//------------------------------// // Character // Story: A 14th Century Friar in Celestia's Court // by Antiquarian //------------------------------// Jacques hastened down the corridors after Kibitz, his long stride helping him keep pace with the Equestrian as they wound their way through the palace. Mentally, the friar prepared himself for ill news. He had been summoned to Celestia’s study to tend to a wounded pony, and could only assume it had to do with the Shades. After all, why summon him, a relatively new healer, if it were not something that required his… unique skillset. They slowed to a brisk walk as they approached the study doors, and Jacques prepared for the worst. He fully expected the patient to be on death’s door. What he did not expect was for the study doors to be flung open as a trio of medical ponies backed out of the room nervously, driven by a fusillade of shouted words that even Jacques considered foul. To pony ears, they must have been doubly egregious. Triply egregious in the princesses’ presence, amended Jacques, noting the look of butlerian outrage that crossed Kibitz’s features. “Out with you! Out!” shouted the foul voice from within, taking a break from his string of invective long enough to issue orders. “You’ve bandaged, stitched, and sewn up every inch of me! You close anything else up and I won’t be able to crap!” “Mr. Grey,” protested one of the doctors feebly, “We need to check—” “Out!” roared the speaker, whose command was punctuated by a heavy book that sailed through the air at the doctor’s head. The medical ponies ducked as one before beating a hasty retreat down the corridor. Further shouted exclamations rang out within the study, from two voices in particular. The first was the ill-tempered mystery stallion. The second sounded to be Princess Luna. Neither seemed especially happy with the other. Kibitz looked to be moments away from bursting a vein or two at the impropriety, and muttered what was no doubt a very harsh judgment under his breath as he trotted forward. Jacques was prepared to give the mystery pony some measure of leeway, insofar as people could be irrational when injured. All the same, the irreverent manner with which the ill-tempered stallion addressed the princess, to say nothing of his disrespect for the hospital staff, was enough to make the friar’s fists clench unconsciously. It seems manners are in short supply in Canterlot, he thought with a frown. Squaring his shoulders, he followed Kibitz into the room. Celestia’s study showed evidence of having been converted into a hasty medical ward, with a divan that had been used as a makeshift gurney, two opened medical kits, a monitor of some sort, and bloodied rags of all sizes much in evidence. All of this Jacques took in at a glance, for he was much more concerned with the room’s occupants. Princess Luna bore the scuffs and scrapes of a recent battle, and there was blood on her coat, though the relative lack of bandages suggested little of it was hers. There was one large bandage on her cheek, and Jacques spared a moment to wonder what sort of foe had succeeded in wounding the alicorn. The other pony in the shouting match was a stocky earth pony who, as his tirade a moment before had alluded, was rather swathed in bandages. He was grey-coated, with a tidily cropped white mane and tail, the mark of a stone smith’s compass and stylus on his flank, and the countenance of a pony in his middling years. He could also generate considerable volume with his lungs, and Jacques feared for the hearing of the ponies present if things should escalate further. Though, if nothing else, the details shouted in the argument did allow him to identify the stallion as ‘Mason Grey,’ and to learn that there had been an unfortunate incident involving a bottle of fine wine. Watching the shouting match, with the air of a mother who’d decided it was best to let the children have their go at each other before stepping in to calm things down, was Princess Celestia. She appeared remarkably serene under the circumstances, but Jacques noticed a flicker of resigned frustration in her eyes and a downward twist in her lips. Argent, standing beside Celestia, was far less subtle about her disapproval. She openly frowned at the stallion. Jacques didn’t need to be a mind-reader to know that she would happily, even forcefully, escort the earth pony from the room, injuries or no injuries, if either princess would but give her leave