Well, it was certainly a very large mob of ponies, that was for sure. Gosling stood with his friends at his sides, staring at the mob standing in the wide avenue that lead to the castle gates. They weren’t armed with torches, as he had feared, but candles. The unicorns held candles in their magic, while the pegasi and the earth ponies held candleholders in their mouths. Beside him, Seville’s camera flashed. He wondered how the candles stayed lit in the Canterlot wind.
The group didn’t seem hostile, so Gosling addressed them in the manner of a friendly Manehattanite. “How you doin’?” he asked in his thick accent as he waggled his eyebrows up and down.
The mob stood, blinking, staring, and waiting.
“So, uh, who’s in charge here?” Gosling took a step forward. “Don’t worry about Hush, he’s friendly. Hotspur though, he’s kinda a jerk—”
“Fronk you, prettyboy!”
“That’s gonna be Prince Prettyboy real soon, and don’t you forget it, ya mug!”
Hotspur shook his wing at Gosling. “Why I oughta—”
One pony in the mob began to snicker, which made Hotspur go silent, and it spread through the crowd, becoming snorts of laughter. Gosling’s ears perked. He liked the sounds of laughter a whole lot more than the sounds of angry shouting, or a mob howling for his blood. He didn’t relax though. No, he was ready to grab Seville and bolt. His balloon knot was twisted so tight at the moment that if a piece of coal was shoved in there, it would come back out as a diamond.
A lone pony broke away from the mob and came forwards, a white stallion with a blue mane. He was wearing a red velvet brocade smoking jacket to protect him from the night’s chill, and a bright red fez rested on his head at a jaunty angle.
“I suppose that I lead this rabble.” The stallion bowed his head. “Hello, my name is Fancy Pants. How do you do?”
“Well, at the moment,” Gosling began, “I’m kinda freakin’ out a bit. The country I love fell apart in a day and then I get reports of a large mob coming right for the castle, and they have fire. Caused me some concern, if you know what I mean. I live there, with my future wives, and no stallion wants to see an angry mob with fire approaching his home.”
Blinking, Fancy Pants considered Gosling’s words for a moment, then turned his head and looked back at the group of ponies gathered behind him. He cleared his throat, then turned to address Gosling. “Right then. Dreadfully sorry, my good sir. I offer my most sincere apologies.”
“Fuggetaboutit. No harm, no foul.” Gosling relaxed a little.
“Indeed.” Fancy Pants pulled out a delicate monocle and began to polish it. “Positively mortifying, I shall dread showing my face in public for months.”
“So, what brings you out on this fine night?” Gosling asked.
The monocle was slipped back into a pocket on his smoking jacket. Fancy Pants cleared his throat once more, looked around, and then flashed a perfect smile filled with perfect teeth. “The grand old dame seemed to be in a spot of trouble. We gentle nobles, the gentry, and the fine upstanding citizens of Canterlot came out to see if we can offer aid. She stopped asking for our help some time ago, so we’ve been wasting away, languishing, waiting for an opportunity to show her our adoration, love, and respect. Now seems like the perfect time.”
Gosling’s brows furrowed and his ears stood straight up.
“We used to be very involved in the governance of this nation… it seems that we are needed again. We are so very skilled and so very talented, and yet our talents go to waste.” Fancy Pants’ smile became a rather sorrowful frown. “We miss her. She’s hidden herself away. All this bad press, all of this new fangled democracy and the ungrateful gits running their mouths, why, I fear that the old bird must be dreadfully depressed or something.”
“She is,” Gosling said, offering an honest answer. “She even thinks of abdicating… sometimes she feels that she’s not wanted—” He fell silent when he saw the entire crowd of ponies all do the same thing; their mouths fell open and they had perfect little round ‘O’s of horror.
“Holy alicorn shit, will you look at that,” Hotspur muttered under his breath.
“Well, I say, we cannot allow this to continue.” Fancy Pants shook his head and let out a dignified, “Harrumph!”
“I need an army,” Gosling said to the mob. “I need administrators, leaders, coordinators, planners… I need ponies who can get stuff done. Many of the telegraph lines are downed. Everything is a mess right now. I need ponies who can handle a lot of stress to help me sort everything out. Help me now, and when I’m a prince, I’ll remember you. I’ll put your skills to use. No more sitting around, languishing. We’ll get stuff done, I promise you. I have plans. I’m gonna revamp civil service as Equestria knows it. But I need an army.”
The mob murmured to one another, the sound of many voices filled the chilly night air.
“We are an army,” Fancy Pants replied, “and we are in need of a leader. Perhaps we can strike a deal.”
“Good.” Gosling lifted his head high and did his best to look commanding. He struck a noble pose, with his eyes narrowed and his wings flared out from his sides. His best noble pose was also his most handsome pose. He was majestic as fronk, like a beautiful, pretty eagle.
“The future prince is faaaabulous,” a very husky and masculine voice in the crowd said.
He grinned, unable to help himself, and he tossed his head about, allowing his mane to billow in the faint breeze. He heard gasps, which validated his vanity. He also heard Hotspur groaning. He was going to have to have a word with Hotspur. Seville snapped his picture. Life was good.
“Follow me to the castle,” Gosling commanded. “It’s time to go to work!”
A very dignified cheer rose from the crowd, a cultured sound. It was polite sounding, loud, but not too loud, after all, there might be ponies trying to sleep, and being too loud? That was rude. And being rude was was not how the Canterlot Elite did things.
