To Be Evil

by 8686

Two Be Evil

It is, in some respects, an obvious truth that for the heroic souls of this world to be heroic, that there must exist some form of villainy against which they may stand. A dark backdrop against which their righteousness and good can shine out to all who would look up to them.

But if we accept that some evil is necessary to bring good to the fore, does it necessarily follow that the worse the evil, the more clearly the good can be seen? Is the light in fact any brighter against the pitch dark than the subtle dusk? Or can the highest and most honourable qualities of the virtuous still be teased out when confronted with a slightly... lesser villainy? How dark must evil be in order to inspire the best of goodness? Instead of pitch black, would a pale grey suffice? An off-white?

In the Grand Hall of Canterlot Castle, right outside the tall, arched doors that lead directly into the throne room, a villain and his trusted henchman prepare to enact the final stage of their plan. The culmination of months of meticulous planning and preparation, their triumphant moment almost at hand...

* * *

“My Lord, stop pacing,” said Rogi with an impatient huff. “When walking upon a red carpet it is considered impolite to try and wear it out!”

Dralthor looked up, then lumbered to a stop. An awkward moment of inaction amidst his restless, relentless back-and-forth plodding. He glanced at Rogi, then hung his head in an apologetically sheepish gesture. “Sorry,” he said before looking back up. “I'm nervous.” He looked down again. The flattened indents made by his clomping, cloven stone hooves in the plush carpet were rather noticeable. But though he didn't really want to make them worse, he found he couldn't keep still and so within moments he was back to automatic, fretful pacing.

Such an incongruous pairing, these two. One, a gargantuan twelve-foot tall ogre-ish tower of animated stone and theoretical menace. The other a diminutive bipedal vulture-type creature coated in scraggly, oily greying black feathers everywhere except his neck, face, hands and feet, and whose beady eyes though perhaps not possessed of all the sparkle they once held, still had a calculating glint to them. But a pair they were and now, after so much plotting and planning, scheming and strategizing they had finally arrived here, outside the throne-room doors of Canterlot Castle. And on the far side, the two most powerful rulers of Equestria. Their sworn enemies. For this week at least.

Beyond the stained-glass windows in the Grand Hall, the sun was just about to meet the horizon and the sky was turning a gorgeous, deep-hued pink. Presently one of the two tall, arched doors before them opened and through it stepped a unicorn pony very formally attired in red waistcoat and tie, walking with practised prim and proper steps. He closed the door behind him and turned to address the duo. “The Princesses are adjourning temporarily to see to their celestial duties. Now... I see here that you specifically requested an audience after sunset?”

“Yes,” answered Rogi. “My Lord here has a certain... aversion... to direct sunlight. We are in no hurry.”

“They will be a few moments. Now, ah...” The prim pony looked down at a clipboard levitated before him, and produced a quill. “How would you like to be announced, Mister...?” He let the sentence hang on the question and glanced up over his small, round spectacles toward the giant gargoyle.

“Oh... er...” stammered Dralthor. He risked a quick glance at Rogi who simply gave him a long-suffering – but nonetheless supportive – nod of encouragement. Emboldened, Dralthor turned back and puffed out his chiseled (literally) granite chest. “I... am Lord Dralthor!” he proclaimed. Then immediately backtracked. “No... wait! Evil Lord Dralthor. The Villainous. And bloodthirsty. The villainous, bloodthirsty and—!”

“Don't overdo it, my Lord,” said Rogi with a weary glance.

“Eh? Oh. Uh, Evil Lord Dralthor then,” he said.

“Mhmm? Very well...” said the pony absently, scribbling a few words with the quill. He looked up again. “Evil Lord Dralthor, of... your homeland?”

“The Kingdom of Stone!”

“Very good. And the purpose of your audience with the Princesses?”

“To reveal my diabolical scheme!” he bellowed.

“...diabolical... scheme...” repeated the pony, concentrating on his quill and the clipboard. When he finished he looked up. “Excellent. And yourself, sir?” he asked, turning to Rogi.

Which seemed to catch Rogi by surprise. “Me? Oh, there's no need to— that is, thank you, but there is no need to announce me,” said Rogi. “With your leave, I will remain here.”

“Very well.” Just then the door to the throne room opened again, and out stepped a quartet of aristocratic-type ponies – the previous audience no doubt – garbed in stylish, expensive-looking dresses and suits, the mares festooned with jewellery. They all gave a somewhat surprised look at the stone creature who towered over them at three times their height as they passed, before deciding it was rude to stare and as a group they moved right along, scarcely breaking stride with their vacuous nattering until they were out of sight and sound. As they left, the clipboard-wielding pony slipped back into the throne room, and a restless silence fell.

“You're not coming in?” said Dralthor.

“Ah... no, my Lord,” admitted Rogi.

Dralthor’s face was a picture of disappointment. “B-but, I need—”

“No, my Lord, you do not. You are strong, powerful and fearsome. And you have rehearsed enough. You know your goal, all you have to do is be confident in issuing your demands. Your victory is certain.” He put on an encouraging smile. “You don't need me.”

“But I thought we—”

“This is your triumph, my Lord,” insisted Rogi. “I, after all, am a simple henchman and have no place in such important matters.”

Disappointed, Dralthor nevertheless nodded slowly, and drew himself up. He let out a deep, calming breath. “Okay. Okay. Strong, powerful, fearsome. I can do this,” he whispered to himself, fidgeting only slightly with his thick stone fingers.

“Yes you can,” said Rogi.

“I can’t believe I’m actually doing it!” he said, a huge – if nervous – grin breaking. The sun finally set behind the low hills to the west and the sky turned from vibrant pink to a deep, peaceful, star-specked blue.

Presently, at the far end of the lengthy, empty corridor a surly-looking, khaki-coated pegasus stallion with notable stubble on his chin rounded the corner. Seeing Rogi he made eye contact and drew to a stop just far enough away to be out of earshot.

“Ah. Um, excuse me, my Lord. I have a matter to attend to.” Rogi walked quickly toward the new arrival, leaving his master stood alone and looking six different kinds of awkward. Dralthor’s hooves twitched and in a moment he would undoubtedly begin pacing anew.

Quickening his own pace, Rogi approached his impromptu contact. “You’re late,” he admonished, his voice low.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, bub. You know how tough it is to smuggle a lightning bolt outta the factory?”

“I’m sure it’s very trying,” groused Rogi, fishing out a small pouch from beneath his wing, bulging with golden bit-coins, the Equestrian currency. “But you’ve managed it, yes?”

