Monarchic Melancholy

by Cympforz

Chapter 4

The Prince of Unicorns was most unimpressed. Indeed, it would not be an understatement to say that he was, in fact, totally livid.

The morning after the Grand Galloping Gala was most uncomfortable for the most highborn occupants of Canterlot Castle. Princess Celestia liked to break her fast with her relatives on the weekends, when the looser schedule allowed for more intimate and familial situations, offering a brief respite with her family and friends in an otherwise hectic routine.

This sentiment was not at all appreciated by those seated around the breakfast table the morning after that debacle. The Sun Princess herself was perhaps most aware of this fact.

It was relatively pleasant, truth be told, with one, minor exception. The exception, in this case, was the Prince of Unicorns, who was digging at his honey cereal with such vitriol that such a display would be less out of place were the bowl the face of an assailant who had spent the entire night attempting to throttle the Prince, and the circumstances being an engagement where the Unicorn Prince had just gained the upper hoof after hours of struggle – and was vigorously exploiting this joyful opportunity with the aid of an eating implement commonly utilised in the consumption of soups, stews, cereal with milk and other liquid-based dishes.

It would also be an understatement to say that Princesses Cadance and Luna were concerned at the state of their brother and newfound nephew, respectively. Even Cadance, well aware of her sibling's propensity to hate-fuelled charges even in public, felt rather disturbed at the sight. Those prone to stalking the Sun Princess and yet still retain the gift of eyesight may have also been able to discern unease on her face as well.

The rather visible concern and revulsion from the younger alicorns towards their unicorn companion was, unfortunately, entirely lost upon him.

It was not unexpected, then, that these two alicorns quickly found polite, though arguably petty, reasons for excusing themselves from this morning meal, nor was it unusual that the servants and the stationed Guards found similar pretexts for their sudden absences.

It was expected to go down in history; a clash in which the flankhole of a Prince of Unicorns would try his luck against a rather displeased Princess of the Sun.

Sadly for the historians and chroniclers of the future, nopony would be turned to stone in the ensuing encounter, and it would turn out to be a much duller affair for the two involved.

Prince Blueblood was rather angry, to say again.

It had all started with that blasted gold-digger of a mare. He had initially attempted to push her away with the commonly accepted move for a stallion to make in such a situation. Refuse to offer her a flower – preferably a rose – and all in the know in the surroundings would be immediately informed of the Prince’s displeasure. The gold-digger would then know not to try her luck, leave, and if she had any sense, go and find a productive travail with which to occupy herself for the rest of her meagre existence.

Unfortunately, the mare had both a lack of common sense and a stubborn streak as wide as the Principality of Equestria. Looking back at it, he ought to have snapped at her, rather than attempt to drive her off in a more polite – or rather, less polite – manner. It was questionable whether that would have worked, however, considering the aforementioned stubbornness. Nonetheless, his 'restraint' had gradually enraged his companion, who still inexplicably clung to him after a torrent of signals.

It had all gone to Tartarus after that.

It had come back immediately afterwards, too. Argent was left to deal with the mess, for the Prince of Unicorns was in no state to end the 'festivities'. Blueblood was in such a state – a mixture of fury, confusion and intoxication induced from the whopper of a confectionary crime against ponykind which he was covered in – that he immediately withdrew to his quarters. It would not do, of course, if the Prince of Unicorns started to laser the Royal Menagerie, or worse, the utterly worthless bunch known as Canterlot High Society. Beneficial, yes, but legal? Sadly not.

Princess Celestia had disappeared - allegedly to frolic with the Elements of Harmony - a guarded Golden Letter had informed him as the washed-up Prince mulled in his chambers. Frayed Inkwell, harbinger of doom, had then shown up.

It appeared that he had spent the entire evening off at a local confectionary establishment, or some other filth, and that he happened upon Princess Celestia herself and the Elements of Harmony.

He had taken it upon himself, with admirable loyalty, to eavesdrop and to relay the misinformation being spread against his superior to his superior. Thus was the Prince informed of strongly-worded and offensive conversation from his stalker – apparently the Element of Generosity – and from Princess Celestia herself being spread in public.

After requesting his two secretaries leave – Blueblood had a thing about treating those who served him directly ‘well’ and did not know why – he threw a bit of a fit.

At the break of day Golden Letter returned – with the morning’s papers.

The Papers - with a few minor exceptions - did not give sterling coverage to the Unicorn Prince.

Again, she wisely left before the Prince started to telekinetically pull a sword from the wall fittings where it normally lay.

Stewing from the recent memories, the Prince glanced up at the other figure in the room, an image of godlike tranquillity.

Now was the time to voice his concerns, his disquiets, to release the boiling resentment of a lifetime. But despite the anger, despite the hate, he could not. Despite the unending desire, he could not.

For what was one unicorn's life and opinion compared to the Sun Princess who had held Equestria together, alone, for over a thousand years? A thousand years doing double the work, mourning for her seemingly-lost sister? Blueblood was but a fickle bacterium to her unconquered sun.

And thus the Prince could only utter the lamest of polite disagreements.

"Princess Celestia..."

"I- I-" he continued. "I would appreciate it if Cadance and yourself were to restrict yourselves in meddling in my personal affairs. It should have occurred to you that I have..."

He glanced down at the pulped mess of cereal in his bowl.

"... that I had but five months without having mares chase me at social gatherings not unlike last night, and that those five months were amongst some of the most joyous of my life yet..."

He cursed his own cowardice and glanced up at his Aunt, but could only focus his puny eyes upon a point behind the infallible Sun Princess.

"I know you set her up to it, and do not appreciate your sentiment on this matter..."

"Oh nephew," she began. "Don't think of us too badly, Blueblood. Cadance and I - and Luna too - only want the very best for you."

She walked around the table, slowly, gently. Making her way behind him, she draped a soft wing over hard, rigid shoulders, soothing the contracted muscle. She continued. "Blueblood, you don't need to overexert yourself. If there's any problem, anything you'd like me to deal with, you know where I am."

Confused, glazed eyes glanced up at her, to which Princess Celestia replied with a slight smile. "My dear nephew, you hold yourself up to standards which are impossible. Cadance and I only wish you to be happy. I know the past few months have been distressing for you, and I regret all of it having to occur, but things are getting better. I know you've been overworked, and I know you've been having to attend more gatherings than usual, but I promise that it will get better. Once Luna gets used to everything and everypony, she'll be able to take some of the load."

"Blueblood," she continued, "I'm so sorry for what has happened recently. I admit that I've been blind to your troubles, and it was wrong of me to act like that. If there's anything you need, do know that I will always be available if you need me. If you'd like, we could arrange for some of your workload to be shifted, perhaps? I understand that public appearances are tough, and if you would wish to cancel them..."

The Prince swallowed, confusedly struggling to form a reply. The words calmed his heart, but there was one matter she had not addressed, a matter he knew she would not address without his pushing.

But that chain strained against his throat once more, and he could not address that issue. Address his displeasure for Princess Celestia's relative frivolity, of the damned, brainless golddigger who had hounded him - most likely on Celestia's encouragement, of the subjects that truly mattered.

Blueblood glanced down at the cleared table, where the images of the Princesses of the Sun and the Moon danced and circled around each other, their forms engraved and coloured into the varnished wood.

He thought of one of his own - his house's - seals: a unicorn rampant, on a field azure, beneath a star or et azure.

A unicorn rampant. A silver-coated unicorn, rearing.

It was incorrect.

The unicorn ought to have been chained, his grandfather had allegedly said. That was the tale his wet-nurse had regaled to him offhoofedly when he had began to understand these things. It would have gone ahead, too, were it not for surprising obstruction from the Herald's College...

Turning to the Sun Princess, the Prince offered a feeble response.

"But I-I- must! The realm demands it!- It is necessary! Honour- Can't-!" He exhaled deeply, encouraging himself to form a coherent sentence. "Auntie, it's just that... I couldn't - shouldn't - distract you or Aunt Luna from your vital work..." He trailed off.

"I never did understand you Platinums," she muttered under her breath. She glanced down at the waiting Prince. "Blueblood, you don't need this. Please. There's more to life than contempt and work. Let the stress out, dear nephew. I admire your duty and commitment, I do, but there's no need to chase your father's dreams. You have a whole life ahead of you, Blueblood, and please make the most of it?"

She paused as she waited for a response, but he could not offer any. So she continued.

"Blueblood. Blueblood... We only want you to be happy. Truly happy, my dear nephew. Take a short break, Blueblood, there'll be nothing to worry about. I'm sure there's something you enjoy that doesn't involve work? I know you're not particular to such things, but you needn't overexert yourself so soon..."

The Prince listened carefully, and noticed something about how his Aunt addressed him.

She had shown care and affection towards him before, and had also reprimanded him before, but he had not noticed this before.

He had witnessed her doing the same to Cadance and Twilight, but a part of him felt there was something unusual about how he spoke to him and how he spoke to his sister, he was sure of it.

There appeared to be...

Hesitancy; an abnormal frigidity beneath the warmth. Reluctance.

The sentiment seemed genuine, but some of it, part of it, was... off. It may have been paranoia, but it was definitely... something. The affection was genuine, but it came out wrong, he countered himself.

Princess Celestia was not cruel enough to make his entire life a lie, he knew that. For one, it would have affected Cadance, for whom her affection was far more public as the two siblings grew out of foalhood.

It was disappointment. Yes, that was it.

Father had successfully dealt with crisis after crisis by himself, but what had he done? His laxity had forced others to act in his stead. Frittering away his foalhood on pointless pursuits, failing to live up to the legacy of his forefathers despite his efforts, aimlessly spiting everypony he came across. Adhering at times to a ... nearly perverse sense of honour, the same outdated creed passed down from father to son over centuries of stagnation.

But that was what he did; he knew nothing else. The same could have been said of his forefathers, but at least they all excelled - even in periods of complacent decadence.

And because of that, he understood. Understood the sentiment that Princess Celestia was definitely projecting, even if she did not intend to.

He was a failure.

And in his head and heart, he was sure that the sentiment was correct.