to do so. In all, Jacques decided it wasn’t quite the most heated infirmary scene he’d walked in on, but it was a strong contender for the title. Fortunately, the friar did not long have to endure the awkwardness before he was noticed by Celestia. The Solar Princess spotted him and, in an impressive display of sisterly communication, managed to surpass the stallion’s volume and get Luna’s attention with a wordless gesture. Luna looked over at Jacques, gave a relieved smile, and informed Mason Grey that a specialist had come to examine him. Mason did not take the news well. Especially when he turned and saw Jacques. “Oh, no!” shouted the earth pony, taking a step back from Jacques. “I’m not falling for that one! Those jokers tried to bump me off because of my ‘foreign adventurism,’ and this… this…!” He trailed off and regarded Jacques with an odd look. “What are you, exactly?” he asked in an abruptly civilized tone. “Human,” replied Jacques automatically. “And this human,” shouted Mason, reverting instantly to his previous outraged tone, “is one-hundred-and-ten-percent not Equestrian! That big bucker’s so foreign I’ve never even heard of his species! I didn’t get to where I am by painting an even bigger target on my back the same day the crossbow bolt misses!” Luna rolled her eyes. “Mason—” “No!” snapped the stallion, turning abruptly and storming towards the door. “I have had it up to here with being poked and prodded! I am not some guinea pig for your quacks to experiment on. I’m—” As he drew abreast of Jacques on his way out, he abruptly stopped, pulled out a business card, passed it to Jacques, saying in a pleasant tne, “Mason Grey, chum. I don’t believe I caught the name?” “Friar Jacques,” blurted the astonished worthy. “Charmed,” smiled the businesspony. “Once things have calmed down, we should have a chat about trade relations with… wherever you’re from.” “That… might prove a challenge,” admitted Jacques. Mason winked. “Never met a challenge I couldn’t conquer. Be seeing you.” Then he took another step and resumed shouting, “I’m Mason Frigging Grey, builder of empires, kicker of flanks, and taker of names! I do not linger for anypony!” Luna stomped her hoof in an oddly filly-ish gesture of outrage. “And just where do you think you’re going?!” “To pillage your wine cellar!” he shouted back as he limped down the hall. Luna gritted her teeth and glared after him. “Stubborn foal!” she hissed. Celestia took a step towards her sister. “Luna…” “I’ll handle it, sister!” snapped the younger alicorn, who teleported after Mason. She reappeared next to him a ways down the corridor, and the sounds of their bickering echoed up the hall for several moments as they wound their way out of hearing range. During that time, the other occupants of the suddenly quiet room waited in weary silence. Once it was clear the odd pair was well and truly gone, Jacques simply turned his gaze to Celestia and cocked an eyebrow. With a resigned half-smile, the princess obliged him, “That, as you may have gathered, was Mason Grey – a remarkably affluent and powerful businesspony who happens to be a close personal friend of Princess Luna’s.” “Yes, I gathered they were friends, being that I did not witness her flinging him out the nearest window,” remarked Jacques dryly. “Is he always that… abrasive?” Argent muttered something that sounded like a harsh affirmative. Celestia, true to form, gave a more measured answer. “Mason has always been something of a character. Though he is not usually this… difficult. I imagine he is simply shaken up.” Jacques examined the business card absently. “He has an interesting way of showing it,” murmured the friar. In his normal tone he asked, “What is this about the attempt on his life for ‘foreign adventurism?’” “Yes. That.” replied Celestia. Turning to Kibitz, she said, “Kibitz, you seem like you could use a break. Why don’t you go have a nice cup of tea and relax for a while.” Kibitz looked ready to protest that he was ever-ready to serve, but a subtle narrowing of the princess’s eyes said that it wasn’t a request. Bowing politely, the majordomo departed, closing the door behind him. When he’d left, the princess began her explanation. “At the moment we know very little. Colonel Query is still examining the crime scene, but from what we’ve gathered so far…” The explanation didn’t take long, even with the questions Jacques asked. When she’d finished, Jacques stood silent for a time, stroking his