerpiece: a prismatic gemstone.
“Lovely, isn’t it?” Prince Noblesse Oblige’s resonant voice spoke. He approached from another room, undressed and unadorned, his dark mane still damp from washing. His expression wasn’t angry, but it wasn’t pleased either. He approached his guest, never letting up those piercing eyes.
Wintermail allowed an awkward moment between the two before craning her neck, “My Lord.”
“You should know I only agreed to speak for want of activity. Do not waste my time. It’s irritating enough Prince Petrafyrm is using a courtier instead of talking to me himself.”
“Actually, His Princeship did not send me; I came on my own accord.”
Noblesse raised an eyebrow, then walked to his couch and took a seat. He invited Wintermail to do the same. Flashing his horn red, he retrieved his mineral crown and donned it once again. He could not help but spot the knight stealing glances at the regalia. He gave a proud smirk, “Iridean Diamond; the largest ever found. Little trinkets with even a speck of it can incur an obscene expense, but this crown is utterly priceless.” Satisfied with the impressed face Wintermail gave him, he licked his lips, “This is about the Congress, correct?”
The alicorn swallowed, “A brilliant deduction, Your Highness. First and foremost…I’d like to extend my sincerest apologies for the behavior of my associate, Cardúnón. To disrespect a sovereign Prince of Equestria...”
“Is a capital offense in some jurisdictions,” Noblesse darkly finished.
“…Yes. But I think it is prudent to…see beyond such injuries and instead focus on the greater concerns.”
The Prince of Trottingham didn’t reply for a time, causing the mare to grow anxious. Finally he made a low groan, “True. Our personal feelings can be powerful things, but Princes must recall their duty to their people. I understand the two issues are unifying the Lords against the western horde, and naming you Queen.
Wintermail released a soft laugh, “The second part isn’t what I’m here for,” she paused, thinking a moment, “In fact, I’m not truly here to convince you of the first. I beseech His Highness, Prince Noblesse Oblige of Trottingham, to rejoin the Congress.”
He stroked his chin, humming in thought. “I could, perhaps…yet my objections mainly come, well from your liege.”
“Your Highness?” Wintermail inquired.
“Think about it; Petrafyrm has called a congress not in a neutral location but in Canterlot. It’s a show of dominance, right down to the company he invited. Most other lords possess domains quite clearly weaker than Canterlot and Trottingham. Your Prince can ask nicely, and then apply pressure when he receives a ‘no’.”
Noblesse leaned closer, giving his guest earnest eyes, “If some sort of arrangement were reached, then quite honestly Equestria would become a plaything, a tool, of Canterlot. Its citizens would prosper to the detriment of all other Princedoms. This isn’t in the spirit of unification, is it?”
Wintermail shook her head, digesting his words, “No.”
“Quite right. And…perhaps now you can see my hesitation in all this. If a new ruler were named, you for instance, then many would see this sovereign as a mere…puppet of Petrafyrm; the perfect means to impose his will.”
“I hope you don’t mean to suggest I would be so…obsequious.” Wintermail asked, looking rather indignant.
“Not at all, Dame. But I see Petrafyrm’s efforts as a way to accrete Equestria around him, as opposed to simply together.”
The ruler of Trottingham rose up from his couch and approached his window, looking at the pale moon and valley below. “But I have developed a compromise,” he announced turning to Wintermail, “Your loyalty to your liege is not to be questioned. Yet he needs a…balance, somepony to keep him in check. A peer to withhold any abuses his position might tempt.”
“And what might that compromise be, my Lord?” the white mare now worked her mind on the matter.
“A political collusion,” he grinned, “Marriages are to the nobility methods to acquire more lands and wealth. Awfully self-interested, wouldn’t you say? But perhaps a far more altruistic end would be the preservation of our citizens.” Wintermail’s brow furrowed, and she felt her heart beginning to pound. Noblesse Oblige continued, “I am as of yet unwed. We could…unite, and in exchange for my support to a reunified Equestria and your royal claim, I will have insurance that all Equestrians may be treated fairly.”
There’d been only one pony Wintermail had even given thought to marrying, Lórian rest his soul. There were many obstacles she could think of: status, wealth, lineage, lifespan differences. But however unwillingly, she had found herself in the game of politics, and marriages were seldom for love amongst the elite.
And then she recalled what her sister had mentioned earlier that day; the methods of mares. Perhaps emboldened by pride, or respect for herself, or a stubbornness…who could truly say? Perhaps she’d made a mistake, a short-sighted look at her own interest, as Noblesse had spoken of. Whatever others and history could judge of it, Wintermail made her choice after a solid time of thought.
“I cannot accept, my Lord.” Not a hint of uncertainty in her words.
Prince Noblesse Oblige weakly laughed in disbelief, “I’m sorry? This is the opportunity you wanted, correct?”
