//------------------------------// // The Diplomatic Solution // Story: The Girokon Incident: A Living the Dream Side Story // by Corah Il Cappo //------------------------------// Be a craftsman in speech that thou mayest be strong, for the strength of one is the tongue, and speech is mightier than all fighting. -Ptah-Hotep The backup plan was for Blueblood and his diplomats to stay at Gath’s manor. Thankfully, as a high-ranking member of the Royal Council, Gath was afforded quite a spacious home. They were led to a building much higher up in the city that had been built half in and half out of the mountain. From the moment they stepped in the door, they were overwhelmed by the opulence. The floors were brightly polished black marble, the walls were fragrant mahogany, and every surface seemed to be custom-made. Bookshelves were on every wall, laden with a mixture of leatherbound tomes and baubles from around the world. Lance spied a helmet from the Equestrian Royal Guard, a scale model of a Saddle Arabian desert tomb, a seapony-shaped figurehead from a Zebrican galleon, as well as many, many swords and knives in ornate bejeweled sheaths. A slender spiral staircase led to a second level, where Lance suspected their sleeping quarters would be. But that wasn’t what caught everypony’s eye when they entered. At the opposite end of Gath’s home, where the ceiling rose into a high dome, was situated a bronze telescope so large it practically defied comprehension. Lance’s first thought was that it was a cannon with a muzzle that could have swallowed him whole until he saw the countless protruding brass instruments that lined its length. The whole thing was situated on a complex series of gears and pulleys and set in front of a massive single-paned window. The curtains were still drawn tightly, however, not permitting even the slightest sliver of starlight through their thick, velvet fabric. “I hope my humble home will serve you well,” Gath said as he shed his cloak and hung it on a coat rack by the door. Something subtle in his voice told them that he was very much aware that his home was anything but humble. “The home of an occultist isn’t usually a place for guests, but it’ll have to do.” “Yo dude, holy shit.” Greg dropped his bags in the doorway and took a long drag on his joint. His bloodshot eyes blinked as he stared at the telescope. “You should’ve just told us you were an astronaut, man. I’d have thought you were way cooler.” “He’s not an astronaut, Greg!” Lance rolled his eyes. “Astronomer!” “Astrologer is the term I'd use, but I appreciate the enthusiasm.” Gath ruffled his feathers as he brushed past them. “Any occultist worth his salt studies the stars. I’ve simply got a better setup for it than most.” Despite his modesty, there was a note of pride in his voice as he scattered a reddish powder in the cobblestone fireplace and spit a note of power. The flames ignited, burning an eerie cyan to light and heat the room. Frederic stacked his luggage neatly by the stairs before collapsing into a leather recliner with a huff. “It’s a nice place. Thanks for letting us crash here for a night.” “Blueblood knows the layout by heart. He can explain it to you better than I can.” Gath waved a claw as he ascended the staircase. “Goodnight. Sleep well. We have an early morning and one hell of a day ahead of us.” “Guidestar light your path.” Peter gave a lazy salute as he yawned and cupped a hoof over his mouth. He collapsed in a heap beside the fireplace, lying on his back and staring up at the ceiling. Blueblood unwound his scarf and hung his jacket as he clip-clopped across the stone floor. Despite the events of the day, he seemed as fresh as ever. Not facing an assassin probably helped. “You’re all probably exhausted. Your sleeping quarters will be the two doors on the left upstairs. Bathroom is at the end of the hall. Anything else you need to know?” The only reply was a low groan from Frederic as he shifted in his seat. “I’ll take that as a no, then. I’ll be making some tea, if anypony wants some.” Lance lazily raised a hoof in response. The rest lazily shuffled off as Blueblood set a kettle to boil over the aquamarine flames. Greg stepped outside for one last smoke break before bed while Frederic and Peter ascended the steps to find their sleeping arrangements for the evening. Blueblood slumped into a seat and hunched forward, watching the fire with an intense glare. His gaze shifted over to Lance, appraised him, and relaxed. “How are your