//------------------------------//
// Part 2 
// Story: The Trial of Princess Celestia 
// by Mani-Roar 
//------------------------------//

"We are undone, Ollivander." Rosencolt sharply pointed out. Trotwell and his cohorts had once again retired to the judge's chamber at the conclusion of the day's trial. 

"I interpret today's events very differently, my good Marshal." Trotwell, calm as ever, parried back to his old commanding officer.

"If we do not convict the Princess of treason, we ourselves will be guilty of treason. How can any reasonable pony consider that a fair trial? This charade has been exposed. You've stated it plain as day. In public. On the record." Rosencolt folded his arms and held his usual scowl. 

"I told you this would be a trial of public opinion. As important as the legality of our actions is, the fact is that the common pony must see the Princess as a traitor, not just us. Not just the House. Not just anypony. Everypony must be made to see her for the fraud that she is." Trotwell was confident yet indignant in his response. He sounded like a child justifying himself to his father. Rosencolt was perhaps the only pony in Trotwell’s circle who could speak to him in such a manner without severe repercussions.

"Legality is out the window." The General complained. 

"This is legality's only chance!" Trotwell raised his voice in his usual hot headed manner. "If we should fail here then civil war is the only possible outcome. I do not wish it, but if we are unwilling to at least threaten it, then we have no power. You taught me that, Rosencolt." Trotwell pointed accusingly at the General. 

"I taught you to have a well calculated show of force." Rosencolt replied in a noncommittal manner. Trotwell's cohorts began arguing with each other over the prospect of a civil war and how it would be conducted. 

"There's no need for a civil war." Rivenbolt's voice was barely audible amongst the chatter. "We have the evidence. We have the testimony. And we have the law. Once the court and the public hear our case, she will be undone. It's just as Trotwell says, it's all up to public opinion now." Rivenbolt finished and everypony took a moment to consider her words.

"Thank you, Rivenbolt." Trotwell nodded in her direction. She said nothing, refusing to return his glance. 

"Tomorrow we'll call Major Stableton to testify first about the events of Edenborough and…" Rivenbolt paused. She was unwilling or unable to continue her thought.

"Actually I want to go with the Sergeant instead." Trotwell jumped in. Rivenbolt looked at Trotwell aghast. 

"Sergeant Poppyfield is in the infirmary. He's still mentally unwell. He's not fit to testify." Rivenbolt complained. 

"Has he gone mute?" Trotwell asked incredulously. "He has combat sickness. Helmet shock, as they say. I'm not asking him to hold the front, I just need a word with him." Trotwell said as if the matter were settled and no debate was to be had. 

"But…" Rivenbolt began but was cut off by Rosencolt.

"As a rule I do not subscribe to 'combat sickness' as a proper excuse to dismiss a soldier from duty." The General put a nasty emphasis on the term 'combat sickness.'

"But in the Sergeant's case I find it…" He paused for just a moment with a glimmer of empathy, "...understandable."

"Combat sickness is a serious ailment." Rivenbolt stood up and leaned over the table, balancing on her front hooves. "We cannot just dismiss his wellbeing." 

"We do not have time to debate such a matter." Rosencolt remained seated as his voice grew louder. "And besides, I acknowledge the condition in this case." 

The General sighed as he pulled a cigar out of a small case he kept at the table. Nopony said a word as he calmly cut and lit the cigar, returned the utensils to the case, and took a long and labored drag. He slowly exhaled a puff of smoke so large, it immediately set a layer of mist about the room. Rivenbolt sat back down. She held her chest with her hooves and looked solemnly at the table.

"Ollivander, are you sure you need the Sergeant's testimony?" Rosencolt finally spoke. "We have a commissioned officer ready to testify. He organized the retreat from Edenborough and can speak to the greater political situation near the border. The non commissioned officer, Poppyfield was it?" He looked at Rivenbolt and she softly nodded her head.

"Right then. He doesn't have the broader perspective or political insight." The General took a second and much more leisurely puff of his cigar. 

"I don't need his political perspective." Trotwell declared curtly. "He has something better." Trotwell smiled sinfully, briefly forgetting himself. He cleared his throat and wiped the grin away, not wanting to give the wrong impression. 

"Oh?" Rosencolt asked intrigued. 

"He has a first hoof account of the attack. When he tells his story, everypony will be able to imagine themselves in his situation. We need ponies to connect with the atrocity on a personal level. A refined, polished officer's approach simply won't do. And the public won't care about the larger political picture until they feel the imminent danger of our threat to the north." Trotwell reasoned. His cohorts seemed to nod in response except Rivenbolt who still shook her head.

"Then we have Major Stableton testify after?" The General asked.

"Actually, I was thinking it should be you." Trotwell looked intently at the General. Rosencolt took another long drag of his cigar in response. 

"A judge testifying at his own trial?" The General complained. 

"You're still worried about a conflict of interest? I thought legality was out the window?" Trotwell mockingly asked.

"It's as you said. Everything from here on out is about optics. If I testify as a judge it looks bad." Rosencolt rebutted.

"Then you won't do it?" Trotwell asked, though he didn't sound particularly concerned.

"I shall recuse myself when the time comes." The General held his smoldering cigar in a reclined position. "You'll need a replacement."

Trotwell looked across the table to a young unicorn stallion. He had a light green coat of fur and a white mane. 

"Representative Dewey Mills of Fillydelphia." Trotwell said suddenly. The young colt jolted to attention when spoken to.

"I'm right here Ollivander, no need to get all formal with titles." He joked, trying to break the tension.

"Indeed." Trotwell smiled. He was no stranger to irreverence himself. "You will take General Rosencolt's place as judge when the time comes."

"Who me?" Dewey Mills pointed to himself in surprise. "I-I have no experience as a judge I… I…" He stammered.

"You were hoping that if this trial goes poorly, you could slip away unnoticed. That your privilege as a parliament representative would let you get away in the chaos. Is that right?" Trotwell said accusingly.

"Well, come on now, it doesn't have to be like that Olliv…" He began sheepishly, but was cut off.

"It does have to be like that. And you will take your place as judge. Or perhaps your constituents would like to hear about your colorful past? I'm sure that would do wonders for your political career." Trotwell’s eyes were on fire as he threatened the young Dewey Mills. 

"Hey uh." Dewey swallowed hard. "All you had to do was ask. It'll be nice to take the stand from the other side. First time for everything, am I right?" He blurted out in a rushed manner. 

"And a last time for everything as well." Ollivander softened his expression. "Thank you for your continued assistance, Dewey. I'm sure you'll make a fine judge." Trotwell stood from his seat. "I'll see you all tomorrow." He left the room without another word.