beard as he mulled the matter over. “A curious turn of events,” he said at length. “Indeed,” agreed Celestia. “Though now we know there have been at least two attacks with a foreign connection, giving us a clear motive to consider.” “Perhaps,” said Jacques slowly. Celestia raised an eyebrow. “You disagree?” He shook his head. “I don’t know enough to agree or disagree, Princess. I just wonder if this might not be a diversion. After all, the stallion who first attacked your secretary and the good captain said nothing of a foreign connection.” “True,” agreed Argent. “Though it’s possible that he was the diversion, and these attacks reveal the genuine motive.” “Or perhaps both are diversionary tactics,” speculated Celestia, “or neither are, and there is simply a link we do not see.” She sighed and shook her head. “Too many dots and not enough lines to connect them.” The princess frowned at the wall in a brown study for a moment before blinking and addressing them. “I think it would be best if the both of you took some time to rest. There is nothing else for either of you to do at this time, and it’s been a rather busy day. Friar, I am sorry to have troubled you when your services were not desired.” He gave a respectful bow. “Pray, think nothing of it, Your Highness.” Celestia quirked a half-smile. “You are too generous, Friar. All the same, I’d like to do what I can to make it up to you, and to Rarity as well. If you’d like, I can arrange to have Steel Weave meet with you today. I believe I should be able to help Rarity move her business meetings to today as well, and to have use of one of the castle conference rooms for the purpose.” Jacques raised an eyebrow. “That would certainly be convenient and, of greater importance, far safer. I hate to reschedule with Monsieur Weave on such short notice, but these are extenuating circumstances.” “Steel Weave and his family are used to accommodating… unusual requests,” said Celestia. “A natural consequence of working closely for the Crown on special projects. It won’t be a problem. I can’t say the same for Rarity’s contacts but,” her smile broadened a touch, “I imagine a Royal invitation will smooth any ruffled feathers.” “Most generous of you, Your Highness.” Celestia raised one hoof. “Please, Friar – it is the least I can do for such a hero of the realm as Rarity, and such a selfless defender as yourself. Ah ah!” she chided before he could protest his own accolades. “You may dispense with the protestations, my friend. Your virtuous humility is to be admired, but I stand by my judgment and will not hear otherwise.” Jacques chuckled ruefully. “If that is the princess’s will, I’ll not gainsay it.” After bidding proper farewell to the princess, Jacques and Argent departed. As they wound their way to the Ivory Wing, Argent gave a sardonic laugh and remarked, “I fear you’ve had a rather poor introduction to Canterlot, Friar. An assassin on the train, four disgraceful barons in need of a good drubbing, and a loud-mouthed lout deserving defenestration.” Jacques chuckled. “In fairness, the assassin was merely on the way to Canterlot, the loud-mouth was more your bother than mine, and the barons, well, I think they’ve seen the wisdom of a better path.” Argent shot him a skeptical look. “You made that much of an impression on them?” “They have the hearts to be good men,” replied Jacques with a modest shrug. “Sometimes, it just takes someone to show the way.” The unicorn snorted. “That and a good kick in the teeth. Still, it would be nice to see a noble act like a noble for a change.” Jacques raised an eyebrow. “If you long to see a noble acting the part, why not look in the mirror, Comtesse L’Argent?” The countess winced. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to forget you heard that title?” “Why should I?” asked Jacques. “Unless I miss my guess, you are heir to—,” seeing a passing servant, he elected not to name Argent Martel, foe of the Shades, saying instead, “a long and distinguished lineage. Why forsake your birthright?” Argent muttered something under her breath before shooting him a sidelong glance. “Do you honestly want the story?” Jacques gestured to the grand halls before them. “We have a long, beautiful walk ahead of us,” he slowed his pace to an amble, “and I am in no rush to pass this magnificence by.” “Very well,” sighed Argent. “Your guess was correct, Friar. I am heir to a long tradition of glory and service. The Argents are an old family, far