wounds healing?” Blueblood gestured towards the bandages that had been wrapped around Lance’s midsection. “Huh?” Lance’s ears perked up. “Oh, yeah. It’ll be fine. The cuts weren’t that deep. I’ve been through a lot worse before.” “Worse than an assassin trying to detonate a bomb in your face?” “I mean, Greg pounded my family jewels flat with a rock before.” Blueblood cocked his head. “And you just let him do that?” “We were filming for Jackflank! I had to do it!” “What in Celestia’s name is Jack-” He sucked in a shallow breath. “Nevermind. Some questions are meant to remain unanswered, I suppose. Regardless, I’m glad you’re taking well to your position.” “What do you mean?” “I mean what you did earlier at the Dented Helmet. You took a bad situation and turned it into an opportunity for good publicity.” Lance chuckled and rubbed the back of his mane. “Aw, man. I wasn’t thinking about publicity. I was just thinking about what you said back in Equestria.” “What I said?” The kettle screamed and Blueblood levitated it from the fire, filling a pair of mugs with hot water and dunking in their tea bags. “Do you take cream and sugar?” “Yeah. Just a little cream and a lot of sugar!” Lance helped himself to an extra sugarcube from the tea tray, crunching it between his teeth. “But back in Equestria, you said something about how we never think about what we do. And that’s kinda true. I’ve never been the kinda person who plans things out the way you do, Vlad.” The Prince chaffed at the sound of his first name. “Few ponies need to plan things the way I do. Not everypony is juggling foreign affairs on their shoulder. It was a little unfair for me to-” “No, no I don’t think it was unfair.” Lance stirred his tea as Blueblood passed him a cup. “I don’t really focus on consequences. I never thought ahead back on earth and I brought that with me to Equestria. I realized that we’d caused a bunch of damage to someone who didn’t deserve it, and I wanted to make things right. Frederic said that when we bronies came to Equestria, we had a choice. Either we could change and try to be better people, or we could keep repeating our old mistakes.” Lance smiled over the edge of his mug. “I figured maybe it was time to quit making the same old mistakes.” “That’s… Surprisingly mature.” Blueblood sipped his tea and winced at the heat. He blew on it and kicked up plumes of steam. The two sat silently, listening to the crackle of the fire and the whispers of the midnight breezes. “Let’s just hope all your self-betterment wasn’t for nothing.” “You think things aren’t gonna go well tomorrow?” Lance said as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I’m not sure.” Blueblood shrugged. “Nopony can predict the future. I'm no seer after all. We’re treading on new and dangerous ground here, Lance.” “Well, you’ve got us backing you up.” Lance reached out to give the Prince a brohoof, but Blueblood merely stared down at it with confusion. “No matter what happens, us bronies will be there for Equestria. I know you don’t think much of us, but we love this world more than anything. My wife and my son are the best things that ever happened to me. I’d do anything to protect them.” “I know.” The Prince sipped his tea and muttered over the rim of the cup. “That’s one thing we have in common.” “Y’know, we’re not so different, you and I.” Lance mused into his drink. “Both just two guys trying to do what’s right in a world gone-” Even as he spoke, Blueblood was rising to ascend the stairs. “Dude, I was talking to you!” “It’s late, Lance.” Blueblood yawned at the top of the staircase. “We should both be getting some sleep. We have an early day tomorrow, and I already know I’ll have to drag you out of bed. “I’ll be up bright and early, first thing in the morning! Promise!” ***** The next morning, Lance walked down the cleanly swept stone halls in a blind stupor. He rubbed his eyes, but the sleep stubbornly refused to abate. Blueblood hadn’t needed to drag him out of bed; thankfully Frederic had stepped up to that task. The five of them were awake before the sun, with only the greasy light of oil lamps to light their way. They passed up through the gut rock of the mountain, emerging in a window-lined chamber that rested at the very crest of the range. The ceiling rose high, held up with fluted columns topped with grotesque leering gargoyles that squatted and smirked in the gangrenous light of the setting moon. In the center of the room was a bonfire that crackled and blazed, surrounded