The room was awkwardly silent after his departure. Rivenbolt was beside herself, lost in thought. Rosencolt remained reclined with his cigar, staring at the ceiling. Dewey looked to everypony in the room, waiting for somepony to say something. Anything at all to break the silence. When none volunteered, he took the initiative. 

"Tomorrow's gonna be a real picnic ain't it?"



****



Ollivander Trotwell sat perched on his Judge's bench with his two cohorts flanking him on either side. Princess Celestia craned her neck slightly to gaze upwards at him. The room was cold and her iron shackles had worn red indentations into her soft white fur. Her mane, still translucent as ever, was ragged and messy. Her eyes looked deprived of sleep and her figure looked hungry and malnourished. Her supporters would say she couldn't eat or sleep knowing the ponies of her kingdom had suffered. Her detractors would say she was fasting and depriving herself of sleep on purpose to look more sympathetic. 

"The court will now hear testimony in regards to the alleged crimes of the accused." Trotwell was specific in avoiding any honorifics in regards to the Princess. "We call to the stand, Master Sergeant Poppyfield of the Army of the Northern Province 54th regiment." 

As soon as Trotwell finished speaking a soldier stood up from the front row of the public seating area. He was a burgundy colored earth pony in a sharp dress uniform. His Forrest green jacket was laden with rank insignia and honors at his shoulders and lapel. He donned his cap, equally crisp and decorated as his uniform as he slowly marched in perfect step towards the hearing area. A bailiff lifted the wooden barrier for him. The soldier paused to salute the gentlecolt and the bailiff saluted him back. With a stiff but graceful stride, he came up to the witness stand off to the right side of where the defendant Celestia sat. He stood at attention and saluted again.

"Sir, reporting as ordered, sir." He shouted in the general direction of the judge’s bench.

"Please have a seat." Trotwell said in a conversational speaking tone with a soft nod. The Sergeant complied and sat in the witness chair. His shoulders were square and his back straight. 

"Master Sergeant Poppyfield, do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth so help you…" Trotwell paused for a moment as he incredulously glanced at Celestia. "...so help you." He finished as he focused on the Sergeant again.

"Sir, yes sir." The Sergeant said firmly but a bit quieter this time.

"Very good. You were present at the sacking of Edenborough, is that correct?" Trotwell asked.

"Yes sir. We were ambushed, in fact." The Sergeant boldly added a correction to Judge Trotwell’s statement. 

"Indeed." Ollivander conceded. "Please give the court your account of what happened on that day."

"It was a rather uneventful weekend at first. You see, Edenborough is the last outpost just south of the Griffin border. It supports the larger trade city of Mares Creek. Our small town was mostly occupied by the civilian population. Our regiment made up a garrison of barely 150 soldiers." The Sergeant recalled quite calmly. 

"Is 150 a large garrison for a border town such as this?" Trotwell asked, even though he already knew the answer.

"Oh hardly." Poppyfield responded immediately. "The Griffins will keep a guard five times that size on their side of the border. Maybe more in some cases." 

"So your presence there was hardly provocative, would you say?" Trotwell asked a leading question. Celestia knew she had a legal right to object. However, she feared interrupting the soldier's story over such a seemingly trivial detail.

"No sir. In fact, if I'm being honest, it was fairly light duty. We mostly just lived there alongside the residents. Sometimes helping out the locals with odd jobs here and there. We were pretty well integrated into the culture, I'd say. Everypony was on a first name basis, so to speak." The Sergeant smiled for a fleeting moment before his expression dropped and he sighed.

"Go on." Trotwell prodded the Sergeant to continue. 

"We barely had a moment's notice. A pegasi scout, well…" Poppyfield paused to try to find the words to clarify himself. "He's a scout unit in war time, but in peace time he's really just a message courier. He carries messages and such across the border as needed." The Sergeant swallowed hard as his frown grew.

"He came flying into town, just above the rooftops of the houses and shops. He was screaming at the top of his lungs. I'd never heard such panic in a colt before." Poppyfield's voice started to quiver ever so slightly. "He said, 'the sky crawlers are coming.' He shouted it over and over again until his voice was hoarse." 

There was a disruptive murmur amongst the audience that forced Trotwell to obtain clarification on the name.

"Sky crawlers?" Trotwell curiously asked.

"Uhm. Yes sir." The Sergeant admitted, a little embarrassed. "That's a… a… a nickname we give the Griffins sometimes. You see they don't fly smoothly in straight lines like our pegasi do. They sort of wobble and claw at the sky like they're crawling through the air or something. I realize it's an inappropriate thing to say, so I apologize. B-but that is exactly what our scout said. Word for word."

"Well if that's the case, then the court takes no issue with it." Trotwell dismissed the insensitive and mildly racist terminology. 

"That's when they came." Poppyfield's voice changed. His words were more labored and he sounded deeply upset. "The sky turned gray, like a naturally occurring storm moving impossibly fast across the horizon. There were so many of them. I couldn’t begin to count, but it had to be over a thousand.”

The Sergeant stole a glance at judge Rivenbolt. She looked at him apologetically, her eyes filled with empathy. However, she was powerless to free him of the burden he had to tell his story. The Sergeant continued.

“When they hit the town, they swooped down on the streets like a tornado. They just started slashing and clawing at whatever and whoever they saw. They made no distinction between soldier or civilian, they just attacked. You see they were Griffin light infantry. They usually don’t carry weapons because their talons and beaks are natural weapons. Plus they can move faster unarmed. It helps them close the speed advantage that our superior Pegasi warriors would normally have on them."

Poppyfield swallowed so hard, one would think he was ingesting a lump of coal. 

"But this time, during this attack, our Pegasi could scarcely even get into the air. And those who did were immediately cut down. There was no hope gaining air superiority or even taking the fight to the sky to spare the town. Our garrison was barely 150 strong, and we were being torn apart with the rest of the citizenry. I was in the middle of the town square when I saw a Griffin swoop down directly at me. His eyes were like a wild beast. He crowed so loud my ears rang. He was on me so fast, I couldn't hope to react in time. But then, at the last moment, I was knocked out of the way. I heard nothing but a horrible tearing sound and a pony scream in pain beside me. I looked up from the ground to see my Captain standing over me."

The Sergeant paused and looked at judge Rivenbolt again. This time his eyes were full of regret and apology.

