//------------------------------//
// Chapter Eight: Where a Harmless Little Question Is Asked of Twilight 
// Story: The Demesne of the Reluctant Twilight Sparkle 
// by MrNumbers 
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With a lurching, crunching, hissing, shrieking cacophony, our train finally pulls into Canterlot station. Even though Ponyville is my new home, my true home, Canterlot... Canterlot still has a lot of familiarity. Never underestimate how much sway the familiar holds to a pony as... okay, let's just out and say it, OCD as I am. Familiarity is a warm, snuggly blanket for my soul.

I have Golden Retriever beside me as we disembark for my triumphant return instead of Spike. Part of me is disappointed, another declares this an improvement and a third, surprisingly large part, decides to over-analyze the first two parts and work out why they feel the way they do.

The word crush keeps swirling to the front of my mind. I'm in a classically romantic city alone with the pony I apparently have a very large crush on. I'm going to say it's distracting and leave it at that.

Distracting. Yes. What's worse is how she clutches at the dress Rarity designed for her like a foal with a security blanket. It'd be endearing if the dress didn't do straight-up silly things to my concentration. The red whispering tight against that stormy grey coat, accents that make her blonde mane pop, and those charming ever-present little gold spectacles balanced daintily on her nose. I've spent an unfortunate amount of our train ride with my nose in a book, sadly neglecting it, watching her out of the corner of my eye as much as I can without feeling creepy. Which is hard to do, because it's sort of a really creepy thing to be doing.

"So!" the unwitting object of my desires pipes up as we stand at the otherwise-empty station and I assess our options, "where should we stop first?"

I consult the rolypolydex. It's staggeringly useful – thank you, Pinkie Pie. "Well, we have a plan, right?"

"Your 'plan' so far seems to consist of stealing some of Canterlot's best and brightest for your own ends, Doctor Princess, but I'm not quite sure how you planned on going about it."

"Oh," I say lamely. "Are you sure? But we had a whole train ride to talk about it."

Golden smiles warmly at me, and I melt like butter. I'm weak, I admit it. "You seemed very involved with your book. I didn't want to disturb you."

"Oh," I repeat, somehow even more lamely than before, "well, thank you. Still, nothing?"

Golden just shakes her head.

"Oh," I finish the trifecta of lame monosyllables. "Well, I think the first thing we should do is see a few old friends from my 'Celestia's Student' days. We need a physicist, a mathemetician, a mage, a chemist and an agricultural scientist." I flip through the rolypolydex and mark significant names. "I can think of a few."

"What about the soft sciences and the arts?" Golden mused.

"They'll flock to my new schools once we have the best and brightest there. They're like barnacles, latching on to the useful subjects." I scowl at nothing in particular.

"Doctor Princess!" Golden gasps, shocked. "The hard subjects might be the how, but the arts are the why. It's not very kind to devalue them so lightly."

"Well, it's still true," I huff.

"Which is why it's particularly unkind to say it out loud," Golden admonishes me. I giggle a bit in spite of it. 

"Still," I grudgingly admit, "I suppose you're right. Rarity would never let me hear the end of it if I didn't try to attract more culture to Ponyville. I wonder if Octavia would still be interested in teaching. What was her last name again? Melancholy? Elegy?”

Golden stares at me a long moment. I blink uncomprehendingly, which is what I do when I don't comprehend something, sometimes. It doesn't happen often – I comprehend most things.

I break the silent stalemate that seems to have formed. "What?"

"You can't possibly be referring to Octavia Melody?"

"Melody!" I smile in relief. "That was it." I process that for a few moments before finally, "Wait, how do you know her last name?"

Golden stares at me with a look I'd frame as the definition of 'bemused' and points at a poster on the station wall. I trot up to it and give it a close inspection.

The poster is for a quartet, performing  a few nights from now. I recognize the mare on strings right away: It's the same Octavia I remember from my teen years, just older and more mature. She's gorgeous, and not in the way that I find Golden. No, she's this... unattainable beauty, perfection and elegance poured into a bow-tie and moulded around her instrument. She's beautiful in the way you'd find a perfect marble statue beautiful, and it's slightly intimidating.

"Do you think she'd be interested?" I ask Golden over my shoulder, staring at the poster.

Golden stares at the poster, then shrugs uncomfortably. That's not reassuring in the slightest. "I don't know. Maybe? Can you offer her more than her current quartet?"

"I have no idea," I admit, "but I plan on finding out. Later. Much later. After we've already got some solid ponies lined up. She might be more inclined to hear us out if we've already got a reputable staff backing us up."

"What if the votes show ponies don't want change? Even if all of this goes according to plan, what if we end up recruiting a bunch of ponies for no reason?"

"Are you kidding? After that speech I gave before we left? You heard the speech right?"

Golden rolls her eyes, for reasons I can't fathom. "Yes, Doctor Princess, I heard your speech. You were very thorough."

I beam with pride. She thought my speech was thorough! There's no possible way to interpret that negatively, not that I'm aware of.

"So, who do you have in mind?" she asks, ever-curious. Drat, that means I need to make a decision. I glance over my rolypolydex one last time and make a decision.

"First we'll visit somepony I know would be interested in teaching, Fine Mane. He's a fantastic physicist, one of the best. Then we'll have to swing by the park at lunchtime, that's when One Stone and I always used to play chess. If he still remembers half as much about magic as he used to, I'm sure he'd love to get out of the patent office."

"Patent office?"

"Trust me, he's really too smart to work there. He just... does." I shrug. I can't explain it either. I suppose he just enjoys the comfortable tedium. I can understand that.

"Anypony else?"

"Of course. You can't create a new city of science with just two ponies. My old friend Mulch could probably be cajoled into being a professor of agricultural sciences, and Burette should be willing to head a chemistry department if we offered... if I can still find her. She was never the sort of pony to settle down anywhere."

"So you can't start a new city of science with two ponies, but you can with four?"

"Hey! Five including me. Four more of the absolute best and brightest Equestria has to offer should be more than enough to start, too."

"If that were true, why wouldn't they be heading their own departments already? I apologize for playing Nightmare's Advocate, Doctor Princess, but-"

"No, no," I cut her off, shaking my head, "you're absolutely right. The problem is politics though, or motivation. These deserving ponies just haven't played the games they've needed to, or jumped through the right hoops. We're offering them something they couldn't get otherwise, so hooray us."

"Hooray," Golden echoes back at me, dryly. "Won't ponies complain if you just hire your friends?"

"Politics is a game I'm not very good at either." I grin.

Golden stares at me warily. I continue to grin, unashamed. Look, the simple fact of the matter is that they're my friends because they are the best, not that they're the best because they're my friends. Any criticism against my hiring policies will not stand up to actually testing these pony's capabilities.

"Let's head to the other side of the tracks. Fine Mane... that's where we'll find him."

"I'll follow your lead, Doctor Princess," Golden assures me.

I lead on, committing Fine Mane’s address on the rolypolydex to memory. Apparently he's an assistant lecturer at Corncob University, a mean little place on the bad side of town. I've been there several times, for lectures, so I'm at least familiar with the location.