by rough-hewn stone benches and solid tables. The air was thick with the smell of woodsmoke and warm stone as they entered, sitting at the table Blueblood indicated. Up ahead were the seats of the council. Tall barriers of polished marble set with a black and green mosaic of the Kleinkrieg flag separated them from the council members, who were seated in comfortable overstuffed leather chairs with soft velvet pillows. Behind them hung ornate tapestries of their coats of arms, all except the upraised empty throne in the center of the council. The king was absent. Everypony breathed a sigh of relief. Their plan hadn’t been derailed yet. “All rise for the honorable council of Kleinkrieg!” A soldier dressed from head to toe in grim black armor cried out, spreading his wings wide before clanking the iron-capped butt of his musket on the floor. Blueblood and his bronies stood. Lance leaned against Peter’s shoulder, his eyelids drooping. “Grand Spymaster, Maxim?” The guard’s voice billowed around the chamber like a winter wind. “Here.” The speaker was an elderly, frail-looking Gryphon with a chipped beak and dull iron feathers. He adjusted his thick spectacles as he reseated himself. “Master of Wealth, Galway?” “Here.” Lance’s eyes caught a glimpse of her as she flopped dramatically back into her seat. She was dressed in luscious silk finery with a bejeweled headdress that reflected a rainbow in the glittering firelight. “High Occultist, Gath?” Gath’s seat was shielded from the slowly rising sunlight by a flurry of dark parasols. “Present.” “Bishop of the Guidestar, Mordred.” The bishop was so old that the nod he replied with made his bones creak. His feathers were falling out by the dozens, and when he sat he seemed to lapse into a drowsy slumber. Lance felt a pang of jealousy. “Master of Arms, Gertrude?” “Ready and willing.” The young, feminine voice contrasted sharply with the tower of muscle and metal that it came from. She was armored and resplendent with medals from countless campaigns, yet looked no older than Lance himself. Golden brown feathers crowned her as her gaze swept across the room. She looked to Blueblood and flashed a grin, to which he waved nervously. “Dude, please tell me you didn’t fuck her too,” Lance whispered to the prince behind his hoof. “No, I didn’t. Now hush.” “Master of Industry, Chesterton?” “Here.” A bearded Gryphon with a sleek black shirt and a pure alabaster waistcoat took his seat without another word. His mind seemed to be focused on other matters, as he perused a sheaf of paperwork that he’d brought along. “All present. The session is considered open.” The guard banged his musket against the stone again with a metallic jolt. “All guests may be seated.” “We’ll open this meeting with the notes of the previous.” Galway yawned into her sleeve as she tapped a notebook with her claw. “Last week we proposed an increase of import taxes on agricultural products imported from the eastern kingdom of Schadenfreude, and there was an agreement on-” Blueblood motioned for the others to lean in while the council went over the meeting notes. “The goal for today is simple, we object to the motion as a block. That means we can all speak on it. Understood?” Everypony nodded in reply. Lance’s head fell snoring to the table before the jolt of the hard stone woke him. “Yeah, got it.” “We need to make a convincing argument to abandon a war with Equestria. At least half the council needs to side with our proposition, so we need to tailor our message appropriately. The six members are all going to have different priorities, but here’s a simple way of looking at it. The members focused on the internal- Wealth, the Bishop, the Occultists, and Industry- are going to want to know that their country would run more smoothly without a war. The external, like the Spymaster and the Army, will need to feel they would lose a war against us.” “Would they lose?” Frederic whispered. “Unlikely.” Blueblood shook his head. “But we need to make them feel like at least it would be too costly to bother.” “And how do we do that?” Peter glanced between the council and his friends. Blueblood shrugged. “That’s why we’re here. We’ve gotta come up with something. Improvise.” “You got it!” Lance saluted, thrusting his hoof across the table. “Alright, bronies on three!” Frederic, Peter, and Greg added their hooves to a growing pile. Lance looked to Blueblood and jerked his head towards their hooves. “C’mon Blueblood! You’re one of us now!” “No.” Greg grabbed