"Captain Star Strider. The pegasi officer in charge of our company. He stood over me holding a severe gash in his side. He had knocked me aside and taken the blow from the Griffin flier himself. I remarked at his injury, but he dismissed me. He said we had to get to the weapons cache and form a defensive line. He grabbed me by the scruff of my jacket and guided me along the side streets, keeping low and out of sight. We found members of our company and others in the garrison along our way. By the time we got to the armory, we were only a few dozen strong. A fraction of our original garrison. Surprisingly in the chaos, the Griffins hadn't taken the armory yet. Or perhaps they failed to find it or scout it out or just didn’t care. Nevertheless, we armed ourselves with our spears, shields, and helmets. We took to the streets again and formed square. Our pike spears diagonal to the skies and our shields shoulder to shoulder." 

Trotwell chose this moment to briefly interrupt the Sergeant. 

"Could you please explain 'forming square' to the court?" As a former Lieutenant General himself, he was more than familiar with the concept, but was concerned that technical military terms could leave the public audience at a loss. 

"Oh of course. Yes sir. 'Forming Square' is a rank formation. Ours was about 3 ponies deep and 5 ponies wide. You stand shoulder to shoulder in this square shape and use your outward facing weapons to make it difficult for flyers or calvary to attack you and break your ranks. And unlike line ranks, it's impossible to be flanked. The only option is to forcibly break the formation straight on with superior numbers…" With that said, the Sergeant just stared blankly forward. He seemed unable or unwilling to continue.

"That's exactly what the Griffins did, didn't they?" Trotwell prodded after a few seconds of silence. Poppyfield reluctantly nodded.

"But we didn't go down so easily. The Griffin light infantry were no match for us. They were fast, but uncoordinated. But there were so many. And they just kept coming. Their talons scratching against our shields. Fur and feathers sticky with blood. We held. Yes, we held. Dealing far more losses to those sky crawlers than we had soldiers to show for it. We did our duty." Poppyfield said directly to Trotwell, his voice both strong and broken at the same time. "We did our duty!" The Sergeant shouted out to the entire courtroom. 

"I believe you." Ollivander replied softly. "I don't believe a single pony in this room doubts your word on that." Trotwell’s eyes scanned the courthouse, practically daring anypony to challenge the Sergeant's word of him and his fellow soldiers. No such straw pony came forward. 

"We moved about slowly through the town square. We were shouting and goading the Griffins to attack us. Trying to keep them off of the civilian population. Trying to give everypony a chance to escape while we kept the attackers at bay. It worked, for a while at least. We thought the worst was over. But then, then the Grenadiers came. Elite shock troopers. Griffins that were armored and had spears similar to ours. That armor made them slower, bulkier, but they packed a much heavier punch.” He paused for a moment, firming up his shoulders. “They formed up in the sky and dove down straight onto our outward facing spears. They took many losses at the front of their assault, but eventually they just brute forced their way through our ranks. One big push and our square was broken. A second push and we were routed. We scrambled down the street in a disorganized retreat. Scattered, the Griffins mercilessly isolated and picked us off one by one. Captain Strider ordered us to take cover in the bakery just a few meters away. Those meters would prove to be an eternity too far for most of us." 

Sergeant Poppyfield paused for a moment to glance at Princess Celestia. She returned his gaze with solemn sincerity. She had seen war herself before and could understand what the Sergeant had been through. It broke her heart to hear such an awful tale of her subjects being massacred. The Sergeant carried on.

"The front door to the bakery was open and lying in the doorway was its owner and operator. The Griffins had apparently gotten him earlier when he failed to retreat into his own shop. Just another step and he would have made it. The same couldn’t be said for my former comrades. It was only the Captain and I made it into that bakery." Poppyfield stopped again. His head was sunk downward towards the stand as he breathed heavily and audibly. Each labored breath a shaky sigh keeping the rhythm of his sorrow. 

"We barricaded the door and the windows. I ripped off the wooden countertop where the cash register sat to use as a barrier. Would you believe, I helped the baker build that countertop? And now I had just ripped it out in one yank to help save my own skin. It’s funny, the captain and I had visited the bakery just that morning. We had coffee and cakes as we chatted and laughed along with the owner. He was so happy that his business was finally expanding. He was going to open another location in Mares Creek. And, in a single moment, his plans and dreams were over. All the plans and dreams of the whole town were shattered and gone. There was nothing left.

"Captain Strider collapsed on the ground. His face was pale and he had lost too much blood. I grabbed what cloths I could and tore his jacket off. The injury was far worse than he had been letting on. I wrapped it up as best I could, but I knew nothing of medicine. I only had my basic field training for dressing and treating battle wounds. I made a bed out of sacks of flour for the Captain to lay down and rest. I don't know how long we were held up in the bakery. It must have been hours. The sun eventually went down. And the screams of the atrocity outside subsided. The Captain asked me if I was scared. I admitted that I was. I didn’t expect to live until sunrise. He told me to not be afraid. He said Celestia would send reinforcements. We'd push the Griffins back out of the town and make them wish they never broke their treaty and crossed the border. I smiled and agreed. I needed something, any kind of hope to hold onto. Captain Strider gave that to me."

Poppyfield removed his cap and rubbed his head with his hooves. He didn't want to go on anymore. He didn't want to finish his story. But he knew he had to. It was one more duty he was required to fulfill as a loyal soldier.

"About another hour passed, maybe I'm not sure. But I went to go change the Captain's wound dressing and discovered that he was dead." The Sergeant could no longer hold back tears. His words became tainted with the sobbing of a broken stallion. 

"I thought he was asleep. I had no idea he had died. Maybe if I had done something sooner I-I don't know. I don't know if it would have made a difference. But he was gone. Everypony I knew was just gone." Poppyfield cried uninhibited as a child now. He buried his face in his hooves as he wailed on the stand. It was difficult for anypony to watch. It was gut wrenching just to hear and witness. 

"Captain Strider died peacefully. His face was calm and docile. He was smiling. He knew that help was on the way. He knew that reinforcements were coming." The Sergeant said through his hooves with his face still buried. 

Rivenbolt closed her eyes as she turned her head away. She knew her own tears weren't too far behind. 

"And how long did it take those reinforcements to arrive?" Trotwell calmly and knowingly asked.

"They never came!" Master Sergeant Poppyfield shouted in anger. He rose up from the stand and pointed directly at Princess Celestia. 

"She left us there to die!"

He screamed his accusation. Celestia gasped. The courtroom erupted into chaos as spectators and officials alike commented and argued over the Sergeant's tale. The Princess looked around the courtroom. Condemnations and accusations rang out from all sides. She could see her reign falling down around her. Her rule as Princess was collapsing in on her, and for at least a moment in time, she couldn’t blame them. 

Trotwell allowed the chatter to carry on for some time. He finally tapped the gavel and calmly requested order. As the courtroom quieted down once again he turned to look at his witness. The Sergeant had sat back down. His hooves covered his head again, quietly sobbing.

