A tray with coffee and tea was set down upon the long, narrow table and the young stallion server skedaddled with all haste. Around this table was quite a number of ponies, the most important of which were the three crowned Princes of Equestria. Shining Armor sat at the head of the table, wearing his circlet of office, Blueblood sat on his right, and Gosling off to his left. Beside Gosling was his retinue, the Ponies Who Got Things Done. Beans, Toast, and Seville all took up the seats closest to Gosling, and they were getting stuff done.
“There is going to be a great deal of legislation come spring and we’ll be working to fix Mister Mariner’s upset, but to do that, we really do need to sort out an age of adulthood for Equestria. Many of our proposed solutions require adults.”
When Paper Pusher had finished speaking, Blueblood let out a dry cough.
“This is a non-issue,” a pony named Rubber Stamp said, a grizzled old veteran of bureaucratic standards. “This is a political rider, plain and simple… something done to satisfy an agenda. It’s not a real issue and has never been.” Smoothing out his magnificent mustache, Mister Stamp poured himself a cup of coffee and pulled a pink-frosted donut from the tray with his magic.
Glancing down at the stack of papers in front of him, Gosling had already been warned by Raven that this issue would surface. He had correspondence from his fellow Confessors and dozens of community leaders on this issue: none of them would budge, and Gosling was expected to represent the interests of the First Tribes.
Leaning in, Gosling put his game piece down upon the board: “The First Tribes shall support no law that invalidates our established traditions. Everypony wants the Age of Accountability to be raised, considerably, and that takes away from us.”
“Why the whole thing with sevens?” Rubber Stamp asked. “I’ve been meaning to ask, but I’ve always worried it would be seen as disrespectful somehow. Why is seven so important?”
“Seven,” Gosling replied, reminding himself that he was acting as the Confessor at the moment, “is the number that represents an alicorn. One horn, two wings, four stout legs. Does this satisfy your inquiry, Mister Stamp?”
“Indeed, it does.” Grinning, the old stallion tore into his donut and smeared pink frosting on his mustache.
“It is because of the first tribes that we face a crisis in the orphanages—”
“Mind your tongue!” Blueblood leaned forward, turned his steely gaze upon Paper Pusher, and his eyebrows furrowed down over his eyes. “Say anything disrespectful and I will have your tongue stapled to this table!”
In response, Paper Pusher recoiled and then became quite apologetic. “But this is actually the problem… the system is strained to its limits after the recent crisis involving Mister Mariner. All across the nation, the orphanages and the larger orphanariums are tossing out foals before they can be educated and properly prepared for the world. They are using the First Tribe’s age of adulthood as an excuse to dump an unprepared, unready foal out into the world at the tender age of fourteen.”
“Can’t they just join the guard?” Rubber Stamp shrugged and then looked around the table at his fellow ponies. “Three hots and a cot, right? Prince Gosling here dropped out of school and joined the guard.”
“We owe them a better future than just military service,” Paper Pusher said while casting a worried glance in Blueblood’s direction.
“Lip service.” Rubber Stamp squinted at Paper Pusher. “You don’t actually care about this issue at all… but it sure is useful for pushing your agenda, isn’t it?”
Gosling watched as Paper Pusher scowled and he waited for a response, which did not seem forthcoming. Shining Armor was quiet, too quiet, and Gosling wished that Shining would weigh in, say something, do something, do anything, because Gosling was deep in unfamiliar territory.
“Having an established Age of Accountability would solve the problem. The First Tribes foals could be released into society at fourteen in recognition of their so-called traditions and everypony else could get responsible care.”
Lip quivering, Blueblood’s horn ignited with a fiery glow and then a stapler popped into existence on the table in front of him. Paper Pusher let out a whine as he shied away and Gosling took notes on how Blueblood dealt with bureaucrats. Rubber Stamp chuckled and licked frosting from his mighty, magnificent mustache. Shining Armor however, remained silent.
“Hey, Goose.” Turning his head, Seville looked in Gosling’s direction and tapped his hoof on a pile of papers. “Raven’s cheat-sheet of facts does kinda support what Paper Pusher has to say. Somehow, she knew that this would be an issue.” The earth pony paused for a moment and then he turned about in his seat to face Paper Pusher. “What you’re not saying is how do we deal with the costs. That’s the whole reason why these orphanages are dumping foals. There’s no money. If we force them to keep foals longer, who pays for the extended care? This”—he tapped on the paper with his hoof—“this right here is why I think you’re blowing smoke right now.”
“I’ll confess that there is an agenda at work here, but this is merely a symptom of a much larger problem! Can you not see that?” Paper Pusher threw himself back into his chair, rolled his eyes, and threw his front hooves up into the air while heaving an exaggerated sigh.