Still, two mares walking there alone doesn't sound like the safest of outings. Fortunately one of those mares is me, so, not to sound arrogant or anything, we should be fine.

I lead Golden to the other side of the tracks, because that's where we'll be heading. It's all, quite literally, downhill from there, following the twisting paths of lower Canterlot, to The Bad Side of Town. The streets gradually grow narrower and narrower, crushed under the weight of all the ponies pressing down from above. After a while, Golden has pressed tighter to me, eyes darting about all the darkened alleyways and corners suspiciously. We're able to follow the smell, too. The further in you go, the more it makes your eyeballs peel. 

"I don't like it here, Doctor Princess," she hisses in my ear, "this place doesn't feel safe."

"Normally, it isn't." I shrug, staying as close to her as equinely possible. "But somepony tried to mug me here once, and the word sort of spread to avoid me. It's not late enough for anypony to try anything yet, though... everyone who'd try is probably too busy sleeping off hangovers."

Golden stares at me in awe and horror. "You fought off a mugger? How?"

I smile at the fond recollection. He'd underestimated me... big mistake. "I turned him into a newt."

"You... what?"

"A newt," I repeat, cheerful and chipper. "I turned him into a small amphibian. Improved his looks considerably."

The awe grows in equal measure with the horror on Golden's face. She fiddles with her spectacles a little, pushing them as far up her nose as they'll go. "Did you change him back, at least?"

"Oh, eventually. I was pretty mad at the time, though, and he’d scared me pretty good. I think it was my brother who eventually talked me into changing him back."

Golden's horror finally wins out against her awe. My smile fades, pulling tight into a small grimace.

"Oh, don't look at me like that. He really did scare me, and I was young. I would have changed him back eventually!"

Golden's horrified expression fades a bit and she goes back to scanning the alleys and side streets. "I will say this much, I feel a bit safer standing next to you, knowing that."

I glow with pride, ignoring the cold rush of blood at the idea of Golden being scared of me. Ponies being scared of me is old news now, already panicked over that, don't need to go through it again this week.

Not going to let it get to me.

Nope.

Darn it, it just got to me again.

Fortunately and thankfully the rest of the walk is uneventful.

Corncob University looms ahead of us, a series of buildings made of brownstone poured concrete. It's cheap, it's loud, it's messy, it's filthy and it's where some of the greatest minds of the lower classes come to get the best education they can afford. It's also where we're going to find Fine Mane.

I spot the administration building. It's easy enough to find: A tall, old brick building, stained and rough, with an age-yellowed clocktower standing triumphantly. Its beautiful wrought iron clock is the sole piece of equipment that actually looks prized and respected, if a little industrial-looking.

The foyer stinks of mould and is splattered with its own strange green and grey stains covering the walls and ceiling. The floor itself consists of rotten wooden planks which creak underhoof. A real estate pony would call it 'much-loved' or 'a handypony's dream'. I call it a big heaping pile of-

"Hello?" A weedy looking unicorn stallion appears behind the desk, popping up like a whack-a-mole and surprising the bejeebus out of me. He's holding up a clipboard , like a shield between us.

"Ah, hello. We're not here to hurt you. Or take anything." As I say this a ceiling panel falls to the ground beside me with a crash. I glance at it, stepping over it – see, most ponies would step away from the crashing, falling bit of ceiling, but that ignores the very pressing issue that other places still have ceiling that has yet to fall. "Not that there's anything here worth taking."

"Oh, that's not t-true," he assures me, lowering his protective clipboard. I can see now that he's a young pinto stallion, just blooming out of his teens, with a slight acne problem and a decidedly unwashed-looking mane. "We have some of the b-best stocked chemistry and physics departments this side of Manehattan."

"Really?" I ask incredulously. A long fleck of paint detaches from the wall and drifts lazily down to the floor. At least I hope it’s paint.

"Oh, yes. Don't let the, uh, other facilities f-fool you. The administration just believes in putting the money where it c-counts." He nods, once, satisfied with his answer. That makes one of us, then.

"Well, speaking of those departments, I'm here for a pony named Fine Mane. You wouldn't happen to know where he is, would you?"

"Oh, F-f-fine Mane?" The stallion smiles, wide and toothy. "He's a legend around here. I think he's giving a demonstration in B Building."

"Which building?"

"I just said. Building B."

"Oh." I connect the dots and feel silly. "Well... can we see him?" I ask as Golden trots up to one of the walls, inspecting it closely. She jumps back as part of it moves.

"I, uh, I don't know. C-can you?" the stallion stammers, actually reading his clipboard-cum-shield. "Y-you don't seem to have an a-a-appointment." He machine-guns the a's with his nervous stammer.

I flutter my wings pointedly, just about sick of this whole ordeal. I'm half convinced the entire building is about to come crashing around my ears. There's a dangerous groaning from the ceiling and I glare at it, just daring it to try something again. "Do princesses need to make appointments?" I ask the pony at the desk with my eyes fixed on the unfixable ceiling.

"M-m-maybe not. Let me check."

He glances down to look through Celestia knows what files he needs to, so I cast a quick mending spell on the ceiling, touch up the walls, and even scrub the floors a little bit. The bit of ceiling I'm standing on is the first to be patched. I fixed the Ponyville Dam with a lot less to work with, I'll say that much. By the time the nervous receptionist pops his head back up the room is back to... well, it's not good, but it's now functional.

"What h-happened?" he stammers, looking around goggle-eyed.

"Nothing," I say, sweet as any of Pinkie's creations. "Now, you were about to tell me about appointments."

"O-oh. No, it l-looks like princesses don't need them, you were r-right. I'll show you to Fine Mane right away." The stallion unfolds himself from what must be a stool, because he's taller than me, but probably half my weight. He's lanky, if one were to be generous, and scrawny if you weren't.

Still, he leads us out of the administration building, out and around, until we get to a rather large brown brick building in comparatively good condition. It must be the science department, or 'where all the money goes'.

Through the comparatively clean corridors we go until we come across a packed lecture theatre, with Fine Mane at the front, speaking passionately.

"The first principle is that you must not fool yourself—and you are the easiest person to fool. So you have to be very, very careful about that. After you've not fooled yourself, it's easy not to fool other scientists. You just have to be honest in a conventional way after that!" he declared, underlining a diagram he had up on the board.

I smile softly and sneak into the room, Golden still in tow, trying not to be noticed. The door opens into the back of the lecture theatre, so that only Fine Mane might notice me. It suits me just fine when he doesn't.

"Now, to get back to, to the question. Where, uh, does a photon come from? We know it comes from the, the electron. Is the photon in the atom ahead of time, or, or where does it come from? Well, photons are created by the motions of the electron, well, when you make a sound, does it come from your word bag? No! No, it comes from your, from your... it's created, made up as you go along, and it's the same with photons." He draws a squiggle on the chalkboard, I suppose it's meant to represent the photon travelling in a wave. "Now, if you'll all excuse me, I believe the princess at the back would like to have a word with me, so we'll be having a fifteen minute recess."