older even than Equestria. We served Prance with honor until the Normane Diaspora, preserved Old Unicornia during the Succession Wars, and were a founding House of Equestria following the Unification. From era of monarchs who preceded the Rule of the Sisters unto the present age, we have served Equestria. In peace, we served with words and counsel. In war, with blood and steel. For our service, our family was rewarded with great prestige and power amongst the peerage, and House Argent remains one of the most influential in the realm.” Her voice lowered. “Even as our numbers dwindle.” It did not escape Jacques’ notice that Argent’s reluctance had faded when speaking of her family, yielding to a genuine pride and satisfaction. The brief passion in her voice only made the grim final remark that much more crushing. “What plagues your House that you dwindle?” he asked. Argent frowned. “Too few children, and too many wars. Equestria herself may have known peace for centuries, but that peace has always been bought with courage and, when necessary, sacrifice. Many Argents have made the final sacrifice, sometimes without leaving heirs. Over the years, conflict and tragedy have pruned our family tree; precious few remain with Argent blood in their veins.” Jacques nodded, but said nothing. Now that she’d gotten talking, there didn’t seem to be a need to urge her along. “My father, Patriarch of the Argents and Duke of Trottingham, fell in battle, as did both of his brothers. My mother took the rank of Duchess and leadership of the House upon his death. When she eventually passes the title, it will likely be to my cousin, Bec de Corbin.” The friar raised an eyebrow. “And why not to you? Are you not the next in line?” Then he winced, realizing that perhaps she’d had a falling out with her mother. Before he could offer apology for his curiosity, Argent spoke. “It was my decision,” she answered, not seeming perturbed by his question. “Bec is married and has children.” Smiling dryly, the captain added, “Honestly, even if he had no offspring, the mere fact that he is married makes him a better candidate than I. Besides, Bec is an able administrator and statespony. He shall make a fine duke.” Seeing that Argent was unbothered by his questions, Jacques pressed for more answers. “Is there any reason you could not still marry and assume the role of duchess one day?” “I could,” admitted Argent. “Indeed, mother has delayed making any final declarations in the hopes that I’ll find a suitable husband. But, in truth,” her chuckle was somewhere between sardonic and resigned, “I have despaired of finding a gentlecolt of good standing who is not already taken.” Her gaze flicked up at him. “You saw the sorry state of the Peerage today. My many suitors over the years have failed to impress. Besides,” she favored him with a dry grin, “I fear I have become a hopeless career degenerate like Krucjata.” There was humor in her tone, and Jacques knew that she meant Fritters no disrespect. All the same, he chose not to mention that Fritters may not be a bachelor for much longer. If it comforts her that Fritters seems married to the army with little interest in anything else, then pointing out a flaw in her thinking may not be politick. In any case, that is Applejack and Krucjata’s business, not the Countess’s. “You said you had not found any worthy suitors amongst the nobility,” observed the friar. “What of the common folk?” I know that may cause stigma in some quarters, but you do not strike me as the type to let that bother you. Argent snorted. “Much as I’d welcome the opportunity to broaden my selection of eligible bachelors, winning the affections of a common stallion has proven even more of a challenge than attracting a noble I can stand. Most are intimidated by my social status or chosen profession and don’t even attempt to court me. Of those who make the attempt… well… few were of the sort I’d willingly associate with, much less marry.” “I see,” replied the friar. “Is that then why you do not mention that you are a comtesse? To avoid intimidating potential mates until you have had a chance to know them properly?” The mare chuckled. “Not a bad guess, but no. My reluctance to use my title has nothing to do with my lack of a love life.” She sighed and her face fell as she explained, “My discretion regarding my rank is on account of the indiscretion of so many in the Peerage regarding theirs. These days, the nobles who flaunt their