“…No. I came here to invite back to the Congress, not to sell myself like a common harlot.” She cleared her throat and remembered whom she was talking to, “Your Highness.”
Noblesse formed a vicious scowl, “I’ll give you one last chance.”
Wintermail matched with her own stern posture, “I decline, my Lord.”
Growling, the Prince began tapping a hoof on the table, “Then I’ve no guarantee; no guarantee that Equestria can exist without becoming Petrafyrm’s toy, and no guarantee that you alicorns will not eclipse us.”
“How do you mean? What do the alicorns have anything to do with this?” Wintermail asked, standing up and towering over Noblesse.
“Surely you see it, how the legacy of the ‘Triple-Kin’ pollutes the minds of the lords.” The Prince began taking large breaths, teeth gritted, “Your kind…ever since they washed up on our shores, everything we Equestrians have done has paled compared to the splendor of ‘Ponykind’s Greatest Realm’. You fill our myths and legends, our own gods now effigies of the alicorns.”
Noblesse Oblige felt his foreleg shaking, pent up rage and frustrations erupting at the surface, “No matter the talent of our smiths, the grandeur of our cities, the art of our poetry…they will always be poor imitations of you alicorns.” Every time he spoke that word, it was heavy with venom and contempt.
“And…and it won’t ever change! Not while our lords revel in their precious alicorn bloodlines, not while one of you sits on our throne, forever chasing the dream of a reborn alicorn dominion. Our civilization will always be in your shadow so long as alicorns dwell in Equestria—so long as your race's blood courses through my people’s veins!”
“We are all Equestrians! This is my homeland as much as yours!” Wintermail asserted, no longer caring for protocol or deference.
Noblesse Oblige didn’t reply at first, cantering back to his window and fuming by himself, “We are finished here. I will soon leave this wretched place, and your damn congress. It’s clear it will not solve the problems that have persisted for three-thousand years!”
Wintermail felt her temper firing up, but sheer willpower restrained the urge to buck this fool straight out the window. She instead pressed her hoof into the floorboard, only letting up when she heard the faint cracking of wood.
“But rest assured, Dame Wintermail,” he turned back to the alicorn, “I swear, by our native Gods, Equestria will be united, whether by silver tongues or force of arms. And it will be ruled by an Equestrian, as it was in the old days of the House of Platinum.”
Noblesse stuck out his hoof towards the door, “Now leave, and tell your Prince you failed. Tell him you came with such promise, only to disappoint so greatly, just like the rest of your kind.”
Nothing more was said, and Wintermail gave him one final scowl before letting herself out. She slammed the door and stormed back off to her room, finally cooling down halfway down the hall. She then sighed and ran a hoof through her pink mane.
“Oh you did a fantastic job, Nikól. What am I going to tell the Prince?” Was she correct in refusing his offer? Hindsight was crystal clear, but at that point she only had her instincts and experience to go off of. Right or wrong, the bridge was burnt; no going back now.
Maybe in the morning answers would come, and perhaps Prince Petrafyrm’s disposition would be right to tell him that his “Queen” had made a mess of the situation.
An understatement, to be sure.
Meanwhile, in his chamber, Noblesse brooded and schemed. Diplomacy had failed, though he could not say he was surprised. His more subtle plan was a long shot anyway. It would have made things easier—smoother. A quick dagger or a poisoned cup, and a foal born from proper Equestrian stock—Trottingham’s Princes always took great pride in their pure blood. There’d be few questions; he’d have made sure of it.
But that was no longer an option. All the same, the Congress was toxic now, poisoned by the same blight the alicorns spread over this land. The high lords would need to be cleansed; the cancer cut out, the wound drained. It would be painful, but Equestria would rise far stronger than ever before.
Wintermail would be heading west soon. There were no allies to be gained for Noblesse here; perhaps out there he could begin to build the instrument of Equestria’s renewal. The dark god, the chaos god being dragged from the bowels of Tartarus…he wanted only the alicorns. The horde wanted riches, and those could be given without the land.
It could all be done. He’d have to leave soon, however. In the morning he’d begin the trip to Trottingham to prepare. His rage though was still present; it seethed and boiled, finally culminating in a dull pain, like a rock being pounded against his skull. Yet it hurt far less than when he was younger, after years of sometimes near-fatal practice. Then that familiar surge of energy filled his horn.
It glowed with a purple aura, a sickly haze of the same trailing from greening eyes. Now was not the time however, and Noblesse Oblige worked on clearing his mind and calming his anger. Deep breaths followed before the shroud and throbbing faded away.
He felt better, more relaxed. The tempest of power had dissipated; now he could focus on his plans far easier. But in the next few weeks, he’d feel even better. This farce of a divided kingdom, a charade of weak ponies and unreachable past glories, would end soon enough.