one of Blueblood’s hooves and held it to the pile despite his protests. “Bronies!” The four of them shouted loud enough that it made the stone ring. The slam of a musket butt against the floor made them all recoil with their ears flat against their skulls. “Silence in the gallery!” Gertrude exhaled sharply through her beak. “So, as I was saying, let’s make this quick so we can get back to sleep. All in favor of passing the new tax code, say aye.” Four voices muttered “aye” as claws were raised in approval. “Measure passed.” The soldier’s voice reverberated from the windows just as the sun lifted above the skyline to set the city ablaze. “If there are any objections, voice them-” “We object!” Greg leapt from his chair and stood on the table. “We object to the war and all that other shit!” Blueblood tugged him down off the table and back into his seat. “More specifically, we object to the passing of the new taxation, as it would be used to fund a war against Equestria.” “Objection raised.” The guard sighed, clearly annoyed at the prospect of having his shift extended. “Make your case.” Blueblood stiffened in his seat and took a deep breath. “We object to the concept that there must be war between our peoples. The inciting incident of this war was a group of ponies crossing the border and making a futile attack on an outpost. This is something which ought to be handled through diplomatic channels, not through a costly war between two nations.” Maxim, the bespectacled Spymaster adjusted his glasses and leaned forward in his seat. “Would the objectors give their names for the record?” “High Diplomat of Equestria, Prince Vladimir Blueblood.” “Prince Frederic Bourdages.” “Lance Greenfield.” “Greg Campell.” “Peter Kruzel.” “Noted.” The Spymaster steepled his claws and leaned back in his seat. “Now, solving this through diplomatic channels is a lovely thought, but unfortunately, crime begets punishment. How are we to explain to our citizens that-” “Were there any casualties?” Frederic blurted out, cutting the old gryphon off mid-sentence. “I mean, were any gryphons hurt or killed when the bronies showed up?” The council shared a collective blink as they glanced between themselves and shrugged. Galway’s gown shimmered as she rested against the stone balcony. “What exactly is a brony?” “Oh, that’s us.” Lance gestured to himself and his friends. “Long story short, we’re from another world that got destroyed, and we're making our home here now. The ponies who crossed into your territory and started all this? Those were bronies too.” “But we’re here to make things right!” Peter piped up. All eyes were suddenly on Gath and Mordred. Galway lapsed into a lazy smile as Gath shook the old priest awake. “You two are the ones who deal in all this mystic mumbo jumbo. Anything true in what they’re saying?” “Well,” Mordred yawned, shedding feathers with every motion. “The Church doesn’t discount the possibility. Our observatories have spied countless planets in the beyond. Could one not be home to…” He dug a claw into his ear and attempted to clear it. “These brownies?” “Bronies.” Frederic corrected. “Occultists are firmly in favor of the existence of other worlds,” Gath added. “Hence the old adage, ‘Do not call up that which ye cannot put down’. We wouldn't have a rule about summons if there was nowhere to summon from.” “But that doesn’t answer our question.” Peter picked up where Frederic had left off. “Was anyone hurt when the bronies did this?” “Well, we can’t quantify the nature of ‘hurt’.” Gertrude drawled as her armor creaked. “Plenty of guards may not be injured in a brawl but the stress of the event can weigh heavily on them even if they didn’t see combat. So while there might be no worse injury than a bruise, it's impossible to say how the trauma of the event could impact-” “Fucks sake, was anyone injured or not?” Greg shouted, slamming his hoof on the table. “It’s a yes or no question!” “Greg!” Lance clapped a hoof over Greg’s mouth, only to jerk it away a second later. “Gross! You fucking licked me!” "Heh. Your hoof tastes like-" Blueblood cleared his throat to regain order. “Regardless of how crudely it’s put, he has a point. It’s a question we ought to have an answer to. I’ve seen the records you keep on every engagement. They say the paperwork is deadlier than the frontline!” That got a few chuckles from the older members of the council. He smiled imperceptibly. “So let's dispense with the prevarication, what was the casualty rate from that