//------------------------------// // The Iron Price // Story: My Iron Warriors: Ordinance is Magic // by Perturabo //------------------------------// Beep. Beep. Beep. The hunched shape twisted, dark eyes casting a sidelong glance at the source of the distraction. A silver mk7 helmet sat on the hard bed across the room; the eye lenses were dimmed, the usual red glow absent in its state of deactivation, but the irritating beeping persisted. Varvillon growled and turned back to his desk, and once again a second sound filled the air-that of a stylus scratching onto parchment. Bar the helmet he was a giant fully clad in iron, and the stool he was precariously perched upon groaned and creaked under his weight. It would have looked almost comical had anyone - Astartes or Xenos - had been there to witness it. But they were not; this was his place, where none of his brothers ever came, and that suited the Iron Warrior just fine. He gently placed the stylus at the side of his paper with a sigh as the noise grew too wearisome to bear. Guilliman used a stylus he thought idly. As did the Lord of Iron when he wrote his treatises. And then there’s me, stuck…here. How the mighty are fallen. He cast a glance around the small chamber, groaning quietly and rubbing the canine bionic that constituted his lower jaw. Like all cells aboard a Space Marine Strike Cruiser it was spartan in the extreme, all grey austere walls and metal-clad flooring. The rusting desk before him was one of Varvillon’s few concessions to grandeur; that, and the hastily constructed bookshelf leaned against the wall. It was crammed full of tomes, most of which had had the titles worn away by simple age, but Varvillon liked to have them. It made him feel better about both his and the Companies’ lot in life…or at least, a little bit better than Rorke. Overhead, a flickering lumen strip shorted for a few seconds, taking some of the sheen from his armour. The beeping had now rescinded into a background throbbing, but Varvillon still felt a compulsion to answer it. He cast another, almost dejected look down to the work before him, recovering the first page from the bottom of the pile. An illustrated guide to trends in flora found through the Civilised, Feudal and Death Worlds of our Galaxy vol. 3. As the name suggested, the third he had penned - the first two were some of the more well-preserved items in his bookcase. He knew that Lorkhan looked on this hobby of his as ‘weird and idiotic, as well as a distraction from your duties to the Legion’, and some of his brothers were even less kind, but it rarely bothered the Iron Warrior. He had snuck copies into libraries throughout the Imperium where he could, and it was something to do besides train and hate. He looked at the manuscript one last time, before savagely tearing the papers in half and casting the remains to the floor. Focus. Rising slowly from his seat, the Astartes crossed the short gap between his desk and cot-bed and picked up the helmet, organic eyes staring into the empty optics. He continued to stare for a moment, almost wistfully, before turning the ceramite construct upside down and peering into the depths. A small red light flashed inside, clearly the source of the beeping. He’d had a hunch that the miniature auspex transponder would come in useful. Reaching in with an armoured finger, Varvillon switched the bleeping off after some fumbling seconds, before turning the helmet the right way and snapping it into position over his head. The optics lit up and began to glow their familiar heartblood-red, and when Varvillon spoke into the private vox the mk 7 grille returned his voice to a baritone rumble. “Brother-sergeant Rorke….can I borrow you?” ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- To the casual onlooker, the Iron Warriors may have seemed almost lucky in some respects; despite being reduced to literally the front fifth of their once mighty cruiser, they had managed to save an awful lot, although Varvillon suspected that that was more through chance than design. The main armoury was pretty much intact, as was the command bridge (well, as intact as it ever was) and many of the cell’s-most importantly, Varvillon’s. The Growler had made it, the only vehicle the Marines really cared about – if cared was the right word – and from the Warsmith’s words he could infer that some of the more…unsavoury things that scurried about in their wake