So he did notice me, he's just got one heck of a poker face. Sly stallion. Everypony starts whispering at once, the information passing over the hall like a breeze through the underbrush, and a lot of eyes are suddenly on me. My smile turns a bit fragile as I wave at the theatre of students staring at me. Fortunately the moment only lasts a few seconds before they respectfully start filing out. When the last student has left I trot slowly up to the front of the class.

"They seem nice," I offer in greeting, stretching a hoof in front of me for a hoofshake. He accepts the gesture, and my smile feels a bit more genuine again.

"To what do I owe such a prestigious visit, Doctor Sparkle?"

"This is my friend and assistant, Golden Retriever. She's also more fond of the 'doctor' title than the 'princess' one, so with that in common, I'm sure you two will get along famously."

He stares at Golden for a long moment, unabashed, before blinking and shaking his head, snapping out of whatever he was thinking. "I do, must, apologize, Golden, I was momentarily surprised by your name. I mean no offense by it."

Golden rolls her eyes and offers her own hoof, which Fine Mane graciously accepts. Should I just start thinking of him as Fine? It sounds weird in my head without the 'Mane' part.

"So, can't an old friend just drop by for a friendly visit?" I ask, feigning offense.

Fine Mane twists his lips at me, too wry a creature for it to be called a smile. "We could have been good, friends, if you hadn't insisted on being great colleagues instead." He rolls his eyes and I blush a little in embarrassment, scratching the back of my neck . "You were a fantastic colleague, Twilight. One of the best I was fortunate enough to have. Probably the best. A pony like you doesn't just, just take a train up from Ponyville for social visits."

"You're right," I reply, firmly, "though I would like to offer the invitation of friendship, regardless. You were a great colleague, too, which is why I'm offering you a professorship at a university under construction in Ponyville. I'm looking for the best and brightest minds in Equestria, and you're the first pony I thought of."

"Really?" he asks me, deadpan and disbelieving. He glances at Golden for confirmation. She nods emphatically. "Really," he repeats, this time more in amusement. "Well, if that's the case, then, well, I'm going to have to accept your generous offer... of friendship." I wince a little. It's still better than I could have hoped, but he's about to roll all over me, isn't he? "I've got a fantastic position here, Doctor Sparkle, as it is. I can't leave it."

"Why not?" I ask, trying not to sound like a petulant child and failing miserably. Golden certainly looks less than amused, though whether it's at me or him I can't tell. Probably both.

"I'm sorry, Princess, but I can't. I mean... no, no I can't. Canterlot is my home, and I fought tooth and hoof for this position. I can't leave it on, on a whim. I'm sure your professorship offer is very generous, but I'm afraid it's not for me. You'll have to find some other physicist."

"But I don't want another physicist," I moan, "I want you."

He chuckles. "You sure know how to flatter a stallion, Princess, but my answer is still no."

I muster up A Look, and turn to blatant grovelling. "Please?"

"The answer is still no, Twilight."

"Fiddlesticks!" I huff. Huff! "Well... what now? We've come all this way, and we've got at least another ten minutes before your students come back. It'd be a shame to leave so soon."

"Would you like to join me in formulating hypotheses about superconductivity of metals as they approach temperatures nearing absolute zero?"

"Sure," I say, delighted. And so we do. The conversation is riveting.





I settle into the park at a familiar table, covered in an eight by eight grid and containing well-worn pieces for the game it's suited to.

"Are you sure he'll come?" Golden asks beside me, nervously readjusting her spectacles. She must still be overwhelmed after our visit with Fine Mane. Understandable. I didn't expect him to turn us down, either. Hopefully it's not a sign of things to come.

I busy myself with preparing the board. "Oh, he'll be here. He's always here." The pieces dance around the board as my magic casts them about to their designated players. Every piece has a role, to be delicately moved about the board to suit a higher purpose. It's a wonderful metaphor.

Is this how Celestia feels all the time? No wonder she's always smiling so cryptically.

I'm sitting at a park, a designated Romantic Thing To Do, with Golden Retriever and I barely even notice, so anxious am I to see my old friend. It's been far too long since we’ve played a game together. I glance at the old clock set up in the centre of the park, dusted by the branches of swaying yew trees, and wait for it to tick to exactly thirteen past noon. It's a lovely park... the game it’s going to host will be brutal. I've been practicing.

One Stone was one of the very few ponies I could never beat at chess, the other being Celestia herself. Let's hope I'm at least good enough at negotiating to keep him interested.

A moss green unicorn stallion with a curly, frizzy mane, not unlike Pinkie Pie's except for its white colouration, rounds the corner. He notices me. I make eye contact.

Solid electricity thrums through that gaze. He smiles with only half his mouth, not quite a smirk, not quite a sneer, something else entirely, and moves to sit across from me. He's towing his lunch behind him in a brown paper bag and I can smell it from here. Pickle sandwich. Wretched, but his favourite for whatever reason. It's almost as good an indicator to his foreign nature, mind and body, as his accent is.

"Ah, Tvilight Sporkle, ve meet again. Und who is ze loovely mare you have brought with you?"

"Hello, One Stone. This is my friend and assistant, Golden Retriever. How's the patent office treating you?"

One Stone doesn't say anything about Golden's name, and I can see a little smile of appreciation crop up on her face when she notices it too. One Stone suffers too many jokes about his own Allermane name to draw attention to someone elses.

"Ah ze patent office is so dreadfoolly dull, wouldn't you agree? No, it's far better to talk about what you have been up to, yes? Tvilight Sporkle und her own demesne! Wunderbahg! I always knew you held such promise!"

I blush in spite of myself. I've taken black – I always manage to lose by a narrower margin when he makes the first move – but the moss-green unicorn across from me has no problems with this. He simply moves the pawn in front of his black-square bishop two spaces, then looks up to smile at me expectantly.

I push the pawn in front of my king two squares to free up my queen and bishop. "That's actually what I wanted to talk to you about. I'm establishing a new magical theory department at the first University of Ponyville, and I was hoping you'd be interested in teaching."

We move pieces in silence for a moment, Golden watching from the side in fascination. My pawn is the first casualty, taken off the board with a little 'plink', to be traded for the pawn that took it. Even ground once more.

"I am honoured zat you are thinking of me, Princess." One Stone smiles at me, "Und vot vould you have me teach, hrrm?"

More tiks and plinks on the board. "Magic."

"Magik? Ah, but what vould an old fool such as me know about magic?" He leaves a bishop dangling. It's an obvious trap, but I can't see how yet. My only choice is to take it and prepare to counter to the best of my abilities. Plink.

"The old fool is acting coy, and it doesn't suit him very well." I smile, eyes darting across the pieces dangerously. "You helped me with my thesis for Celestia on the potential magical energy of sunlight. And what about your own paper on the effects of magic on submolecular particles?"

"Feh!" he declares as his queen finally roars out into play, and I realize taking the bishop was a mistake as he pins two of my pieces, dominating center board, "Idle musings, nothink more. Sometimes I think vhen I eat my sandvich, und sometimes I put those thoughts to paper."

I snort. "And sometimes you write amazing, world changing papers. My offer stands." I reverse the pin, threatening his queen. It's a weak threat, but it's enough to save me from the pin. One Stone grunts, pulling his queen into a more defensible position.