particular border skirmish?” “No major casualties,” Gertrude said through clenched teeth. “Well, that’s good!” Lance nodded. “Right? No one was hurt!” “Unfortunately,” The bearded industrialist reached into his sheaf of papers and removed a folded stack of parchment. “I’ve read over the treaty we signed with Equestria, and even if the attack had no casualties, an attack is still an attack.” “An attack only voids the treaty,” Blueblood was quick to counter. “It is not an immediate declaration of war.” “And have you read the treaty in its entirety?” Chesterton’s eyebrow rose incredulously. “Read it?” The prince snorted in contempt. “I wrote the damn thing!” Chesterton swallowed and drooped his head, shrinking back and muttering something under his breath. “Nice one, dude! Brohoof?” Lance held out a hoof towards Blueblood, who regarded it like a disease. “If he won’t take it, I will!” Frederic leaned across the table to pound Lance’s hoof. “So if nobody got hurt, then what’s the war about?” Peter sat up straight and brushed his mane out of his eyes. “Casualties are not the only measure of an attack.” Spymaster Hiram crossed his arms over his breast. “Any property damage will be paid in full.” Blueblood intoned confidently. “And Equestria will add on punitive damages to recompense Kleinkrieg for the inconvenience its citizens have caused.” “Payment?” Gertrude laughed so hard that her armor seemed to flex. “Why would we accept a pitiful payment when we can plunder your country for double, even triple what you offer?!” She clapped her claws against the hard stone of the balustrade with an echoing ring. “You want to placate us with pennies while you hold millions ripe for the taking.” “She’s not wrong.” Hiram stepped into the conversation with a calm confidence that made Blueblood’s skin prickle. “My agents have examined your defenses and found them lacking.” “War is costly-” Blueblood began, only for Chesterton to pounce on the opportunity. “It’s only costly if you haven’t prepared for it.” He puffed his breast with pride. “My factories have been pumping out armor, weapons, and ammunition for years now, and for what? So it can sit in stockpiles waiting to be used? No, Prince. War is a business. And against your soldiers? We’ll be in and out before Celestia finishes her tea.” The Prince bit his lip. He scratched at the recesses of his mind for a response, but none formed. He had expected that the council was being dragged along by the wishes of a mad king, but many of them were mad themselves. He cursed himself for not expecting it. Even worse, Lance was searching in his saddlebag for something with a glint in his eye that suggested he was going to answer. “Lance! Don’t!” He seethed silently. Lance produced a weatherbeaten old notebook from his satchel and blew dust from the cover. “Vlad, you gotta trust me! I’ve got something perfect to say!” “Lance, think for a second! If you screw this up, it’s war! Do you want that on your shoulders?!” “Do you trust me?” Lance replied, eyes wide. Blueblood couldn’t reply. He couldn’t vocalize anything aside from a grunt. “Please. Equestria is my home too!” Lance’s eyes sparkled with faint tears. “I want to be a better person than I was, Vlad. Just this once, trust me.” “I-” The Prince choked on the lump in his throat. “I trust you. Don’t let me regret it.” Lance beamed as he rose from his seat, scooting his chair back with a sharp squeak. All eyes were on him as he held up his notebook. Blueblood happened to notice a phrase scribbled across the cover. My Favorite War. “You think it’ll be easy to take over Equestria?” Lance began, arching an eyebrow. “How many of you have been to Equestria?” Aside from Gath, there were no claws raised in the council. “Ponies like me and my friends might look cute and innocent, but we’re fighters! Don’t you dare laugh!” He thrust a hoof at the council preemptively. “We’ve fought Nightmare Moon, we’ve fought Discord, we’ve fought Changelings and cults and even gryphons before, and guess what? We won every time! You say that you’ll come over here and sweep across our country? No. We’ll fight.” His eyes drifted to his notebook as he started to read, adapting his words on the fly. “We shall go on to the end. We shall fight in Equestria, we shall fight on the seas and oceans, we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air, we shall defend our homes, whatever the cost may be. We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender!” He ended his speech by