had survived down in the depths too. Something that had not made it, however, was the practice cages. Whilst many of the weapons were stored in the armoury or in the hands of the Iron Warriors themselves, the actual training areas themselves were long gone. Given that the alternatives to training were to maintain their wargear (tolerable) or go out and breath the same air as the Xenos (intolerable), it had not taken much to convince Varvillon and his brothers to spring into action. In a display of true IV Legion craftsmanship they’d cobbled together a single replacement fighting cage in less than a day, complete with weapon racks and big enough for two Astartes to easily square off. It lacked many of the more sophisticated features found in such devices, but even so had proved immensely popular over the two to three months they’d been stranded. Because of all that, finding the sergeant here by himself was a little surprising to Varvillon. Rorke’s back was to his brother, and his power pack raised up and down slowly in a panting motion. In his right hand he held his stolen power sword, blade pointed to the ground and hissing slightly as some unknown fluid was fried upon it. Another thing the Space Marines now had a deficiency of was servants. Over 70% of their indentured crew and Servitors had died in the crash, and they’d never had that many to begin with. The remainders had been forbidden to leave the ship, but if that kept them loyal it also brought other risks. Approaching the cage, Varvillon could see one clearly; just in front of Rorke was a pile of three to four mangled servitors, limbs hacked off and some still twitching feebly. Had he still had a jaw, Varvillon would have grimaced. “The Warsmith won’t like you breaking his-“ “Up.” The word was a growled command, and had he been mortal it would have easily stopped Varvillon in his tracks. As it was, he blinked once in confusion. “Brother, we’ve got-“ “Up.” It was clear he wasn’t going to get through to Rorke any other way. With another internal groan, Varvillon stepped closer to the cage, Rorke’s back still to him. On his way to the training room Varvillon had recovered his bolter and sniper, but now laid them to the side in favour of his trusty chainsword. Entering the ring, the Space Marine closed the door behind him and assumed a combat-ready crouch. It was over in twenty seconds. Rorke turned on him with a roar, too fast for even an Astartes to follow. Varvillon barely had time to think before the weight of his sergeant sent him crashing into the wall, a ceramite gauntlet crashing into his stolen helmet. He beat the deactivated chainsword ineffectually on Rorke’s shoulder, trying to force his way out of the grapple, but the Champion’s strength was considerable and he was stuck fast. A knee crashed into Varvillon’s midsection, causing him to grunt in repressed pain, before a power sword swipe jerked his head roughly to the side. Fortunately, Rorke still had the good sense to keep the blade deactivated. There was no artistry in this form of conflict. Varvillon fought as he’d always been taught, a mixture of mechanical efficiency and repressed bitterness being allowed to seep through into every blow. It made him more than a match for most enemies, and was a large part of why he was still alive. But Rorke was barely-contained savagery given form, and any weakness his rage might have burdened him with was offset by his superhuman physiology. It was a disgraceful display from an Iron Warrior, a Legion that demanded a higher standard of emotional control from its sons, but it was undoubtedly effective nevertheless. Somehow Varvillon found himself on his back, staring up at a horned, red-eyed steel monster, dripping with synthetic blood from his earlier victims. Briefly, the Iron Warrior wondered if that was how he himself appeared to those he slew, but the time for introspection was cut short as Rorke pinned his brother down again and continued his relentless battering with the blade of his sword. The blows fell like lightning, an unrelenting rain on Varvillon’s war plate, and when he grew tired of the sword Rorke merely tossed it to the side – near where Varvillon had dropped his own chainsword – and began to beat his downed opponent with his fists. The pinned marine pressed back against his aggressor, desperately clawing one hand towards his lost blade. Accepting he wouldn’t reach it, he changed tactics