He waited for the Sun Princess to leave before he could form a reply. He knew what was wrong: he feared her wrath, feared her reaction, and the petty trifles would not come forth: his mouth had been sewn shut that entire conversation.

He loathed himself further, yet knew that such loathing did naught, and thus he loathed himself more.

It was only until She had left, only until he was the only being left in that cold, heartless room that he could utter a retort.

His voice chords trembled, and the words diffused out between unmoving lips. A whisper on the wind. Self-pity, spite and scorn coalescing into five words:

"I never had a proper foalhood."

Blueblood slammed the doors shut with telekinetic laziness. Turning towards the Elements, he briefly tipped his head to the side in bored salutations. A vein in his forehead threatened to bulge as he perceived the most vocal of the group - a white unicorn mare with a purple mane - spin towards him.

Her.

Perhaps I ought to measure my blood pressure at the start and end of each day.

Moonstone was right, he reflected. The Elements really did have problems, at least from his point of view. Honestly, from his point of view, there was very little motivation behind bringing five insane mares onto his 'side' with the exception of the possible political and security benefits. And if the situation were as terrible as he initially thought, that did not matter whatsoever. Their value was exceptionally diminished by the loss of perhaps the most useful and influential member of this peculiar fellowship.

The missing Element of Magic was perhaps the only tolerable one of the bunch; the only one with intellectual parity with himself. Unfortunately, she was obsessive about keeping lists, adhering to administrative tedium, had a superiority-inferiority complex a mile wide, and had a poor choice of friends.

Much like yourself, with the exception of the lists, perhaps. Orders of Battle, on the other hoof...

The fact that Blueblood felt a tiny bit of resentment against Princess Twilight for hogging Princess Celestia's attention and accolades did not affect his opinion of her whatsoever. Not at all. No, sir!

The other Elements were not much better. At least one could have something that took the appearance of a proper conversation with her about the proper, intellectual things in life; there was mutual respect and acknowledgement of each other and each other's abilities, too. There was nothing of the sort in relation to the other mares, however. Fate, Celestia or whoever else could not have done a better job in picking ponies who were collectively better at causing him anguish and/or anger.

The Element of Honesty was... honest. That he at least could appreciate, even if he was rarely entirely honest himself. However, she was a simple earth pony farmer and thus displayed very little in the fields of higher learning or culture. Having spent little time - though enough to form a judgement - in her company, Blueblood did not particularly want to spend any more.

The Element of Laughter was the infuriatingly happy daughter of a rock farmer. I think. She also defied reality, was infuriatingly happy, and was the type of character who was consistently in-your-face. These were traits which Blueblood did not particularly appreciate. She was also responsible for hurling a cake in his general direction, a feat which in no way caused Blueblood to hold a massive grudge against this particular mare. Though in comparison to other ponies, she's probably lower down the list.

The Element of Loyalty was a Wonderbolt wannabe who spoke imperfect Equestrian, insisting on inserting 'radical' and other such infantile filth into every sentence. A cocky braggart. Skilled, true, but a braggart nonetheless. Then again, she had a talent for destruction. This particular trait was not highly appreciated outside of the armed forces by the Canterlotian Bureaucracy.

The Element of Kindness, well. He had seen very little of her to form a suitably jaded opinion, and the other Princesses had spoken well of her too. But the Element of Kindness also had a brief stint in modelling, was partly involved in the Tirek fiasco after convincing everyone that Discord was now their 'friend', and had caused a rampage and partly responsible for the millions of bits' worth of damage at the Gala.

This was not much to adequately form an opinion of a pony, but Blueblood didn't care. Quiet but dangerous.

Generosity?

...

There was nothing to say and too much to say. It would have been better, Blueblood deliberated, if he had missed the Gala by being committed to the Castle Infirmary. This plan of action would have involved accidently committing arson to his paperwork two hours before the dreaded event.

Should have done that. With any luck...

Granted, thinking that every other pony was an imbecile tended to sour both initial impressions and future interactions. It would be easily argued that such an attitude was ultimately detrimental to himself, but Blueblood enjoyed it and so decided to ignore this sane thought.

Arson seems enjoyable... Sort of. Flame spells were rather fun, anyway, especially against changelings...

After all, how could he relieve his stress without getting involved in an argument, scolding a dullard or otherwise being a jerk? And surely, being the most important pony in Equestria meant that he now took priority over every other worthless pony?

Not sure where I'm going with this...

His thoughts were thankfully - or not thankfully, as the other half of his consciousness intruded - by the most predictable source of friction in the room.

"YOU!"

Well, into the fray. Blueblood plainly shrugged in a lackadaisical reply.

… say something, you!” hollered Rarity.

Anything?

“The timberwolf is a quadruped, which lives…”

"AAAARGH!" Rarity, incomprehensibly enraged, launched herself at the Prince.

O-

The Prince's eyes shot up in alert. Realising that it were impossible to get out of the harridan's way, he dug in and braced for the inevitable contact.

The two white unicorns collided in a mass.

A pair of manicured hooves made ground, and thumped into the Prince's abdomen. Wincing and suppressing from the pain, Blueblood grunted as he exhaled. Cursing every deity he had heard of, the Prince spat a wad of phlegm out of the melee and gritted his teeth in concentration.

He could probably outfight the crazed mare - probably - but now was not the time to be seen as an aggressor, nor, indeed, have a fight. Wracking his brain as he mustered the magical energies required, the Prince paid only half of his attention towards the offending unicorn. A wild swing at his head was dodged, another parried.

Angered by the lack of progress, the screeching mare intensified her assault upon making contact, kicking and swinging and howling at the larger stallion. Her eyes lit up in rage, the Prince discerned that it would not be unreasonable to presume that this mare was partially intent to kill him.

Oh, screw it.

Blueblood head-butted her. Hard.

Both sides wheeled back in pain, though one was more capable in suppressing his emotions. Knocking back his opponent, Blueblood rolled to his right, out of the melee and scrambled to his feet, magical energies visibly surging around his horn.

To her credit, the mare stood up again and made another charge.

Utterly uninterested in continuing the fight, the Prince resolved on a course which involved considerably less valour, but more discretion. And a smaller chance of causing a future incident.

She neared, her purple mane now a frazzled mess; coat torn and roughened.

Come on, COME ON. Damn it, Blueblood, work on your- Blueblood disappeared in a brief flash, and appeared on other side of the room, bearing a few signs of the minor scuffle. ...teleport skills.

Alternatively one could stop placing one's head into the gaping jaws of a hungry crocodile. A familiarity with both would be optimal.

Rasping for breath, and with a number of obvious marks across his white coat, the Prince focused his eyes upon the five wide-eyed mares in the room. Brushing messy scraps of his mane out of vision, he spoke out.

"Ladies," he began, "You are here for your own security, and for the security of Equestria as a whole, so I would advise against attacking a Prince of the Realm."

Too smart for your own good, he scolded himself as he brushed imaginary dust off himself. Image, Blueblood.

"What, you brainless ruffian?! I demand to see the Princesses! I want to see Princess Celestia - or Twilight!" hurled Rarity from the other side of the room - tired, but evidently willing to carry on the fight.

"I'm afraid that isn't possible at the moment."

Rarity sprinted across the room and lunged at his form.

Again?!

Surprisingly quickly, he teleported once again to position himself in front of the doors, barring the Bearers' exit.

Getting better, but not good enough yet.

The Element of Generosity was less fortunate, and propelled by momentum, made a beeline for the wall where the Prince once stood until her rainbow-maned friend caught her.

"Well then," he said in a mocking tone as he observed this occurrence, "if you're so determined to see the Princesses, then I assure you my presence will be no barrier to your resolve in doing so."

"Huh?! Speak straight, you stuck-up jerk!" ordered Rainbow Dash as she sped right in front of his face having helped her friend up. The extroverted pegasus hovered menacingly in front of the Prince, whilst the other, yellow-coated pegasus trotted over to look over Rarity.

Unimpressed, Blueblood addressed the room. "If you would kindly allow myself to speak without interruption, I would be glad to inform you of the situation. Do sit down, ladies, this'll be quite something."

"Why should-"

"If you do have a complaint, then feel free to submit a letter detailing your grievances to the Office of Frayed Inkwell, Primary Private Secretary to Prince Blueblood, Canterlot Castle. I assure you the Castle takes great pride in reading every missive it gets."

It would be difficult to continue this... charade, the Prince thought. He was being too 'polite', barring the small scuffle, and being far too successful in suppressing in his emotions than he would have normally. He should have exploded into a rage by now, but he hadn't.

Then again, Blueblood, ordering the Lunar Guard to abduct them, acting like a smart-ass and deliberately being abrasive turns ponies against you. Who knew?

The blood still surged rampantly through his vessels, the war-drum beat of the cardiac valves still continued, but his wrath was so close yet so far from the tipping point.

Concerning.

It wouldn't do now to blow over in a fury, not now, not so early. He'd done it once today, he couldn't afford to do it twice.

Can't afford to alienate the Elements, not now. Calm, calm. Not now, leave it for later...

"I was speaking entirely truthfully when I mentioned that you were here for your own protection, and for the security of Equestria itself. The fact is that all of the Princesses have disappeared-"

"Where?!" burst Pinkie Pie in front of his face, causing him to flinch and adopt a guard stance. "Are they hiding? Isithideandseek? Ooo, this-"

"Let him speak, Pinkie," intervened a tired Rarity as she waved Fluttershy off.

"We have absolutely no idea. In all honesty, they have simply disappeared. Off the map. Gone."

"WHAT?!" cried all five mares in unison, eyes wide in shock.

Apparently honesty is the way to go. Who would have guessed?

"There are absolutely no clues, no traces whatsoever as to what happened to the Princesses, merely that they are... missing. Gone."

"How? How'd you lose the Princesses so easily, you... jerk!" nitpicked Rainbow Dash as she charged forwards again to hover menacingly, her nose but an inch away from his. "Are you," she started as a cringe sped across her face, "a ... spy?!"

No, that would be Moonstone.

"No, he's just a big big meany-meany-pants, isn't he, Rarity?" contributed Pinkie Pie in a tone which Blueblood could not decipher.

