It wasn’t unusual for Prince Blueblood to do long hours of research. Given his position and duty of not only a Prince of Equestria, but the chief ambassador for the world at large, it was a skill that he had to perfect. If one were to maintain peace among nations or negotiate trade with another culture, going through books and gathering whatever info is an absolute necessity. In fact, whenever he is in Canterlot and hears that he is going to be needed for diplomatic reasons, he would spend hours gathering mental notes from libraries and museums to learn as much on the subject as he could. And being royal, he had access to the more restricted knowledge if it means to serve out his overall goal.
However, he was looking through the ancient manuscripts and charts in Canterlot Library’s secret restricted section in the middle of the night for a different reason. It had nothing to do with international affairs, but for an internal one. He was on the hunt for something that was brought up to him that threatened his very status as a Prince. And it all started from a single question.
“How exactly are you related to the Royal Sisters?”
Hours ago, after a long bath, his mane being groomed to perfection, a light lunch with a couple of hours whining and losing to his Auntie Celestia of doing this favor for her, he was forced with the miserable task of being a tour guide for an Elementary class. As much of him wanted nothing more than to have the pipsqueaks tossed into a vat of disinfectant, then keep them there until they become grown enough to know to wipe their snot noses on a delicate lace hanky, he still had to show them around. He showed them the great rooms and told briefly of the historic significance of each, all the while trying to keep a fake smile while they couldn’t care less. Eventually, they’ve reached the hall of portraits that showed the history of the royal family when from the back, a filly with glasses raised her hoof and asked that very question.
“Isn’t it obvious?” He raised an eyebrow. “Princess Celestia is my aunt. The same goes with Princess Luna.”
“But that’s why I’m confused.” The filly said. “How can they both be your aunts? Shouldn’t one of them be your great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great,” she took in a deep breath, “great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-gr-”
“Is there a rest stop between now and the point?” Blueblood asked.
She swallowed. “Shouldn’t either one be your grandmother? If you’re related to them, how can you be if they’re both your aunts?”
“Well it’s quite simple, my ancestor, Golden Dawn the Humble, is Princess Luna’s…” He stopped. His distant ancestor from nearly a thousand years ago was the oldest of his long bloodline that he knew. Golden, as he was taught, lived after the fall of the Crystal Empire and right before the banishment of Princess Luna. However, when he tried to answer how exactly, he remembered something that was concerning – Luna had confirmed to him that she never took on a lover before her banishment. Not a husband, or had an affair with anypony, besides, even if there was there might have been some record about it. And now, in front of these foals, how exactly was Golden related to the royal family was being thrown into question.
“Yes?” The filly snapped him into reality.
“Uh…” Blueblood’s eyes shifted in his skull. “That will be answered when you’re older. Now if you excuse me,” he swiftly turned around, “I have other matters to attend to.”
“But you didn’t answer my question!”
“I have royal business to attend to, show yourselves out.”
“We don’t know where we are.” One of the students pointed out.
“Not my problem.” He said before disappearing through a hallway.
“There has got to be something in here…” Blueblood muttered. Inside the cave-like room where bookshelves of antique tomes collected dust and artifacts rested on pedestals, he could not find what he was looking for. Ancient legal books, birth and death records were placed around the table in a methodical order, charts completely unrolled on the floor, and a Prince with a headache, staring at the confusing notes. While his bloodline was very easy to find to trace it back to Golden Dawn, finding anything at all beyond that was proving to be an impossible task. As much as there’s information about his ancestor’s biography, he couldn’t find anything about the parents or even when he was born.
What caught his attention was that in the oldest records that dated to the time of Golden Dawn, he found pages that were carefully cut out or erased, even painted over as of whoever did this vandalism, didn’t want anyone to know something sensitive. But what could have been that it caused such a purge?
“There has to be something that was overlooked. But what?” He set another book aside. “And more importantly – why?”