and delivered two powerful punches straight into his sergeant’s face. Rorke’s head snapped back, eliciting another roar from the half-crazed Marine. Standing, he stamped a foot down onto the soft armour between Varvillon’s chestplate and helmet, nearly threatening to crush his windpipe. As his brother choked Rorke hooked his hands under the ‘stalks’ connecting the vents to Varvillon’s power pack, and hauled him to his feet to hurl him into another wall. Taking struggling breaths, Varvillon fought through the blackness encroaching on his vision as another powerful kick drove him to his knees. His armour began to pump pain-reducing combat stimms into his system as there was a moment’s relent in the beating, Rorke staring down at him hungrily. The Champion turned as he recovered the two swords that lay on the ground, taking one in each hand. He stood before his brother once more, holding each blade out to the side – presumably to swing them in and slice Varvillon’s skull clean from his shoulders. “Are…you…done?” the battered Iron Warrior grunted. Rorke’s frenzied assault halted, red optics glaring at Varvillon’s own. They too, were crimson. With a growl, Rorke slammed one more punch into Varvillon’s face, before dropping his brother and stumbling to the side of the cage. Varvillon looked up, spitting rich blood from his mouth and looking up towards the convulsing Marine. Rorke had dropped to his knees, leaning onto the side of the cage for support. “What…do…you want?” Rorke growled, fixing him with a near-maddened glare. Varvillon returned it coolly as he rose back to his feet, recovering his chainsword and kicking the Champion’s power blade to him. “I’m taking the Growler.” He said simply, breath returning to normal as the pain subsided to a dull ache. “There’s a loose end that needs tying up.” Rorke shrugged as he slowly got back to his own feet. “And why are you telling me this plant-fancier?” Inventive. “I was wondering if you want to come.” Rorke laughed, a sound as ugly as its source. “Go with you out into pretty pony land? Fuck off.” “Technically, you do owe me for patching you up after that debacle with the Blood Angels.” Varvillon countered, pointing at the Champion. “You’re going to need me, Rorke.” The twitching stopped for a moment as Rorke stiffened, and for a moment Varvillon wondered if he’d overstepped the mark. Rorke was hardly popular, but he was still technically a commanding officer, and the IV Legion demanded obedience and fidelity. But the spasms soon came back, and Varvillon released a breath he hadn’t realised he was keeping. “Didn’t…need…you…” Rorke managed to stammer through gritted teeth. It occurred to Varvillon just how hard Rorke was trying to hold himself back from launching into another mindless assault. He almost found himself respecting the butcher. “Besides…” the horned marine said, finally exerting some control over his faculties. “You’re not our Apothecary.” “I’m the closest we’ve got now that Vortun’s…Vortun.” Varvillon countered. “But that’s not the point; I am asking you to come because you are my brother, I have been an obedient member of your squad for ten millennia, and if nothing else I respect the fact that you can curb-stomp almost any of us in a matter of moments in a fight.” There was a moment’s awkward pause between the two. “I’ll let you drive.” That seemed to get his attention. Rorke stood, readjusting his helmet and sheathing the power blade. Wiping the blood from his helmet, he became a little more recognisable as the warrior he’d perhaps once been; though his fingers still twitched with the need to shatter bone and spill blood. “What exactly is your plan, anyway?” “The Apple farmer seems to control much of the agriculture and food supply in town.” Varvillon answered, his bionic and helmet vox helping to keep his deep voice monotone. “A Xenos it may be, but a creature of business. That suggests she is capable of acting in perceived mutual interest, of listening to reason.” “We do not reason with Xenos.” Rorke pointed out venomously. “Before this fucking shameful escapade, we destroyed them on sight. You act like you’ll be taking her to dinner soon.” Varvillon didn’t grace it with a response immediately. Rorke glared at him from beneath his helmet. “How did I get stuck with you?” He mumbled, shaking his head in mock despair. “Fine.” He grunted. “It’s not like it can get any worse. But when she annoys me I’m going to kill her.” “Just let me do what I need to do first.” Varvillon replied, choosing to take that last line in jest. He walked over to the slightly hunched sergeant, clapping a hand on his pauldron. “You’ll enjoy it. You get to shout at people.” ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- “Well, that’s the last of ‘em ah reckon.” Applejack said with a smile, closing the sheep-pen door with a flick of a hoof. “Darn critters, it’s a pain tah trah and round ‘em up up on mah own ah tell yah. Thanks for all yah help Rainbow.” “Eh, no problem AJ.” The cyan Pegasus replied, flicking her multi-coloured mane to the side as she reclined lazily on a cloud with a sigh and a contented sigh. “After all, we can’t all be world-class athletes like me.” She teased. Applejack rolled her eyes, adjusting her hat. “Now don’t go startin’ that again y’hear? Ahm just glad we got it done.” “Well, duh I said I would.” Rainbow went on. “In ten seconds flat, just like I promised.” “Ah’d say it was more lahk fifteen seconds.” Applejack said with a sly smile. It had the desired effect, Rainbow sitting up from her reclining position with a glare on her face. “It was ten and you know it, Applejack.” “Hmmm…fifteen.” “Ten.” “Fifteen.” “Ten.” “Fifteen.” “Ten!” Rainbow shouted, flying down to hover a few centimetres from Applejack’s face. The farm pony chuckled, pushing her away playfully. “Alraght then, if y’all say so…still, it was nahce to have some help, with Applebloom being gone and all.” “Yeah, where are AB and the others? I’ve not seen Scoots in days.” Rainbow asked, crossing her forehooves as she followed AJ back towards the farm house. “Eh, they’re at some camp or somethin’ with all their little school friends.” The earth pony said. “Weren’t very specific on where though. Speakin’ o’ which…ah don’t suppose you’ve heard anything from Twahlaght?” she asked reproachfully. Rainbow’s expression saddened slightly. “No…although when I asked Spike earlier he said she was alright. Poor little guy looked exhausted though…” for a moment she was lost for words, staring at the ground. “I miss her, AJ.” “We all do.” Applejack responded gently, knowing how her friend help. “Trust me sugarcube, ah know what’cha mean. We’ll have tah go and see her sometahm, ah’m sur-“ She was cut off by the twitching of her ears, a sound gradually rising and getting louder and closer. It was an awful growling noise, like a caged animal let loose on the hunt. The two mares turned, screwing up their faces in confusion as the noise grew to ring through the whole air. “What in tarnation?” Applejack hissed. The silver beast came crashing through into Sweet Apple Acres, swaying from side to side as it sped on at an insane speed. Dirt was kicked up in a constant stream behind it as the tracks gouged great pathways in the mud, and something that looked almost like a speaker-although it was shaped like some hideous daemonic mouth-blared out a discordant wail that was a true assault on the senses. The pair of ponies covered their ears as the construct barrelled into the clearing. It gave another almighty squeal as it turned almost sideward, switching into a power slide in a blur of steel plate and black and yellow stripes. Smoke barrelled from the exhausts that poked out the top, whilst chains that were hung from its side clattered together. Something within must have hit the brakes, because all of a sudden the screeching of brakes filled the air, and the beast began to slow down. It’s back end span out as momentum still carried it. It stopped just in time, one back corner lightly tapping the trunk of an apple tree. Feelings of shock, horror and pure anger warred within AJ as one of the Rhino’s doors opened. Something huge stumbled out of it, grabbing onto the hatch above the doorway to slow himself. For a moment, Applejack thought he was going to vomit, but he seemed to shake it off and walk out, turning to look back inside. “I’d forgotten about your compulsive need for speed.” The Iron Warrior said to the unseen figure. No response seemed to pass between them as he began to walk towards AJ and RD, who both looked at him with expressions of puzzlement and exasperation. He walked swiftly, carrying something in his right hand, but no sooner had he crossed half the distance the second figure emerged from the depths of the tank. AJ could practically hear RD grinding her teeth together. “Oh great…” she hissed. The second