“ ’s all ready to go,” reassured the pegasus. “You just gotta tell me what the signal is.”

“Good. My Lord behind me will be in the throne room speaking to the Princesses... giving something of a speech, really. During the speech a large envelope will be produced to them, and held aloft with dramatic flair. That will be the cue.”

“Riiight. Dramatic flair, huh?” said the pegasus with notable skepticism, scritching the stubble on his muzzle with a forehoof.

“It will be dramatic if you get the timing right,” said Rogi.

“Sure, bub. Just remember: I only got one. And this don’t come back to me, right? You know how much trouble I’d be in? Lightning onna clear night like this? I’ll get stuck hauling clouds for months.”

“You have my word,” said Rogi, who felt a little sad pang when he realised he meant it. There had been a time when giving his word would have reliably telegraphed duplicity and some manner of imminent betrayal. Ah, so long ago now. He sighed a wistful sigh and held out the coin-pouch and dropped it onto the stallion’s waiting, upturned hoof where it landed with a soft clink. “Remember, when the envelope is held up.”

“Right.” A pause. “An envelope, you say.”

“Exactly.”

“Izzat... an envelope like the one you’re holding there?” said the stallion, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, exactly like the one I’m...” Rogi’s eyes widened as he stared at his other hand, and the large brown paper pouch it had been clutching for so long as to have slipped completely beneath his conscious notice. “Oh, for the love of—!” He whirled and looked back, legs already spurring him to a sprint, only to see with horror the throne room doors just swinging closed, and beyond them the voice of the clipboard pony sounded out loud and clear...

* * *

The grand doors opened before him and the clipboard-toting pony motioned him to approach. Dralthor took a deep, nervous breath and stepped forward into the middle of the throne-room. The very heart of his enemies’ lair. The doors swung shut behind him with a great thud, echoing in the high-ceilinged room and there before him, seated on a pair of thrones atop a dais so high even he had to look up toward them, Princess Celestia and Princess Luna, the High Rulers of Equestria. And then, just when he thought he couldn’t get any more nervous, standing alone in the full glare of their scrutiny, the clipboard-pony bellowed and caused him to jump.

“ANNOUNCING... EVIL LORD DRALTHOR OF THE KINGDOM OF STONE, HERE TO REVEAL HIS DIABOLICAL SCHEME!” The pony gave a professional bow as he had no doubt done scores of times already, and withdrew to the doors.

And there was silence. Silence that stretched on for far... too... long.

Presently Luna looked toward her sister, her face couched in a frown and an expression of annoyance. “It’s this easy now? Do we have any defences?” she asked her sister and the world in general as she turned her vexed gaze toward the clipboard-pony, who appeared to only just be realising what he had actually said.

“H-he has been on the waiting list for over a moon, your Highness,” was his nervous reply.

Celestia held up a hoof to her sister and looked at Dralthor. A perplexed yet somehow forgiving expression. After several more moments passed – during which he didn’t know if he was supposed to start – she asked of him, “Lord... Dralthor, is it? You have come here because you have some manner of petition? A request you would make of us?”

“Yes! Uh... that is...” he faltered. But even speaking those words was enough to lift his fugue of terror. The seal was broken and so it was easier to at least begin. It would get easier then. If he could just make a start...

With awkward, jerking movements he placed his plate-sized palms on his hips, puffed out his chest and planted his goat-like legs wide apart, forcing himself into one of the power-poses that Rogi had taught him. He tried to adopt a winning, confident smirk, but alas his stubby tusks and the lack of flexibility in his granite lips combined to betray him and his expression instead became half sneer, half pained-grimace that caused both royal sisters to wince in sympathy. Nevertheless it was just enough that he finally spurred his tongue into action. Well, action of a sort.

“Ah, Princess Celestia, Princess Luna. At last we meet, for the first time for the last time. Uh... I mean we meet at last... not for the last time. Well, no, I’m supposed to say it’s the last time even though... well, actually I suppose it might be the last time if... if you... uh...”

Both of the princesses gazed upon him, thoroughly perplexed.

“Yes?” said Luna.

“But I hope it’s not!” said Dralthor. “Even though I say...” This was awful. The words came no more easily and his voice sounded most unlike it had in rehearsal. Where was his menace? His growling, gravelly baritone of malevolence? He tried to forge a new start. “I’m evil, you know.” He awkwardly changed his pose, adopting a deep lunge with one leg forward, and raised his forward arm, bent ninety-degrees at the elbow, forearm pointed at the ceiling, fist clenched in triumph. “I... am the most powerful villain you have faced all day!” he proclaimed with well-placed confidence.

There was another short silence, which lasted only until Luna finally repeated, “Yes?” and quirked an eyebrow.

“And... why have you come here?” asked Celestia patiently, offering slightly more of a prompt.

“Oh, yes! My plan! I’ve, uh... I’ve got this document that I... want you to... oh, where is it? What have I done with it? I gave it to— oh!” he cried, turning toward the double doors. Looking back to the princesses he said, “My henchman has it. Do you mind if I just...?”

“Of course not,” said Celestia, clearly trying to hide a smile, to the apparent consternation of her sister.

Dralthor took a couple of steps toward the door and then noticed the clipboard-pony still stood tidily to one side, and a new idea struck him. Bending low, he asked, “Actually, could I make a request...?”

* * *

Outside, Rogi was engaged in his own form of fretful pacing, trying desperately to figure out how to best get the envelope into his master’s hands without actually intervening at all. He had thought of just slipping it under the doors and hoping for the best, but there was too much to go wrong there. Too much chance that it simply wouldn’t be noticed in time. The only other option he could think of was to knock quietly in the hope of gaining Clipboard Pony’s attention, slipping him the envelope and letting him take it from there. And just as he raised his scrawny arm to rap on the left-hand of the two doors, it opened unexpectedly, and Clipboard Pony was stood in front of him.

“Oh, good. Could you hand this to—” began Rogi, only to be cut off with a shake of the head.

“Mr. Lord Dralthor has asked for you inside.”

“Ah, no. I can’t go in, but if you could just—”

Another shake of the head. “He said you might be reluctant. Said to tell you he was summoning you.”

Rogi’s eyes rolled. “He did, did he?” He took a deep breath and nodded. “Fine.” If he kept his head down and didn’t draw attention to himself he might just be able to hand his master the envelope and withdraw quickly.

That plan, though, was thoroughly dashed when all of a sudden both of the double-doors were flung open before him, and Clipboard Pony bellowed.