"I do not know, Tvilight. Not all of us are destined for greatness." He pronounces greatness like it's a hiccup. "Some of us ver just meant to be patent clerks." He pushes his rook to attack my king from the side... Golden's eyes widen. She must have been following the game. I can't help but smile at the familiar play. I always fall for this.

"And some of us were meant to be part of something fantastic," I enthuse, pushing my knight forward for what little good it will do. The game is lost.

He strikes with his queen, drawing it close to my king. The king is forced to take it, venturing out into a weak position... The trap, a queen sacrifice, springs shut, the bishop drawing its deadly gaze upon my king.

Checkmate.

One Stone smiles down at the board, then back up at me. "A professorship, though? My own department of theoretical magic? Are you sure?"

"One Stone, I've come all the way from Ponyville to find the best and brightest the world has to offer, and you're only the second pony I've approached. I'm positive that it would be a pleasure to have your help."

"The second, eh? Vell, what did the first say?"

"The first one turned me down." I admit, shrugging it off. "I was hoping you'd go better."

"How could I turn down Doctor Tvilight Sporkle's generous offer? I accept, Princess." His eyes go glossy with tears he's trying to suppress. He's failing, though.

"Why are you crying? You won!" I reset the pieces for another game. We always have a rematch.

He always wins those, too. He moves a knight first, this time, just to be different.

He wipes one dewy eye with the tip of his hoof. "I may have at that, Princess. I zink I just may have. When would you have me?" The pieces move rapidly across the board for a while.

"A year from now, exactly. Unless you'd like to move down sooner, I'm sure I could find work for somepony as talented as you."

"No, no, ze patent office, she needs me." One Stone sighed, pushing his knight into the centre squares, where it can do brutal amounts of damage. I'll have to find some way to dislodge it.

"Are you sure? One Stone, you're one of the most brilliant theoretical mages I've ever met. The world needs you more than the patent office.”

"When did you get this chatty?" he smirks at me between bites of sandwich. "You never used to talk this much unless it vos about a theorem."

"I'm more friendly than I used to be." I smile back, moving my pawn forward to dislodge his thrice-darned knight.

One Stone stares at me incredulously. I feel the weight of his look settle on me, and it's not entirely pleasant. "What?"

"Ah, Doctor Princess?" Golden whispers, pointing down at the board.

Oh. I'd forgotten about his bishop. I've just given him my queen for free.

"Friendly, yes," One Stone laughs, taking the undefended queen, "but better at chess? Not hardly."

"Hey! I was distracted."

"Sure," he croons, laughing. I take his knight and stick my tongue out at him.

"But you will come, right?"

"Be part of something so revolutionary? Or recessive, depending on whichever pony you think to ask... I vouldn't miss it for the vorld!" He laughs almost explosively, rat-a-tatting with a wheeze. He's not an old pony, he's not even middle-aged, he’s just... he's one of those ponies that was born old, I think, whose intelligence supercedes their ability to be young.

There's a few plinks, and suddenly my rook is at his king's door. He scowls, moving it out of harm's way... I push the rook, the bishop behind it setting its sights on his king once more. Normally it wouldn't be anything other than a minor inconvenience, if I hadn't just pushed my rook to attack his queen.

"You underestimated me, old friend."

"Friends now, are ve? After zat?"

"Oh, hush."

"Rivals, perhaps," he muses, "colleagues, certainly. But friends? That's a new vun on me."

"It's new to me too," I admit, devastating his side of the board, pillaging it with my surviving knight. "I've kind of grown to like it, though." I glance sideways at Golden and she beams back at me. Yes, yes, friendship is most certainly magic.

"You have a very funny vay of showing it," One Stone grumbles, knocking his king over. "You vin. Vell done."

I stare at the board. "But... but that wasn't checkmate?"

"There vos no way I could come back from that upset, Tvilight."

"But... but that means... I beat you?"

"You vere right. I did underestimate you and I let my guard down. I vill be careful never to let it happen again."

I stare at the board in disbelief. "But I've never beaten you."

"Yes, and if I have my way, you shall never do so again. But there you have it. Tvilight Sporkle has bested old One Stone at chess for the first time in recorded history. Und you know vot, Tvilight?"

"What's that?"

"I'm still very happy. Extraordinarily so. Today has been a good day. I hope you bring me many more in my future. Now, if you'll excuse me, my lunch break is over, and I have finished my sandvich. Shall we be in touch?" One Stone gets up to leave, shaking Golden's hoof emphatically on the way past.

I'm still staring at the board. I won? I won. Huh. That's... never happened before. I expected... more. It's the first time I've ever truly made him let his guard down, I suppose. Even when we talked about complex magical formula, we still concentrated utterly on the game. It was just two different parts of the brain.

The question is, what threw him off more? Throwing away my queen so recklessly, or calling him my friend?

"Well, that was... fascinating," Golden says, slowly. "Who's next?"

"I won," I answer dumbly.

"Yes, it was a close run thing, too. But we need to be moving on, Doctor Princess. The day is only so long."

"Right. Right," I mumble, shaking the stupid from my head, flinging it far and wide and, most importantly, away. "I think we might be able to get Mulch and Burette done together. They're both working at Oxfjord University, so getting them in the same room might not be as difficult as I thought," I declare, rising from my seat. My eyes lock on to a food cart. "But first, I think we need lunch. Hay fries?"

Golden's stomach rumbles loudly and she blushes. Yep, hay fries it is. Ooh! And it looks like there's a barista cart just off to the side too! I could use some coffee right about now.





Oxfjord is a fantastically famous university. I'm positive you've heard of it, everypony has. It's the other university in Canterlot, the one for the noble kids, parent's money thrown heavily around... or for those very clever few there on academic scholarship. Three guesses as to which group I got along with better, and the first two don't count.

It’s made of massive white limestone quarried from the side of the mountain, each massive brick bearing just a hint of the crystal residing within the mountain's core. Its many swooping spires jut into the sky and glint in the afternoon sun. Always sparkling, a shining beacon of knowledge, a metaphor the school is more than happy to cultivate. I have many fond, and some less-than-entirely-pleasant, memories of my old alma mater. I'm about to meet the source of many of the pleasant ones again.

Golden was kind enough to navigate the bureaucracy for me to get Burette and Mulch together in a science faculty staff room. It seems that both of my old roommates got research professorships. It's time to put them on the fast-track to academic success, the Twilight Sparkle way.

But before that I have to wait.

The wait in the reception area is agonizing. I feel like the parent waiting to hear what, exactly, their problem child has done now. It doesn't help that I'm sitting in the right place for it, or that the ponies I'm waiting for are Burette and Mulch. I wouldn't put it past either of them to need a visit from a strict parental figure at any given moment.

Burette and Mulch both have a particularly... active sense of humour. Rooming with them is probably why I find putting up with Pinkie so... achievable in comparison. I love them to bits, though, which is why I'm putting so much effort into finding the least offensive descriptors to denote them. There are much less pleasant words that other ponies have used over the years, but that only seems to garner Burette's wrath, in particular. I just don't think Mulch minds much either way.