Helpful. Why do I even bother?

"Most probably he's brought us here to-"

"To do what? Still miffed about the Gala, ye wretched golddigger?"

Rarity walked closer, and slapped him.

Blueblood's eyes hardened in focus as the calm demeanour shattered in an instant, the sane fraction of his thoughts desperately attempting to suppress his natural instinct to reduce the Element of Generosity into a pile of fashionable ash.

"You're not lying are you?" intruded Applejack before Blueblood and Rarity could continue their spat.

"WHY WOULD I LIE?!" exhaled Blueblood angrily in her direction. "I can't raise the Sun! I can't raise the Moon! I can't defeat Ancient Evils! Why in Celestia's name would I want to become ruler of Equestria?!"

Cutting it close, cutting it close...

Rarity was naturally the first to retort. "Because-"

"Because what?" he snapped his head towards her again. "This isn't a bloody joke. Don't you think high society's just fun and games - after all, it's why you keep following Fancypants around, isn't it? Why on Equestria would I want to exchange that hypothetical state of gilded inertia for work? If your friend Twilight kept complaining about having nothing to do despite her status, then how much work did the other Princesses carry out? The ruler of Equestria has the most difficult travails of anypony, and I would not desire it were it offered to me on a silver platter."

"Now, look here," he continued through gritted teeth. "The Princesses are gone. Where? Nopony knows. Equestria, and the worthless lives of all who live within her borders, is at risk once again. I'd have thought that facing repeated evils in the forms of Nightmare Moon, Discord, Chrysalis, Sombra, Tirek and who-knows-else would have made you realise the state of Equestria! I will not sit here and let you scream at me whilst Equestria is keeling over!"

That put an end to it.

A pause.

"Long words do not make you intelligent... you inarticulate oaf!"

"Nor is opportunistic vanity an indicator of good character, you pretentious imbecile. Now are we going to continue this pointless tirade, or continue with the matter at hoof? Any grievances you may hold towards me as a result of our... interactions at the Gala are clearly trivial in comparison to the situation we find ourselves in. There are far more important matters at hand, and I would appreciate it if you grew up!"

"Uh, what?!" asked Rainbow Dash.

"We're screwed if we don't find the Princesses."

"Then we ought to find them!"

"Have you any ideas, then?" he spat in retort.

"Um, did the Princesses leave anything behind? A message or something?" meekly offered Fluttershy from the corner.

If only life was that easy, my dear.

"Not to my knowledge, no."

"So what do you plan on doing, hm?!" rounded Rarity once more.

Blueblood sighed and shook his head. Glancing back at the assembled mares, he continued, pacing around the room. "It is my intention to lead a Regency Council for the time being whilst we attempt to gather more leads. Despite the Princesses' disappearance, nothing major has gone wrong." Yet, his thoughts continued.

"Yeah, Rarity's right! You ought to be doing something!" insisted Rainbow Dash again.

Blueblood snarled and turned towards the rainbow-maned pegasus. "Unless you know where the Princesses are, then I suggest you shut up. When has rushing into a situation ever helped Equestria, huh? So what if we follow your idea and send the whole of the Royal Guard looking? What should we do if the Griffons invade, or if Tirek returns and attacks? You're not going to 'blast him with friendship', are you, not with Princess Twilight gone!"

He was met with deafening silence, a silence only broken by the hard, infuriated breaths of the sole male in the room.

"I demand a seat at the Royal Council!" cried Rarity after a few seconds.

Thank you for changing the subject, but no thanks for deciding upon that subject...

"Would you actually contribute something useful, or merely fantasise about the garden parties you aren't going to attend?"

Though there's nothing like a good argument to vent one's spleen every morning, I would rather not die of hypertension prematurely.

"Why, I should- You-"

"No."

"YES, you- you- you cretin!" Agitated, and seemingly motivated by something other than short-sighted hatred, the whining mare continued - to Blueblood's dismay. "Nopony believes you'll help Equestria, and we're not going to sit here taking it! If you're going to lecture us, Your Highness, then we deserve a say in the matter. It is imperative that we, as the most important individuals in Equestria, have a voice on the Royal Council," she sneered confidently. "If you don't, I'll just walk out of here with the girls and tell Fancypants about everything!"

"No you won't."

"Just watch me," she countered between gritted teeth.

The Prince let out a frustrated groan slowly.

Let's not have another spat now; deal with this later. Yes, deal with this later; hardly as if that's ever gone badly for this country.

On the other hoof, if the Princesses return, I'd very much like not to be charged for the spontaneous murder of the Element of Generosity. Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer, you idiot.

Cave in Blueblood, and she'll not expect it.

And you could always get it off your chest another time, nothing wrong with that. End it in private, not here.

She's right, ultimately. Without the Elements' cooperation, you do not stand a chance in Tartarus of finding the Princesses against.

You have to do this, Blueblood.

"Very well, if you insist," he mentioned without a care in the world.

"What?!"

"As a representative of the Bearers of the Elements of Harmony, you must attend all Royal Council meetings and contribute meaningfully," he continued. "And in return for that concession you all must stay within the castle, and preferably within these allocated chambers, indefinitely. Inform a guard if you intend on wandering around the castle, but do not leave its walls. This is for your own safety; I'm sure you can spend the rest of a day here without causing a mess. If you don't, well..."

If you don't (and you probably won't), then it's house arrest for you. And if you don't show up, I won't die of a myocardial infarction or an aneurysm brought upon by hypertension and stress. *Other ailments may also apply.*

But I might die of such conditions regardless.

They'd probably support you if they speak to Shining Armor or Spike, his thoughts reminded in a gifted spark.

"Furthermore, if you wish to speak to either Shining Armor, even if it is to verify my version of events, you are free to do so-"

"And what about Spike?! If you've touched even-" said Rarity.

"It would be better if you were to visit Armor first, though Princess Twilight's assistant is, I believe, in her quarters if you wish to visit him. Once again, Armor would be the better initial choice as he as a firmer grasp of the situation."

Offering no chance for the mares to question or otherwise intrude, he continued with finality.

"Now if you'll excuse me, ladies, I have a country to run. Oh and Miss Applejack?"

"Yeah?"

"Those apple..." What were they again? Greasy garnished commoner stuff, yes, but... "... comestibles were not my definition of 'scrumptious', but I believe that I was in the wrong in calling them 'common carnival fare' and in spitting them out. Do accept my apologies." They were edible, which can't exactly be said for everything else served upon my plate...

Could do with an apple pie though, I'm starving.

He brought his hoof up to his forehead in a pseudo-salute. "Ladies."

Come on Blueblood, you shouldn't have done that, his jaded mind offered. They'll either want to stick a knife in your back or stick themselves in your bed later. At least you didn't wink, old boy...

Shut up, brain... Farm reports are more interesting than chasing (these) cretinous mares, anyway.

Ignoring the mixed reactions of the Bearers, he walked straight out of the door and slammed it shut behind him.

Intolerable lot, but needs must...

A sudden stabbing feeling in his gut and the realisation that he'd been thwacked repeatedly by an insane seamstress fell upon the Prince as he took two paces away from the room. Waving off the attention of a surprisingly concerned Guard, he hissed in exasperation and contempt at the situation.

"Something the matter, sir? Are you alright, sir?"

"I'm fine, Barrel. Still alive, eh?" answered Blueblood.

"That you are, sir." The Guard paused. "Tough lot, the Elements. Especially that unicorn," he mentioned, nodding his head towards the closed doorway.

"Do me a favour, Corporal, and tell the Element of Generosity that if she wishes to do so, she may consult with me in private at a later date if she has any concerns. But not today."

"Very well, sir."

"Don't be an ass about it, Corporal Barrel. Oh, and you didn't hear anything."

Mental note: Visit the Infirmary. Alcohol, stress and now THIS. Won't be too bad, I hope...

Oh Princesses, I've got business later...

"Heard what, sir?"

"Carry on, Corporal."

Leaving the Guard behind, and limping into an empty corridor, the Prince cursed loudly.

Princesses, that hurts a lot more than I thought it would...

Mental note number two: Conscript seamstresses into the Guard when possible.

He wished he could take back his statement about captains not abandoning their ships. That was not entirely true; it was perfectly acceptable for captains to abandon their ships if they were valuable enough that their loss would be otherwise regarded as being unacceptable.

That train of argument was increasingly attractive with every second that passed.

Colonel Onyx Charge was, like so many other ponies on this day, rather displeased. And like many of those unfortunately 'in-the-know' in Canterlot, much of the problems he had to deal with involved the Princesses and incompetence. The idiots from the 6th Lunar Guard had messed up - though, fortunately, not to the state where the situation was irretrievable - but it was very close. Their Celestial Highnesses' Eighth Solar Regiment of Hoof, or more simply, the Eighth Solar Guard, had been assigned to control and defend the village of Ponyville by direct order from the Chief of the Equestrian General Staff. Well, direct order, but not actually directly.

The world would be much better if Thunderclap was omniscient and omnipresent (or the entire Royal Council for that matter), but Equestria had to resort to inserting an entire bloated hierarchy of brainless, ball-less Staff Officers between the well-regarded CEGS and the highly-admired Captain of the Guard and the dirt Guardsponies on the front line. An entire, bloated hierarchy which complicated matters far more often than not.

There was also the fact that in effect, half of the Regiment consisted of reserves. Of the three battalions on paper, only one was wholly professional and consistently at hoof; Second Battalion spent its time defending Canterlot and had to be mobilised and worked up before deployment, whilst Third Battalion was comprised almost entirely out of reserves.

Well then, I have six companies to deal with this rubbish.

Six companies was possibly enough to defend Equestria's most notorious village-in-which-national-heroes-and-a-Princess-reside-and-yet-was-on-the-edge-of-the-largest-area-of-feral-woodland-on-the-continent-whilst-also-lacking-a-permanent-guard-posting, but definitely not enough to fulfil all operational objectives. The additional operational objectives, stupidly, included rooting through the bloody Everfree in a headless, uninspired search for the Princesses, reconnoitring and surveying (of the bloody Everfree), pest extermination (of the bloody Everfree) and land reclamation (again, of the bloody irritating bloody sodding bloody blasted bloody thrice-cursed Everfree bloodyapplepiebloodyinfested Forest).