“ANNOUNCING: LORD DRALTHOR’S SENIOR HENCHMAN. CHIEF OF STRATEGY, MOST TRUSTED ADVISOR... AND BEST FRIEND... ROGI!”

Silence.

There he was, caught in the headlights standing right in the middle of the two double-doors. He’d already been seen, no point in hiding now. He was compelled to walk right into the throne room, his stride laden with the same heavy footfalls one might use to approach a gallows, to finally stand a couple of meters to the left of his boss who stood beaming with what could only be pride. Pride in him. Pride that, in his eyes, he had such a loyal henchman to call upon.

And before him, upon the dais, Luna and Celestia. Luna looked quizzical, as well she might. But Celestia... she looked shocked. Eyes wide and her mouth agape. And when the shock faded after but a second, it fell into a deep frown, and Rogi sighed a heavy, disappointed sigh, and hung his head.

“Rogi!” she cried and in an instant she had risen from her throne, standing upon all four hooves atop the dais and her great white wings flaring wide and proud. “Guards!” she snapped, to the surprise of everyone else in the throne room except Rogi himself. Not least of all the guards themselves. After all, if there was a threat, surely it was from the massive tower of stone, right?

After a moment of inaction, and when they twigged that the call to arms was not a joke, they finally sorted themselves out and unshouldered spears, hefting them in the direction of the scraggly vulture-beast, surrounding him and Dralthor with the tips of six sharp weapons. Celestia’s frown remained and she refused to take her eyes from him, studying him intently. Everyone else: Luna, Dralthor, Clipboard-Pony, all looked various shades of confused.

He just about managed to raise his head and make eye-contact for the briefest of moments before lowering it and, carefully, extending one leg behind him and dropping to one knee in a deep bow. “Lady Celestia,” he said, with the deference she was due. Still on one knee he raised his head once more and met her gaze, and this time held it. And made no other move.

A long moment passed, but finally and at length Celestia’s expression relaxed just a little. She held her gaze on him until, after a full minute with no action, she held up a hoof to indicate the guards should withdraw. But her motion and her suspicious expression suggested she was far from confident this was a wise decision. Rogi broke her gaze then and dropped his head back toward the floor. Still he did not rise from his knee.

It was Luna’s turn to speak, but she did so to her counterpart. “Sister? Do you know this creature?”

“I do,” said Celestia. Her gaze had still not left him. “He is a villain.”

He is a villain. Rogi winced, took in a short breath through his teeth and had to cock his head a little. Was that true, strictly? He was a servant now. Were henchmen to villainous masters actual villains themselves? Villainy by association? Or were they absolved of that taint by virtue of the fact that, in theory at least, their actions were their masters’ and not their own? Did the humble henchman exist outside and apart from the hackneyed light/dark, good/evil dichotomy? Certainly that was how he saw himself. Simply a facilitator – and, yes, occasionally necessary saboteur – of his master’s wishes.

“A villian?” said Luna.

Celestia nodded. “A villain. One I have not seen in two hundred years.”

Rogi nodded, though his head stayed bowed. True enough.

“I didn’t know you used to be a villain, Rogi!” said Dralthor, his voice bursting with glee.

“I have mentioned it on several occasions, my Lord,” grumbled Rogi under his breath.

“I don’t understand,” said Luna to her sister, her own countenance writ with suspicion now, but her eyes at least finally leaving Rogi for Celestia. “You said you had told me of all the villains Equestria had faced while I was... away.”

“I did,” said Celestia.

“But you have never mentioned him?”

Celestia took her own deep breath and turned to her sister, but as her head turned her eyes stayed locked on him for as long as possible, and when they left him it was with reluctance.

“Because he was not, strictly speaking, our villain,” said Celestia, returning her scrutiny to him. She took another breath, this one a prelude to explanation. “Equestria and its ponies are not the only targets for evil in this world. There are other lands that attract their own blackhearted individuals as readily as we. This one... Rogi, as he called himself... was a villain to the Griffon kingdom, over two centuries ago. And nearly conquered it.”

Suddenly he was very aware that all eyes were on him. The hairs on the back of his neck, just above his white ruff of feathers, stood on end and he suddenly felt very hot. To his right, Dralthor looked down at him in clear surprise.

“You never told me that!” he said, astonishment tinged with awe.

To which Rogi could only manage a half-strangled, “Ergh...” and a dismissive hand-wave.

Luna appeared unconvinced. “Him? This scrawny creature? Bringing the notoriously obstinate Griffons to heel? I struggle to give that credence.”

“You must understand the background. The Griffons had had no king in a very long time,” Celestia continued. “Their civilisation was anarchic and directionless. And Rogi...” her frown fixed anew, “...arrived to them cunning and quick-witted. He made loud promises and proclamations and drew toward him unsuspecting griffons disaffected with their broken society, feeding them silver-tongued pledges of a better life and a brighter future under his... guidance. But it was all a lie. His ‘guidance’ was a mere spell: a magic amulet he possessed that, at a simple touch, granted him dominion over the free will of others. Each of those that came to hear his designs for a better future he snared and placed in his thrall. And because of the griffons’ notorious antipathy for their kinfolk, his machinations went unnoticed for far too long. Steadily he conscripted a vast number of griffons into his puppet army, ready to use them in an uprising to install himself on their vacant throne. In mere months he had amassed more than enough troops to take Griffonstone. He would have succeeded completely, had I not... intervened.”

Celestia looked to her sister again. “I tried to keep Equestria out of it, truly. But the griffons that remained free of his influence came to Canterlot and begged me for help. They were in disarray, they had no leader to coordinate a resistance, and every day more and more succumbed to Rogi’s honeyed promises and fell prey to his magic. It was already too late for them to fight back. To deny them aid would have been to abandon the free griffons to conquest and enslavement. How could I?”

Another moment of silence, but all eyes had turned to Celestia now, necks craned forward just a little, their attention rapt. All except Rogi’s, who kept his head down, listening with quiet discomfort to the follies of his life summarised with such brevity and eloquence.

“What happened?” asked Luna.

“With the aid of the Guard I marshalled the griffons from a rabble into an effective army, and led a coalition of griffons and ponies straight to Rogi’s fortress. A gothic castle on a small hill, overlooking a barren plain.”

“Ooh! That sounds a bit like my castle,” said Dralthor.

Rogi gave a short, weary sigh and though none could see with his head down, rolled his eyes. “Yes, my Lord. Very similar.”

