//------------------------------// // Chapter 56 // Story: The Perilous Romance of Swans // by kudzuhaiku //------------------------------// There was a cold, prickling sensation in his dock as Gosling looked down at his hoof. He didn’t like what he saw. Hoof rot. There were cracks in his once perfect, beautiful hooves. He lifted up one front hoof, his left one, to have a better look. It had once been smooth, but now looked pitted, it was rough, scratchy, and blemished. Standing next to the bed, he stretched his leg out and scraped the rough edge of his hoof against the hard edge of the bedside table. It snagged, as expected, and he hoped that he could break off the soft rotten part without too much trouble. Just a little careful scraping. But too much tore away and he felt blinding pain as the hoof split open, the tender flesh within tearing. Even as he stood watching, his hoof began to dissolve, melting like wax, and his other hooves as well, making it difficult to stand. His own weight caused his other hooves to break apart, to crack, to split, to bust open. He let out a horrified whinny, but there was nothing he could do. Forced to stand on meaty stumps, Gosling wobbled, almost losing his balance. His wings unfurled and he flapped to keep himself upright. Feathers flew like autumn leaves. Each flap caused feathers to fall out and drift down to the ground all around him. In agony, horrified by his own feather loss, he gritted his teeth together, trying to keep from screaming. The pressure of his teeth proved to be his undoing. The first tooth shattered with an explosive pop, filling his mouth with shards of sharp enamel that cut into his gums, his cheek, and the soft flesh beneath his tongue. A second tooth shattered, filling his mouth with more sharp bits, and then a third. Somehow, in his sleep, his teeth, his hooves, and his wings had rotted. He felt a growing sense of panic and struggled to breathe, he fought to keep standing, and then he had to resist choking—his teeth were falling out from their sockets and he gagged as he tried not to swallow them. As more teeth fell out, Gosling felt something wriggling around in his mouth, he could feel things slithering out of the bloody holes where his teeth had been. Something slithered over his tongue. He spat out several teeth and something long and wormy wiggled on the ground among them. More things wiggled and writhed inside of his mouth, crawling out of now empty sockets, parasites, dreadful parasites, he could feel them crawling around inside of his head now, just under his skin, they were inside of his tongue, they lurked above the roof of his mouth. When Gosling opened up his mouth to scream, the parasites began crawling down his throat and he found that he could not breathe… The bed was absolutely soaked with sweat. Gosling shivered beneath his blanket, he felt clammy, cold, and his whole body ached. He was having trouble breathing. He sucked in much needed air, his lungs burning, and he could feel a dreadful pressure behind his eyes. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t get enough air into him and he had trouble moving, it was as if he was paralysed. Feeling and movement returned to his limbs. He could feel his heart thudding against his ribs, like a frenzied bird thrashing around its cage. He tried to get up and spilled out of his bed. He had no memory of going to bed. It took him several long moments to piece things together, and then he found that he couldn’t piece things together. He staggered, then stumbled, and made his way to the door. He had great difficulty crossing the tiny room he now called his own. He thumped into the door, managed to get it open, and wobbled into Celestia’s room. She was in the bed and so was somepony else. There was another body beneath her blankets. In his confused, disoriented state, he stood there, trying to figure out what was going on. He heard whimpers, a soft cry, and for a moment, he wondered if it was himself that he was hearing. Knees knocking like an unsteady yearling, Gosling stood beside the bed, trying to make the pieces fit. His mouth tasted terrible and there were spikes being driven through his brain. His throat felt so dry that he worried that his flesh might split and crack. Who knew what might come spilling it out from within him if it did. In the faint light, he saw Celestia looking at him as he struggled to remain upright. Blinking his eyes, Gosling realised that it was Luna that was in the bed beside Celestia. The cries were hers. She kicked and twitched in her sleep, she whimpered, and her cheeks were shiny in the dim light. “What happened last night?” Celestia asked. “I… I… uh, I…” Gosling shook his head, trying