Burette is much like a true wizard of legends: Subtle and quick to anger. One time I had deigned to 'borrow' some of her books without her permission. I was awoken that night by a dry ice bomb being detonated under my bed, waking me up with a start. Of course, that was the plan, and she was poised with a pie perfectly at sit-up-suddenly height. In her defense, it was a very good pie. I can't remember what flavour, I just remember it was good enough to mollify my annoyance at being awakened by an explosion in my ear at two in the morning.

Mulch's pranks are a lot more insidious. One night he re-sewed my favourite cardigan so that all the buttons were on the other side. A normal pony may have fumbled and thought it weird, but ultimately figured it must have always been like that, somehow. Against a mare as OCD as I am, though— I may have... overreacted, flipped out, questioned my entire life and existence up until that point and ultimately contributed more to the philosophy of solipsism in that day than quite a few ponies will in their lifetimes. Indeed, I have a couple of footnotes credited to me in the book I lent Golden the other day. They managed to eventually put out all the fires, though my professor apparently never returned to his natural colour.

Brilliant minds, though, both Mulch and Burette. They just have their own ways of showing it.

"Doctor Princess? Doctor Princess?" Golden nudges me.

"Hmm?"

"Sorry for, uh, touching you. That was unprofessional. You were just, um, really zoned out. I just meant to tell you that they're ready for us now."

"Oh. Well, you're forgiven, I guess." Don't apologize for the physical contact, Golden, you'll break my poor little pony heart.

Now who's being unprofessional...

"Burette and 'Mulch' are ready for you now. Though the receptionist was confused as to who you meant by Mulch at first. You know that's not his real name, right?"

Oh. I had totally forgotten about that. It'd been so long since I've heard 'Mulch' called by anything other than his preferred nickname.

"I hope we got the right pony then."

"Oh, don't worry, we managed to work out who you meant in fairly short order. It just made things a bit more complicated, which works out fine because it's not fun if it's easy." Golden smiles wistfully.

"Excellent! So, do you know where we need to go?"

"Of course!" Golden declares with all the good cheer she can muster. She even nods for a second or two. Unfortunately what she doesn't do is move. Or point. Or indicate.

Anything actually useful.

I arch my eyebrow at her.

The periodic nodding stops. "What?"

"Would you care to lead the way, then?"

"Oh! Ah, right, of course." She turns tail and heads off down one of the corridors branching off from the main trunk that is the reception hall, hoping I didn't see her blush in embarrassment.

I did.

The expensive hallways are also made of that same marble and metamorphic rock carved from Canterlot mountain itself. Even the sound of your own hoofsteps on that floor seem expensive. It's all polished to a shine and gleaming, almost sterile. It's almost the exact opposite of its rival, Corncob. The student fees reflect it, too. The doorways and fixtures all appear to be made of a pearlescent wood. I idly wonder, not for the first time, what kind of timber they used. It's one of those things I’d always planned on looking up, but always got distracted by something else in the library.

It's not my fault, they have a really big library here. Huge. Cavernous! And all the books are so amazing and expensive and wonderful.

I'm going to have to show Golden.

"Hey, Golden? After we're done with Burette and Mulch, or the pony I know as Mulch, would you like to visit the library with me?"

Golden's eyes widen and her eyebrows shoot right up over the rims of her spectacles. "Do you mean it? I mean, are we allowed?"

"The librarians all know me, and I'm sure one of Celestia's former scribes would make an acceptable plus one. As long as you're okay with being my guest, that is."

Her eyes sparkle. I like that. "It's probably the biggest collection of legal literature outside of the palace archives! Of course I'd love to be your guest."

"Excellent," I announce, "it's a date."

Golden smiles giddily and makes some rather high-pitched squeaky noises that sound like delight, or perhaps a kitten with colic.

I keep walking but Golden stops, falling still in front of me. I shoot her a quizzical look.

"Ah... it's here, Doctor Princess."

"Oh! Oh. Excellent. Shall I go first then?"

"I think that would be best, yes. They won't recognize me."

I grin, wide and carefree. It's going to be nice to see the old pair again. I open the door and step into a small staffroom, one with a cheap wooden table in the centre that seats about ten ponies. There's an icebox and a stove with a sink attached to the wall to me right, and the rest is just open space to mingle and eat. The opulent feel of the building seems to stop at the door, because the staffroom itself feels kind of cheap.

Sitting at the table, facing the door, is a yellow earth pony stallion with long green dreadlocks, distinctly greasy looking. This would be the pony I know as Mulch. He's smiling and waving with a little more enthusiasm than is strictly appropriate for an adult pony to show. His head is bobbing from sheer force of his waving. Beside him is a salt-white mare with a brilliantly red, curly mane, like fresh blood bubbling from an open wound. She's tapping her forehooves together on the top of the table in a manner that is either glee or menace. Knowing Burette, it could easily go either way.

"We've been expecting you, Princess Sparkle." Burette smiles chillingly at me, too wide and all teeth. "Please, have a seat."

I stare at her suspiciously, looking for any sign, any tell, as to what she's up to. I give Mulch the same treatment but he just shrugs lazily at me.

I sit down in the offered chair across from them.

Phffffttttt!

"Doctor Princess!" Golden gasps, trotting into the room. I roll my eyes.

"Oh, very mature." I sigh, getting up and glaring at the chair. Burette cackles, but Mulch sticks to a goofy half-smile, like there's more I'm just not getting yet. The chair... looks completely normal.

"There's no whoopie cushion?"

Burette's smile sharpens and grows all pointy, with little edges to it. "Why, Twilight, why would there be a whoopie cushion? Trying to blame us for your own ill manners. Do grow up."

I poke the chair with a hoof.

Pfft.

"Oh, very clever." I sigh, moving the chair aside and replacing it with another one. Golden prods the old chair with an inquisitive hoof, jumping back when it noises at her. "You actually sewed it inside the cushion?"

"Better," Mulch replies, his cool facade cracking just long enough to go on about how clever he's been. "The cushion is a hoof-crafted exact replica of the other chair cushions, except with appropriate valves in the base. Undetectable to the naked eye."

"Is that why it took me so long to get a meeting with you two? You were busy setting this up?"

Mulch stares at the ceiling and whistles an innocent tune. In the history of that tactic's use, has it ever done anything but make a pony look more guilty? Burette just shakes her head, twice, and levels her gaze at me.

"We were working on an interdepartmental project. I've discovered a chemical compound that makes soybeans grow much faster."

"It makes wicked tofu, too." Mulch nodding so much that it looks like his head is about to fall off. "You've got to be careful which plants you spray it on though. If you use too much, it just liquefies the plant. It makes for a pretty effective weedkiller, though."

I blink. "So, you're using it to grow more soybeans... but if you use too much, it ends up wiping out your whole garden?"

"Why would anypony want to do that though?" Mulch looks genuinely confused.

Burette's eyes, though, flashed with inspiration. "Think about it Mulch... we could burn our names in the grass on the sports field!"

I shake my head and look at Mulch instead. "Think of how much damage it could do in the wrong hooves!"