It became very clear to Gosling that there was an easy solution to be had here, and he was a bit confused that nopony had instituted it sooner. Mere moments after reaching this conclusion of sorts, he paused, and knew that he wasn’t that clever. Surely, somepony had tried this approach before, and it had failed for whatever reason.
“A vast majority of ponies support the two-decade mark,” Paper Pusher said, and he now sounded quite meek. “A nice even age of twenty. Before anypony says anything, I am aware of the First Tribes and the age of twenty-one. Negotiations are possible and those whose interests I represent are willing to extend one extra year.”
“This would really put a lot of orphanages right under,” Seville muttered. “You were so worried about that just a moment ago.”
It seemed as though Paper Pusher ignored Seville and had nothing to say.
Gosling however, couldn’t ignore it, and it looked like a mighty inviting hill to start a fight on, a battlefield of his own choosing. Where others might see political posturing, Gosling saw opportunity—and a chance to steal away a lever useful for political maneuvering. He became aware of the fact that Blueblood was staring at him, a cold, commanding, piercing stare, and Gosling squirmed in his seat beneath the withering gaze.
“Twenty one is too old,” Rubber Stamp said and he shook the remains of his donut at Paper Pusher. “That would gut our military of able-bodied youth and we’re in need of every warm body we can muster. I still don’t see why we can’t have the military raising our orphans. Well, at least some of them. Solve two problems at once.”
“Unconscionable!” Paper Pusher cried while he made a dismissive wave at Rubber Stamp. “We can’t have stable, traditional families that lay down the foundations for our future if all of our youth are swept into military service!”
“And we have no future and no families without a strong military!” Mustache bristling, Rubber Stamp’s jovial nature vanished. “I joined Her Majesty’s Royal Navy when I was twelve! Twelve! I had to lie about my age to get in! I’ve had nothing but gain from it! I am the successful, well-rounded pony that I am right now because of my service in Her Majesty’s Royal Navy. They are my family. Our society is becoming lax and spineless and we need good military discipline!”
“Hooray… let’s hear it for rum, sodomy, and the lash.” Blueblood’s deadpan expression silenced both bureaucrats, and the both of them turned to look at him with bewildered expressions. “Rum, buggery, and discipline. Sets a stallion straight in his life, for certain.”
Though his mustache quivered, Rubber Stamp had no words of reply.
Hearth’s Warming was just a few short days away now, and the Winter Moon Festival as well. It had been a troubling time for Gosling as of late, living in the aftermath of the Great Meltdown. He was desperate for some way to redeem himself, some way to recover from the downward spiral that had claimed him. Gosling was itching for a cause, something he could give himself over to so that he might feel better, because his feelings of inadequacy were crushing him.
“About the orphanages,” Gosling said while he adjusted his posture and sat up straight. After a quick reminder that how he did this was important, he carried on. “Beans, Toast, begin drafting legislation that orphanages cannot discharge a foal until secondary education has been completed—”
“Gosling, this legislation will never pass, not without a veritable blizzard of riders.” Blueblood’s tone was cold and lacked any sort of feeling. “And there is the cost to consider.”
“Very well.” Gosling took a deep breath and then started over. “Beans, Toast, begin drafting a royal decree in my name that orphanages cannot discharge a foal until secondary education has been completed and that said foal must pass a basic competency test.”
Now, Shining Armor had something to say: “Gosling, there are great costs to be considered.”
“We’ll give more tax money to orphanages,” Gosling replied.
Blueblood shook his head, but it was Paper Pusher who said something: “We can’t!”
“Why not?” Gosling demanded while Beans and Toast were already hard at work on drafting a decree.
“It’ll be the undoing of society!” Paper Pusher cried and he pressed both front hooves against his cheeks. “Nopony wants to pay taxes to raise some careless, lazy pony’s foals. If we have well-funded orphanages that are warm and inviting, nopony will want to raise families! Nopony will want the headache and hassle! Everything we hold near and dear to our hearts will be undone! A thousand years of family tradition tossed out of the window! It’ll be the creation of a welfare state and the death of equinal responsibility! Let those who have extra be charitable, but don’t place a burden upon the poor to pay the costs of somepony else’s mistakes!”
Seville snorted.
Rubber Stamp, whose donut was now gone, thumped his hoof upon the table. “Paper Pusher is rather right. If we increase taxes and create a burden on the public’s back, more foals will be turned loose and given over to the Crown to raise. Increasing the funding on welfare services will only create a greater need for welfare. That’s the trap. We need to lower taxes somehow, and if we do that, if we give the public the means to care for themselves, then fewer foals will be abandoned. In this, Paper Pusher is correct.”