To help achieve his objectives, Colonel Charge was informed in no uncertain terms that nopony outside of the Guard was to know of the Princesses' disappearance without the express permission of Prince Blueblood, on pain of... something.

I've been promised a promotion after this. I'd have earned it.

Charge had called a meeting of all officers in his regiment at the Castle-thingy - whatever contraption or dwelling Princess Twilight called her new 'home'. Ugly crystalline thing; could do with some erosion. Yeah, some weathering would do. Make it more respectable or summat. An ugly building, but it was large and recognisable, so it had to be his headquarters.

And ol' Thunderclap wants the Staff 'round to look through any papers around here.

It really was an ugly piece of architecture, and would probably be the focal point of any attack, but the needs of the many et cetera. Blues, purples and lilacs smashing together in an utterly unsubtle cacophony of corpulent crystalline craftsmanship that made the Colonel cringe. If it were luminescent, he reflected, he would have admitted himself to a mental asylum or a rehabilitation facility for fear of his own sanity. It was foul, utterly foul and a scar on the landscape, he thought.

Must be post-modernist or summat. Thought the Elements were Ancient, but apparently not.

Word had spread in The Mess that it was "a final torment by Tirek". The joke was in rather poor taste, but there was some reasoning behind it, Charge reflected.

... Could do with some flying buttresses actually, that would immensely improve it... Should get the engies down here...

Perhaps we could put the magazine in here?

There was one thing to be thankful for, despite the utter horror that was the building. It was empty, so there was no need for backdoor entry as some of his Lunar Guard co-workers had attempted to do earlier that day. In retrospect, Onyx Charge was unsure as to whether this property had a back door, but was not inclined to find out himself for fear of going insane.

Damned lightweight eejits, the stupid Lunies...

They really were a bunch of absolute idiots, which made them an anomaly in the Guard. Most Guard regiments were comprised of know-it-alls, maniacs and oafs; idiots were also haphazardly spread amongst the units. Lunar Guard units tended to have more maniacs in general, but were as afflicted by idiots as their Solar brethren. The regiment that had been sent to secure the Elements, it seemed, consisted not of the typical mix but instead was completely filled with absolute idiots.

The Solar Guard, in general, had fewer maniacal idiots, but more know-it-all idiots and oafish idiots.

Could be worse, it could be Intelligence...

The Colonel suppressed a shudder at the thought. Now that was a group of knife-eating maniacal loonies as opposed to ordinary maniacal idiots. If you happened upon a fantastically moustachioed guardspony, more often than not they tended to be crazed Intelligence operatives who should be given a massive berth.

Instead I have this lot.

The Colonel looked to the task at hoof as his subordinates filed in.

Hooray.

He glanced at the assembled officers - a bedraggled lot, all of them - and spoke plainly.

"A and B companies will dig in around the town. C company will tell the locals to stay inside for the time being for their own safety. D company will start scouting the Everfree perimeter, with E company as reserve. The 64th Independent Pegasus Company will fly air patrol when the lazy arses get 'ere."

"And the artillery?" enquired a voice.

Oh yeah, those idiots.

It had been to Colonel Charge's annoyance that the artillery had been dragged along too. Though not one to pander to public opinion, pulling an entire battery of horse artillery along on what was supposed to be a low-visibility mission suggested that the planner was not particularly gifted in the mental department. Or blessed with sterling ocular facilities, for that matter. Then again, some light guns could probably kill an Ursa Major. Prob'ly.

It was horse artillery, alas. The name was a misnomer itself; all artillery, whether horse or regular, was pulled by ponies regardless of weight or designation. Horse artillery was merely the poor colt's artillery; lighter, crewed by arguably worse gunners using cheaper guns. Worse gunners who had deluded themselves into thinking they were 'cavalry'. Yes, they could do rapid hit-and-run and were fully capable of the idiotic pretensions of those noble sots, but 'cavalry' was never regarded by the average Guardspony as being a mark of quality. Horse Artillery may have been faster than their regular cousins, but when the mission objective included static defence this was not a particularly useful trait.

It was also stupidly named.

"Bunker down in the main square. Put your field guns down major streets and highways. Give the bears or hydras or whatever idiot monster decides to come out a breakfast of canister. Mortars down in the square too; we'll deal with more detailed positioning later."

Or, in other words, when I can give a flying flank about it.

Indefinite posting with six companies, an artillery battery and a village full of nudist idiots on the edge of the Everfree.

Apparently the settlement was also well-known for its conspiracy theorists prior to Princess Twilight's arrival/ascendancy/whatever.

Hooray.

At least it'll be a story to tell the kids, eh?

...

... Actually, on second thoughts, they'll probably find it as boring as Tartarus.

"Remember, all, we must exercise caution. The bloody Lunies have allegedly taken a hell of a bollocking from Prince Ponceblood, and if this situation lasts I'm sure you'd rather not be on his extremely long hate list. I won't say that it's simple, 'cos the loony Lunies had to do something simple and they royally screwed up. Don't touch anything, don't aggravate the locals, don't mess up unless you'd like to eat the barrel of a three-pound gun. Go out there and do your job, and keep the casualties to an utter minimum if we run into any, repeat, any, resistance. If Tirek shows up, tell him you fiddled his mother."

"Oh, and Brine? Don't chat up the local mares."

Argent Typhoon stretched his wings, and tugged at his shirt. A nice jog would be in order, but sadly one was preoccupied by duty. It was tedious, tiring work, but it was necessary, and for the good of the nation. Work which one would suppose as being wholly unsuited to the bearer of the title of "Lord Commander of Cloudsdale".

Lord Commander of Cloudsdale.

His Excellency Argent Typhoon exercised very little power in that particular city in truth, for the Cloudsdale pegasi had long since thrown out their nobility. Figuratively, through windows, after... removing their wings. But then again, that was centuries ago and there was no pointless animosity between the Lord Commander and his hometown today. Influence, however, was not a substance in which he was lacking, and a tool he wielded well, though not too often.

This was possible for Argent Typhoon, formerly of the Solar Guards and the Navy, formerly of the Naval Office and former Member of the Equestrian Stable of Peers for Cloudsdale, held the titular seat of official Pegasus representative on the Royal Council, just as Blueblood held the Unicorn seat and Serene - despite her being a unicorn - the Earth Pony seat. He was, more importantly, Lord High Constable of Equestria, the Royal Council member responsible for interior affairs.

A flick of the hoof behind the ear. Awfully stuffy; would rather be at home...

A warm smile crept across his cheeks as his eyes flicked to a well-worn picture of his family. Violet and the children were at their country estate, out for the summer holidays. He missed them. It had been years since he had went with them; Equestria had not been kind to its ponies, and the administrative foundations of society were not relieved of stress or work at any point in the past tumults. Shouldn't attempt to retrieve them, though. If any threat was to strike at Equestria, then it would go for the top, surely. Canterlot was the priority target, and he didn't want his loved ones anywhere near the Capital.

Couldn't stand it if... No. Not whilst I'm here.

Must be difficult for Blueblood, though. Sister and Aunts gone in a flash?

Flicking shut another report, the pegasus stood and paced slowly around his rooms. Ghastly weather. The stress was always a burden, but strenuous work was never aided by other ponies' weak-willed travails. Some days it would be incompetence - misplacing folders, misfiling missives and the like. Other days it was corruption and inefficiency, whether intentional or not. As of late, the problem of the day was merely idleness. The weather-ponies were being most lax as of late, the weather factories working at far from peak efficiency. It was most uncomfortable, but perhaps there was a need for something other than the 'softly-softly' approach. It was most unbecoming of him to act as old Blueblood did, but the Lord Commander had influence in Cloudsdale and was prepared to act upon it if this wastrel inactivity was to continue. Influence was pointless if one could not use it, as Blueblood had confided to him before, but then the Prince also said the same of 'hard power'. But he had not declined to seek re-election as Cloudsdale's Member of the Equestrian Stable of Peers - MESP - without reason. Intrigue tired him.

A knock at the door. Unusual. He never had anyone around during noon; more often than not he had a reservation amongst one of Canterlot's finest restaurants, and having to cancel it had tugged briefly at his heart. Most impolite to cancel a reservation at such short notice.

"Yes?" he asked with a hint of suspicion as he walked towards the door.

You're getting paranoid, Argent. Most unbecoming to be like old Blueblood on such matters.

"It's Serene, Argent," came the muffled voice of his fellow council member.

Serene?

"Ah, do come in," offered Argent as he opened the door. "Do take a seat, Serene. I did not expect your being here, my lady?" Argent placed a quick peck on her raised hoof. Raising her eyebrows, her eyes glinted mischievously in reaction to his gesture. Serene moved to sit.

Casually moving a chair in front of his desk, she caught sight of an odd object adorning his desk. "Interesting choice of calendar, Argent."

A peculiar choice indeed, but it was a gift. Now, my dear, I'm sure you did not visit me to enquire upon my selection of tabletop ornamentation.

"Hm? Oh, that. It was a Hearth's Warming gift from Blueblood," loosely commented Argent as he shut the door. He proceeded to his fireplace nonchalant of his colleague's mild confusion.

"'Their Celestial Highnesses' Prisons of Equestria?'"

Ah, yes...

"Yes, a rather peculiar subject matter, but his opinion was that it would properly correspond with my post as Lord High Constable. Rather disappointing, though." Argent frowned as he levered a log into his fire. "Considering the dearth of criminals in the country in general, there aren't even 12 major detention facilities. The creators had to resort to guard barracks with substantial incarceration complexes and juvenile correctional centres."

"False advertising of the highest order."

"Indeed, though dealing with that would be your area, hm, my lady?"

She swung her head towards Argent as he made his way towards her. "I understand Inkwell has sent out immediate and urgent summons for Fancypants?"

Abnormal...

"It's nothing, I ran into him and he was gracious enough to inform me of the situation," said Serene before Argent could formulate a reply. "Kind of him to inform us."