"Master Sergeant Poppyfield. Thank you for your testimony today. That will be all." Trotwell nodded affirmatively at the soldier. However, Poppyfield didn't get up. He didn't even move his head from his hooves. Ollivander cleared his throat.

"Sergeant, you are dismissed." Trotwell added, thinking perhaps the Sergeant had not realized his service was fulfilled. With the courtroom quieted again, Poppyfield's crying could be heard clearly once more.

"Baliffs." Trotwell called softly. His face showed some signs of remorse for what he had asked his witness to do. He wanted the current situation to be handled delicately. 

"Please… assist the Sergeant to his hooves and…" Ollivander felt pity for the soldier. "...Escort him back to the infirmary."

A single bailiff walked over to the witness stand. 

"Sir. Whenever you are ready." The bailiff said calmly and patiently. 

Poppyfield slowly looked up at the Bailiff. He glanced around the room, suddenly remembering where he was. All eyes were fixated on him. The Bailiff saluted and quietly stood at attention. Poppyfield gathered his cap and placed it firmly on his head. He stood sharply at attention and saluted the Bailiff back. The two of them walked down the aisle and out of the courtroom in perfect step. 

"For the record." Trotwell began once the witness had left. "Captain Star Strider has been posthumously awarded the medal of honor. The defense he organized did indeed buy time for many civilians and military personnel to escape to Mares Creek." Ollivander turned to look at Rivenbolt. She was still refusing to open her eyes.

"Judge Rivenbolt. Your brother's sacrifice saved lives. You should be honored by his valor. I hope that you will accept and keep the medal on his behalf. You have my deepest condolences. Equestria thanks your brother for his service."

Rivenbolt finally opened her eyes.

"I will accept it." She said solemnly. However, she didn't want to hear it from Trotwell. Her brother's death was fresh. And this was all too convenient and politically expedient for Trotwell. It disgusted her. While she blamed Princess Celestia for his death, she blamed Trotwell for taking advantage of his actions while he was alive for his own personal gain.



"I don't wanna hear anymore." Luster Dawn stared idly at the floor. 

“I know it's a lot to hear, but you must understand the whole story.” Princess Twilight avoided her student’s gaze and stared darkly into the text of the book. Luster looked up sharply.

“It’s so awful. The war, the death, the anguish. I can’t bear it.” Luster shook her head repeatedly as if trying to make the words of the story fly out of her head and memory. 

“I know.” Twilight repeated plainly. She looked Luster square in the eyes and her student gasped. The Princess wasn’t crying, but her expression betrayed the sorrow of a monarch. In her teacher’s eyes she saw the loneliness of power and the burden of rule.

“It was at this same point in the story that I cried. I begged Celestia to stop.” Twilight continued. Her voice dropped to a low tenor. The booming weight of her tone shook Luster to her core. “She warned me that if I didn’t learn from her mistakes, then they would become my mistakes. And, if they became my mistakes, then they would be the last mistakes I made as a Princess of Equestria.” 

Twilight closed her eyes, lost in thought, memories, or the weight of the conversation. Luster Dawn sat in silence for a few moments letting the Princess recollect. Sometimes the past is difficult to comprehend, especially when you weren’t a part of it, only looking through it through the eyes of another. Wondering if you would have done anything different.

“We have to learn from our past, don’t we?” Luster spoke up finally as Twilight opened her eyes. “Even if it hurts.” 

Twilight slowly nodded, coming back to herself. “Indeed. The past can teach us a lot, if we choose to listen.”

Luster breathed a heavy sigh. “Well, let’s get this over with, I guess. I suppose I’ll skip the popcorn this time. Feels kinda inappropriate.” She shrugged her shoulders as she slouched in her seat. If she was gonna be coerced into sitting through a tragic tale, she was gonna sit comfortably.  

“Very good, my little pony.” Twilight smiled softly, even though the pain of the memory of hearing this story for the first time from Celestia still haunted her.

“At least it can’t get any worse, right?” Luster asked hopefully with a pitiful smile on her face. The Princess said nothing as she gently cleared her throat and continued reading.



“We, the ponies of Equestria, call Marshal Rosencolt to the stand.” Trotwell said confidently. A significant amount of murmuring rose up from the courtroom. He deliberately avoided saying “The Court” or “The Prosecution.” Ollivander wanted it to seem like the entire population was against the Princess. 

Rosencolt stood up and unpinned his robe. He slung it over his shoulder and let it fall peacefully on the judge’s bench, revealing his military jacket. His dress coat was well polished and his chest and shoulders were littered in honors. Every inch from his shoulder to his lapel was colored with bright decorative achievements of his rank and accomplishments. A golden honor cord looped under his shoulder.

Scattered shouting could be heard from the ponies in attendance. They called out praises like, “Vive le Général” and “Stallion of Destiny” and “The Terror of Dragons.” Trotwell tolerated the outbursts as the good General calmly stepped down from the judge’s table and walked over to the lead bailiff handing him the robe and wig he was previously wearing. 

“I’ll have my hat.” The General ordered in a calm but firm tone. The Bailiff sharply saluted the General who gently saluted him back, the action almost as natural as breathing. The Bailiff charged out the back of the courtroom as if the outcome of a battle relied on his speed of retrieving it. By the time Rosencolt had taken his seat on the witness stand, the Bailiff returned with the General’s hat. His cap was equally as decorated as his coat. He firmly placed it on his head and looked to Trotwell. 

Ollivander Trotwell struck the gavel and the courtroom quieted down without him even ordering them to do so. 

“Shall I?” Trotwell asked Rosencolt knowingly. The General firmly nodded.

“As a witness to this trial, I hereby recuse myself from duty as a judge.” Rosencolt stated in a manner just as casual as when he said it during their discussions and planning. 

"The court recognizes General Rosencolt's recusal. Thank you for your service." Even though Trotwell was clearly referring to his judicial service, supporters throughout the courtroom revived their cheers at the mention of the General's "service." Trotwell’s choice of word was not a coincidence. He wanted his audience worked up into a frenzy over the popular General. Rosencolt's brilliant leadership during the Great Dragon invasion nearly 25 years ago made him a hero in the public's eye. His command tactics in that conflict led directly to his promotion to Marshal of the 1st Army of Equestria. 

Ollivander lightly tapped his gavel with a sly grin on his face. He needed to make a show of maintaining "order" but didn't want to overly discourage the outbursts. Most ponies would have long ago indulged basking in the celebrity that was afforded the good Marshal. But Rosencolt usually spurned the limelight, only making public appearances and addresses when he truly deemed it necessary. However, he was far from ungrateful or indignant of his supporters. He gazed upon the masses and tipped his cap to them. A subtle and reserved gesture, yet the crowd responded with an uproarious cheer and a subsequent chanting of,

"All hail the dragon slayer!"