“Rogi had spies, and knew we were coming,” Celestia carried on. “By the time our forces arrived he had mustered his entire army in defence of his castle. Ranks upon ranks, thousands of vacant-eyed, voiceless griffons faced us. There was no way to reach the castle and defeat Rogi without committing to battle and yet every griffon in my army had a friend, a sister, a father... someone they loved under Rogi’s spell. And Rogi would force us to cut through them if we wished to end his tyranny. With my ponies, our forces were greater in number and we had the advantage of magic to call upon. We would prevail, but the cost...” She hung her head.

Rogi dared to raise his own to look at Celestia for just a moment before lowering his gaze back to the floor. “The cost,” he agreed. A long silence followed.

“And? What happened?” asked Dralthor, leaning way forward, fists clenched to his chest and the rubies that were his eyes glittering with excitement. Luna had a more restrained expression, but obvious curiosity lit her eyes too.

Celestia looked back to Rogi, that same puzzled expression to her. A long, awful moment of silence passed before she spoke again. “He spared them.”

Rogi winced again. And then he was elsewhere...

* * *

Standing proudly upon the high castle balcony, hands clasped at the small of his back, his black cape billowing in the wind, Rogi wore a grim expression.

How had it come to this?

His army, thousands strong, stretched before him. Innumerable ranks of perfectly ordered, identically armed and armoured griffon soldiers stood regimented on the barren, dirt plain beneath the roiling, swirling everclouds. So proud he was of them, as they stood unflinching, uncaring, unfeeling in the face of their fate. The perfect citizens, he thought, as he brought a long-clawed talon of a hand around to absently finger the bronze-and-jade medallion dangling from his neck.

But beyond his perfect troops... a rabble! A mongrel army stood against him. Undisciplined. Unco-ordinated. Griffons and... and ponies... fused together in mixed ranks! Armed with a hodge-podge of weaponry and possessing not a single common attribute, save one: courage.

And yet for all their inefficiencies, this rag-tag legion somehow vastly outnumbered and outclassed his forces.

He had planned every aspect of his conquest meticulously. He had calculated and calculated over and over again. Everything perfect, nothing left to chance. But he had not foreseen this. He could still scarcely believe it, much less understand why! Why had Equestria interfered?! Could they not see what he was trying to do?! Did they not understand his grand plan?!

But interfere they had, and now, suddenly, the calculations were not good. In the face of this new coalition his army’s defeat was certain, as was his own fate.

But they would suffer in their triumph, he thought as a terrible sneer formed on his features. If that... mob!... out there wished to see him and his designs destroyed, he would see to it that they paid the highest price he could exact! By sunset this day his army might be routed, his castle might be sacked and his plans might be ended... but they would be dragging themselves on their knees to their victory!

And so he did what came naturally: he calculated. And recalculated. His mind whirred apace as his claws fingered his medallion.

His forces would charge their ranks with pike and spear. A ground battle against a prepared opponent. Casualties in the high hundreds. The enemy would counter, surround and capture... and he would be led away in chains. Rework. His archers would attack to soften their lines then his advance guard would try to break through. Approximately fifteen hundred casualties. The enemy would defend, then counter, surround and capture... and he would be led away in chains. Modify. An initial aerial bombardment using black-powder to terrify and scatter them before committing. Total around three thousand casualties. The enemy would rally, intercept his arial forces and subue, surround and capture... and he would be led away in chains.

He stood, stony-faced, mind racing with every possibility at his disposal, calculating every variable he could, every advantage he held to maximise the efficiency of his finite number of troops. The only thing that never altered was the outcome, but since it was a constant it didn’t matter for now. All that mattered was how much damage he could do. How much pain he could cause! In his imagination he watched, absorbed, his mind’s eye conjuring images of the ranks upon ranks of standing ponies and griffons becoming an ocean of crimson-coated bodies lying very, very still; hearing phantom screams of anguish and almost able to smell burning fur and feathers. And in every new mental simulation the casualty count climbed; with each new iteration he saw the bodies rise higher and higher. More. More! The greater the number the more they would suffer! The more they would regret having stood against him! The power he had! The realisation that with a mere command he could now cause fifty-seven hundred casualties! Fifty-eight if he tried it this way! Fifty-nine if that! He could break six-thousand, he knew he could, if he could just find the right pattern! He heard himself laughing. A chilling, deep-lunged maniacal laugh, beak aching from being open so wide. They. Would. Pay!

And then, from somewhere far, far back in the darkest, oft-forgotten corner of his mind, a quiet but hopeful voice spoke up.

Zero?

His laugh came to an end and he dismissed the errant thought, or so he believed. But when he looked out over the massed ranks again, the terrible images from his imagination failed to coalesce. Instead he saw things as they were now, in this moment, this instant of time, before the slaughter had happened. Row upon row, column upon column of griffons and ponies. Standing. Waiting. Breathing.

Living.

“Zero?” he whispered to himself, long, slender fingers still absently fiddling with the talisman around his neck. A strange, revelatory sensation seemed to settle over him. As when one realised there was a completely new way to approach a hitherto vexing problem. And in a moment of curiosity – for it would not do to allow even an aberrant theory to go unexamined at this critical juncture – he once again allowed his mind to wander to the aftermath of the battle. And as it did, the sea of spilt blood vanished. The stench in his nostrils dissipated. The bodies of so many fallen faded, no longer needing to be cleared, the ground no longer stained red. Instead he saw the enemy army surging forward into the ranks of his fighters not in anger, but in jubilation. Fathers found daughters. Sisters found brothers. Suddenly the cries from the battlefield were of hope, not agony. The tears were of joy, not anguish. The screams were cheers. And the outcome? He would be led away in chains.

And the voice asked: why not? Why not choose this path? If it made not a jot of difference to the outcome, then what purpose did six thousand dead serve? Or six hundred? Or six? What need was there for even one griffon or pony to die? Why not, instead, choose happiness over horror? Joy over grief? Was this not a more... ordered... solution?

But... he wanted to make them suffer, didn’t he? For their insolence? For ruining his plans? Didn’t he want the satisfaction of... what exactly? He once again conjured up the repugnant aftermath of the massacre, seeing piles upon piles of former griffons and ponies being cleared away by their distraught and traumatised comrades. Hearing the wails of the survivors and watching their tears fall was many things... but it was not satisfying.

Would them suffering help him? Benefit him? Would it even please him?

No.

So... did he want to make them suffer? Did he really?