Fancypants, hm? I suppose the securing of the Elements did not go entirely to plan.

"Tea, Serene?"

"Oh, yes, thank you."

The pegasus poured out two cups of tea with practiced finesse, before spooning a tablespoon of sugar into each. Serene graciously took the proffered cup and saucer as Argent sat down behind his bureau, opposite from her.

"It is entirely unlike him to run to the Press so quickly," started Argent after the two had taken a sip of their beverages.

"Didn't think we were playing," lightly japed his companion.

Argent ignored the jape, choosing to continue. "I suppose he's running around trying to maintain the status quo, as he does. Peculiarly charming of him to do so, but most unlike a gentlecolt in action."

"Rather hard to do so, considering our current circumstances."

"Hasn't stopped him before, the stupid foal." Argent shifted in his seat. "Of course, I wouldn't particularly blame him if I were in his position. And you?"

"I don't particularly disagree, though the urgency and speed of pace with which our Regent has gone to the Press is concerning. You and I know can surmise what has probably happened, but I agree, it is entirely unlike him to rush to the Press so soon. Panic, I suppose; I wouldn't blame him either. It would have been polite to inform us, though." She paused, and leaned forwards. "Other news too. Reticent Uprush, this time."

The name set off a few alarms in the pegasus' mind. Though it had been several years since he had last sat as the (fairly, his mind interjected)-elected Senior Member for Cloudsdale, Argent Typhoon had been somewhat acquainted with Reticent Uprush - the less-than-fairly elected Junior Member for Manehattan at the time. A highly insubordinate representative chafing under the influence of the Senior Member for Manehattan, a ghastly fellow by the name of Soured Bags. Scrofula Bags, Blueblood had called him. It was most loutish of the Prince, but then again, the individual in question was not known for his cleanliness, in political dealings nor in personal hygiene.

He hated to think of it, but he could see himself returning to those rotten benches. With Blueblood's ascension to Regent, he could not sit in the Stable and represent the Government - he would be far too busy to do so, as the Princesses were before him. There needed to be a Leader of the Stable of Peers, and Argent could not see Serene being given the job, even if she knew far more of the current occurrences in that corrupt chamber than he did, and in spite of her perfectly adequate oratorical skills. Blueblood would have wanted a friend in that post - somepony he could trust to 'put a bit of stick about'.

"Uprush? The junior representative for Manehattan?" he started.

Serene nodded in confirmation as she took a light sip from her cup. "Senior Member," she corrected. "Bags lost out to him a month ago, and retired as a result."

Reticent Uprush. Earth pony; nouveau riche, making his money through unsavoury methods, and climbing the political ladder through similar means. Manehattanite, and proud of it.

"Not unexpected; after all, Uprush is a pony utterly lacking in principles. He climbed so high on account of the Manehattan Machine-"

"He won against the Machine candidate."

One does not defeat the Machine candidate, even if their candidate is a dullard.

"Bags? The Machine supported him over Uprush?"

"Apparently, yes, but there was a massive upset - for the bookmakers - at the polls nonetheless..."

You don't say. Uprush must either be suicidal, exceptionally skilled, exceptionally lucky or a combination of the above. He must have interesting times ahead of him now.

All the cities and regions of Equestria had a particular quality for which they were particularly famed. Canterlot was known as the centre of high society, a natural choice considering its importance as Capital, home of the Princesses and the traditional stomping grounds of the oldest of the old guard. Las Pegasus was known for its excess, in bits and everything else. Stalliongrad was known for its brutal efficiency standards, whilst Kracolt was renowned for its sterling heavy pegasus cavalry. Manehattan's greatest and most obvious quality was size; mass; being 'big'. Making it big, big consumerism, big industry, big corruption.

The 'Manehattan Machine' was, essentially, the where the Manehattan political system, the city's lowlifes and the city's industrial magnates came together; a system of graft, corruption and sleaze used to manipulate its favoured into high positions. It was not uncommon, therefore, for the Machine to influence the elections of new MESPs in the Borough of Manehattan.

Despite its notoriety, the Machine had been limited in its scope to Manehattan and its environs after a series of major defeats were inflicted upon it by a combination of local law enforcement, the upcoming breed of industrial philanthropist and heavy-hooved rulings and legislation orchestrated by Canterlot. It still had plenty of influence though, and the local law enforcement had suffered in the recent decades. Thrashing a 'Machine candidate' was thus extremely uncommon, and something to be very wary of.

"So as well as money laundering, graft, potential blackmail and being an ass, we can add electoral fraud to the list?"

Though the Machine uses all of these unsavoury methods, its existence serves as a shield for its own; having the gumption and ability to do all of them on your own... Well, that's either foolishness or insanity. Admirable to some, perhaps.

"Agitation against the Government may also apply." Serene softly lowered her cup and saucer onto the desk. "He's been pushing against the Government benches as of late, and Moonstone has informed me that he is, in all likelihood, behind some of the anti-Government literature recently that has been making the rounds recently. The material that originated from Manehattan?"

Perhaps we have misjudged him...

"A threat?"

"Not working with the griffons, as far as we know. Or anyone else. But perhaps in the future?" she shrugged. "There's been a lack of substantial and decent opposition recently, especially after the Granite Earl and Shine retired..."

Argent brushed at his silver mane. "It was a better time when they were around, and before the likes of Uprush and his ilk."

"Indeed. There was at least some competition in the Stable, and they were good ponies, the two of them."

"Among the best." Argent frowned. "I never could understand why Shine retired; he's still got a long career ahead of him."

"Curious indeed. Lack of support, I suppose, which was a pity. Now there was a pony of principle!"

Argent stood up and wrenched open a biscuit tin, taking one for himself and gesturing to the container in an offer. Smiling softly, Serene took a biscuit for herself and nibbled on it.

Finishing his own, the pegasus turned to his visitor, changing the subject. "And what of the Crystal situation?"

"The Crystal Situation?"

"Lady High Chancellor. Any opinions you'd kindly like to share on the matter?"

"Enquires His Excellency the Lord High Constable?"

Argent exhaled. I can see why Blueblood does it all the time. "Let me hazard a guess, my dear. You've got absolutely no idea about Crystal Law nor what is actually happening in that country as the Princesses have kept you out of the loop, intentionally or not. If you're in that situation, then I completely understand, as I've been suffering the same problems too."

"I... I could see the point in keeping the Equestrian Civil Service out of the Crystal Empire? It has not been two years since Sombra died; I would imagine it would take quite a while for them to adjust to the new 'world'. I would also hazard the guess that the Princesses were most happy in keeping the nobility and the bureaucracy out of it. The elites and the pinheads have been most uncooperative as of late."

"Is there even a census, or an anthology of Crystal Law? Princesses, but nobody remembered it existed until it re-emerged. Heck, there might not even have been a written legal code!"

"It's called the Crystal Empire? Empires tend to have a bureaucracy and a legal code?" Finishing her biscuit, Serene took a sip from her cup as she waited for Argent's response.

Thanks for that, Serene.

"If it is not incorrect for me to ask, is that based upon reasonable rationalisation or fact? It's just that I've spent the last two years dealing with a dragon migration, abnormal weather, intrusions from the Everfree, internal corruption and an excessive national sporting event. Not that the above were not thrilling, but I haven't had the time to learn more legalese."

"The Lord Commander of Cloudsdale did not attend the Equestria Games?"

Oh that terribly boring affair. I might as well enquire the same of you, Serene, Lady of Trottingham...

"Hadn't the time," said Argent with a roll of the eyes. "Also, I do not go around looking for census records in the little free time I have, nor do I consider reading the law code of an isolated newly-appeared province of the nation my idea of light entertainment. There is something else, though..."

"And might I enquire as to what?"

"Have you ever considered the possibility of the documents we need being destroyed? I'm sure Sombra was thorough in smashing the Crystal line, and there's always the possibility of Tirek having destroyed it in his rampage, intentionally or not. Even if it existed, my assumption would be that only two ponies know of its existence and location: Princesses Cadance and Twilight."

And we're not going on a jolly outing through the Everfree to ransack the archives of the Castle of the Two Sisters either. Nor are we going to consult Grumble of Maremouth's horseapple 'histories'...

"Ah." Serene put down her cup and saucer as this information was taken in. "If this were to end and resolve itself tomorrow, it would be absolutely fantastic."

"Completely overjoyed indeed, but I do not believe it shall finish to the satisfaction of everypony," he said with calm sincerity. "Equestria will be menaced, and harmonic intercourse the only barrier."

Cooperation has proved its worth in the past; may it prove its worth today and tomorrow.

"We have done what we can so far," he continued. "To the Princesses and tomorrow."

Argent raised his cup in the air in a toast which was both sincere and a mockery of their current situation. Serene mirrored his gesture, an amused smirk playing across her rose-accented cheeks.

"To the Princesses and tomorrow."

Golden Letter had differing opinions on her superior. It was true that Blueblood was an abrasive boss, and quite frankly, a jerk, but not wholly insane. Strange, yes, but not insane.

For one, Blueblood's rare occasions of staring at her flank tended to have him in a drunken heap on the floor, more often than not. This was a surprise, certainly, considering his reputation in Canterlot. It was... largely acceptable, though it would have been preferable were such a situation not to occur in the first place; neither the drunken heap nor the staring at her flank were particularly desirable. Tolerable, perhaps, but not desirable.

Secondly, his character was... difficult. He was, simply put, utterly confounding. It was impossible to tell whether he was acting or not, and whether his public image(s) were proper reflections of his actual personality. The nigh-perpetual state of high-functioning intoxication or sedation in which the Prince thrived did not help this at all. He had moments of serenity, moments of kindness, moments of unbridled rage, but typically rested in a state of frustrated, cynical smarminess.

The only matter which she could determine was that he did not honestly give a flank about what others thought about him on a personal level.

Inkwell had once said that Blueblood tended to give 'friends and close, immediate underlings a wider berth', which was a minor consolation.

Honestly, I'd rather not face him when he's wholly off the leash.

And despite these quirks she did not, however, expect in any way to be serving the de facto monarch of all Equestria.