“Beans… Toast… once the holidays are done and over, I want the both of you to get in touch with Twilight Velvet and I want a real world estimate of the actual costs involved to have well-funded orphanages.” Gosling thought about the book that Twilight had given him, and he knew that taking this first step would lead to better, greater steps—but he had to get the ball rolling first.
“Gosling, what are you doing?” Shining Armor asked and nothing about his mood could be determined from his voice. “This was not on the agenda for today.”
“It became the agenda,” Gosling replied while he began to rub his chin. “Looking after the least of us will always be on my agenda.”
“Gosling…”—Shining Armor’s voice was still devoid of any sort of indicator of his mood—“this has never gone well in the past. Our nation is still recovering from Mister Mariner’s gambit. This very issue has torn apart our government when it was healthy and functioned well. I cannot even imagine what it might do to our government now.”
“I’ll have nothing to do with a government that marginalises the least of us,” Gosling said to Shining Armor. “And these foals are the least of us. Who represents them? They have no industry, exist only as a drain upon the system, and with the recent changes in labour laws, ponies feel that they offer nothing to society, when nothing could be further from the truth. They are the future of our great society… perhaps if we educate them and prepare them adequately, we could produce a generation of greatness. If they come from nothing, surely we can harness them as ambitious go-getters.”
Gosling’s mouth went dry, so he nudged Beans, who sat beside him. In response, Beans began fixing Gosling some tea, making short work of the ritual with the liberal application of magic. It was, perhaps, a little too quiet, with the only sounds being the preparation of tea and the scratching of a pen against paper. Off to Gosling’s right, Shining Armor was rubbing his chin, and across the table, Blueblood stared at Gosling with narrowed, curious eyes.
“Find disadvantaged single parents and maybe even families who need a place to stay.” Seville’s sudden mutterings cause every ear at the table to prick. “Have them look after orphans. Give them work and I’m sure they’ll take it. Give them a salary or a stipend and I’m positive that they’ll do the job. We rely too much on charitable souls to run an orphanage and depending on volunteers seems like a real boneheaded thing to do. That’s the problem right there.”
“Are you proposing that we exploit disadvantaged families?” Paper Pusher asked Seville.
“Exploit is such an ugly word.” Seville made a gesture with his hoof to dismiss the ugly, unwanted word. “Look, this is an issue close to my heart, okay? I’ve seen some stuff. I know some stories. Exploiting would be wrong, alright? But using one disadvantaged part of the population to help another disadvantaged part of the population just seems right, you know?”
Now, Paper Pusher was rubbing his chin.
“Look, I know who you are,” Seville said to the pony beside him. “Not only are you one of our top bureaucrats, but you are also one of the heads of the Traditionalist Conservative Family Coalition. Your little clique has done a lot of good work, but you could be doing more. The only families you seem to be interested in helping are those who fund your cause or assist you in some way—”
“We have an interest in helping everypony!” Paper Pusher retorted and his outburst was punctuated by an outraged nickery-wicker.
“Good, then prove it.” Seville, unimpressed by Paper Pusher’s theatrics, ploughed onwards. “If you and yours were to help these orphans and help them understand the importance of family, just imagine how your ranks might swell once they grew up. As it stands, I would say that these orphans have compromised family values… but you could be helping to make that better.”
“He’s got you there,” Rubber Stamp said to the pony across the table and he helped himself to another donut.
“Princess Cadance needs research subjects.” Gosling’s words were said in a calm matter-of-fact sort of way and he glanced in Shining Armor’s direction for a moment. “Not to sound cold and exploitive, but we have this untapped resource. We could start using orphanages as places of research. We could study behaviour and ways to modify behaviour. We could be studying herd dynamics as they develop. We could be observing and doing… rather than be passive and allow this potential resource to go to waste.”
“Wait.” Paper Pusher held his hoof up and Blueblood let out a displeased snort. “Wait… that’s a good idea, actually. Those whose interests I represent often lament the costs of education and research. We fund a lot of studies. Like, a whole lot of studies, and we’re big fans of Princess Cadance’s noble work. Almost all of us feel that society is being held back by the sheer cost of organised research. Could we actually do what you said, Gosling? If we can, I know I can pound the drums to call for support. It’ll be a hard sell, but I think it can be done.”
Now, Blueblood stared at Paper Pusher with a blank expression.
“Plus… think of the job experience. We could train future psychologists and the orphans would have caretakers, of a sort.” Paper Pusher took a deep breath, his cheeks and his eyes bulged for a moment, and then he let everything out in a huff. “I sense many opportunities.”