to piece things together. “Is she okay?” Gosling was startled by the sound of his own voice, it was dry and it cracked. It was also far too loud, even though he was almost whispering. It made his head hurt. “She’s punishing herself again, no doubt,” Celestia replied. It took far too much effort to keep standing. With a lurch, Gosling tumbled into the bed and piled up against Luna. He could feel her through the blankets and he pressed his body against her. After a moment, she seemed to calm a bit and her thrashing eased. “Do you know what happened last night?” Gosling asked. “I only know how it ended.” Lifting her head, Celestia leaned over Luna and placed her muzzle closer to Gosling. Her words were little more than breathing. “The guards found you and Luna in the wine cellars. You were passed out and Luna was weeping over you as she held you. She was quite soused.” “Oh… I… wait…” Gosling stammered as something within his skull thudded away. “Oh, believe me, I’m waiting.” Celestia gave Gosling a wry smile. “Luna and I went for a walk,” Gosling began, “but then she didn’t want to walk no more. She took off and she begged me to come with her, so I did.” Gosling licked the roof of his mouth, trying to get some kind of moisture going. His tongue felt like a chunk of hardtack. “So I followed her and Luna flew off to that old castle of yours.” Gosling felt a powerful spike of nausea and he was forced to close his eyes. “We went down in those catacombs again. Luna got all weepy over the graves and she wanted some time to mourn. She made me stand watch at the door.” With his eyes closed, Gosling did not see that Celestia’s wry smile had vanished. “I tried to give her some privacy and not listen. I kept watch just outside the door, as instructed.” Squirming, Gosling tried to get comfortable and he wound up using Luna’s neck as a pillow. “I remember Luna saying that I was the perfect soldier and that she appreciated that…” His words trailed off into nothingness as Luna let out a pained squeal beneath him. “And what else do you remember?” Celestia asked in a gentle whisper. “We came back to Canterlot,” Gosling replied, “it was late. I remember Luna saying that she wanted a drink… and that I had earned the privilege as a soldier to drink with his princess… and I don’t remember much else.” “I would imagine not.” As these words were spoken, Gosling felt a wing caress his neck. He shivered and his whole body shuddered. He could feel Celestia’s breath tickling his ear. He felt a strange, nauseated state of arousal that was quite weird. “It is almost time for me to raise the sun.” Celestia paused and continued stroking Gosling’s neck. “It is also time for you to face the day, Gosling, as terrible as that might sound. Being hungover does not excuse you from your duties.” “Eh, we’ll wait and see how you feel about that when it is you that is hungover.” As he spoke, Gosling could hear Celestia snickering. He had a realisation, he loved her, he really loved her, because he wasn’t angry about her laughing. “Gosling…” “Yeah?” “If she needs you to be her soldier…” “Then I’m ready to follow orders. But not right now. I wanna go back to sleep.” “Sorry, soldier, but it is time to rise and shine.” “I’ll rise, but I’ll be damned if I have to shine.” “Gosling, come with me while I raise the sun.” “Um… no?” “Fine, stay with Luna. I’ll give you another half an hour. Make the most of it.” “Ugh, today is gonna suck eggs—” “Yes, Gosling, I am certain that it will.” He settled in against Luna, feeling the warmth of her body through the blankets. He felt Celestia kiss him on the cheek, then the bed shifted as the larger alicorn lifted her bulk out of it. He yawned and drifted on the edge of consciousness, hoping that the abyss of sleep would consume him. “Thirty minutes, Gosling…” Without a doubt, this day was sucking eggs. The light burned his eyes, the inside of his ears ached, and Gosling found that his balance wasn’t quite right. He had drank before, but never like last night. He couldn’t even remember how much he had drank. His memory of the night was hazy. He sort of remembered trying to grope Luna and offering to preen her wings. The memory of being slapped was a little more clear. He deserved that. The castle was abuzz with activity and everypony was frantic. Maids scurried to and fro. The castle servants were in a snit. There were a lot of ponies here, important ponies, there were members of the press, and there were guards everywhere. The area was thick with ponies wearing golden armor. Seville was talking with several other reporters. The earth pony was a pony of importance now, well on his way to becoming a respected journalist. Gosling wanted to be at his