Space Marine, a horned beast with a sword gripped in one hand, seemed to share her sentiments and stopped midway. His brother stopped too, and after what seemed to be a small discussion between the pair they both resumed their march. “My name is Varvillon.” The first Iron Warrior said as he reached the two ponies. The other stayed back, red eyes locked on Rainbow Dash. She glared back. “And as out of character as it may seem, I’ve come to…negotiate a deal”. For a moment Applejack looked as though she’d been struck dumb. “A…a deal?!” She shouted angrily. “You think you gahs can just come in an ahm gonna make a deal with y’all? That’s outrageous! Just look at what you’ve done to mah farm!” She made an expansive gesture with her hoof. Varvillon looked round, as if noticing the torn up ground and smashed fences for the first time. “Sorry.” He said in a tone that made it clear he was anything but. “Sergeant Rorke wouldn’t come with me unless I let him drive. If there’s one aspect that does commend him to the Legion it’s his utter lack of subtlety.” “You’ve still not answered her question, metal head.” Rainbow snorted, folding her forehooves as she hovered. “Why would we give a flying feather about what you want?” Varvillon looked at the Pegasus for a moment, expression typically blank. Without ceremony he dropped the large bag in front of Applejack. Something shiny glinted within; both ponies gasped. There were literally hundreds of bits in there, easily the equal made during the whole of Cider Season. They shined seductively at Applejack, the afternoon sun reflecting off them causing her to squint. The earth pony looked at them stupefied, then back at the Iron Warrior. “Wh…how did ya got all of this?” “Not through theft or violence, before you ask.” He said. “We’ve observed how you Xenos feel about that. There’s more than enough here to repair your land, and spend some besides. My brothers and I will be willing to remake it more defensible if that smoothens our…diplomacy.” Applejack stared at the money again. It was a lot…and Granny Smith needed a second hip replacement that the family just couldn’t pay for otherwise. She took one coin out the bag, and gave it a bite. It felt real… “No.” she said at last, pushing it away. “Ah couldn’t, ahm the Element of Honesty. If you varmints did get this bah foul play…” Varvillon seemed to consider this for a moment, before reaching down to his waist. He carried a wide array of weaponry-a long rifle slung over his back, another shorter gun strapped to a leg, and one of the distinctive toothed swords-yet he selected a single, simple combat knife that was still as long as Applejacks leg. She backed off as he drew it, Rainbow dashing between them to defend her friend. Yet, the Iron Warrior simply threw it to the ground at Applejack’s feet, pushing past RD and kneeling low so as to be on the earth pony’s level. His helmet was mere centimetres from her face. “If you think I lie, then by all means kill me with my own blade.” He said simply. “Cast us from your home. None of my brothers will harm you-“ “I might.” Rorke cut in, finally deciding to say something. “How touching.” Varvillon answered, not looking at him. This close, Applejack could hear something…buzzing? Was that his armour? She pushed the thought aside, looking down at the knife, then at the money, then back at the Space Marine. “Come on AJ, don’t tell me you’re actually considering this?” RD asked disbelievingly. Applejack grimaced. “And…and you gahs promise that y’all didn’t do anythin’ untoward to get your paws on this here loot?” The Space Marine placed a hand over where she assumed his heart was, and nodded. Applejack stared at him for a moment, before nodding and sliding the bag of money behind her. She heard Rainbow groan and slam a hoof into her forehead. “First, tell me what this here proposal of yours is?” she said, trying to remain as business-like as possible. The Space Marine was already walking away. “Get in the Rhino.” He said. “Provided Rorke doesn't kill us, I’ll explain on the way.” ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Something Mordecai had said a while back occurred to him. “Vull Bron would have a fit if he saw this.” Zuko said, casting wary eyes around the shining city and trying to ignore the angry looks of the populace that lined the street; not because it offended him, but because he just didn’t care. Their strange, reflective and shimmering bodies made such ignorance difficult to maintain however. “Who?” Scootaloo asked from way down by his feet. The three tiny ponies walked to the side of the Iron Warrior, ever mindful of his huge, heavy steps. He’d thought that being escorted by armed guard into the city would have put a dampener on their enthusiasm, but if anything it had had the opposite effect. To be fair, Zuko considered, actually laughing for a change when those Guards had attempted to take his weapons probably hadn’t helped. “One of my brothers.” He admitted, still looking around. “45th Grand Company.” He paused for a moment. “He’s probably dead by now.” The trio seemed not to be listening to him, instead entranced by the city of Crystals around them. It was certainly impressive, even a mind as blunted by war as the Aspiring Champions could see that. “You didn’t tell us you were coming to the Crystal Empire!” Sweetie Belle squealed, for about the fifth time that day. The pair of them had spoken little since their moment in the snowstorm, and whilst she looked hungry-they all did-her sense of wonderment seemed to be keeping her going. There was little breeze (in fact, there was little anything-Zuko had noticed with some suspicion that this ‘Empire’ seemed to have its own self-contained climate), and all four of their cloaks hung loosely and still on their shoulders. “It’s even more beautiful than Rarity said!” He was not concerned with its beauty. As they were escorted down the seemingly endless main road, Zuko subconsciously did what any Iron Warrior did; he observed. He calculated. He looked for weak points-the IV Legion always found the weak points. As far as he could tell, the city was laid out in pretty orderly blocs, forming concentric rings that slowly crept towards the centre of the city. Everything, from the buildings to the roads to the Ponies themselves, seemed to be hewn from rock, in this case a strange and impossibly pure Crystal substance. Zuko had fought in many a siege, but this was unlike anything he’d ever seen. He could almost have predicted both Lorkhan’s immediate reaction and the expletives he’d use. Dominating everything, situated at the heart of the city was a fortress that-had he still been mortal-would likely have stopped his heart. It was easily as big as the castle from which they’d escaped upon first arriving in Equestria, and was fashioned from the most vibrant white crystals yet. Its base consisted of four mammoth ‘legs’ that came together to fall the central structure. Four towers reached high into the sky from the castle’s side, yet the middle tower was the highest of all, literally piercing the clouds and sending a spear of light up into the heavens. It reminded Zuko in no small part of descriptions he’d heard of the Astronomicon-the false Emperor’s corpse-light-and an uncomfortable thought settled in his gut that here was a fortress the Iron Warriors could have struggled to take, if they’d ever come here in force. The light disturbed him also, but there was a different reason for that. Eventually, the unlikely party and their chaperones arrived at the castle, disappearing into its confines and being led up innumerable flights of stairs. For a moment Iron Warrior paranoia whispered to Zuko that they were being led into a trap, but cold hard logic soon reasserted itself and reasoned that they wouldn’t do anything with the children here, not for pure virtue of being associated with him. And besides…he hadn’t actually done anything wrong for a change. Sure enough, the Guards led them to a spacious enough chamber, and the Cutie Mark Crusaders wasted no time in resting their tired hooves. Two Guards remained, spears held upright as they blocked the door, and looking at them Zuko could not help but admire their dedication; he’d posed them the question when they’d tried to apprehend him on what exactly they intended to do had he meant them harm. They’d been singularly unable to provide an answer. The Ponies asked for food, and a veritable banquet was brought to them in short order. Sure enough, everything on the plates was made from the same crystalline substance as everything else, except whatever this was seemed perfectly edible. The Crusaders tucked in ravenously, even dainty Sweetie Belle scooping up what could only be described as a feast. Zuko’s gene-wrought physique kept him going, and he declined eating, instead wandering to the edge of the