Burette smiles even wider and grabs him around the shoulders, spinning him around to face her. "Yeah, Mulch, think how much damage I could do with it!"

"That wasn't meant as encouragement, Burette."

Golden trots up to me, still eyeing the whoopie chair uneasily, and whispers in my ear. "Are you sure about these two?" I meet her eyes and nod once, firmly.

Burette, of course, disapproves. "It's like you don't even know me at all, anymore, Twilight. Where's your scientific curiosity? What happened to the young enterprising Twilight Sparkle I used to know and weaponize?"

I fold my hooves over my chest. "I developed morals."

Burette pouts at me, a curl of red falling down in front of her eyes. She blows it away, still pouting. "Spoilsport. Those just hold you back."

Mulch brushes her hooves off his shoulders. "Sorry, Twilight. I'll make sure we're super careful with it."

"That's all I could ask for." I blink. "Wait, no it's not, I have something else I wanted to ask you. In six months I'll be establishing whole new universities, the likes of which Equestria has never seen before, and I need the greatest staff this world has known to help teach there, run their own departments with a tender fist of iron. So, I thought of you too. Oh, and Fine Mane, but he said no."

"Pomp-and-Circumstance said no? That means we have to say yes, out of principle." Burette nods. Mulch smiles wide.

"Me? A professorship? My own department? Are you sure?"

"You'd have to leave Oxfjord though," I warn.

Burette folds her forelegs in front of her. "We'll tender our resignations, then."

"Why be tender about it?" Mulch asks, stars in his eyes, "we're quitting!"

The other three of us groan at his 'joke'. Still, Burette looks thoughtful, grinning wickedly, eyes staring at nothing on the ceiling in particular.

"Professor Burette. I like the sound of that. How about you, Mulch?"

"Yeah, I like the sound of Professor Burette too," he agreed. Burette shook her head, eyes darting from the ceiling to the pony beside her. He seemed to twitch under her gaze.

"I meant Professor Mulch. It works for you."

Mulch squirms a little bit in his seat, like he's sat on a colony of ants and they've chosen this moment to try and get rid of him. "I uh, wouldn't be Professor Mulch though. That's the thing."

Burette blinks. It seems I'm not the only one who thinks of Mulch as just Mulch. "Oh, right. Uh, sorry about that."

"You can't possibly be that ashamed of your name. It's not that bad," Golden huffs beside me.

Mulch straightens up, drawing upon the vast reserve of indignance that comes naturally to scientists. He looks like somepony has dared question his research methodology. If you were a scientist you'd know the look well. "But it is that bad. Not that you could possibly understand, Ms..."

"Golden Retriever. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Right, Ms Golden Retriever, I-" Mulch's mind catches up to his mouth and it slams shut with a little clack of teeth. "Oh. Uh, sorry."

"Indeed. 'Oh' is right," Golden replies primly. "For what it's worth, I think your name is lovely."

"Cursive Script is not a 'lovely' name. It's a boring name." Mulch huffs, crossing his forelegs across his chest and slumping in his chair.

Oh, right, that's what it was. It doesn't suit him at all. Particularly since he has the frequently terminal disease of Doctor's Hoofwriting – I don't think I've even seen him write in cursive. His hoofwriting is like carving the page in jagged runes.

"I'll be sure to make sure you're listed as Professor Mulch. It's my demesne, I get to do things like that. Isn't that right, Golden?"

Golden turns to me and seems to consider it. "Actually, I think you might have the power to legally change his name. I'm almost certain having his nickname officially listed is within your not inconsiderable powers."

I clap my hooves together, trying not to giggle. "Then it's settled. Professor Mulch and Professor Burette, as of six or so months from now, when we have facilities for you." I fail at the whole not giggling thing. "Are you two excited?"

"Weak minded students upon which to inflict my terrible marking? Heading a chemistry department? Pinch me, Mulch, I think I'm dreaming."

Mulch jabs her in the shoulder with a little more force than strictly necessary, grinning soft as a whisper.

"Ow! Above and beyond the call of duty." Burette whines, massaging her shoulder. Golden looks like she's trying not to snicker, again something I'm failing at.

"I know, I've just been wanting to do that since you poisoned my breakfast cereal."

"What?" Golden and I both ask simultaneously. Okay, so we definitely heard correctly if there's corroboration going on.

"He's being a big baby about it." Burette complains, still rubbing her shoulder with a hoof, "I put the antidote in his coffee."

"Yeah, but I hate coffee." Mulch sticks his tongue out at her, making a little 'bleugh' noise like a toddler.

"What? I thought you loved coffee? Couldn't get enough?"

Mulch blinks. "What? No, that was Twilight. Remember that semester where she helped you set up a rig to brew the perfect cup of coffee?"

"Oh. Yeah, right. You grew the beans though."

I try not to cry. That rig had been so perfect... the beans, the temperature, the brew... it had culminated in the most magnificent cups of coffee this world would ever see. It was taken by Burette's professor for the assessment and he never gave it back, and I could never replicate its success without her help.

Be strong, Twilight.

"How did you forget that I liked tea and Twilight liked coffee? I grew my own leaves in a hydroponic kit in the room we shared. You often commented on the smell!"

Mulch hates coffee. I dislike tea. This resulted in many a passionate debate between us. Excruciatingly passionate. Burette had to separate us, occasionally with an airhorn. A few times with a spray from one of Mulch’s garden hoses. Only once, though, with acid.

"I thought it was just your deodorant or something."

We both stare at her for a long moment. Once more Golden leans and whispers into my ear, "Are we absolutely sure about her, Doctor Princess?"

"I was. Now I'm not. It's funny how that works."

Burette grumbles loudly over us. "Well, if that's the case, I don't know why I'm keeping those coffee-still notes for you. I should probably give them to Twilight."

She kept the notes? The ones supposedly lost to time immemorial?

No tears, Twilight! Additional research is still required to incorporate a shot of chocolate.

Mulch grumbles. "I don't see why you couldn't try making a tea brewing apparatus for me."

"That's easy. You insisted brewing tea was an art, not a science."

Mulch does a doubletake, then his face sets like stone. "You remember that, but still got Twilight and my beverage of choice mixed up – you are incorrigible." He pauses for a moment and then gets up from his seat, looking at me and nodding once. "There will be vengeance for this, Burette. You won't know what and you won't know when. Princess, it was a pleasure to meet you again under these circumstances. I apologize again for your seat of choice. In our defense, it was sort of really funny. If you'll excuse me, I have some plants to get back to."

"Drama queen," Burette sneers as she gets up, too. It's a friendly sneer though. I think. I mean, probably.

"Would you just point us towards the library before we part ways?" I ask, somewhat gingerly. I don't want to set her off again. She's about as stable as the silver fulminate hourglass that, now that I think about it, she talked me into trying anyway. Things tend to blow up in my face around her, figuratively and literally.

"Oh. Sure."





Burette dumps us at the door unceremoniously, waves goodbye, then darts off to find something more interesting to hold her attention.

The library. Wow.

I remember this. How could I ever forget?

Books. Books as far as the eye can see, until there’s a wall filled with, you guessed it, books. There’s only about half a dozen other ponies beside us in here.