Two paths before him, both with identical destinations and both equally easy to start down. But one went by way of horrific destruction and loss of life, and the other... didn’t.

And with that, the calculating part of his brain – the part that had still been trying to reach ever-higher numbers throughout his mental side-conversation – shut down. There was no more need to expend disproportionate amounts of energy trying to increase a theoretical number by what were now insignificant degrees. The mental load lifted and with it came a quick rush of euphoria – the same one he often got when arriving at a particularly elegant, efficient solution.

Zero.

And he realised, as he recognised the feeling: that was satisfaction.

He didn’t know why it was. Perhaps he never would.

The claw that had been fingering his amulet now grasped it tightly enough to turn his knuckles white, and with a swift, strong jerk he pulled it from his neck, snapping the beaded cord and causing most of the beads to rain down to the stone floor beneath his feet with sharp ticking sounds. Taking the remains of the necklace in his hand he brought the amulet to eye-level and gave one last look at the beautiful enchanted jade jewel, glowing brightly with the absorbed willpower of thousands of griffons... and then reached up with his hand, raising it high over his head, and with a mighty swing brought it down again as hard as he could, sending the pendant crashing into the stone balcony rail. The amulet struck rock with a single, firm CRACK! and the jewel shattered into three pieces and came loose of its bronze mounting with a blinding flash of green light. On the battlefield in front of him his ranks of stoic soldiers immediately became desynchronised and disorderly. Worried murmurs became shouts of confusion and incomprehension. Weapons and armour so painstakingly forged and issued were hurriedly cast aside with yelps of fear. The opposing forces reacted with surprise but began to advance cautiously, suspecting a ruse. Soon the cries turned to disbelief and joy. The forefront of the army reached the door to his castle and pressed inside. He heard them clanking through the lower halls, moving slowly, expecting traps. There were none. They were on the stairs now. Now their footfalls echoed in the hallway outside his door. Rogi let the discarded pieces of scrap medallion fall to the floor, looked out onto the field before him, and waited to be led away in chains.

* * *

“What?” said Luna, looking confused at Celestia. “Their army just surrendered? For no reason? There is a large piece of that story missing, sister,” she said with a frown and turned to look at Rogi.

“I’ve said as much as I know,” said Celestia.

“Then why say he ‘spared’ them?” said Luna, indicating Rogi.

“That is the only explanation I have ever come up with for what happened that day,” Celestia shrugged.

“Is it? Could there not have been a malfunction with his artifact? Or perhaps its compulsion was not as strong as you theorise? Perhaps the griffons’ collective reluctance to attack their own kind overrode his command to destroy?”

“It may be as you say. I have never known for sure, it was simply a... feeling. The only soul who could say what happened never has,” she said, fixing Rogi in her uncertain stare again. “Rogi said not a single word as he was led away, nor at his trial. He offered no defence at all, gave no instruction to his counsel. In truth, in this room just now was the first time I have heard him speak.” She took a breath. “The griffons wanted him punished harshly. I argued for clemency, and because I had been instrumental my voice was given some weight. In the end, he was exiled. And that was the last I knew of him, until today.”

Another long, painful silence while he was scrutinsed by everyone in the room.

Dralthor was the first to speak up. “So... you hatched a diabolical plan, clashed with the forces of good, were soundly defeated, and even though thousands of griffons and ponies were put at grave risk, no-one actually got hurt?”

“That is... an acceptable summary, my Lord,” admitted Rogi.

“Well, that’s brilliant!” exclaimed Dralthor, who – without any warning, mind – suddenly gave Rogi a full-weighted backslap with a plate-sized palm of solid stone. Rogi’s eyes went wide, his spine rattled, and he let out an awkward, surprised caw as the impact sent him forward, sprawling bodily on the floor. “Oops. Sorry,” said Dralthor, raising a fingernail to chew on. “But I always thought you would make a good villain, Rogi, but I didn’t realise just how good! I mean, that’s the gold standard isn’t it? That’s first-class, textbook villaining all the way! I am impressed. We should get you back into it. You know, back in the saddle, so to speak.”

Picking himself up and dusting himself down with no urgency at all, Rogi returned to Dralthor’s side. “I left it behind for a reason, my L—”

“You know, thinking about it, perhaps we should take turns. Maybe next week you can be the mastermind and I’ll be the henchman! Or we could join forces and both be villains together. We could form some kind of Legion of Doo—”

“My Lord!” snapped Rogi impatiently, then took a calming breath. “Perhaps we could return to our reason for being here?”

“Oh! Yes!” he said, coming to his senses. “I was about to give them the document to sign, but I didn’t have it, and—”

“Yes, my Lord. And I must apologise for that,” said Rogi, holding the envelope up for Dralthor to take—

KRA-KOOOOOM!

A deafening crack rang out in the throne room as, just outside the windows, the sky strobed momentarily with the flash of lightning, and then fell silent.

Rogi gawped. “That... was not... the signal!” he howled.

Dralthor took a moment longer to recover. “What was that?” he asked.

“Urgh. It was... lightning, my Lord,” admitted Rogi. “I wished to see to it that when you made your demand it would be... dramatic.”

Dralthor looked down at him with a warm smile. “That’s very thoughtful of you, Rogi,” he said as though genuinely touched.

“I try, my Lord.” Today was not turning into a good day, he thought ruefully.

On the dais, Luna craned her neck a little closer to Celestia. “Sister... what is happening?”

“I’m not sure.” replied Celestia.

Taking the envelope, and suddenly emboldened with the presence of his companion, Dralthor turned to the dais and struck a confident pose. “Ahem. Princess Celestia, Princess Luna... we meet at last,” bellowed Dralthor.

“Yes, we have done that part,” said Luna.

“Oh.”

“You were about to tell us why you were here,” reminded Celestia. “Before we became distracted.”

“Yes! Ah...” said Dralthor as he reset himself. “Ahem! I have travelled a long way from the Kingdom of Stone to face you, and I have brought something with me... something for you both to sign,” he said in a sinister tone, holding the envelope high. (That was the signal, thought Rogi.) “Rest assured that if you refuse, there will be... consequences.” He put on a smug grin.

There was another second of silence, and Celestia finally took her seat again. “Lord Dralthor... we cannot commit to signing any document of yours,” she said plainly and professionally.

“B-but... the consequences!” protested Dralthor.

“My Lord, perhaps you should explain the consequences to the Princesses,” said Rogi.

“Ooh, yes! Ahem. If you do not sign my document, I will take my revenge by... tearing down every lavender plant and bouquet in your castle!” he boomed. He seemed very pleased with himself.