Celestia rolled her eyes at the extended outbursts. Many would accuse the Princess of jealousy over the Marshal stealing her thunder, and in a very literal sense at that. However, cooler heads knew Celestia wasn't so vain. She didn't think anypony should be worshiped for their military conquest. No matter how necessary the defense was for Equestria's survival at the time, any glorification of war was obscene in the eyes of Celestia. She certainly wanted to put the events of the great war far behind her.

With the point clearly driven home, Trotwell once again called for order in his usual stern manner. 

"Before these proceedings can continue, we must fulfill Marshal Rosencolt's vacancy on the bench. The court hereby appoints Representative Dewey Mills of Fillydelphia's 3rd district to the position of Judge." This caused a bit of murmuring among the masses. There were many Senators and Nobles who would have made a much more obvious choice for judge in such a high profile case. For the position to fall from the notoriety of the Good Marshal to a relatively obscure lower house representative was somewhat off putting. However, while young, Dewey Mills was popular among his district and region. With Trotwell’s push for more representation for the common pony in government, the decision made sense from an ideological perspective. 

Dewey nervously stood up from his assigned seating amongst the other lower house representatives behind the judge’s bench. A Bailiff met him at the base of the raised judge platform and handed him a folded robe and powdered wig. Dewey started to unravel the robe to dress right out in the open, but the Bailiff quickly directed him to at least go into the back chambers first. Dewey blushed as he suddenly became more aware of his surroundings. He darted into the backroom where Trotwell and his cohorts met in preparation of the trial. A few chuckles were heard at the young representative's unsightly act of nearly changing clothes in front of Equestria’s nobility and ruling classes. It wouldn't have been obscene by any means, but certainly out of place and unbecoming of courtroom decorum. It's true that Rosencolt stripped his robe and wig in full view of the hall. However, his demeanor was so defiantly regal that it came across more theatrical than awkward. A stark reminder that the same rules don't apply equally to all ponies. 

Trotwell waited for Dewey Mills to take his seat by his side before continuing on.

"Judge Dewey Mills," Trotwell proclaimed loudly. Dewey nervously cleared his throat.

"Do you swear to abide by the rules of the court and uphold the laws of Equestria as an arbiter of this trial?" Trotwell raised his right hoof and Dewey did the same. He was about to answer the question when Trotwell added,

"Under penalty of treason, will you uphold the values of peace, prosperity, and progress that have guided Equestria for centuries, to the best of your abilities?" Ollivander’s expression was deadly serious. Dewey was already starting to regret agreeing to the appointment in the first place.

"I… I do…" Dewey Mills replied humbly. To the court audience he probably appeared to be giving this induction its due reverence. In reality, he was shaking in his hooves under the bench. If this trial went south for the prosecution, he would be sentenced right alongside the rest of his co-conspirators. 

All I wanted was better labor conditions for the ponies on my side of town. That's why I ran for office. How did I end up roped into a mess like this? Dewey thought to himself. Looking out at all the ponies in attendance, he fully appreciated the severity of the situation. Everypony, no matter who they supported, looked furious. Nopony was satisfied with the state of the country. Every face he saw looked like they may be out for blood. The only question was, whose blood was it going to be?

"Marshal Rosencolt, General of the 1st Army of Equestria, and Grand Marshal of all Equestrian forces in times of war, do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?" Trotwell embellished the Marshal’s full title. Once again he specifically left out any mention of Celestia in the court oath. 

"I do, so help me God." Rosencolt stated as a hush went over the crowd. Invoking a deity was not a very common practice in Pony society. Even though the Princess was no God and never claimed to be, there was a certain deification to her status that ponies unconsciously attributed. With the simple act of placing faith in a higher power, Rosencolt had elegantly undermined Celestia’s 500 year status as the savior of Equestria. 

"Marshal," Trotwell began, ready to get down to brass tax. "What do you know of the surprise assault on the river village of Edenborough?"

The Marshal drew in a deep breath. He was eager to speak, yet weary of what he was about to say.

"It was no surprise. The attack was known." 

The reaction from the ponies in attendance was one of near panic. Even those who were privy to the intelligence reports, gawked at hearing it directly from the Marshal. It made the reality of the situation sink in, and the implications of said reality were not good.

"She knew." Could be heard repeated throughout the halls. Along with other cries like:

"She did nothing"

"She let them die"

"Treason!"

As tempted as Trotwell was to let the crowd continue, he did not want his trial to devolve into a riotous frenzy.

"Order!" He shouted as he slammed the gavel once again. The room reluctantly returned to order.

"What do you mean, 'The attack was known?'" Trotwell awaited Rosencolt's reply with bated breath.

"It's complicated." The Marshal sighed. Ollivander grunted under his breath in frustration. He wanted the Marshal to bury the Princess straight away with the most scathing of facts and details. But it was just like Rosencolt to insist on telling the whole story. Celestia and Rosencolt exchanged knowing glances. Even now, he respected her majesty. Celestia knew Rosencolt wouldn't cherry pick facts to make her look bad. However, the confidence on his face meant that he felt the whole truth was damning enough. 

"About a century ago, Edenborough was in Griffin territory. At the time the river ran dry, and the land was empty and desolate. Nothing could be grown and not a single tree had leaves for shade. The hot climate made the area uninhabitable, even if well supplied from outside. So Celestia made a deal with the Griffin King, Great Talon. She offered the Griffins Equestria's surplus grain and hay in exchange for the desert land, as it was no use to them. After terms were met, King Talon scoffed at the deal. He told the Princess he would have given the wretched place to her if she had just asked nicely. The Princess simply smiled. For she knew what her ponies were capable of." 

Trotwell cleared his throat rather loudly.

"Are all these details really necessary?" Ollivander said with a wry look to Rosencolt. Trotwell didn't want the court to hear tales that made Celestia look good. Yet he could hardly order Marshal Rosencolt around publicly. If the General wishes it, he could oust Trotwell with a word and take over the revolution himself. The armies of Equestria would follow the good Marshal into Tartarus if he commanded it. 

Rosencolt continued as if Trotwell never said anything.

"Pegasi meteorologists could change the weather and bring rain along with cooler temperatures. Unicorn mages could alter the landscape and topography to make softer flat lands and gentle hills. Earth pony engineers could build dams and aqueducts to guide the rain water. And that's just what they did. Soon the river was running fresh once more. The lands were tilled and crops were born. The trees regrew their leaves making shade once more. A collective pony collaboration that only Equestria's finest could provide. A testament to our national ingenuity." 