room and lit a cigar on one of the wall mounted torches. Although it was childish, he took some pleasure from the Guards’ panicked squirms as reached into his belt. He didn’t smoke it, but holding it brought him a measure of calm. “So, yah still haven’t told us exactly wah you’re here?” Applebloom asked, between mouthfuls of food. She stuffed a fruit he couldn’t identify down her throat. Varvillon probably could have done. “Lorkhan asked me to meet the Princess of this Empire.” Zuko said, not seeing any point in lying to them. “Can-dance or something. I think the idea of an Empire made entirely of Crystal was too fabulous for him to resist, or something.” They practically spat their mouthfuls out. “W-We’re gonna meet the Princess?!” Sweetie Belle stammered, eyes wide. “Ohmigosh, do you think she can help us get our Cutie Marks? I bet being a Princess means you get to try loads of things! What about the Castle, do you think we’ll get to stay here? I’ve never stayed in a castle before, Rarity has though. When I tell her she’s gonna be so jealous!” He chose to ignore most of her monologue. “We’re not going anywhere.” He told them. “I am going to parlay with the monarch. You are going to remain here.” Applebloom and Sweetie Belle gave dejected ‘Awwwwwwwwww….’s, but Scootaloo’s response was simply a wry, lopsided smile. “You really think that’s gonna stop us?” she grinned. Zuko sighed, shaking his head. “I’m giving you and order.” He told them. “Technically, I’m a sergeant. I’m used to having my orders obeyed.” Scootaloo just kept on smiling at him, before giving him a small, companionable punch on a leg and sitting beside the Iron Warrior. “I heard that they might hold the Equestria Games here someday!” she said enthusiastically, tiny wings flapping furiously. “Don’t’cha think that’d be awesome!” “What’re the Equestria games?” the Iron Warrior asked. Scootaloo looked at him stunned for a moment, before something seemed to click. “Oh yeah, I forget you’re not from round here sometimes Zuko, heh heh…” she chuckled nervously. “The Equestria Games are like, the biggest sporting competition in the whole world! Thousands of ponies turn up to watch the athletes compete, and there’s all kind of events; flying, running, javelin, stuff like that!” “The Legions held intercine contests sometimes.” Zuko said. “Some still do in the Eye, but they’re decidedly less friendly. But we never got invited to the ones in the Crusade.” “That sucks.” She said, apologetically. “I’m sorry.” “Don’t be.” He replied. “We wouldn’t have gone anyway.” She looked at him again for a moment, before continuing with her story. “A-Anyway, I think Rainbow Dash should totally compete in the next Games! Don’t you think she’d be awesome!” “You idolise her, don’t you? Scootaloo nodded eagerly. “Well, who wouldn’t! She’s the fastest, coolest, bravest, most awesome pony in all of Equestria! Plus…” her face fell a little, and she looked down at the floor. “She’s a really good flyer. And I’m…not.” The Iron Warrior looked down at the tiny Pony beside him, trying to think of what he could say now that a suspicion he’d maintained for a while was confirmed. With surprising gentleness, he reached out towards one of her wings. Scootaloo shied away at first, but eventually relaxed, edging closer to him. Zuko examined her wing carefully, taking care with the delicate structure. “Perhaps the only one of my brothers that is truly tolerable is Barbus.” He told her. “His eye was taken in a fight against Russ’ pups, so we created a machine replacement grafted onto his body that would allow himself to see more or less normally.” She didn’t seem to understand for a moment, before it ‘clicked’ again. “You guys can do that?” She asked, amazed. “You can fix body bits that don’t work properly?” “Well, replace them with bionics.” The Astartes corrected. “But yes, we have the tools, and we have the…’talent’, I suppose. At the very least there’s Lorkhan.” She looked at him for a moment, normally brash and confident expression replaced with a timid smile. The orange filly was about to say something more when the Guards stood aside, a further two walking into the room with grim expressions. Zuko’s head snapped round to meet them, whilst the Crusaders swiftly dropped their food. “The Princess will see you now.” One of the Guards said, with barely disguised hostility, before spinning on a heel and marching out. Zuko followed without