titles most loudly tend to be the ones most unworthy of them. My refusal to use my title, in spite of the fact that my bloodline is older than Celestia, sends a message that I will not be party to their abuse of rank. It’s actually become a rather common practice amongst much of the Peerage, especially those in the Crown Loyalists. I presume you’ve heard of Duke Golden Crown’s rather… interesting nickname?” Friar Jacques’ lips creased downward. “Yes. ‘Fancy Pants,’ I believe.” A ridiculous name even by pony standards. Judging by the amusement in Argent’s voice, she seemed to agree. “Some newsies slapped that one on the old boy a number of years back, probably hoping to get a rise out of him. They succeeded in earning the ire of the more strident Peers by daring to call the duke a fop, but Golden Crown just laughed it off and started going by ‘Fancy Pants.’ Which, of course, meant that the ‘elite’ had to play along. That’s an extreme case, of course. Most nobles who drop their titles don’t take the extra step of letting people call them by such an informal name, but the principle holds: If the Primarchists and their ilk want to use their titles as a bludgeon, that’s their concern.” She tossed her head carelessly. “We simply won’t be party to their delusions.” Jacques nodded. “I understand. It’s your method of denouncing their behavior.” “Quite right,” agreed Argent. “Quite,” he echoed. “Unfortunately, I fear you’ve made a grave strategic error.” Argent practically tripped over her hooves in shock. “I beg your pardon?” she demanded, coming to a stop. “Come now, Argent; you are a soldier,” chided Jacques, halting beside her and pivoting to address her directly. “Do you not see the folly of yielding your enemy the initiative? You said yourself that these arrogant cads are unworthy to be called ‘noble,’ and yet you allow them to define what the ‘nobility’ is.” The captain sputtered. “We— that’s not— we’re simply refusing to play their game!” “No, you’re forfeiting the battle when you should be counter-attacking,” Jacques replied, his eyes narrowing. “Argent, you know how devoted I am to my faith – ‘Christian’ is my identity. Yet there are many folk in my world who are a disgrace to the name ‘Christian.’ If I were to deny the name so as not to associate with them, would I not compound their calumny by enabling the world to think that the only Christians in existence are those who blatantly violate the teachings of Christ? The sins of those within our ranks is not cause to withdraw – it is a cause to go on the offensive to reclaim lost ground.” He pointed a gnarled finger at her. “So too with you. Why yield the field to those unworthy of its harvest? Why let them dishonor the memories of their nobler forebears? Would it not be better to show the shallowness of their claim to the title by making yourself a paragon in contrast? And it’s not just the Primarchists and their ilk you must concern yourself with – I’ve read enough of Populists’ rhetoric to know that they lambast the nobility collectively, using the bad actors amongst you to discredit the lot. Why allow your foes another weapon with which to malign you? They do not deserve to abuse the term ‘noble’ any more than the Primarchists do.” Argent’s mouth opened and shut several times as she tried, and failed, to vocalize a response. “I am not saying you must demand that all Equestrians use your title,” said Jacques, taking advantage of her silence to clarify his words. “Nor am I saying you must constantly use it. I’m not even saying Golden Crown should abandon his frankly absurd nickname. Your land is far less formal than my own, and I do not think that is necessarily a bad thing. If you wish to be known first as ‘Argent Sabre’ or ‘Captain,’ so be it. All the same, there is a difference between choosing not to insist upon formality and actively hiding your title as though you are ashamed of it.” The pair stood in silence for a moment, Jacques waiting while Argent stared blankly ahead and processed what he said. When she spoke again, it was with the muted tone of one who had a lot on her mind. “It would appear I have a number of long-held assumptions to reevaluate,” the mare remarked. Then, with a crooked smile, she looked up at him and added, “I don’t suppose you have any other pearls of wisdom you’d like to dispense?” Jacques laughed. “Not at present, but I’ll inform you if that changes.” Gesturing down the hall towards where the Ivory Wing lay, he