The Equestrian's in attendance cheered at the Marshal’s tale. For a pony who hated public speaking, he was remarkably gifted at it. 

"The ports at Edenborough and Mare's Creek opened and were immediately prosperous trade routes on our northern border. Every nation and creature near and far benefited from the lush riches that our new land provided, including the Griffins. Decades of peace persisted at home and abroad, barring one conflict."

The General’s propensity for understatement was unmatched. The Dragon War of 25 years ago was hardly a simple "conflict." 

"But all good things must come to an end. Two years ago, King Great Talon died. He was succeeded by his son Fierce Talon. A young and impetuous new King. A Griffin who felt the need to prove his quality to his people and to the world. He felt that the land was taken from his people a century ago under false pretenses. He claimed that Equestria underpaid. That we knew the true value of the land and hid it from them. However, as I previously stated, the land was rotten. Griffins could have put in the time and effort to nurture the land as we did, but they did not. We overpaid for wasteland and turned it into a paradise practically overnight. That land is ours and ours alone."

Rosencolt turned to Celestia and nodded.

"When King Fierce Talon formally complained, Princess Celestia told him as much. Then he demanded the territory be given back. This became an international affair for some time. Many nations had an opinion on the matter. Many nations had much to gain from who did or did not control the ports."

The Marshal paused as he closed his eyes and sighed heavily. 

"A week before the assault on Edenborough, Celestia met with King Talon. I was there as well, along with her advisors. The King was there with his entourage and generals. He threatened  Celestia that if she did not surrender the lands back to him, he would attack Edenborough and take it by force."

The Royal Courtroom burst into an uproar once again. Ponies were shouting over each other. Small fights broke out as disagreements over this startling revelation were heated up. Trotwell slammed his gavel and shouted but the room was already beyond his control. It seemed like all hell was breaking loose and a riot was inevitable. Trotwell stood and leaned over the judge’s bench, trying to get a better view of the situation. He was losing control. If a riot turned into open conflict, a civil war may be inevitable. Everything he had worked for up until this point was falling apart. He wanted to restore peace and unity to Equestria not bring about its ruin. If pony fought against pony now, then he was no better than Celestia. In fact, he would be something much worse.

The stallion who started the Civil War. 

"Captain!" Rosencolt's voice shot over the crowd and just managed to make it to the ears of the company Captain at the entrance to the Royal Court. He saluted from afar.

"Captain," Rosencolt repeated. "To arms!" He shouted. The company Captain nodded and exited out the double oak doors at the front. When the doors opened again, scores of soldiers marched through. The regiment that had been waiting in the halls calmly and hurriedly filled the aisles. Heated arguments turned to panic as the ponies in attendance feared for their safety. They knew not the motive or intentions of the soldiers in full armor with swords and spears. Was this to be the first battle of the Civil War? It would hardly be a battle and more like a slaughter.

Celestia’s horn glowed with a wild fiery magic. She was ready to break out of her shackles and defend her ponies. With her power she may very well win the day, but how many would be harmed before she could stop them? She prepared a shielding spell. Perhaps she could put up a barrier between the soldier's and the innocent onlookers. However, the soldier's were scattered all in between the aisles. It was difficult to see them all at once. She would need to be airborne but even then she may not be fast enough. 

Rosencolt looked at the Princess again. She returned his gaze, angry as a parent at their misbehaving child. He raised his hoof and crossed it over his heart as he shook his head. Celestia knew what he was saying. There would be no bloodshed today. She stared at him, a dark harsh judgment in her eyes. Her meaning was clear. If anypony was harmed, she would hold the Marshal personally responsible.

"Hold!" The company Captain's voice cut above the clatter of metal armor and weeping cries of panicked nobility. The Captain looked nervously over to Rosencolt who was still calmly seated in the witness chair. The Marshal placed his hooves together in a prayer-like gesture. 

"Arms at the ready." The Captain stated still loudly but much more subdued than before. Prior to the command, the soldier's held their weapons in all different sorts. Some were pointed at the onlookers in pews. Some were to their side. Some were sheathed and not drawn at all. After the Captain's command, every weapon, sword and spear, was held in the soldier's right hoof. They were tucked into their shoulders and pointed straight up at the ceiling. The collective shift sounded brisk and percussive. The regiment now appeared much more orderly in their symmetry. 

"Order arms." The Captain exclaimed in the same confident tone. The regiment lowered their weapons down to their side instead of in the air. The swift changes looked as sharp as parade form.

"Hold." He said softer than any command so far. 

The room was frozen like a portrait in time. Not a single pony was willing to breathe, much less break the silence. Finally the Captain of the regiment turned to face the Marshal.

“Order’s sir?” The confidence in the Captain’s voice had faded. His white fur was as pure and glowing as Celestia’s. Wings protruded out of his heavy armor. The pegasus Captain was acting way above his pay grade. None of his training or years of service had prepared him to hold his own kind at sword point. 

Rosencolt cleared his throat.

“May I please have everypony’s attention?” He politely asked. In another situation, it would have been comical. Everypony in the courtroom had their eyes glued to the Marshal, waiting to hear their fate. In an agonizingly slow manner, he pulled his pipe and tobacco out of his jacket pocket. The hall was quiet enough to hear him stuff the pipe and light his match clear as a bell. Celestia and Trotwell shot the General a perturbed glance. Smoking in the Canterlot Royal Court was not permitted. Then again, neither was armed insurrection. Nopony bothered to point out the Marshal’s infraction. 

“I understand that the issues being discussed here today are troubling, to say the least. However, violent outburst and fighting is neither appropriate nor necessary. I ask, in the name of friendship, that everypony maintain discipline and order. Everypony in this courtroom is a fine mare and gentlecolt. There is no reason we cannot sort these matters out peacefully. I suggest that each of us set our emotions and personal grievances aside and carry on this case with a modicum of decorum.” Rosencolt took a long and luxurious puff of his rather large cob pipe. He exhaled a puff of smoke so big a pegasus pony could have formed it into a rain cloud. 

“Does everypony find that agreeable?” The Marshal asked. However, the courtroom remained still and quiet. “I said, does everypony find that agreeable?” Rosencolt raised his voice. His brow furrowed like a drill sergeant about to punish his platoon. Reluctantly, the crowd nodded and murmured soft affirmations. Nobility, commoner, and elected officials alike dared not defy the Marshal. 