As tired as he was, and how much he longed for his bed to fall asleep in until afternoon, there was one more thing he could check. In a tucked away corner of the restricted section, a pile of scrolls that were left forgotten had caught the Prince’s attention. At a glance, they were in his auntie Celestia’s hoofwriting that date just before Nightmare Moon. Blueblood pulled them out, and carefully went through the scrolls, one by one. Upon closer examination, they were a collection of letters. Most of them were towards her servants or nobles that he never heard about. At first, there wasn’t much of anything relating to what he was looking for.
That was until one letter in particular caught his eye when a passing glance caught on the name of his ancestor.
He instantly read it.
Afterward, he wished he hadn’t.
To the Midwife: Safe Delivery
From: Princess CelestiaDear Save Delivery,
I deeply appreciate the efforts and assistance for Opal giving birth. From what I have heard that it was a hard one for the mother, and that as I am writing this, she is still taking rest to recover. Firstly, I want to give out my gratitude for having the patience and endurance to make sure that she does, in fact, give birth to a healthy colt.
Of course, I have run several spells to make for absolute certainty that there was no spell, charm or curse that was placed upon him. While I’m happy to say that Golden Dawn has come out clean, there is an urgent matter that must be addressed upon Opal’s wishes.
It should be imperative, if not of the utmost importance, that for the sake of Golden Dawn, that the identity of the father should remain a secret. From this moment onward, neither he, nor any of his decedents should ever know of their heritage. To speak the truth of the one who begets him is hereby forbidden upon pain of imprisonment.
For now, I have made my decision that Opal and Golden shall be adopted into the royal family. I feel that it is the least I could do considering the tremendous pain and misery that the mother was forced to endure in the Crystal Empire. The horrors of a mare like that in the arms of that monster stagers the imagination, and to defile her honor is a fate most terrible.
This is why this must be kept a secret from the child and his children. Not only for their protection if my subjects knew of their heritage but would be in eternal guilt for being in relation of the creature. Henceforth, the father’s name of King Sombra is hereby forbidden.
Signed,
- Princess Celestia of Equestria.
It wasn’t unusual for Prince Blueblood to lock himself in his royal apartment. If anything, it was almost expected by the castle staff and Royal Guards. Every so often, he would pout about over something that he didn’t like, stay in his room for a few hours to an entire day refusing to come out until he was over it or something came along to kowtow to his favor. A behavior that has stubbornly endured since his foalhood, no doubt. However, such behavior only became concerning if the doors to his apartment were shut and the drapes closed for at least four days. The first three were enjoyable by most of the staff and guards as they don’t have to be within spitting distance from him. That was until everypony realized that the Prince hasn’t been seen or have been yelled at by him did anyone became slightly concerned.
Or at least to check to see if he’s dead yet.
The unfortunate duty to make absolutely sure that His Highness was at least breathing fell upon Blueblood’s butler – Maxwell von Knecht. The charcoal black stallion without a mane could only be described as a stoic who has the patience and endurance of a saint. There are many things that are unknown of this particular butler such as where he was from or even how old he was. But the staff at Canterlot Castle do know a few things: he mostly speaks when spoken to; never smiles; expresses little emotion beyond his deadpan face, and is the only servant to never resign or be fired from the fickle prince.
On the morning of the fourth day, Maxwell knocked on the gilded double doors while the other servants watch with caution at a distance.
“Your Majesty,” he called out, “is everything alright in there?”
No response.
“This is Maxwell, sir. Is there anything that you require?”
Nothing made a reply.
“Sir, if you don’t open up right now, I’m going to use my key and come in.”
When he didn’t hear anything, he took out his skeleton key out from his breast coat pocket and unlocked the door. As he entered, he took notice of not only the darkness of the rooms but the noticeable mess that he took great care to step around. Whatever happened must have been a doozy as there were shattered mirrors, broken antique vases, scribbled drafts of emo poetry, discarded wrappers of sweets from the Prince’s emergency depression cabinet, and echoes of soft playing violin that was coming from a phonograph.
Maxwell navigated almost blindly towards the bedroom where he expected to find the Prince. Sure enough, on the bed where every pillow and blanket in the royal apartment was bundled up where Blueblood was wrapped up in like a sad burrito. The unicorn went over to the bed, gently poking him at his sides. Getting out a whiny groan from him.