friend’s side, but there was far too much noise for his liking. Instead, he stood off in a corner, trying to avoid everypony around him. “Gosling.” The voice was cultured and had a thick Grittish accent. Gosling turned his head and looked at the pony addressing him. Earth pony. Iron grey pelt. Dark blue mane with even darker blue streaks. Piercing blue eyes peered through oval spectacles. “Or should I address you as Prince Gosling?” the pony asked. “Oh, that’s not official yet,” Gosling replied. “And just who are you?” “Oh dear, I do seem to have forgot to introduce myself.” The earth pony drew himself up to his full height. He was tall, with a powerful build, and when he stood at his full height, several mares stopped to stare at him. “My name is Mariner. Mister Mariner.” The name seemed fitting, Gosling could see that the earth pony’s cutie mark was an anchor. He tilted his head so he could look up at the earth pony that towered over him. He didn’t appreciate the display of dominance or the hints of smugness that he was starting to notice. “I own the newspaper that caused this unpleasantness,” Mariner said. He let out sniff, then tossed his head back, flipping the forelock of his mane out of his face. “I own so many newspapers… honestly, it is hard to keep track.” “I bet it is,” Gosling said, struggling to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “Future Prince Gosling.” Mariner sounded distracted. “Got exceptional grades in school, a fact all the more impressive when you take your inner-city upbringing into account. Had you been born into a different family or raised with a little more privilege, you might have become a scholar. Impressive IQ score by any standard, never mind tribe. An exceptional soldier that has been recommended by his superiours for officer material. Unlimited potential… something I do appreciate a great deal.” “Is there a point to all this?” Gosling asked. “Of course there is,” Mariner replied. “Have you thought about what you will do with all of this unlimited potential? Will you become fat and lazy within your gilded cage? Will you recline upon a throne and eat truffles all day? Or will you perhaps motivate yourself for better things?” Something about the earth pony unnerved Gosling. “How will you serve the greater good?” Mister Mariner stood waiting. “I could ask you the same.” Gosling let out snort. “This newspaper of yours is a real class act. A real piece of work. I do believe it is going to cost you, Mister Mariner.” “Oh, I own it, but I have no say or control over what goes into it. I’ve never even seen the building that is the headquarters.” Mariner let out a dry chuckle. “Honestly, trying to hold me accountable just because I own it is poppycock.” “Yeah, we’ll see about that.” Gosling narrowed his eyes. “I am told that I also own the building that was you and your mother’s last apartment in Manehattan. I also own the museums in which the two of you were fond of frequenting. There is also the playhouses and the theatres, I own those as well.” Mariner sniffed. “That is the problem with owning so much stuff. You cannot possibly find enough time to become involved with any of it.” “Those apartments… were slums… you should be real proud of yourself… full of bedbugs and landlords who ask for sexual favours in lieu of money for the rent. And you just mentioned the greater good?” Gosling felt the muscles in his back tensing and the throbbing in between his ears became almost unbearable. “Well, I suppose I could just tear them down and build high rise luxury apartments. It’s not like the poor need housing.” Mariner chuckled again. As the pony stood there, laughing, Gosling wanted nothing more than to punch him in his face. Knock his teeth in. As he stood there, seething, Mariner stopped laughing and became serious. “I facilitate a service for the poor. I house them. I am not a charity. In exchange for the service I offer, I expect compensation. Payment. Profits from the things I own fuel the costs of future enterprise, meaning I can keep building more apartments for the poor. It means I can fund public projects like museums and theatres. The world is the way it is for a reason, Gosling, and you would do well to learn that before you go upsetting the order of things. In your zeal to do good, you would no doubt destroy the very system that does provide services to the poor, however meager.” Gosling made no reply, but his lip curled back in disgust. “Perhaps we shall speak again, once this trial is over. Perhaps you can be reasonable. Perhaps we can discuss the greater good.” Mister Mariner bowed his head, gave Gosling a smirk, then turned tail and left. Watching him go, Gosling muttered, “Eh, this guy’s a mug…”