“Very good.” Rosencolt relaxed in his seat and took another small puff of his pipe. He held it out in his hoof and pointed with it as he spoke. “Since we’re all in agreement, I would like to extend some trust to you all. As a show of good faith. There cannot be an even discussion when one pony has a knife to another pony’s throat.”

Ollivander wondered if the trial could even carry on as it had. Once armed soldiers were involved, could reasonable discussion even be restored? Rosencolt was obviously determined to take control of the situation and there was nothing Trotwell could do to either help nor interfere. 

“Captain, retire the regiment to the barracks.” The Marshal commanded but the Captain hesitated.

“Sir, forgive me, but should we not at least remain in the foyer? Just in case?” The Captain asked, a bit surprised at the order to completely withdraw from such a volatile situation.

“Are you planning to go to battle in the foyer?” Rosencolt asked, annoyed. 

“N… no sir. Of course not sir. But…” The Captain was interrupted by the Marshal.

“Then what need do we have of soldiers? Retire to the barracks at once.” Rosencolt waved his free hoof dismissively as he took another puff of his pipe. The Captain saluted and turned to his stallions in arms.

“Regiment, return your arms.” The Captain called and the soldiers sheathed and stowed their weapons. “Keep ranks and withdraw. Exit out of the center aisle.” In near unison, the regiment turned towards the middle of the courtroom. They calmly exited the aisles they occupied and marched out the front double doors into the foyer. The Captain was the last one out and closed the doors behind him. 

"Have you made your point?" Celestia chided as the sound of the double doors firmly shutting echoed throughout the hall. Her blood was still boiling. Risking the safety of innocent civilians for some macho display of force was not acceptable in her eyes.

"As far as the disturbance is concerned, yes. But as for this trial, I have much more to say." Rosencolt exhaled another puff of smoke into the air. 

"You call that treasonous display of yours a disturbance?" Celestia was nearly shouting as the pipe smoke wafted slightly in her direction. "And put that damn thing out! This is a courtroom, not a lounge." The Princess demanded. Several court members gasped at Princess Celestia blurting out foul language. 

Trotwell felt uneasy. The crises had been averted and civil war delayed. However, Celestia and Rosencolt were fighting for control over the court. He could feel his authority slipping through his grasp. Ironically the head judge now held less power than either the witness or the defendant. Fortunately, Trotwell was neither vain nor impatient. He knew the initiative would come back to him in short order. As powerful as the Marshal was, he didn't want to be the one dictating the change in power. Rosencolt believed wholeheartedly in Ollivander’s dream of a pony republic. Which is why Trotwell was so willing to trust Rosencolt in the first place. 

Trotwell chose to keep silent his gavel and let the Marshal and the Princess duel it out in the courtroom. 

"I have fought many battles for Equestria, but not one against her." Rosencolt replied to the Princess’s accusation.

"Well isn't that just beautiful of you to say? This coming from the stallion whose solution to every problem is battle, weapons, and violence." Celestia scoffed out loud as she finished the word 'violence.' Celestia’s Royal Canterlot Voice pierced the quiet halls.

"Violence indeed." The Marshal replied in a much softer tone. The baritone of his timbre carried his voice well. However, the stark contrast between his and Celestia’s volume was drastic. "This coming from the Princess who would make any concession to avoid a conflict."

"Says the colt who would jump into any conflict to solve his problems. You joined this treasonous revolt just because I told you no!" Celestia spoke down to her most decorated General. Even the likes of Rosencolt was not an equal in her eyes.

"My only regret is that I did not commit treason the day Edenborough was sacked!" The Marshal finally raised his voice back.

"Stop it both of you!" 

Celestia, Rosencolt, Trotwell, and every pony in the room looked to Rivenbolt at her sudden outburst. She was standing up with both her front hooves firmly on the bench as she leaned forward in contempt of the back and forth arguing. 

"Look at you going at it like foals. This is a court of law! Show some restraint. You're worse than my brother and I were growing up." Rivenbolt scolded in an angered yet much more reserved tone than the Marshal or the Princess. Both the witness and the defendant relaxed their posture a little as they settled down from their spat. The mention of the late Captain Strider was sobering for everypony as well. 

Rivenbolt turned to the Marshal, urging him with a gesture to continue. “Rosencolt, you said that King Fierce Talon threatened to take Edenborough by force if Celestia did not surrender it to him. What happened after that?” Rivenbolt spat out like an interrogator. 

“The Princess called his bluff at the meeting.” The Marshal stated plainly. “She told him that he wouldn’t dare. That the consequences of such an attack were more than he was willing to answer for. That if he wanted to make a name for himself by throwing his weight around neighboring kingdoms, he should look elsewhere because Equestria wouldn’t stand for it.”

Rosencolt looked directly at Celestia as if to ask, ‘Did I get anything wrong?’

“After that the young king changed his tune. He offered an apology and smiled rather diplomatically. He said perhaps we could come to some sort of agreement instead. But I saw the look in his eyes. I heard the change in his voice. At that moment, he realized Celestia was the one who was bluffing. Her bravado was false, therefore he resolved to see his attack through.” He paused for a brief moment, putting emphasis on his next words.  “I told the Princess all of this after the meeting. She said I was reading things in the Griffin King that weren’t there. That I was letting my ‘aggressive tendencies’ cloud my judgment. But I know what it looks like when a commander is committed to a fight. The decision to strike is unmistakable when you know what it looks like.” 

Rosencolt stared at Celestia so long it made her uncomfortable. She returned his glare nonetheless. 

“Do you remember what it looks like when a pony makes the decision to kill? I know you’ve seen it before. But you have forgotten.” 

Celestia wanted to argue but the words wouldn’t come to her. Her thoughts turned to her sister Luna and the day she banished her to the moon. She remembered sensing something wrong with Luna on that fateful morning. A change in her that was subtle but unmistakable. Luna had tried to surprise Celestia and attack her from behind, but Celestia had sensed the treachery. She remembered turning to face her sister as the first magical attack was cast. A deadly spell aimed directly for Celestia’s head. She remembered catching it and repelling it with her own magic. She remembered Luna shouting in rage, their opposing beams clashing in front of one another. The only thing she couldn’t remember was the look on Luna’s face in that moment when the battle began. Celestia had blocked it out. The look of murderous intent on her little sister’s face was too much for her to bear. 

“I insisted that we position five battalions of the 1st army outside Edenborough just in case.” Rosencolt continued and Celestia snapped out of the trance of her own memories. “We wouldn’t cross the border for any reason. And I offered to supply the soldiers externally from military stores so we wouldn’t be a burden on the town’s resources.”

Rosencolt sighed as the smoldering ash from his pipe gently billowed into the air. 