said, “Shall we resume our walk?” “Please,” she replied. “And let’s see if we can tease any further pearls out of you. What’s your opinion on the matter of ennobling the Bearers?” “I was honestly shocked to learn that it hadn’t happened already.” “That was my impression as well, though Princess Celestia did explain her reasoning one day to the effect that it would cause significant problems for the six of them…” Mason limped out of Celestia’s study, his head held high and his stride that of a pony who owned the place, limp notwithstanding. Luna gritted her teeth and glared after him. “Stubborn foal!” she hissed. You’d think he hadn’t just had a brush with death! Celestia took a step towards her sister. “Luna…” “I’ll handle it, sister!” snapped the younger alicorn, who teleported after the stallion. She reappeared a few feet behind him. “Mason, you were entirely out of line—” “Look, Lulu,” groaned Mason, not slowing his stride in the slightest, “if you’re going to lecture me, can it at least be on the way to the wine cellar?” Luna jerked to a stop, mouth agape at his brazen dismissal. “I beg your pardon, sirrah!” “You’re pardoned,” Mason replied casually. “Now, is the quickest way to the wine cellar left or…” The Lunar Princess teleported in front of him and glared imperiously down at him, wings instinctively flared in a dominant pose. “You are… impertinent,” she hissed. Mason returned her glare with a bemused look. “Guilty as charged,” he replied blithely. “Although…” he frowned, and there was a sudden hardness to his expression, “is this gonna be one of those things where you try to put a pony like me in my place, because that would be all kinds of disappointing.” Luna held his gaze for a moment, then blinked feeling a sudden fear wash over her. What am I doing, treating my friend this way? “Forgive me, Mason,” she said, folding her wings and taking a step back. “I- I forgot myself for a moment.” At first Mason’s expression did not change, but soon it broadened into a smile. “Ah, no worries. Emotions are running a bit high, right now. Though…” he raised an eyebrow and resumed walking, “some wine might take the edge off.” The princess rolled her eyes as she fell into step beside him. “I thought you were more of a scotch and whisky stallion.” Mason shrugged. “Again, guilty. But I figured I ought to honor the ’76 that got destroyed while somepony wasn’t paying enough attention.” Luna’s eyes narrowed. “Enough about the ’76, Mason. You act as though somepony died.” “Eh,” he scoffed. “Ponies are easier to replace.” Luna glared. “What, too much?” “You’ve been far too much since we arrived,” she rebuked. “Not only in your humor, but in your treatment of the doctors, the staff, and my sister.” “I think sun-britches could stand to loosen up.” “Mason…” she growled. “Fine, fine, I hear you,” he groaned. “I will try to tone it down. But only for you, Luna.” “Thank you,” replied the princess coolly. Her frosty demeanor did not last, however, as the sight of him limping woke her sympathies and overrode her irritation. “Instead of walking all the way to the cellar, why not simply have a bottle brought to a private sitting room,” she suggested. Immediately, he diverted towards one of the sitting rooms. “Well, you know I can’t resist ordering ponies around, so if you’re offering…” Mason, not surprisingly in Luna’s view, chose the most opulent sitting room available and immediately ordered a bottle of ’72, as well as a platter of assorted cheeses. While they waited, Luna took the opportunity to pick his brain about who might have attacked him. Her efforts yielded little fruit. “Look, Lulu, it’s like I told Mr. Stabby McFillet,” Mason said as he reclined on an opulent divan, “I own so many foreign projects going that I have a hard time keeping track of my empire. Between mining, construction, R&D, and all the minutiae that go along with it, I’ve got major contracts in a half dozen countries, and minor contracts in a half dozen more. I’d sell snow to yaks if I they had anything I wanted in that frozen hellhole. Him saying ‘foreign adventurism’ to me is like saying ‘cake shop’ to Celestia – it doesn’t exactly narrow it down.” Ignoring the jibe at her sister, Luna persisted, “Could it perhaps be related to the grounds on which your employees are working? Could they have seen something a local government wanted to keep hidden or upset a group of rebels or some such thing?” “Not likely,” grunted Mason. “I take great pains