The sisters looked by turns surprised, then confused. At length Luna sat back in her seat, folded her forelegs and gazed at Dralthor with a nonplussed, thoroughly unimpressed expression. “You fiend.”

“Aha! Ahaha! Muahahahahaha!” cackled Dralthor, revelling in his opportunity – possibly his only ever opportunity – to put on a real, evil laugh in the face of an heroic adversary. When he finished, he gave a wicked grin and held the envelope toward the Princesses again, expecting them to take it.

Celestia remained unmoved. “Lord Dralthor... the answer is still no.”

To which Dralthor’s expression fell. His face and his entire posture dropped. And when he looked up again he presented a forlorn figure.

Well, Rogi sighed, this hadn’t gone too badly. Of the half-dozen or so endings he had mentally sketched out for this meeting – everything from the Royal Princesses’ total surrender, (unlikely) to his own and Dralthor’s complete destruction at their hooves (almost-but-not-quite as unlikely), the two most probable outcomes both involved getting to roughly this point. In one, the sisters accepted his master’s request and signed the document, in the other they declined. This was clearly the slightly-worse version they had arrived at, but looked at objectively it wasn’t awful. At the end of the day, Dralthor had met his nemeses, had his confrontation with them, and villainy had been overcome by the forces of good. That was how he could spin it later. Dralthor would reflect and end up pleased. They could withdraw now, mission accomplished. But right now, here, Dralthor’s face was an open book of disappointment. And so, reluctantly, Rogi forced himself forward. This really wasn’t his place but...

“Lady Celestia, please... I respectfully urge you to give due consideration to Lord Dralthor’s offer. Weighed against the, ah... terrible consequences... he has planned for you if you refuse, I really do think you will find his demands quite reasonable. I have no desire to see the halls of your castle strewn with the stalks of dead lavender.” Of all the things he thought he would never say.

He was regarded once more with puzzlement and a hint of suspicion from the Sun Princess. But just as she opened her mouth to once more decline she was interrupted by Luna. “Surely it cannot hurt to inspect this document, sister? If it is a contract or a waiver of rights, then at the very least we will gain an insight into what Lord Dralthor’s goals are?” She had a little smile, actually. Well hidden, but there.

“Very well,” said Celestia after a moment’s deliberation. Dralthor held out the envelope again but it was Luna who took it within her aura, levitating it closer to herself. In a moment the seal was broken, the flap opened, and the document withdrawn. A single piece of quite-stiff paper. Luna inspected it with instant surprise. Dralthor watched nervously, fidgeting with his hands.

“What is it?” asked Celestia of her sister.

“It is... a photograph,” said Luna, quite astounded. She turned it so that Celestia could see. “Of us. It is that picture Spike took of us that day we were all at the beach together. The one you insisted we release to show off our more... down-to-earth side.” On the pristine and clearly well-cared-for copy the smiling faces of Luna and Celestia dominated the foreground, cheek-to-cheek and staring directly into the camera, Celestia with her tongue stuck out playfully, Luna with a cheeky grin showing most of her brilliant-white teeth and a smear of pink sun-block across the top of her muzzle. There wasn’t much background to be seen beyond the Princesses’ two huge heads, but what little there was described a gorgeous white-sand beach, a crystal blue ocean and a glorious sunny day. (And if you looked very closely deep into the background, a nervous Shining Armor buried up to his neck in sand, a triumphant Flurry Heart with spade held in her aura, and a delighted Cadance tittering into her hoof.)

Luna looked back to Dralthor, and turned the picture toward him. “This is what you would have us sign?”

“If... if you could make it out to, ‘Lord Dralthor, our most feared enemy...?’” he said in hope, his fingers still fidgeting, and he shuffled nervously on his cloven hooves.

Celestia couldn’t seem to wipe the look of surprise from her features. Initially the same was true of Luna, though she seemed a little quicker on the uptake. Perhaps her lack of foreknowledge of him had helped with that while his presence caused Celestia to remain suspicious. He knew he shouldn’t have entered.

“Well,” she said. “It seems we have no choice, sister. We must do as he asks.”

“Really?” asked two voices in unison, but with very different tenors. One incredulous, one full of hope.

“I simply cannot stand the thought of all that innocent lavender under threat from such a devious villain,” said Luna as, with a flash, she materialised a quill into the air before her and began to scritch on the paper. When she was finished she proffered the paper and quill to Celestia with an expectant look. Celestia instead looked at the photo, then to Rogi, her suspicious gaze returning. Rogi looked back now and raised his hands in a protest of innocence coupled with a world-weary countenance.

Yes, I know, he tried to say without words.

After another awkward moment, Celestia – not without hesitation – took up the quill and made her own scritches on the paper. Quite done, she levitated it back to Dralthor who took it with oh-so-much care in those huge lumpen hands, and looked at it in wonder.

To Lord Dralthor, our most feared villain. Love and best wishes, Princess Luna ♡ + Princess Celestia.

Rogi looked up at his master and felt a certain satisfaction. He just looked so... happy.

“And now that you have your prize, Lord Dralthor, what will you do?” asked Celestia.

He looked stunned for a moment, then looked quickly to Rogi. “The monologue?”

“The monologue,” Rogi agreed with a weary nod, and Dralthor looked back toward the princesses and drew himself high.

“Hah! I’m so glad you asked! You see I have, at great expense, constructed a mechanical device in my castle,” said Dralthor. “One which is capable of producing exact copies of documents such as this while at the same time increasing their physical size. I will take this signed image, place it into the device, and enlarge it to grand proportions! Then, I will mount it in a decorative frame and place it in my study, where it will hang... forever!” he cackled.

“You monster,” retorted Luna. She was definitely smiling a little smile now. Then, unexpectedly, she stood, spread her wings and fluttered down from the dais to land in front of the massive stone brute. “I will not allow this to stand unchallenged, Lord Dralthor. This way?” She began walking toward the throne room doors.

“Luna? What are you doing?” asked Celestia.

“I am escorting Lord Dralthor outside so that we may engage in a climactic battle between good and evil,” said Luna, who then turned to Dralthor himself. “If you accept?”

He really couldn’t hide just how giddy he was. Then he seemed to catch himself. “Uh... I should just check with...”

“I’m sure it’s fine, my Lord. Just... don’t get carried away?”