Blueblood, de facto monarch of all Equestria.

Well, that'll be great, won't it?

She did not, either, expect to spend her first few hours in service to the de facto monarch of all Equestria stuck in her office churning out press releases. Then again, the contract which he had lazily thrown at her after a rather bizarre interview session did require her services being available at all times.

Initially Golden Letter had thought this was a euphemism, and had pleaded for time to consider the employment offer.

After her first day as the Prince's Under-Secretary the young unicorn mare had come to realise that the peculiar clause in her contract instead referred to being willing and ready to perform whatever insane and but generally average errand His Nibs required her to do. A quiet chat with her immediate superior - the hapless and bespectacled unicorn named Frayed Inkwell who was Blueblood's Primary Secretary - revealed that this would become a staple of her routine.

Earlier that morning a Guardspony had stormed into the Unicorn Passages - the wing of Castle where Blueblood resided and where his various secretaries and hangers-on made their residence and workstations much alike to their superior. She had been filing her hooves when the red-faced earth pony ran into the office and presented a missive to Inkwell upon which was splayed Blueblood's shorthoof scrawl.

Amongst the hurriedly-written yet detailed instructions, part of which had sent the Primary Private Secretary off in a rush, were a series of complicated commands ordering Golden Letter, as Blueblood's Under-Secretary, to draft a press release on the Princesses' disappearance. In long-windedly excruciating detail the Prince had thrown his line of thought upon the well-worn sheet of paper, ordering Golden Letter to write to her heart's content as many different drafts as possible.

By lunchtime, he promised, he would return and overlook the various drafts she had written and help her finish the press release, which he would issue by that afternoon.

As an incentive, he offered to bring along a bottle of old Grassgonhan red, which was rather thoughtful of him. Princesses curse him, but he had found a way to be both sincere and charming in shorthoof that looked like the dying paces of an ink-soaked spider.

It did not make the task particularly easier though, and the golden-coated Under-Secretary was up to her neck in discarded scrolls, staring vacantly at a blank sheaf of paper stuck into a well-worn typewriter.

The fact that the Prince had ordered her to complicate the facts as much as possible - using the type of obfuscating legalese and stuffy language that would make it unclear as to whether the Princesses were merely indisposed as opposed to being outright missing - did not help either.

She really hated her boss at times. He had even specified that she should do the writing, damn him.

She glanced over at Inkwell's empty seat, his desk cluttered and messy.

Then again, he's running around like a headless, ink-stained chicken. Could be worse for me...

The headless, ink-stained chicken was not wholly useless, and had succeeded, helpfully.

Amongst the scrawled notes which Blueblood had dispatched to his secretaries was an order to summon Fancypants to the Castle discreetly, a task which Inkwell had succeeded to some extent. The blue-maned gentlestallion was summoned, without any particular reason but under the impression that it was by no means a low-priority request, and informed that the Prince would be ready to meet him after lunch.

Fancypants had assured a somewhat-relieved Inkwell that he would attend later, and the Primary Secretary had returned to the Castle.

Having finished dealing with the Elements, Blueblood had invested in a minor diversion towards the Castle Infirmary. It was after this detour that he promptly spent the remainder of the morning finishing the press release.

The Prince skimmed over the scroll, the words carefully drawing across the sheet in Golden Letter's delicate script. Satisfied, he swung his head over towards his Under-Secretary.

"Good," he grunted. "It'll do."

He glanced over at a clock positioned above the mantelpiece. Two-thirty.

Nodding his approval, he telekinetically passed the scroll over to Golden Letter, who carefully bound a ribbon around it and sealed it with a wax stamp. Taking the sealed item, the Prince rose from his seat and made for the office door.

Before he could leave, though, he glanced back towards Golden Letter. Surrounded by disused paper, she merely gazed back in a combination of exhaustion and apathy.

"Letter," he started, "your service has been most commendable as of late. I do believe you're in time for an increase in your salary. Keep the wine."

Before she could muster a reply, the Prince had left.

Blueblood had arranged to meet Fancypants in one of the smaller state rooms. Blueblood, as always, was there first; he needed the time to compose himself. And now, of all times, he definitely needed to compose himself. He loathed socialisation, and detested damage control even more.

Carefully pulling a seat out from the table before him, the Prince sat down alone, and waited for Fancypants' arrival. Placing the scroll on the table in front of himself, he reflected upon the inevitable need to converse with Canterlot and its despicable upper classes.

Foul beasts, the lot of them. Canterlot High Society; nothing in Equestria could be worse.

The Canterlot Plumbers' Union was a far nobler and honourable lot compared to those leeches. At least the drains kept running; couldn't say the same for all their damned estates.

Can't see why that golddigging whorse of a mare who holds the post of the Bearer of the Element of Generosity would want to socialise with the Canterlotian bacteria. Though perhaps, like minds attract.

If the only popular press organ was the Royal paper of record, the task would be much easier. Unfortunately, that was not the case, and it was necessary to meet with industry magnates.

The Press, ah the Press. An overflowing side tunnel of an already brimming sewer. If Canterlot lacked principle, then the Press as a whole failed to keep up the pretence of principle in the first place. It took a certain type of pony to willingly kiss flanks as part of their social life; it took another type of pony to kiss flanks as part of their job.

As the designated "target" amongst the Royal Family, it would not suffice to say that Blueblood loathed the Press.

The distorted philosophy was that Blueblood would be more active in the public sphere, and thus publically carry out the more questionable decisions which the Princesses agreed with but could not be seen to do. This he had agreed with. He cared not about other ponies' opinion of him, and typically preferred more direct and efficient solutions.

The unintended side effects of taking up this "role", however, were not things he entirely agreed with. Repeated faux pas, public relations failures and mistakes on the part of the Princesses - though he was of mind to forgive them sometimes - required the development of an even more bloated personality. The media appearances went up, the need to attend social gatherings went up. He was all too willing to heap scorn upon those who considered themselves his equals, but heaping scorn upon others was not a course of action that removed all feedback.

To allow the Princesses minor dereliction of duty, Prince Blueblood allowed himself to be trashed in the Press.

Devour tons of confectionery that would be enough to support an entire village for a month? Attend Nightmare Night?

To live a normal life amongst friends in some puny village?

It jarred with him, to say the least.

Should have drunk the rest of that bottle, he considered as he stretched his slightly-painful and tired muscles. If it weren't for the fact that I only have to meet one pony today, then I'd have downed it all in one gulp.

It was a minor thing to be thankful for, but thank the Princesses it were merely necessary to treat with the only industry magnate that really mattered. A principled idealist, though one who could be used. No, not used; that would be treating him as a mere object. Fancypants adhered to his own moral code far too well to allow others to exploit him.

A very warm, honest character indeed. A bright light in a morass of mediocrity, though perhaps harder to play. Perhaps not; one can never tell with these... ponies.

Accursed country must be in a terrible state if honour and noblesse oblige are considered unpredictable elements...

He could prove a useful aid, perhaps, if he could be won over.

A Guard had informed him that Fancypants intended to arrive at three.

It's now a minute-

“Blueblood, dear boy! How are you?” cheerfully exclaimed Fancypants as he waltzed into the hall, breaking the Prince's scolding train of thought.

Not dead yet, Blueblood’s cynical mind reported. Though soon to be…

"Tolerable, my old friend. And yourself? Fleur?"

"Glad to know you remember her! I'm just wonderful, Blueblood, and she is too. 'Tis a shame you've missed a few of the recent gatherings, you'd have liked them. So," he said as he moved towards a seat, "what is it that you require my presence at such short notice? 'Wouldn't protest, not at all - anything for a friend, but rather peculiar for one such as yourself."

Blueblood waited for the other unicorn to be seated before formulating a reply. “As I said, I am well, though the same cannot be said of our Most Royal Princesses,” he mentioned in a tone of considerable and not entirely false distress. “That in fact is the very reason for your most urgent summoning, my old friend. I have need of your services for the release of such information to the good ponies of Equestria, though in a necessarily proper fashion.”

“Oh,” acknowledged Fancypants in a surprisingly genuine expression of concern. “How may I assist?”

Blueblood’s telekinetic energies surrounded a paper scroll bound with a red silk ribbon on the table and passed it over to the other unicorn, who grasped it in his own telekinetic field. Fancypants gently placed it on his side of the table, and looked inquisitively towards the Prince.

“A Press Release. I have provided you with a copy; the Royal Equestrian Times, our paper of record will publish it tomorrow,” the Prince replied. “Equestria Daily, the Canterlot Courier, the Manehattan Times and your other papers may now of course publish it too. Positive editorials and opinion are, of course, greatly appreciated and your confidence in such matters will, of course, be gratefully remembered by those in the highest.” Blueblood smiled.

Better than any of those throwaway rags you call your competitors, that's for sure.

“Surely, dear boy,” replied Fancypants, “it would be better to give a speech in Canterlot than to inform and rouse the entire nation if the subject is so serious?”

No, no I think not. Nopony would listen.

“That is exactly the point; the Council has decreed that the message ought to be spread throughout the country, to as wide an audience as possible.”

Fancypants seemed even more confused by this statement.

Blueblood offered to explain. “Fancypants, the Princesses have taken grossly ill; that is the reason for your summons. A foul miasma has befallen all four alicorns, a miasma of such dire magnitude that our four honoured monarchs have become so grossly incapable of ruling that a Regency Council has been formed. You’ll find the rest of the details in the scroll.”

Blueblood's cheek muscles softened and his gaze drooped somewhat, offering a slight image of weakness to the unicorn opposite him.

"The Princesses? Oh! But... how?" responded Fancypants.

That's the type of response I want... now to push it in further.

The Prince replied with a distinct softness in his tone. "We're trying to keep everything in order and we're searching through the archives to see if there's any cure. However, until the situation is resolved order must be maintained. Despite your low birth I consider yourself to be an exemplary, dependable and honourable stallion, which is why I have entrusted you with spreading this most important information."

And I expect favourable editorials too, went the sentiment.

Fancypants nodded his silent understanding, though Blueblood perceived the remnant of a suspicious spark in the other unicorn's eyes.