pounding a hoof against the table as the other bronies slapped him on the back and cheered. Blueblood's eyes were wide, impressed. "You had a speech prepared for this?" "Nope." Lance grinned wide. "But Winston Churchill did." "I have no idea who that is, but I'll be sure to send him my thanks." Blueblood glared at the council with the eyes of a predator. He could see their weakness in the wake of that speech, and he pounced on it. “Sure, you say that you can take all the plunder you want if you ignore the deals we offer you now, but how quickly will you burn through that capital I wonder?” Blueblood rose and paced in front of the table, tapping his chin. “How many days of attrition can you take before the cost starts to outway the benefit?” “Our stockpiles are deeper than you know, prince.” Chesterton hissed the word violently. His claws clenched the arms of his seat, worrying the leather. There was a sound of bubbling that drew attention away from their conversation. Greg leaned back in his seat with his hooves on the table, using his magic to warm up his bong. True to his word, it was shaped like his own head, and he took a long hit through the horn. Exhaling smog, he stared at the ceiling and spoke to no one in particular. “Okay but like… What if someone else decided to hop in?” “What is he prattling about?” Galway rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “I’m just sayin’ like,” Greg stretched his back until he felt an audible pop. “What if you’re marching all over Equestria looking for a fight, and someone else decides to hit you with a suckerpunch from behind? You dudes get what I’m tryin’ to say, right?” “You’re implying some other power would enter the war on Equestria’s behalf?” Gertrude sniffed. “Wishful thinking.” Mordred cleared his throat, rattling his entire body with the effort. “There is precedent for such things. The 1746 War with Schwarzkamf for example. We had struck a blow right through the center, but halfway through the summer campaign, we were stabbed in the back by Schadenfreude. We had to recall troops to defend the border and the war was nearly lost.” “Even if no one shows up to save us,” Blueblood narrowed his gaze. The sun was rising behind the council, its head blushing his coat. “All we need to do is last long enough that the war bankrupts you.” He took a seat on the edge of the table, smiling. “Of course, none of us need to go to war.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “We can work out details for the repayment of damages, bonuses for injuries sustained, perhaps even a tribute stipend to help everyone save face in this incident. It’s up to you.” Quietude settled over the chamber in the wake of that statement. The lone guard present slammed the butt of his musket on the floor. “Your objection has been heard. The Honorable Council will now vote on the measures raised. All in favor of rejecting the war with Equestria and accepting reparations, say aye.” “Aye.” Gath was the first to raise his claw, but his vote was a given. Blueblood could feel his heartbeat thudding against his chest as he glanced around the council. “Aye.” Mordred followed his voice a scraggly croak as he lifted a shaking arm. The bronies were all on their feet, inching across the table with every breath. “Aye.” Galway raised her claw, the bejeweled bracelets around her wrists jingling. One more vote. That was all they needed. Blueblood could scarcely hear anything beyond the thunder of his blood in his ears. Lance held his breath. Frederic clung to the table. Peter couldn’t stop fussing with his mane. Greg took another rip on his bong to steady his nerves. “Aye.” Chesterton raised his claw with a defeated sigh. The scream that the bronies unleashed came close to shattering the glass. Lance threw his arms around Blueblood, who for once didn’t reject the offer. As they briefly embraced, Lance cleared his throat. “Uh, no homo. Obviously.” “Whatever you say.” “Let’s fucking gooooo!” Greg bellowed, thumping a hoof against his chest. Their celebration was cut short, however, by the slam of a door. All eyes were on a cloaked and hooded figure who entered the room flanked by a small battalion of bodyguards. The light seemed to warp around the creature, aside from a dim, jaundiced light that shone from within the hood. It spread its wings and vaulted over the assembly, landing silently on the throne like a carrion bird. Even the council members looked upon it with a mixture of terror and revulsion. Blueblood and Lance