Contemplation was tricky business; thoughts could come in at random, always unwelcome and unexpected and, oftentimes, unhelpful. This held true for any bout of thinking, however short- or long-term it might have lasted; especially so, when a matter requiring utmost seriousness and care presented itself in all its grandeur. The more pressing the matter was, the more unhelpful thoughts tended to filter in with their whimsical notions of fancy and their carelessness for the delicacy that the issue required.
Few matters were as persistent and demanding as this, a black-coated stallion dressed in regal robes reflected as he trotted down a vast hallway. Passing many moonlit and furnace-lit windows, and just as many shuttered doors, he did nothing else but brood. A few doors were not so silent, as from behind them he could hear faint chattering and the crackling of yet more furnaces, as well as a faint electrical hum if he bothered to listen closely.
Not that he cared to listen closely for that hum anyway; where he marched, it was constant white noise that he learned to appreciate but tune out all the same.
But white noise hardly helped; the whole chorus of it added another wild card to the already-present pandemonium of stray musings, all trying to thread themselves together into something cohesive. The longer the distraction drummed at his head, the longer his musings kept tripping over each other. The longer his thoughts kept tripping over each other, the longer he was distracted.
Such was the nature of a vicious cycle. Birth… life… death, and the end of all things… he wondered where dreams came from, and where they went before shaking his head to rid himself of the pointless musing. While he could appreciate philosophy's place in a society, now was not the time to muse its place in his.
The solution was obvious, the regally-dressed stallion decided with a soft snort that went unheard in the background hum. Onwards he went, steps delicate and light but hurried all the same. Time was of the essence, and dally was not a luxury he could not afford to do.
Besides, waiting around for things to happen to oneself never tended to end well, did they? He snorted to himself, mind briefly skipping to all the examples of the past regarding the history of the area he strode in.
The biggest one of them all was but a distant dream, so long ago, so unreachable then and still unreachable now. Fool's folly, his inner cynic called it—a belief held by his forefathers before him. And a belief that would be held by his descendants if things didn't go according to his exact specifications.
He uttered four words within his mind that filled him with resolution—something that steeled his resolve and tempered his patience. A thought that dispelled the doubt clouding his mind, had any been present prior. A soothing lull that nonetheless honed its edge against the whetstone.
Simplicity was its name. Nothing short of what a self-made, determined pony would utter in the most perilous of times before the next big battle. It sparked a fire in both heart and hooves, clouding his echoing steps in a trail of ash and embers that faded behind him.
"What will happen, shall."
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The throne room was a rather simple affair, compared to what most would expect of the stereotyped imagery. Just twin thrones standing atop a small flight of stairs, a polished patio before them leading to double doors wrought of obsidian and partially hewn of steel. The thrones had plush cushions in them, but besides the duo of guards standing on either side of the doors, and the regally-dressed mare sitting in one of them, the place was barren.
But then again, the guards had more than spears at their posts; indeed, they seemed more robot than pony. Both wore clothes as black as night, though given the minimal lighting of the room, the cloth was hard to distinguish from their dark grey coats. Swords rested on their backs, and halberds in their fetlocks. Visors encased their eyes, keeping the emotion from being betrayed by their oculars.
Just as well. Guards showing emotions was a sign of weakness. And any soldier of any post showing emotion was simply asking for trouble, or so one of the guards thought. They were as stiff as those posing for nude paintings, perhaps even more so given the weapons that didn't seem to weigh them down, with not a silvern thread of mane or tail out of place. The only true difference was in their gender and manestyles; the mare sported a low bob cut, and the stallion a bowl cut that barely reached the start of his neck.
The guards, though, paled in comparison to the queen who idled on the throne; a golden beauty in both coat and mane, with eyes shining like emeralds and a silver-shoed hoof glowing with purple flames as she toyed about with a floating blade wreathed in the same aura. "Tell me, my lovelies…" She turned to the mare of the pair, who stiffened the tiniest bit at the queen's rather melodious voice. "What does respect entail?"
"Following orders to the letter, no deviation, and with as much care as the matter requires, my liege?" the mare asked, careful to keep her voice neutral.
"Close," the queen said, smiling the tiniest bit. She threw the blade at the mare, who lifted a hoof bearing a steel horseshoe awash in a golden pyre and deflected the blade using the halberd's shaft. For a moment, the weapon parted from her fetlock, but stood upright in shimmering gold as though she still clutched it firmly. "It means to hold something in admiration, whilst caring for it as much as is required. You'd do well to remember that, Trypo."
Trypo reclaimed her halberd and her stoic pose, though not before bowing until her chin grazed the floor. "Yes, my liege," she answered.