“But you said a show of force near the border would provoke the Griffins. Even though an attack had literally been threatened by their king, you still were more concerned with appearances.” 

“I didn’t believe he would go through with it.” Celestia finally replied.

“Of course you didn’t. You’re not so callous as to let your ponies suffer and die. Nonetheless, you were wrong.” The Marshal declared.

“You have the benefit of hindsight.” The Princess argued. 

“I had the benefit of foresight. You didn’t believe me.” Rosencolt rebutted. 

“Then I am on trial for being wrong?” Celestia exclaimed, somewhat exacerbated. “What will you do with the next ruler? Will you hang them the first time they are wrong?”

“Take a look around, Princess. Take stock of your Kingdom. Do you not see the state of decline we are in, even before this attack?” The Marshal threw his hooves in the air in frustration. “There is a grain shortage. Every year for nearly a decade our crops have produced a deficit and we have to borrow from neighboring lands. Yet you won’t allow the newspapers to print the word famine.”

“We don’t need a national panic. The crops will recover.” Celestia calmly dismissed the shortage.

“You swore you would not censor the press, and yet you did anyway. The grain shortage has led to the value of the Equestrian Bit to drop. Our money is worth less and our exports are not enough to cover the gap. We are heading for a depression, Princess.” Rosencolt pleaded with the Princess.

“Your fear mongering is unnecessary. Economies rise and fall. Ours will return to order in due time.” Celestia had held these conversations with her advisors behind closed doors. She grew weary of the same shortsighted arguments over and over again.

“When exactly, my dear Princess, is ‘due time?’” Rosencolt demanded. 

Celestia hesitated for a moment. Nopony had particularly asked it that way or quite so directly before.

“Your life span is long, Princess. We live and die, and you persist. Then our descendants live and die, and you persist. Our short lives may not be much to you but it’s all we have. What happens when our ‘due time’ is up before things return to order? I respect your age, your wisdom, your strength, and even your love for us and your desire for friendship. But you have lost touch with us. When we ask for solutions and answers now, not later, we are not being impatient or impertinent. We are being practical. What good is it to us if Equestria recovers in 100 years if we have to suffer through depression and famine to get there? I understand nopony is your equal. You are alone in that regard. You cannot relate to your fellow pony, but neither can we relate to you. You love us, yes, but you no longer represent us. And that is why we need change!” 

Rosencolt’s impassioned words reverberated in the Royal Court House as the final smoldering embers in his pipe ran out. Celestia, struck by the Marshal’s words, could only look down at the floor. Never since Luna, had she felt so cast aside by one of her own.

“Is that truly how you feel, Rosencolt?” Celestia said barely above a whisper.

“Yes.” He replied, feeling the weight of his words himself. "And it's not just me, Princess."

Celestia's eyes scanned the courthouse. A room once divided was now united by one common truth: the ponies of Equestria were unsatisfied with the status quo. Even her most staunch supporters echoed this sentiment with their sober expressions. Celestia’s gaze moved to the empty Upper House seats. To her, this whole trial had been wrong from the beginning, but she could no longer ignore the concerns of her citizens. One way or another, change was necessary. Rosencolt helped make that abundantly clear. 

“Recall the House of Lords.” Celestia said abruptly. “I will submit to a proper trial with relevant and appropriate charges. If it is the will of Equestria that I step down, so be it. However, I will only abdicate if all appropriate government officials are involved.”

The court house was stunned. Celestia had offered the usurpers what they had wanted all along. The Upper House had only blocked the trial because they felt Celestia’s authority was required. Now the Princess authorized her own deposition. Rosencolt slowly nodded with a soft yet somber smile.

"Your highness, I find your proposal…" Rosencolt began, but was cut off by an enraged Trotwell.

"Unacceptable!" Trotwell’s face was beat red. A pulsing vein throbbed on the side of his forehead. 

"This is the proper trial. You already submitted to the authority of the court. And now you will abide by its rulings." Trotwell slammed the gavel in a tantrum tizzy. 

"I agreed to hear you out. Which I’ve done. Now, we can carry on with this the legal way." Celestia rebutted. She knew exactly how to phrase it to set Trotwell off. It was his turn to be slighted for once.

"This is the legal way!" Trotwell pointed his gavel at the Princess. "You pled to the charges and acknowledged the court's legality. You cannot change your mind now because it doesn't suit you."

"That shade of red on your cheek doesn't suit you." Celestia quickly retorted, which only made Trotwell’s already reddened face turn nearly purplish in silent rage. 

"Ollivander, I think we should accept the Princess’s proposal." Rosencolt glared up at Trotwell. 

Trotwell whipped his angry gaze down to the Marshal, "Need I remind you that you are no longer a judge on this tribunal but a witness? And speaking of which, witness, you are dismissed." Trotwell waved his hoof in a dismissive fashion. Now that Rosencolt had retired his forces from the foyer, he lacked the tools of enforcement to defy Trotwell.

Rosencolt paused for a second before calmly putting his tobacco pipe away, adjusting his hat, and standing up looking absolutely unaffected by Trotwell’s words. He saluted the Princess, and turned to face Trotwell once again.

"Good luck with your coup. And good luck enforcing your ruling. I'll have no part of it." With his back straight and head held high, the good Marshal slowly and collectedly walked his way towards the front double doors of the courthouse. Earning several nods and half smiles from the attendees.

Trotwell drew in a breath and opened his mouth to loudly address the courtroom. However, he found himself interrupted.

"Well, I am a judge on this tribunal and I think we should at least consider Celestia’s offer." Rivenbolt spoke up. 

Trotwell deflated a bit. "Am I the only pony who seems to remember that the Princess is, in fact, the one on trial? She is not permitted to make the rules." Trotwell collected himself. Losing his temper again would do him no favors. 

"She may be a prisoner on trial, but as Princess she still has authority as monarch. This court cannot change that." Rivenbolt argued. 

Trotwell froze up for a moment. A stark realization came over him which left him lost in thought. A visible chink in his mental armor. Although, the quick-witted stallion easily regained his demeanor. Once again his temperament was smooth, calculating, and he beheld a smirk on his face.

"You're right, Judge Rivenbolt. Today has been an eventful day, to say the least. We shall adjourn until tomorrow. At which time, we will discuss the Princess’s proposal further." Trotwell hit his gavel and the trial adjourned for the day. Ponies were slow to get up from their seats. Most were still hungover from the emotional fallout. Some were traumatized from the earlier danger of being held at sword point. Even though the courtroom was filled with Nobles and elites from Equestria's government and high society, nopony complained very much outloud. The stakes were too high and even the spoiled rich knew that this was bigger than themselves.