Dralthor grinned and clapped his huge stone hands in glee. He turned and followed Luna from the throne room, and as he did so, two of the royal guards walked escort behind them, and behind them walked Clipboard-Pony, muttering under his breath about things being ‘most irregular.’

Leaving Rogi and Celestia in the throne room. She gazed at him, and he found the strength to look back with a weary expression.

“What have I just done by signing that photograph?” she asked. “Have I triggered some enchantment? A curse?”

“You have made a practising villain very happy,” said Rogi. “Nothing more.”

There was a moment of silence while Celestia studied him further. Finally she spoke again. “What... is he?” she asked.

“I... do not really know,” Rogi admitted with a sigh. “A gargoyle. A creature of living stone. That is all I can say for certain. I would not have imagined such was possible, before I had seen it.”

“He is not a creation of yours?”

“Of mine?” Rogi shook his head. “He appeared at the door to my castle one night. He had been wandering the southern wastes, but for how long is anyone’s guess. Decades? Centuries? I asked him of course but the part of his mind that deals with memories is broken, corroded away over so much time. So I am left with only theories: that he was some kind of experiment – some evil warlock’s attempt at a golem, perhaps. However he was made, I doubt he was considered a success. He was probably cast off, his creator hoping he would simply go away and vanish. And so he wandered alone, without any knowledge of what he was meant to do, save that he is supposed to be evil.” He took a breath and met Celestia’s gaze. “But... well, the theory and the application do not quite marry, as you have seen.”

“It seems that he wishes to be evil, but does not wish to do evil,” said Celestia.

“Such is the paradox,” said Rogi.

She looked at him again, once more suspicious and confused. “And you? You call him ‘master’ and ‘lord’ without any hint of irony or sarcasm.”

“I do.” He sighed then, and then shrugged and raised his palms to the ceiling. “I couldn’t be his master. Couldn’t bring myself to perform that role. Not after...” he trailed off, then shook his head. “But neither could I turn him away. It is a dangerous world out there for a villain, Celestia, when the forces of good wield as much power as you and your kind. He is utterly unique, like nothing anyone has seen before, and yet for him to encounter the wrong kind of hero, looking to make a name for themselves, is all it would have taken for that to be lost. And he was utterly naive to the risk. He needed guidance. Protecting from himself.” He sighed again. “I have kept him occupied and content with theories and war-games and the planning of the most machiavellian and convoluted of evil plots – all hopelessly impractical, be assured. And I have been fortunate to placate him for so long: to compliment his fractured memory he also has a rather poor attention span. But he has been growing restless of late. Theories and pretend no longer satisfy him, night after night after night in a cavernous castle with only myself for company. He yearns for more, even if only a taste. I cannot blame him.”

Celestia nodded thoughtfully. “And... what is this? Here, tonight? Is this practise? A trial run?”

“A trial ru—!” protested Rogi. “If you only knew the lengths I have had to go to to set up this encounter, Princess! Have you any idea how logistically challenging it has been even to get him here, in front of you? It is a vast distance for such a lumbering, plodding creature, and travelling only by night! To say nothing of organising a meeting with yourselves – by proxy I might add – that you might cancel at any moment. And the very implication that I would insult you – and your sister – by using you as a... a trial run!” he scoffed, then sighed heavily and continued in a tone that suggested that what followed was not only pitiable, but patently ludicrous. “No, Princess, this is it. This is the master plan. The grand scheme.” He met Celestia’s gaze. “Actually, if you wish to think of this as anything, think of it as an audition.”

“An audition?”

“Dralthor cannot be anything other than a villain. Whatever enchantment created him is so deeply ingrained it will not allow him to believe he is anything else. And it seems he has his heart set on being your villain. Equestria’s villain.”

Celestia scowled. “Equestria is not in the market for new villains, Rogi. We are oversubscribed.”

“Are you?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “As far as I can tell, you have no active villains at the moment. Your former student Twilight has been most effective in that regard. Some might say ruthless.”

The scowl deepened dangerously. “You would have us make apology for protecting ourselves?”

“I would have you acknowledge that villainy is a powerful catalyst for good. And perhaps sometimes a necessary one.” His expression softened. “I beg you to consider this. What it could be. A known adversary to keep yourselves alert to danger and against whom you can time and again profess the virtues of good and right and friendship to all the world, but one who, if things should ever take an ill turn... how to put this... does not exactly have your worst interests at heart?”

She regarded him then with a long look. At last she said, “This is important to you.” Half question, half statement.

He shrugged. “To the extent that I place importance on anything these days. It is important to him.”

“Why? And why him?”

At this he could only return her gaze. “Because he is not evil, and he never will be. And without this he is destined never to fulfill his purpose. It may be an arbitrary, vague purpose artificially implanted by a wicked wizard inside a creature that should never otherwise exist... but he still feels it within himself.” He paused then, but when Celestia said nothing, he felt obliged to continue. “If he were truly evil, or had that potential, we would have parted ways long ago. But I know what evil is, Celestia. I may not have successfully conquered nations or stolen limitless magic, but I have studied the great villains, from Arimaspi to the Windigo, and I considered myself among the most evil of them all. Do you know why?” he asked.

Celestia shook her head.

“Because I believed I was doing good,” he urged. “When I came to the griffons I saw them in disarray, a shambles of a society. I believed I would give them order, structure, a regime under my dominion as a steward for the leader they were incapable of installing themselves. I would have turned them into the perfect, uniform citizens. In my own way... I thought I was creating harmony.” Celestia opened her mouth and looked ready to speak, no doubt to offer some lecture or other. He waved a hand dismissively. “Whatever you are about to say, you needn’t,” he assured. “This is not a defence. But do you not see? I was willing to commit acts of atrocity, I was willing to justify them because I was adamant in my own mind that everything I did was right... until that day. When I saw that an alliance of thousands willing to lay down their lives to stop me. Even then it was barely enough.” He took a breath. “‘Evil’ is not some powerful monster rampaging through cities causing destruction to acquire power. It is the thing that convinces the monster it is right to do so. A subtle, dark, tempting quality that colours views, warps morals and corrupts the conscience. The things it enables when you are deeply submerged within its tentacles, the things it permits... are unthinkable. It leads you down the path of villainy while convincing you you are the hero, relentlessly seductive for that one simple, tragic reason: everyone wants to be the hero. No-one ever sees themselves as the villain in their own story, Celestia.” Another pause. “Except for him. He is unique. Innocent, in a way. A villain all too aware of his place in the tableaux and the part he is willing to play. And... I suppose I had hoped, in my wildest dreams, that by bringing him here to face you he might be... helped.”