When Gosling turned to look at Shining Armor, he saw that his fellow prince was lost in thought. Yes, Shining Armor had checked out of the conversation and was no doubt thinking great thoughts. Gosling lifted his teacup, took a cautious slurp, and then gulped down about half of it. Gosling knew that if he could sway Shining Armor’s stance on this issue, he would have an ally. As for Blueblood… Blueblood was giving nothing away right now, and Gosling would have to consult with him later.
“We can’t call it a tax,” Rubber Stamp said and this drew a few confused grunts from around the table. “We even say the word ‘tax’ and it’ll lead to entrenched warfare on the various political fronts.”
“He’s right, you know.” Blueblood nodded his head. “That word will be an invitation to war. This has never gone well in the past. Seville, we’ll need spin, but it has to be honest.”
“I’m on it.”
“How do we spin this?” Gosling asked, bewildered by the very events he had set in motion.
Paper Pusher seemed at a loss for words and shrugged. Toast was too busy writing to say anything, and Beans was focused upon his twin’s efforts. Seville was hunched over and had a dour look of concentration upon his face. Shining Armor appeared to be totally and completely lost in thought. Even Blueblood had no response, and Gosling found this worrisome. Blueblood, his mentor, always had some ways and means at his disposal.
“In Her Majesty’s Royal Navy”—Rubber Stamp’s voice was somehow soft and boisterous at the same time—“retreat is frowned upon. Retreat can ruin a career and bring no end of accusations of cowardice. It’s bad for morale. The very word retreat is a deadly poison to the ears that drips right into the mind…”
His words trailed off and the gruff old unicorn shuddered.
“So we never retreat. But we do make strategic redeployments. That’s how we spin this… we’ll call it a strategic investment in the future. Frame it as an opportunity. It isn’t a tax, but a strategic reallocation brought about by drastic reorganization of priorities. We can say it is for long-term reconstruction efforts brought about by Mister Mariner’s attempted coup d'état. Play on public sympathy… everypony has been hurt somehow by that bastard. He is one of the most hated creatures in existence right now, and we can exploit that to quell dissension in the ranks.”
“Yes.” Blueblood’s lip curled back in a fantastic, leering sneer. “Merely invoking the notion that somepony supports him is enough to cause furious backpedalling.”
Paper Pusher nodded. “Right. So now we sort out the sordid details to make this happen…”
The chair offered no comfort. Oh, it was a fine chair, one of the best chairs that bits could buy, but from the way Gosling squirmed it seemed as though he was sitting on a bed of live coals. Even though he had a productive morning and had accomplished much, he was miserable, just downright miserable, and none of the good that he had done could distract him from the troubles on his mind.
As more days passed, as Hearth’s Warming drew nearer, the full scope and scale of his emotional blowout revealed itself to Gosling. He’d been avoiding his mother, actively hiding from her. There was no way he could face her right now and he hadn’t told her what he had done. Unable to face himself, he had kept himself busy—too busy—and had buried himself in his work, because if he couldn’t find some way to live with himself, he could at least labour to redeem himself.
Left alone with no distractions, no work, nothing to demand his attention, Gosling’s conscience dragged him down into the black, disconcerting depths. Beyond the door just a few yards away, Luna was speaking to Lumina Loveletter—the therapist they all shared—and she no doubt had all manner of horrible things to say about him. There was a tension now between he and Luna, and with each passing day it grew more and more unbearable. He had handled himself poorly and was now facing the aftermath.
And what an aftermath it was.
When the door opened, Gosling held his breath. A shadowy silhouette lingered in the doorway, a dark, indistinct shape only defined by the warm, yellow light shining around it. The figure stepped out and the light vanished when the door was shut. At first, the figure was black, but as Gosling’s eyes adjusted to the change in light she faded into a beautiful midnight blue.
His mouth opened and he wanted to say he was sorry; he tried to do this, several times, but no words came. A thousand different thoughts rushed through his mind, all of them competing for his headspace, everything from saving Luna when he followed her into that spooky house to the awful moment where he had slapped her for the awful thing she had said about her sister being weak.
She approached and the ambient light of the room around them seemed to bend in weird, mysterious ways, leaving her face cloaked in shadow. Her eyes were almost luminous though and he found his gaze drawn there. Not her real eyes, but false eyes, illusionary eyes with bewitching enchantments to lure his gaze in.
Transfixed, Gosling did not move when she drew near, nor did he flinch when her horn passed mere inches near his face. When the tip of her nose pressed against his neck, he closed his eyes, and when she nuzzled his throat, he shivered. Each breath she took was hot against the thin skin of his throat and he wanted to hold her, to touch her, but he dared not move.
Then, she was gone without even the indescribable sound of winking.
A moment later, the door opened, and Lumina Loveletter’s voice could be heard: “Do come in, Gosling, we have much to discuss…”