to stay on friendly terms with the established governments and the plucky rebel groups. Getting embroiled in a civil war has a way of impeding profits, after all.” The least of many complications, thought Luna grimly. She folded and unfolded her wings as she wracked her brain for other explanations. A sudden thought came to her and she asked, “What about artifacts?” she asked. “Hm?” “Artifacts,” she repeated. “You’re a collector of no small renown. What if you… collected something you shouldn’t have?” “Stole an ancestral relic or something?” Mason suggested. “Not likely; I’m always careful about the land I buy and lease, especially when it’s an archeological dig site. I want my collection to look nice and avoid nasty little complications – you know, blood oaths of vengeance, unkillable magic constructs bent on my destruction, lawsuits, that sort of thing. Still,” he continued, considering the possibility, “I suppose one of my underlings might have dropped the ball with an acquisition.” His face darkened. “There’ll be Tartarus to pay if that happened.” “Perhaps it would behoove you to check on your ongoing projects,” she suggested. “All of them.” “Already planning on it. I’ll send out letters today, though it’ll be easier to check on things more directly from my Manehatten office.” Luna recoiled, prompting Mason to chuckle and chide, “Don’t frown, princess. You’ll ruin those pretty features of yours.” “You can’t possibly be serious! Travelling?! Now?!” Visions of the train attack flashed in her mind, overlaid with Mason’s blood. “Well not alone, obviously,” he replied a touch archly. “I’m not an idiot. I’ll wait for my security force to get here.” Luna’s nose wrinkled. “I hardly think a hooffull of security ponies sufficient.” “Security force, Luna,” he emphasized. “I can buy and sell counties, remember? I have enough highly-trained professionals to conquer a kingdom or two if the urge struck me. Granted, most of them are overseas protecting my assets, but I’ve got enough local guys to turn my mansion into a fort and still have plenty left over for me to take my airship – and I’d like to emphasize it’s my personal airship – to my Manehatten mansion. I’ll be safe as houses.” “Your house was not especially safe, as you may recall,” replied Luna dourly. “Details, Luna, mere details.” A castle staff pony entered at that moment with the wine and cheese, and the pair waited until he departed to resume their conversation. “So, what can you tell me about that ‘human’ chap?” asked Mason as Luna automatically poured him a glass of wine. Of course you would ask me that. “Very little,” she said carefully, not meeting his gaze. “He is a creature from a far-off land. One to which he cannot readily return, so I’d advise you put aside any thoughts of expanding your business.” “Can’t readily return, eh? As in banished, or as in magical shenanigans?” Luna glanced up, raising an eyebrow. “The man’s business is his own.” “I would hope you wouldn’t have some disreputable exile hanging around the palace…” The princess bristled. “Friar Jacques is no thug – he is an honest knight of courage and abiding moral character.” “So, it was magical shenanigans then?” Luna looked away. “We didn’t say that.” Mason smirked. “You slipped into the Royal We, so you might as well have.” Luna winced. “And, if I were a betting pony – which I am – I’d bet it had something to do with that little day trip Cellie took to Ponyville a few weeks back.” He took a satisfied sip of his wine. “Well, did I guess it right? Do I win the prize?” Realizing that her clever friend had figured out more than he should, and determined that he not place himself in even greater danger with more guessing, Luna sought to divert him. “Mason, if I give you a bottle of Apple Family Reserve laid down in the days of yore when they were yet known by their Clan-name, would you let it drop?” “Oooh, a bribe!” laughed Mason. “I oughta misbehave more often.” Luna snorted. “Alright, Lulu. I’ll take the bottle.” Luna sighed in relief and poured herself a belated drink. “Thank you, Mason.” “Well, I try to make you like me.” He raised his glass. “A toast, to mysteries, to secretive warriors who dress in black, and to open bribery amongst ponies of grandeur!” Laughing, Luna raised her glass to clink against his. “You’re incorrigible, Mason.” “Thank you, Princess,” he replied. As they raised their glasses to their lips, she heard him mutter, “Feathering Ponyville, though, amiright?”