Now lead by a fabulous and handsome future prince that was as beautiful as they were, the Canterlot Elite had purpose. They had meaning. They had style. They had perfectly coiffed manes and flowing tails that took hours to groom. They had what no other army in Equestria had; they had fabulousity. And as the newfound army made for the castle, they didn’t march, no, they strutted. They moved with fluid, graceful walks that took hours of practice in a mirror.
Seville, being the photographer that he was, walked backwards. He was too busy snapping photos to turn around and watch where he was going. He was snapping pictures of the most photogenic army ever assembled in one place. Each shot was a masterpiece of museum quality.
Somehow, as they strutted, the crowd had come up with a large white banner and on it, the image of a bright yellow rubber duckie had been made, probably with magic. It was held overhead, illuminated by candles and gas burning street lamps.
It was doubtful that Canterlot would ever be the same.
Princess Celestia stood flummoxed as she watched the approaching mob, led by Gosling. Beside her, her sister, Luna, was freaking out in her own silent way, twitching and fidgeting as she tried to hold still and keep her composure. Celestia was having trouble keeping her own composure. She had no idea what was going on and she hoped that Gosling would have answers.
She was also quite aroused by how her pretty little pegasus was strutting.
All around her, armor clattered as the guard tensed. A horn blared, and the sounds of wings could be heard. More guards were landing, while others were taking off to circle overhead. Nopony quite knew what was going on.
“Hello Princesses,” Gosling said as he came to a halt and bowed his head. “I have returned, and I come with my own army.”
Somehow, Celestia could hear the sound of Luna’s eyes rolling. She strode forwards, ignoring the concerned sounds of her guards all around her, and she stopped when she stood before Gosling. She stared at the banner with the rubber duckie on it for a moment, then, tilting her head, she looked down at Gosling.
“Gosling, dear, what is the meaning of this?” Celestia asked in a worried voice. When he grinned, she felt a growing sense of worry, but also relief.
“I ran into some of your old friends,” Gosling replied in a cheerful, almost boisterous voice. “They were coming here to offer you some help. The whole angry mob with fire thing, that was a misunderstanding.”
“Dreadfully sorry,” Fancy Pants said in a chipper voice as he adjusted his fez, making certain it was at an angle fit for royalty. “I fear I shall die from embarrassment at any moment. What a positively mortifying misunderstanding has happened. Quite.”
“We need extra bodies to help us through this crisis,” Gosling said, now sounding serious. His smile was gone. “We need ponies with experience in leadership. We need ponies with experience…” Gosling paused for a moment and lowered his voice, “in rule.” He sucked in a deep breath and his cheeks bulged. “If we are going to keep this government functional, we’ll need organisation, determination, and lots of knowledgeable ponies to get work done.”
“He’s right, you know,” Fancy Pants said in a low voice. “Hello old friend… it has been a long time, hasn’t it? You were my teacher and my friend once. You taught me magic… you taught me civility, decency, and the importance of being forthright.” The dignified stallion bowed his head. “In fact, almost every unicorn here was under your wonderful tutelage. Our lives were made better because of your love, patience, and gentleness with us… as well as your determination to see that we were educated. Let us help you… please?” His head tilted off to one side as he looked up at Celestia.
Hearing his words, Celestia felt her eyes watering. She felt her spirits rising, she felt her strength returning. She felt her courage bolstered. She tried to say something, but no words came out. She stood there, silent, her lips moving, and tears rolled down her cheeks, steaming in the frigid night air.
“Right. Well then, we have a lot to do.” Fancy Pants cleared his throat. “We need a list of everypony present, and a general idea of skillsets. We’re going to need enough tea and”—when the next word formed on his lips, he let out a visible shudder that made his hooves clatter on the stones—“and coffee, ugh, to float a dreadnaught, because I do believe that we’ll be working well past dawn. We’re going to need some skilled wizards to get communications going again, just like how it was in the old days, before this newfangled telegraph came along.” Fancy Pants’ mouth contorted into a distasteful moue. He shook his head, then added, “Right! What’s with this standing around! Shake a leg! Hut! Hut! Hut!”
“Gosling… I demand to know… how did you pull this off?” Luna asked.
“Because, I’m pretty,” Gosling replied. He spread his wings and then began to prance around in a circle, waving his wings, showing off his wingspan, and doing a magnificent impromptu plumage display. He waved his wings at Luna, waggling them about, extending his primaries, then turned about and shook his tail at her in a saucy display of sultry, sassified smoothness.
Celestia watched as her sister’s lip curled back from her teeth—Luna looked as though she had been eating lemons or perhaps drinking ipecac. Luna gathered armies through martial might and force of command. She raised armies by being a fearsome warrior, the terrifying Night Lady. Gosling had raised an army by, well, by being Gosling, and Celestia was certain that it must have galled poor Luna. All things considered, Gosling was about as threatening as a sopping wet kitten left out in the drenching rain, although photographic evidence suggested that he had a mean left hook.
She would laugh about it later, when it was safe. She might even tease Luna about it, perhaps, again, when things had cooled off and it was safe. For now, Celestia was content to stand where she was and perhaps let out a little smirk. A little competition between the two could only do them both good.
Canterlot was a city of beautiful ponies. Pretty ponies. Canterlot was a city with an abundance of vanity. Gosling belonged here, Celestia reflected, he was one of these ponies, and he spoke their language. Now, he had them mobilised in an army to help keep order through the crisis.
Looking upon her former students, her guards, the ponies who had come to her aid, and Gosling, her strutting jester, she felt hope. She felt excited, happy, and she looked forward to raising in the sun come morning. She had a lot of work to do, and a whole lot of helpers to get things done.
Perhaps, most importantly, she was no longer afraid.