“Well good morning to you too.” The butler deadpanned. “Unless you need me for something, I’ll go deliver the devastating news to the palace staff to tell them that you’re not dead.” Before he could leave, he heard some incoherent mumbling from underneath the sheets. “Beg your pardon, sir?”
The mound collapsed in which a distressed Blueblood emerged. Eyes redden and puffy. Stream of mucus ran down from his nose. Mane disheveled. On the whole, ugly enough to run away from but still hilarious to where one should have taken a picture before sending out to the news for a laugh. Maxwell couldn’t do either – he would lose his job.
“This is terrible…” Blueblood answered; his voice horsed. “The absolute worst possible thing.”
“What is? Did you find out you have cancer?” The prince shook his head. “A filly called you fat again? The Press had forgotten about you? Your aunts finding out what you do every second Saturday evening at the Giddy Up Club?”
The Prince looked up in horror from the last one. “How in Tartarus did you know about that!?”
“I’m your butler, sir.” Maxwell deadpan. “It’s my job to know everything about you. Including your secrets. So, judging from your reaction, that isn’t the cause of this depression.”
Blueblood sighed, collapsing into his mound of sadness. “I’m just going to pretend that the previous ten seconds didn’t happen. So essentially… I did some research not too long ago. About my genealogy. I’ve looked through our family’s secret library to trace how exactly I’m related to my aunts. Turns out, I’m not related to either of them, but someone far worse.”
“A peasant that won the ye old lottery?”
An eye twitched, but Blueblood didn’t fire him on the spot. Instead, he said one word. “Sombra.”
“Pardon?”
“Turns out, I am of royal blood, only not the right kind! This whole time, my family is all descendant of Equestria’s most brutal tyrants in history!”
Maxwell blinked. “Oh.”
This got Blueblood’s attention. “Oh? What do you mean ‘Oh?!’”
The butler straightens out his tie. “Simply put, considering that Sombra had tried to take over Equestria and the accounts are given about him… It strangely makes perfect sense, sir.”
Crawling out of the bed, the Prince stared at him, nearly deranged. “Explain?”
“From what I’ve heard,” he said calmly, “King Sombra was described as somepony that nopony had expected to be. Flamboyant. Petty. Narcissistic. Theatrical. Overly confident. I could go on, but I believe you got the idea. Mind you, these accounts I’ve heard are from the staff since we were away from Equestria when it all happened.”
“Right…” Blueblood rubbed his head. “But how exactly does any of this make sense to you?”
“It’s only an observation, sir, formed by the opinion of those that were under Sombra’s spell, that some made comparisons between the two of you.”
“But… That’s preposterous! That would indicate that I’m some sort of villain. Surely, that’s pure nonsense.”
Maxwell blinked. His dry expression still hadn’t changed. “Permission to speak plainly.” When he was granted out of the Prince’s curiosity, he said. “Sir, with all due respect, can you think back to any time in your life in which you did anything to help somepony because you wanted to and not out of obligation or reward? Or have not used other ponies to get what you want? Or not broken any hearts? Or even mutter out a thank you to anyone in this palace?”
For a very, very long time, Blueblood’s mouth hung open, as if ready to make a rebuttal but nothing came out. No matter what corner of his brain he searched for a counter-argument to make himself look good… he couldn’t find one. Not a genuine charitable act, an honest self-sacrifice, or anything that didn’t contain the word “Machiavellian” in it to describe the story of his life.
“I rest my case.” His butler waved a hoof. “Still, from my point of view, I’d say that this should be the perfect opportunity to learn something out of this.”
“Learn what?”
He shrugged. “That I’m afraid is not my place. Take the knowledge of your true family lineage as you will. A sort of when life gives you lemons, make triple lemon meringue cheesecake kind of thing. The real question that you would have to figure out is that now you’ve found out that Sombra is your ancestor, what are you going to do with this knowledge? Now, will there be anything you need, sir?”
Blueblood told him to bring up some coffee, prepare a bath and have someone clean this up before leaving by himself to think it over. And by the time that coffee was brought up, he had made up his mind.
‘If I’m related to a villain,’ he thought, ‘I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to at least give it a try to see if I’m good at being bad.’