Damn it Blueblood, get in form!

“Oh, Blueblood, dear boy?” enquired Fancypants quietly. “What’s this I hear about disturbances in Ponyville earlier?”

Right. Can't let him suspect a thing. So who does he care about? Rarity?

“Hmm?” replied the Prince as he brushed off the comment. “A nasty job. Somepony – or someone – attempted to seize the remaining Bearers of the Elements of Harmony. We’d heard of it just before they could strike, and sent in the Lunar Guard to catch them off-guard.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Fancypants.

“Don’t worry, ol’ boy,” grinned Blueblood. “Your friend Rarity is fine; all of the Elements have been secured, thank the Princesses, though a few have suffered the odd scuffle. The Guard has been deployed en masse to secure and investigate, for security purposes, as I'm sure you'd understand. But it's nothing to worry about, of course; the village's dealt with worse before.”

He paused to take a breath.

"Honestly, Nightmare Moon? Discord? Tirek stomping across the place? We've had reports in from the piquets we sent earlier in the day, and it's nothing spectacular. Just a few rabble-rousers, but we've got some good lads looking after the Elements as they should be."

He leaned over towards the other unicorn.

"Between you and me, Fancypants, it was always my opinion that they ought to have a permanent guard on them all the time. It's hard to question the Princesses, I know, but the safety of the realm must always be of paramount importance. Whilst I'm at the helm, I suppose, I'll keep the ship nice and stable, and their wellbeing will be my highest priority."

Fancypants slowly breathed a sigh of relief.

Blueblood continued. “However, I’m not entirely pleased about the situation. You know me, Fancypants, an irritable perfectionist to the last. Now is not the time to let our guard down, especially with the Princesses at their very weakest. I’m telling you all this in absolute confidence, am I correct, Fancypants?” Blueblood fixed the socialite with a stare.

Fancypants nodded and spoke his sincere confirmation of this.

“I'm sure you won't, Fancypants, but I don’t want a word of this to anypony. I’d like you to, in a gesture of good gratitude and on account of our long-standing friendship, run a couple of nonsense stories for a month or so, if it wouldn't be a significant problem? Celebrity garbage and the usual lot; not like you'll get any competition and lose any significant market share. You’ll get a proper release on the Ponyville situation tomorrow or the day after, if you'd like such a thing, of course, as a token of our appreciation and in compensation for your future losses. Not that you'd probably lose out much on readership or in stock, though. Regardless, We in the Castle and the Administration would greatly appreciate your services, as you deserve.”

"This is a peculiar request, Blueblood..."

“What I’m saying, Fancypants, is run a load of guff for the next month whilst I mop the shop floor, as it were, for the good of Equestria. Opinion pieces, celebrity rubbish, you know the stuff. We need the limelight off us whilst the Princess recover and until we get back in shape again. Your loyalty, again, should be handsomely rewarded." The Prince finished smoothly.

"Handsomely rewarded?" interceded Fancypants in a slight tone of sardonic outrage. "Now, Blueblood, I consider myself a stallion of integrity!"

Nearly blew it, you fool!

"As anypony should!" exclaimed a shocked Blueblood. "One of the finest stallions in all Canterlot, and I say that with utter sincerity. The complete lack of honour and principle amongst the elite these days shocks me to my core. However, helping the Castle, you would be showing your brilliant qualities to the nation. This would not be a favour for myself, but for Equestria and the Princesses. Of course, if they decide to reward you in a particular manner, then it is entirely their decision, not mine."

"If it were my decision, then your considerable efforts should be rewarded, but alas, it is not. Even if I had a hoof in it, our long-standing relationship would oblige one to recuse one's self. A knighthood may be far-fetched; it may not. Wouldn't that be a sight though? The son of a poor bookkeeper rewarded and honoured for his services to the nation, fully able to stand with head raised at Court. You'd be much more deserving of a title than most of the nobles I know...”

Blueblood slammed the door shut. The clock on his mantelpiece ticked, steadily, regularly, the soft clicks gently reverberating around the room.

Not even twenty-four hours.

Not even twenty-four hours since the debacle began.

A positively pointless line of work.

Princesses, but he felt with certainty that he would learn to despise that timepiece in time.

Where was the thrill of power ponies spoke about? Where was the adrenaline from climbing to the highest rank? Was it lacking purely because he needed only to stand upon a stool to get there, or because it was literally gifted to him? Or did it even exist in the first place?

Not even a day, and he was exhausted already.

I suppose it's because one has to play both bureaucrat and politician...

Or perhaps it's merely the pointless ennui in which I am submerged, adrift in a sea of despair and devoid of self-confidence.

For all the boasts about decisive action, self-doubt aids not.

Gliding aimlessly along the well-worn carpet, the Prince found himself facing a peculiar ornament adorning the varnished walls. With ease and a soft click, the hex-bound locks opened. Reaching up, he pushed it gently with his front two hooves, pushing it out of its unlocked rack.

He caught it with his magic, the fluctuating gold and blue ripples of energy folding and enveloping. Gold and blue.

Gold and blue; an image, like everything else in his life. Merely wavelengths of light energy passing through the air. A mask and facade for the public, something to enhance the image of a charming, proper Prince. Pathetic, all of it, yet one of a million duties imposed upon him since birth.

But which was the true colour? He did not know. It was possible - of course it was possible - to mask the colour of one's aura, though hardly anypony did. What was the point? Spells required concentration and practice, and took a toll the longer it went on for - unless you happened to be Twilight bleeding Sparkle. Blueblood the Royal, Blueblood the Prince, danced in the smooth and delicate gold energies expected of one so high; the delicate harmonics worthy of any gilded harpsichord. Blueblood the soldier, Blueblood the Captain, roared with the hard, blue furies that were a necessity on the fields of battle and in the wilds; howling energies as raw and blunt as the oceans and skies. Together, more often than not, the two sides combined, and the resulting fallout terrible.

Blue and gold, like the cutie mark. The cutie mark which he'd never understood. They were all shapes, ultimately; but what force was so cruel as to stamp a permanent mark upon one's virtue and purpose from childhood and beyond?

That may have not been the intent, but just as foals judged those who lack them, so surely must adults judge whatever cutie mark one possessed, even if it were far removed from one's profession, or quality, or social status?

It was always a grievance, always confusing. A matter that he'd never finished, never forgot. What was a pony without their cutie mark, but what was a pony who could not live up to it by the very fact that they did not know what it was?

He looked back at the object hovering in front of him, the magic swirling around it, two old friends once rejoined. It had sat there since Cadance's wedding, untouched. Gathering dust despite its past glories.

Over two years of crisis, cold calculation had passed since that fateful day. Two years of unappreciated labour since it had last been used in anger. Years of neglect and isolation, the guilt and jealousy of a stallion so close yet so far. But by Celestia, had it been such a joy to use it then; it were as if an instrument in his hooves and magic as reflexes and intuition took over whilst Canterlot burned. Two years prior, he too was as unappreciated as he was today, but it was never as bad as this.

The blue eyes drifted across the legend, the harsh, incised forms of the Old Equestrian script cut into the blackened steel of the scabbard.

I am a son of Platinum; All owe me fealty.

On the reverse, more words were etched into the steel casing.

In ardour and reverence towards Her, I bear the burdens of Equestria.

In a single, well practiced movement blue energies grasped the hilt and unsheathed the weapon, a tiny rasp echoing as the blade slid along the throat as it left its home.

In the dimming light and the flickering flames of the fire behind him, Blueblood behold the spectacle before him.

A well-honed blade of Cloppenburg steel, forged in fire and magic by the finest swordsmiths in the world. Golds and reds glinted off the icy steel, discordant warmth diffusing into the cold and regular colours of the blade; an ethereal glow given off as the shades and substances combined. The stark lines of the fuller clashed with his melting reflection as marbled highlights surged through the ashen steel. Inlaid sapphires and diamonds sparkling in the light of volcanic fires; engraved silvers and golds wrapping around the hilt and scabbard.

Damnably peculiar things, swords. Of the three Equestrian races it was only the unicorn who had fully mastered its use; teeth were never suitable for such weapons. In the past the old Unicorn Kings had held it up as yet another symbol of their mastery; even today, it was both an honour and a protector, as Verdant Marathon would have put it. A tool to dignify and safeguard those deserving of it. A gentlestallion's weapon, nay, a Prince's weapon when the days shortened and Equestria felt the pangs of war.

A relic passed down the ages, but one which hadn't lost its taste for war in the centuries that passed. A better weapon than the standard-issue arming sword he kept in his bottom drawer, but the Princess would have complained if he had used it for practice. So it had laid there, most of the time, an ornament until Canterlot itself came under attack.

The motions came naturally to him as the weapon was swung around, arcing through the air in near-silent strokes, softly and sweetly singing as it sliced through the warm muskiness.

He swung it back up, angled vertically in salute.

I could end it all here. Easy; just a quick slash, and no more melancholy, no more Equestria.

The burden would be somepony else's.

No.

Honour was a thing which Blueblood had mixed feelings upon. It could be a barrier to efficiency and pragmatic action, yes, but honour was... honour. There was something romantic about it, irritatingly. And for some absurd reason, Blueblood had a romantic streak despite his attempts to purge himself of it late in his foalhood. Must be Cadance...

It was that romanticism that had helped spur him on as an explorer and a naval officer, was it not? For were not the tales of the explorer and the sailor fuelled by romanticism and optimistic idealism? The stories sung of brave, solitary ponies fearlessly walking into the unknown in order to chart a path for those to follow, or the life of iron ponies on iron ships freed from the morass of normal life. To many, both paths were seen as a route to freedom.

He had felt that way once. Perhaps I do still.

Reluctantly, yet with increasing firmness, he forced the silvery blade back into its dark sheath, and returned the weapon to its place. Equestria's purpose was to defend its ponies, not attack, and his pointless death would merely wreak more chaos upon the nation. It would sit there, pride of place, until Equestria truly needed it again.

With any luck, it would not be needed.

But the Fates hate me.

And yet Father was correct; equivocation and pointless contemplation helped nopony.