There are three distinct layers of books, three stories stacked upon each other, a large, cavernous main room encroached on both sides by more levels of books and lit from above by an enchanting stained glass dome the size of an observatory. The structures and archways are the familiar polished white marble of the rest of the building, whilst the floors and bookshelves themselves are of a dark, rich wood, like hardened red wine. Skeletal pillars are connected by rich mahogany sinew, with books acting as the teeming cells. The place feels alive, almost like walking back into a nestling womb of knowledge.

Okay, that metaphor creeped me out a bit at the end there, too, but I assure you it feels womb-like in a totally relaxing, welcoming, non-creepy way.

I look up and there’s books. To my left are books. To my right are books. Old books, classic books, hoof-bound books, row upon row, shelf upon shelf, of books on their old but well-maintained shelves.

“Isn’t the library so romantic?” I ask with a happy sigh.

Golden hums thoughtfully to herself. “Actually, with all the emphasis on natural lighting and the curved arches, I’d say the library is more baroque with romantic, or neoclassic, influences.”

How can a pony so clever be so oblivious?

“Right. How observant of you,” I say out loud, instead. Golden beams with pride. I can’t bring myself to take that away from her, so I forge on instead, leading her deeper into the core of the library. “It’s lovely and quiet in here, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely,” Golden nods enthusiastically, “so I shall do my very best to maintain a stoic and professional attitude at all times, so as not to disrupt it.”

Okay, now I’m starting to feel a little desperate.

I chart a course towards the law section. That’s up two flights of stairs. Let’s hope I can steer this conversation in time.

“I really like your spectacles.”

Golden bristles at that comment. “They’re of an adequate prescription for my eyes,” she says, a touch defensively, “I assure you that I can read at the required proficiency expected of me, so long as I wear them.”

Oh no. She must think I’m testing her! Quick! Think of something sufficiently small-talkish that she couldn’t possibly misinterpret as a challenge to her competency!

“So, lovely weather we’re having?”

Her eyes widen, and she practically vibrates with nervous energy. “Oh, dear, I haven’t been keeping up with recent forecasts, but the meteorology department is nearby and I can assure you I’ll have the most accurate two week forecast on your desk by the time we return to Ponyville, Doctor Princess.”

“Golden! You can relax. It's--" If you have to say it's a date, then it isn't a date. "-- just me making small talk. This isn't a job interview. As far as I'm concerned, your resume is exceptional." Celestia doesn't employ her scribes lightly. Good enough for her, good enough for me.

"O-oh. It's just... I'm only just now realizing I never formally had one."

"You were sent on the Princess's own recommendation, weren't you?"

"Luna's," she confirms.

"Then why wouldn't that be good enough for me?"

"I don't know!"

"But you can't stop stressing over this anyway?"

"Not really."

"Well, we're in one of the greatest libraries in the world. Surely there's a book you'd usually read to calm yourself?"

"I usually read old law books. They're... they're quite soothing. Letting the old legal-speak wash over you," she admits, somewhat tentatively.

"Excellent! Because that's where I was leading us. Very good thing, that."

"Why were you leading us to the legal section, Doctor Princess?"

We reach the cylindrical flight of brass-and-wood stairs. The guardrails are like a woven web spun by a very large, clockwork spider.

Actually, I think 'large clockwork spider' has popped up in a few engineering student's final reports here. Something about giant clockwork spiders entices the mad scientist in ponies, and something about Oxfjord attracts mad scienceponies.

I stare at the intricate brass latticework with new appreciation.

"Ah, Doctor Princess?"

"Oh, right." Apparently I stare for a little too long. My head was full of spiders, for a moment there.

Now it's full of images of my head being full of spiders.

Once more, I shake far too literal cobwebs out of my head.

"Well, I was hoping to see what the old law books had to say on demesnes."

"But that's why you have me, right, Doctor Princess?"

We ascend the stairs side-by-side. There's just enough room.

"Of course!" That and the mountain of paperwork. Yeesh. "But I'm in a position of power. I don't want to make any decisions out of ignorance that could drastically affect ponies lives, especially without knowing what I'm doing."

"Oh. That sounds completely reasonable."

Up to the top of this flight of stairs. Law section. Excellent.

"I'm certainly glad you think so, Golden. Though I'm sure you could help me right now by pointing me towards a good book on the subject?"

"I have just the book in mind."

She trots along the walls of books, scanning them. I go in search of the reading tables on this level. I find them behind the first row of bookshelves, which screen them from the view of the main floor, and in front of an ocean of more shelves. A very shallow ocean, mind, but an ocean nonetheless.

There aren't many students in here at this time of year, which isn't entirely a surprise. What is a surprise is the white unicorn with the monocle and glorious moustache, who I recognize, reading what appears to be a very thick, hoofbound book.

"Fancy Pants?"

He glances up, looking mildly miffed. "Hrrm? Yes what is it?" Recognition sparks in his eyes, and he bows slightly in his chair, as dignified as he can make the somewhat feeble gesture. "Ah! Princess Twilight Sparkle, the catalyst to this whole mess. It's a pleasure to see you again, though I wish it were under better circumstances."

"Better circumstances? What circumstances could be better than reading?"

He smiles at that. "Yes, quite right, I suppose, if it weren't for the dreadful nature of the subject matter."

I trot a bit closer. From here I can plainly see the bags under his eyes, the stray hairs bristling in his moustache, slightly unkempt mane – all completely normal and forgivable on a pony who isn't Fancy Pants, but alarm bells on the pony who is.

Golden trots up behind me. "I looked, but it appears somepony has it out."

Fancy Pants looks rather amused by her appearance. "Ah! Ms Golden, it's certainly quite good to see you again. Moving up in the world, I see?"

Golden turns to study Fancy Pants. "I'd have thought you'd have forgotten me, Mr Fancy Pants."

"Heavens forbid it, you've been so helpful to me over the years, and I never forget a friendly face."

"You two know each other?" I ask, quite thoroughly lost.

Fancy Pants chuckles. "Oh, I should certainly hope so. If an act of philanthropy were to ever make it through the channels of bureaucracy around Canterlot, without lining a pocket or seven, it would be through Ms Golden's channel."

"It wasn't a particularly hard job to do." Golden winces.

"Ah, but it was certainly inestimably difficult to do it well, which is where you excelled. I'm dreadfully sorry to see you go, for my own rather selfish reasons."

"I'm sorry to interrupt this reunion, but what are you doing studying a book of demesnes, Fancy Pants?" I ask.

Fancy Pants raises an eyebrow and checks the cover of the book for any identifiers. None are easily visible. "How exceptionally observant of you. What gave it away?"

"You're looking as exhausted as I feel, and I came here looking for just such a book, only to have Golden tell me someone has taken it from the shelves just now. I'm inclined to believe that someone would be you, though I'm not entirely sure why."

Fancy Pants sighs and gently lowers the book in front of him to the table, sliding a red silk bookmark into his page. "I never was one for history, I'm sure you're likely aware, but I'm afraid I've become doomed to repeat it nonetheless. Princess, when Luna gifted you Ponyville as your demesne, you weren't the only pony to find they had received one overnight. Many noble families are just now rediscovering land and titles they had long ago believed lost."