The queen giggled. "It's good that you keep your senses as sharp as your armory," she praised. "That shows you respect your position as my entrusted guard." She turned to the stallion, who was less careful in letting his emotions remain bottled up—he stiffened as though he made eye contact with his liege with rigid legs on full display. "Now then… Nocti, let's see if you hold that same level of admiration…"
The blade floated back to her before she threw her hoof outward, and thus, the weapon at Nocti. Nocti reacted a hare slower, just a split-second later—and the sword nearly grazed his visor as he brought up a horseshoe to block instead of the larger halberd. Nonetheless, he pushed it back out of harm's way and sent it skidding to the floor on its side, and it was a miracle the action hadn't left a scratch on the polished surface after. He slumped a little, relieved that he had barely managed to avoid grievous harm to his face before stiffening again as Trypo snapped her head to him and proceeded to scold him.
"Nocti! Show a little more respect for Queen Phant whenever she deigns fit to test you!" Trypo snapped, voice neutral but raised slightly in a way that normally meant 'I will punch you in the face for this slight later, if the Queen doesn't do so first.'
Dejected, but trying to keep himself in check, Nocti only nodded like a battered husband with a serious case of henpecking as he managed a mumbled, "Yes, Trypo…"
"Don't you 'yes, Trypo' me! As soon as we—"
"Now, now, my lovelies," Queen Phant interjected, causing the pair to turn to her once more. "You can continue your little spat when you go on your next excursions with me and King Cauchemar. Until then, keep it strictly between yourselves, alright? Such personal matters only deserve the utmost respect of those involved."
Trypo frowned slightly, but bowed again nonetheless. Nocti followed her motions, and both uttered a resigned, "Yes, my liege" in response.
Queen Phant's smile widened. "Excellent. Now then…" She trailed off as the doors parted, not in a booming echo like one would expect, but rather a gentle but drawn-out creaking as the guards turned to face one another and the hall beyond by extension. Before both could lower their halberds to prevent the door opener from crossing, they halted as King Cauchemar strode in with a firm look on his face. Queen Phant's smile vanished at his rather grim expression. "Cauchemar?"
Cauchemar nodded, and strode up to Queen Phant with his hoofsteps still burning after him. The doors closed with a crimson wave of flame, and as the King sat in his seat next to his wife, Nocti gulped a little as he saw the burning hoofprints fading away. "Trypo… that means what I think it does, doesn't it?" he asked.
Trypo could only nod sourly, her frown deepening somewhat as she wordlessly turned back to the King and Queen on the thrones. Nocti braced himself with a sigh, and turned to his lieges as well.
Before either guard could speak further, King Cauchemar waved a hoof. "Bring me the Champions of Nightmaria," he ordered firmly.
The pair stiffened. "Y-Your Highness?" Nocti ventured, shuddering slightly.
King Cauchemar nodded. "Yes. Bring me the Champions," he repeated firmly. "It cannot wait."
Queen Phant slowly nodded to the pair in a manner that was almost sympathetic. "Don't dally now, lovelies. You know he doesn't like being kept waiting," she said. With that command, Trypo lifted a hoof and channelled her golden embers upon the doors, opening them again so she and Nocti could take their leave.
When the door shut behind them, Queen Phant turned to King Cauchemar and waited until silence had settled before addressing him. "Darling, what seems to be troubling you?"
King Cauchemar huffed. "I have grown tired of it," he said simply.
Queen Phant raised a brow. "Tired of what?" she pressed.
He turned to make eye contact with his bride. "For as long as we could remember… as long as Nightmaria remembers…" His expression hardened as he paused for a moment. "We've been isolated in the world… while we know next to nothing of our ancestors' former homeland." The last two words had been spat with venom, and ire that burned Phant's blood as her expression darkened.
"Equestria…" she muttered, eyes glinting. "Whatever do you need the Champions for?"
King Cauchemar's expression didn't budge. "And what little our scouts have learned these past few weeks has not helped in the least." He lifted a blazing hoof, cleared his throat, and proceeded to relay to Queen Phant what the scouts had relayed to him. "'Ruled by a pair of alicorns who move sun and moon, along with a…'" Here he sucked in a breath with a visible shudder that rattled even the inferno around his hoof, "'Princess of Friendship and Princess of Love,' who do nothing more than sit on their softened plots and let the Elements of Harmony bear the brunt of most international work.'"
Queen Phant's expression soured. "Most international work?" she prodded, eyes narrowing the tiniest bit.
King Cauchemar nodded. "Regarding escaped beasts of Tartarus, the likes of which could give even our own Champions pause. Scarce information about a changeling invasion. Disaster aversion." He waved his raised hoof dismissively. "That sort of international." He huffed. "Has Equestria forgotten what guards are for?"
Queen Phant's expression turned thoughtful even as her head shook. "And you've heard the Princesses do… nothing?"
King Cauchemar's nod solidified her temper. "We will have to send the Champions themselves to scout Equestria out… note specific weaknesses in both locales and populace… and invade ourselves. If they are as soft as the scouts made them out to be…" King Cauchemar donned a tiny smirk. "Then we shall set them right. That way, the wrongs of so long ago can be atoned for."
Queen Phant assumed a diabolical smirk. "That sounds delightful, darling," she cooed.