hesitation, the three little Ponies and other Guards following behind. They passed through a long gallery lined with gemstones, until they eventually reached a huge set of doors. Not wasting time on preamble, the Guard opened the door, ushering the Iron Warrior and his entourage in. The room was about as far away from a IV Legion command centre as it was possible to get, so much so that for a moment Zuko was almost blindsided. It was light and airy, large windows letting streams of light pour in through stained glass. The carpet, one of the few things so far that wasn’t crystal, was a regal purple, lead to an almost imposing throne on the far side of the chamber. Armed guards flanked each side of the procession; the formation spoke a group that was used to blowing trumpets in celebration to accompany a procession. There were no trumpets today. Seated upon the throne was what, to even the most casual of observers, was clearly the mistress of this realm. Unlike all the other, crystalline ponies here, her coat was more ‘normal’; a vivid pink that gave Zuko uncomfortable flashes of a brother Legion he’d rather forget. Much like Celestia and Luna, this one’s royal status was confirmed by the presence of both hooves and wings; although the golden shoes, necklace and tri-pointed crown were unmistakable. Her ‘cutie mark’ was a turquoise heart that, predictably, was made of crystal. He focused on it without thinking, committing the shape to memory for later review. “Her Royal highness, the Princess Cadence, sovereign ruler of the Crystal Kingdom.” A nervous looking pony with glasses and a scroll stood beside the throne called out. “And announcing ssir…urm…” “Zuko.” The Iron Warrior said bluntly, stopping in the centre of the room. “Acting sergeant, third squad, thirteenth company, fourth Legiones Astartes.” She smiled at him. It was obviously fake, the well-practiced smile of nobility, but she did smile. “I welcome you to the Crystal Empire in good faith, acting sergeant Zuko. I have not yet had the pleasure of meeting any of the Iron Warriors, although my husband informs me that you fought valiantly against the Changelings at the battle of Canterlot.” She didn’t mention the wholesale slaughter of her own kind they’d been doing moments before the bug creatures had arrived. Zuko reckoned that she didn’t consider that ‘valiant’. “Your partner was in the city at the time?” She smiled again, the implication clear in her voice. “My husband is captain of the city guard, Space Marine.” The Captain of the Guard. “Oh.” Zuko said, trying his best not to fidget. She ignored him, eyes falling instead to his tagalongs. “And I see you brought guests.” Cadence said, genuinely smiling now. “Hello, little ones.” The Crusaders, who had stayed three metres or so behind Zuko, blushed and stepped back giggling. “It’s good to see you.” The Princess went on, her voice a carefully composed mixture of authoritiveness and affection. “Although I must say, from what I’ve been told it’d have been easier to just take the train.” She chuckled. “Oh, we weren’t scared Princess Cadence.” Scootaloo put in confidently. “We were with Zuko! He’d never let anything bad happen to us, he can beat up anything!” The Princess looked back at Zuko, who returned her gaze with only a hint of awkwardness. “Well, they certainly seem fond of you.” She said, mirthfully. Zuko nodded. “No matter how hard I try.” He deadpanned. A couple of the Guards adjusted the hold on their spears, but for her part the Princess gave another demure giggle. “Well, thank you for keeping them safe.” She conceded. “I give you my word, as royalty, that you will be given the best hospitality we can provide during your stay, my lord Iron Warrior. But you understand, I must ask…what exactly is it that brings you here?” The Space Marine stared, for the longest time. Light streamed in from the windows, the stained glass distorting and refracting the mid-day sun, causing Zuko’s battered silver plate to sparkle in ways it had not for years. One of his bionic legs threatened to jerk uncontrollably. He turned, looking down at the three children. They looked back. Sweetie Belle smiled. Hesitating with his eyes on them for longer than he expected, Zuko finally looked back at the Princess. She smiled patiently. “Diplomacy.” The Iron Warrior answered. In one fluid movement Zuko reached into his belt, drew the Plasma Pistol and shot Princess Cadence in the face.