"I take it, then, that you're one such noble?"

Fancy Pants taps the side of his nose. "Quite right. Now, I have the rather unfortunate burden of being a decidedly self-made noble, you see, and my own land isn't exceptionally large. Not that I particularly minded. I had survived this long without it, after all."

"I sense a 'but' coming along, Fancy."

He smiles wryly. "It appears I have an unruly neighbour in Lady Lazuli, whose family owns far more land than I. It also appears she deems her current amount insufficient, and is readying for war at my borders."

"A civil war? In Equestria?" I gape. Golden gasps.

"The first in a thousand years, apparently. Which is where we arrive at myself, here before you now, reading through tomes of old law, looking for something which would allow the Royal Guard to intervene. I've been at it a night and a day, and I've yet to find anything of use."

I stare at Golden pleadingly. "You're the expert. Is there anything we can do?"

She shakes her head, utterly miserably. "Demesnes can only be granted and designated by the Royal Family, but if a rival can prove himself the superior by combat..."

"That's what this book is drilling into me," Fancy Pants sighs, tapping it against the table. I wince slightly, for the book's sake. "It seems I may just have to relinquish my land and titles. I must do anything and everything possible to avoid any bloodshed."

Golden grimaces. "You're a good pony, Mr Fancy, but unfortunately you're exactly the kind of pony these laws were intended to keep out."

I gape. "What? Why?"

Fancy Pants sighs. "If I may, Golden? Demesnes were originally intended to be called upon in times of need, as it was the lord's role to raise a personal army to fight for the nation."

Golden nods. "So they wanted to root out the weak, or the cowardly, or even the just and righteous, because they wouldn't be able to handle the rigours of war."

Fancy Pants sighs again, louder than he should in a library. "It's just unfortunate that these laws were intended at a time when 'diplomacy' was a dirty word. I'm afraid it's the only means I'm acquainted with."

"It's probably, almost definitely, why Celestia tried to make these laws forgotten, rather than repeal them directly. She'd have been trying to take the power from ponies that controlled Equestria's armies. Can you imagine what they would have done if they were told Celestia was taking their power away from them?"

My eyes widen. "No more petty squabble level civil wars, hello take-over-Equestria-rule-by-force coup civil wars."

Fancy Pants and Golden nod their heads gravely.

"That's what we've brought back?"

Fancy Pants grins grimly at me. "As I said, Twilight, you are merely the catalyst. A lot of dominos had to be lined up before Luna knocked them over on your behalf. We're just about to see their glorious fall, however."

"Why don't... can't you just..." I stammer, mind racing for possible solutions. Fancy Pants shakes his head slowly.

"My 'citizens', if we were to call them that, aren't even allowed to leave their homes voluntarily. If they do, they have to flee to a city and remain there for at least a full year, and relinquish whatever meagre possessions they're afforded in the interrim."

"Wait, is that true for Ponyville, too?"

Golden wears a funny look, not ha-ha funny, but milk left out in the sun for a week funny. "For all demesnes."

I gulp. "I guess it's good that I'm holding elections then."

Fancy Pants adjusts his monocle, even as Golden fiddles with her spectacles, "A capital idea, though I think you're most fortunate because Ponyville is, as it were, a new location to the crown. It's hardly more than a couple of hundred years old, and is thus immune to having neighbours to worry about, at least of neighbours long since forgotten. You aren't likely to be pressed against immediately."

Gears start whirring noisily between my ears. "I sense there's another but to this."

"It means you won't have warning when somepony tries to raise an army against you, and they will. Tartarus knows no greed like a noble with newfound power. When that time comes, you best be ready, Princess."

I imagine Ponyville as a warzone, streets pitted by cannon fire, all so some noble can get a few more tax dollars wrung out of their citizens. I shudder.

"We need to talk to Princess Luna," I declare. "Fancy Pants, I hope the next time we meet it's under better circumstances."

"And I the same. I wish to you the best of luck in your endeavours, for I fear you shall be needing them."

"I'll be sure to find out how you're doing, too. I'll keep in contact, Fancy Pants."

Fancy Pants shakes his head slowly, sadly. "I'm afraid it's a much larger problem than just myself. If you have any success, or progress, attacking the root of the problem, I'll be all ears."

With that, he recedes back into his book with a sigh. I don't have the heart to borrow it from him.

I wince. The only thing I can really do now is talk to Luna about what she's done. Do I have the nerve to face her? The motivation?

We head down the stairs side by side again. I don't think the library holds anything for us anymore. It's time to leave. Do I head to Ponyville, though, or the palace?

I'd need to be mad. I'd need to be furious. I'd need to be in soul-crushing despair. Sure, I was upset on Fancy Pants' behalf, and for the ponies in his unwitting care. I was upset to see such a proud and kind stallion, one who thought I was charmingly rustic, reduced to the lethargic husk I saw before me then. But it wasn't personal.

Big sigh. Bigger sigh. I don't think I could work up the sheer distress needed to confront Luna. Not now.

I turn to Golden with another big, heaving sigh. Full of those right now. I feel like melancholic bagpipes. "So, that whole small talk thing. Want to try that again, maybe?"

Golden looks at me, blushes, looks away. Looks back up at me. Looks away again timidly. Looks up at me a third time, manages to hold her gaze. "Well, there was one thing I wanted to ask you?"

My heart hammers in my ribcage. Badum, badum, badum. Like an overexcited gorilla is playing the ventricles like bongos.

"Yes? You can ask me anything! Anything at all."

"Well... you mean that right?"

"Absolutely! I promise I won't be mad at you, or upset, or anything of the sort. Cross my heart and hope to fly, stick a – sheerly proverbial – cupcake in my eye."

Golden nods to herself and pushes her spectacles up her grey nose as far as they'll go. "Oh. Good. Because, I was wondering, and it's sort of personal--"

Badum. Badum.

"But you're right, I could ask you anything, couldn't I? I trust you."

BadumBadumBadum.

"Do you think a mare like Rainbow Dash would ever be interested in a mare like me? You know, romantically?"

Bad--

Oh look at that. My heart stopped right on the bad. Urk. Pain, chest, tight, like vice. Golden's looking at me so hopefully, so desperately, can't hurt her, can't say anything to hurt her, even if I feel like she's just shoved a red-hot broken cider bottle into my chest and twisted it. Even if it feels like my insides have been shredded, slowly, into confetti and fired from Pinkie's party cannon. Even if it feels like I want to take the all of reality, squish it into a single ball of singularity, and manually reboot the universe into one where this doesn't and could never happen.

I've run the math before.

"Golden, I'd be more than happy to answer that question completely honestly. Have a long and detailed conversation. But for reasons absolutely crucial to the answer I give, we really need to head to the palace and speak to Princess Luna. Right now."

"Why-"

"Please trust me Golden."

"Oh. Uh, okay. So, uh, should I... should I try small talk on the way there?"

"For the moment, it would probably be best if you didn't. Just for the moment."

Not her fault don't take it out on her.

Take it out on somepony who more or less deserves it.