exchanged a worried look. They could both sense something horribly, emphatically wrong. Blueblood was a failure when it came to magic, but even he could feel the strenuous pulsing of something horrid and primal. To touch it was to touch something ancient, like the capstone of a mountain or the floor of an ocean. His skin crawled in its presence, his every nerve shuddered in instinctual loathing of the thing that sat before him. The yellow eye fell upon him and he could feel it in his bones. It wasn’t the pure yellow of gold or sunlight; but a sick, hateful yellow. It was the yellow of oozing pus, reeking infection, bile and maggotflesh and concentrated blasphemy. To Lance, it was something unholy. He had stood in the presence of the Almighty more than once and knew what holiness felt like. Now he could practically taste its antithesis in the air around him. It manifested in every sense; a whiff of sulfur, a rising heat, faint sibilant words in tongues long dead. He nearly recoiled from it, steeling his resolve only at the last second. “What the fuck is that thing?” Break’s voice trembled with every syllable. “I don’t know,” Lance replied, nausea welling up in him. “I hate it.” “But you do know, Lance,” Dawn said helpfully. “Shall I dig up the memory?” “I don’t think I want to remember whatever this was.” Lance threw a look at the other bronies, who all looked just as worried as he felt. “You guys feel that, right?” Peter and Greg both nodded. Frederic however stood stock still, his heartbeat thrumming like a hammer. “It feels familiar. Familiar in a sick way.” “My lord,” Gath put on his best smile to mask his growing fear. “Our business has just concluded. Thankfully it was a short meeting, so we can all get back to-” “Veto.” The thing upon the throne croaked. “What?” “I am in attendance at this meeting. I use my veto.” It exhaled slowly, like steam hissing through its nostrils. “My war will go on unabated. Do not test me.” “The King has spoken!” The guard clapped his musket on the floor. “Previous meeting will be stricken from the record and-” “No!” Blueblood could feel his victory slipping through his hooves like sand on the beach. “Celestia, please no.” The King settled into his throne, his eyeshine raking the Prince. “Expel all Equestrian diplomats. We’re through talking. We can settle our differences as real men, with blade and bullet.” “What do we do?” Peter said, looking to Blueblood for some sort of trick. “There’s a way around this, isn’t there? Some loophole you know?” The king's guard, a group of Gryphons in black armor bearing cruel, curved blades, started to approach them. Blueblood and the bronies began to back away from the table, goaded at swordpoint. “Blueblood, think of something!” Frederic yelped. “We can’t just let them do this!” Blueblood couldn’t pull his eyes off the creature that loomed over the council. He knew what he needed to do, but he was riveted to that eye like a moth to a flame. Terror chilled his blood and his limbs felt like lead. “Dude! Snap out of it!” Greg grabbed the prince by the shoulders and shook him like a ragdoll. It was enough to rattle Blueblood’s brain into thinking clearly for a split second. It was just long enough for him to scream his last-ditch defense to the king. “Ehrenkampf!” Blueblood shouted the word so hard that it scraped his throat. Everyone in the room went quiet. Gath pleaded with his eyes, desperately begging the prince to reconsider. Blueblood swallowed hard as the King leaned forward in his seat. “What did you say?” The voice rumbled like the grinding of concrete. “Ehrenkampf.” Blueblood reiterated. “By right and by law I can demand an honor duel. I invoke that right now.” The King’s robes seemed to writhe with repressed laughter. “You dare? I will flay your skin and mount your head on-” Blueblood sucked in a deep breath and lit up his horn. He prayed that this would work. “EHRENKAMPF!” He bellowed with a royal Canterlot voice that rippled the curtains and upended the table with its force. His vocal cords felt like they would snap, and he could only cough hoarsely afterward. “If I win, you call off the war. If you win…” “I will.” The thing on the throne rose to its full height. “You and your friends will be the first casualties of the war. I will give you one hour to prepare for your death.” Blueblood jerked his head for the bronies to follow him as they exited the council chamber flanked by guards. “Oh, we’re so fucked.” Greg shook his head as he filed out of the chamber.