Leave not your own failings for others to correct.

The Prince made his way around his desk, and fell into the chair, the old wood supporting his weight as a shaky, tired sigh was drawn out of him, the air drily rattling out of his lungs.

A hoof glided along the honeyed oak desk. His eyes drifted as it moved, critically noticing the scratches and chips on the dusky keratin, the untrimmed fetlocks...

Equestria needs efficiency, needs cold, pragmatic utilitarianism. And what is a politician's image if not a tool?

The hoof continued to run over the smooth, sanded wood, passing over the rings and waves of the grain. It stopped before a small, well-worn frame of pink-hued rosewood. The Prince carefully pulled the ornament closer, his eyes now fixated upon the small, aged photograph enclosed within. Gently, the hoof caressed the soft edges, his forehead relaxing as his eyes softened.

The picture was a small thing, dating back quite a few years. All it showed was two young ponies - just out of foalhood - simply standing. A beaming pink alicorn stood next to a slightly larger white unicorn, whose attempts at restraining his emotions had evidently failed, leaving a small, but genuine smile, spread across his face.

If only I could return to such simpler times...

It had been taken before Father had died, before the duties of state had been hammered into the smiling unicorn in that photo, before the tutors and the never-ending cycle of work and politics. His sister had survived, and had prospered, but had failed to help her brother as he plunged over the edge. From that darkness emerged the pony he was today: a useless, cynical wreck.

Enough.

He wrenched open a drawer he knew was empty and shoved the picture frame in.

There is no time for emotions and senti-

In a rush, the lock gates burst open, a torrent of emotions ploughing through his brain. His head bowed, shoulders arched, a hoof brought up to massage a wet forehead, and Blueblood cracked.

Sentiments? Blueblood, her voice whispered as it echoed his head, what happened to you?

He pulled the drawer open again, and carefully pulled the portrait back out again. Not a scratch, thank heavens.

An hoof's edge stroked his sister's image, and he placed it back onto his desk, where it would take pride of place.

His wet eyes were irresistibly drawn to his right. Two portraits hanging together on the wall, both done in oils. The leftmost figure was bright, radiant, the oils spinning in an overture to its subject; a painting in the romantic style, her radiance encompassed and features glowing. On the right, dark, drab strokes bathing a dour, colourless stallion. Shrouded in greys and blacks, the only colour came from two, sharp, blue specks. As Princess Celestia smiled regally so did Father solemnly judge.

Blueblood blinked and automatically forced his head down and eyes shut.

Two towering pillars of the Canterlotian establishments in their prime, having since shed all but a few duties onto the wreck of a pony who could not even meet their gazes now.

No. A pony who could meet their gaze.

The Prince shuddered as shock ran through his system, running ice-cold through his veins. A pain, a hateful yet rejoicing stimulus. Uncomfortable contemplation and reflection brought its own boon... sometimes.

He was alone.

He wrenched his eyes open and flicked his head towards the two portraits, ignoring the scrap of hair which had fallen over his left eye.

No. I am still here, and you're not. I have regrets, yes; fears, yes.

I wish that I were not in your places, yet here I am.

I am here, and you are not. Equestria was not built upon empty words, nor shall it ever be.

There is nothing more to say.

No matter the odds, Equestria, and himself, would fight on.

Despite the pain, despite the threats to mind and body, he would have to continue.

He lay there.

And even in his exhausted, addled brain could still muster a barb against himself.

How did one expect to sleep well when Princess Luna was gone?

He stewed and burned and sweated and hated in those sheats, eyelids glued shut with tears and sweat, cooking in the windless air.

Lethargy consumed him, yet not wholly.

There was always that - that - part which would not let itself be consumed, that irritatingly perfect part of his mind! Irritatingly perfect so as to cause harm to oneself, irritatingly perfect so as to not let one do as one truly wished. There was no force in Equestria that could muster him from this, nor any capable of putting him in deep slumber. If he tried either, he knew, he would achieve naught. Fractured brain, fractured body, fractured soul, the scattered shards confounding and clouded.

Princesses, but they were right, and he hated them for it. Armor, the Elements? What was he doing if not sitting in his own ivory tower whilst Equestria burned? Not burning yet, but the wooden fence was drying out in the summer heat. The dust of strife kicking up as the weeds sucked the water out of it.

Despicable.

Part of him wanted to go. Into the Everfree, pointlessly, aimlessly, in the futile hope that something would be achieved; a fitting end for one as vainglorious as he. But, as he lay in the darkness, the thoughts burned in volcanic indignation, roasted to a crisp by as the scattered wits came to. He could never abandon it, no. Abandon what?

There was no love for Equestria's inhabitants; the only ones he cared about were either dead, going to be dead or simply "gone". The system was rotten too; the ideal just that: an ideal. The comfort of the common - of what remained - was never a comfort in the first place.

The Platinums had never really settled, had they? Few were those in his House who excelled in arts, or the higher things: for Unicorn Princes the line had been brusque and blunt. Ever suspicious, ever separated. Friends. The Platinums had spat on such sentiment; Father would never admit he ever had a friend. Friends. Not for the Platinums, who had failed to learn the tale that every foal knew.

Only the Princesses above and the subjects below.

And to such a pony, what would be the consequence of learning that the Princesses were willingly absent? Willingly... commit truancy?

To accuse one's monarchs of dereliction of duty was treason, treason to them, treason to the realm, treason to the damn code of honour which the oldest of the Old Guard held themselves to. It was not worth contemplating. But necessary?

It matters not.

He groaned and reached for a glass of water.

If he could not sleep again, then there was no point in waxing poetic. Damn his health, damn his tendencies, damn bloody everything.

No Cadance to stop me, no Princess Celestia to complain...

The damned agricultural report was looking attractive now.

Too tired, though...

Princesses, but he hated his job. Yet it was the mundane parts - the sheer monotony of routine reports and paperwork - that kept him sane. Ponies drove him mad, and whilst work infuriated on occasion it at least could be relied upon to do so.

At times work was a sedative; an intoxicant; the warm embrace of a lover. Its methodical nature - figures in a ledger, words on a report, diagrams and charts and statistics were abstractions and distractions. Numbers and words in and of themselves did not lie; it was the writer who did instead. Numbers and words needed no pacification, no cooperation, no collaboration. They existed, and told their plain truth, nothing more.

Time was a commodity as anything else: a resource to be used and consumed with care.

Exhaustion would be another fitting death, the pain in the cranium added.

As names and numbers filed through his thoughts an errant spark of Blueblood's bruised brain wept and hoped that the next day would bring good fortune.

There was work to be done, and duties to be upheld; damn his health.

What were a few cells, the odd simulated receptor, the occasional microcurrent to the terrifying wonder that was the mind?

For in the midst of the garb of the Old Guard, arrayed in their cynical glory in neurotransmitter, synapses and neurone, such inconsequential concepts were anathema.

He was here again.

It had become a custom of his ever since the old fart had died. Cadance had protested at first, but she learned to keep her lips shut; nothing could dissuade him from coming here, every year. Aunt Celestia had protested too, but to a much lesser degree; the objections had ended quickly. He couldn't understand why they protested. Of all days, why not this one - the day of his very birth? What other day could be more suitable for such an ordeal?

And so, here he was.

Deep in the Platinum Mausoleum, in full military dress, before the grave of his father, stood Blueblood as he had done every year since his father's death. Hooves presented, sword in salute, on his own birthday, awaiting the disapproving inspection of the late Prince's spectre.

Dark shadows cast themselves over the reclining effigy, draping over floating curves and sharp lines. The brooding fifty-first Prince on the Unicorn throne, as grey in death as he was in life. Eyes proud and head high, throbbing veins and tough sinews protruding from the cold coat. Tiny waves of darker pigments ran down his length, casting rivers amongst the veneered valleys of false, finished flesh. Cruel edges menacing in the deep, dark shadows, at home amongst the still air. Judgemental. Inert. Rigid.

If only the mettle with which he stared down the statue had exposed itself years earlier.

The... ritual... was part defiance, part consolation, part memento mori, part penance. But it was necessary.

Others would have pointlessly frittered away their days of birth with such petty things as parties and friends, but he would not. What better to do than to acknowledge one's own failures on the day of one's birth?

Twenty years since his own pointless birth, and twenty years of nothing. Nothing but the badge of failure, that was all.

As he tired, the Prince gazed past the sword held vertically before him and read the inscription on the tomb, words which he knew by heart already. Most of it was agreeable, all of it the truth, but there was one thing Blueblood disagreed with.

One unworthy error - a puny monosyllabic word - spoiling that honoured epitath.

Father.

"Father", went the description. "Father", it flattered. "Father"? To Cadance, perhaps, but not to him. Biologically, yes, but otherwise?

If there was one thing which Blueblood could confidently accuse the late Prince as being, to point out one thing which the late Prince did not excel at, it was fathering. He could not say it whilst he was alive, no, for he was too cowardly and too loyal and too honourable to do so. He could not do it now, not aloud, for those damned concepts mattered to him now. But he was, nonetheless: a terrible father to his firstborn.

Coddled his daughter though... an alicorn, an alicorn who lacked all the duties and requirements of the heir. So perfect, singled out as something resembling a paragon of love. But his son? Whipped into the same caustic mould as fifty other similar unicorns, all spirit and personality ground down into the same old qualities to be melted down and poured into a Platinum crucible.

What else did you expect, Blueblood?

Blueblood groaned and paced backwards. With a sigh, he slid down onto the ground, eyes still fixed on the alcove where his father's remains lay. Back to the wall.

But there was one thing, one thing which Blueblood knew his father was correct about, one facet of parenting which he drilled into his only son. One statement which Blueblood could not disagree with.

All, bar the Princesses, would return to the dust, equal at last.

Blueblood wrenched a small, silvered canteen from within his coat, and held it up in mock salute to the grey, unmoving statue before him.

He would not be inebriated: he had measured the amount in it before hand.

Matching his eyes with the cold, granite shapes that were his father's, the incumbent spoke at last.

"Here's to you, you old bastard," he said with a grin, "I'll see you in a couple without my perfect kin."