“Helped?” said Celestia suspiciously. “How exactly would you have us ‘help’ him?”

“The same way you help everyone else,” he said, a little surprised by the question. “Accept him for what he is. Tolerate him and allow him his...” he trailed off for a moment. “Let’s call them what they are, his fantasies. Think how he would benefit from repeated conflict, resolution, growth. He would call it making enemies with you, but... well, there is another word that would fit. One you know well.” He took a breath. “Dralthor... he wears villainy like a hermit crab wears a shell. He cannot be forced to abandon it but... mayhap, with enough care, he can be coaxed from it toward something more... fulfilling.” There was another long silence as Celestia studied him anew. “Or you could simply obliterate us both,” admitted Rogi. “Honestly, that has always been a non-zero possibility. Less likely with yourselves than if we had approached the griffons or abyssinians, but somewhat increased by the fact that you are now aware I am here. Your capacity for patience and forgiveness is great, but famously not infinite. I stayed outside for a reason.”

She stared down at him and he broke her gaze, casting his gaze downward once more. Another uncomfortable silence passed, and then at last Celestia spread her broad wings and fluttered down from the high dais to stand uncomfortably close. “I never believed you were unworthy of forgiveness, Rogi,” she said. Then without another word she started for the door. When she reached it she turned, for he had still not moved from his spot, and said, “I suppose I should see how the battle is progressing before I decide. Will you join me?”

At that moment though there was a distant commotion. A faint crashing and clattering, followed by faraway raised voices.

“Ah ha! I have you now, Princess Luna!”

“I will make you regret that, Lord Dralthor!”

Then a racing, fizzing, sound that could only have been a blast of concentrated magic, followed by a sharp cracking, then a crumbling that sounded an awful lot like stone shattering into a hundred pieces.

Celestia and Rogi’s eyes went wide as they both stared at the throne room doors, then looked to each other in equal horror. Then, as one they hurried through them, toward the sounds of destruction.

* * *

After a gruelling, hard-fought battle, the last of Luna’s advance guard finally fell under the sheer might of their enemy. Dralthor cackled with sadistic glee as he unceremoniously hefted the fallen combatant aloft, then casually tossed the downed warrior aside. And now, with her foreguard vanquished, Luna was left exposed. Dralthor stared her down with malicious glee, preparing to advance. “Ah ha! I have you now, Princess Luna!”

She lowered her head in challenge. Her brave guard had fought valiantly and now she was vulnerable, but she was far from beaten. Through a grit-teeth smile, she answered. “I will make you regret that, Lord Dralthor!”

Her horn ignited and flared to life, magical energy flowing into it, expertly concentrated and then... unleashed. A lance of magical energy surging forth with an air-slicing sizzle which struck the menacing tower of stone that had accounted for the last of her brave Advance Guard. The sheer amount of energy was too much and the rock quickly succumbed, cracks appearing; then deep fissures, until finally it was torn apart in a blast of white-blue light and there was nothing left but pebbles and a charred mark as now her bravest, most trusted fighter moved forward to secure the ground.

Or, to put it all more briefly,

Ra5xe5+; Qxe5

“Curses!” cried Dralthor. “I will have my revenge, Princess Luna! Mark my words!”

“You will need to have it within four moves, Lord Dralthor,” Luna goaded. Then suddenly galloping hooves and sprinting strides broke their reverie as two horrified faces skidded to a stop before them. “Ah, sister!” said Luna with a grin. “Join us? The defence of Canterlot is going well, albeit not without some casualties.”

Celestia, open-mouthed, observed the scene before her. Luna and Dralthor stood on opposite sides of the palace’s oversized chess-board. Chequerboard squares a meter across and pieces between three and four feet high. Luna’s obsidian pieces – for she always played black – faced off against Dralthor’s white marble. Only, several of the squares bore scorch marks and were littered with tiny fragments of debris, and on the lawn to one side of the board some of the pieces lay in... well, pieces.

“You... are destroying the captured pieces!” said Celestia with a scowl and a slight pout toward her sister.

Who riposted without concern. “I will task the artisans to make more. Honestly they have been begging for something to do of late. And you should see this, sister. Lord Dralthor has the most impressive party-trick,” she said with a nod toward him.

He gave a wide grin and stepped forward. Dralthor placed one great stone hand on the white marble of his final remaining pawn, and for a moment the sparkle in his ruby eyes became much more intense. He released the piece and then stood back. An instant later the piece itself – carved to resemble an earth-pony guardsman in old-style, pre-classical armour – began to move of its own accord. Legs that were never meant for locomotion flexed with odd cracking sounds generating fine marble-dust which streamed to the floor as the totem lurched forward one square in unthinking, mechanical fashion before becoming quite still once more.

“You see? Isn’t that curious? And Lord Dralthor says he can do similar with anything made of stone.”

Celestia turned to the enormous ogre, eyebrows raised. “Really?” she asked, the note of shock in her voice quite apparent. “You can give life to... stone?”

“Ah,” interjected Rogi before Dralthor could look too pleased with himself. “It is not ‘life’, Princess. It is more, ‘animation.’ Lord Dralthor’s constructs are... ‘puppets,’ that move on command and are capable of some basic reaction, but have no will of their own.”

“Nevertheless, impressive,” said Luna. “You know, one of Princess Twilight’s friends has a sister that would find you utterly fascinating, Lord Dralthor. Perhaps one day you could meet.”

“And do battle?” he asked excitedly.

“Ah... well, perhaps not right away.”

Meanwhile Rogi had approached the board, examining the state of play with rather more surprise than he had expected. Dralthor had not been doing badly in the chess match it seemed. He wasn’t going to win, but he hadn’t done badly. Dralthor looked down at Rogi with a wide, wide grin.

“Look, Rogi. We are having a real battle! With explosions and stakes and everything!” Goodness, he was as excited as a child unwrapping a birthday present.

Rogi took a breath and prepared to fall back into character. “Yes, my Lord, but alas, I fear the tactical advantage lies with our foes at this point.”

“Does it?” said Dralthor scratching his head. “But I’m winning. Aren’t I?”

“Princess Luna will mate you in four moves,” said Rogi. There was a sudden, contained snigger and when he looked up Celestia was glaring at her sister while Luna very obviously failed to contain and conceal a series of chuckles behind her hoof, and Rogi became suddenly, and uncharacteristically embarrassed. “Uh... that is to say we have our prize, my Lord. We should retreat while we can.”

“So, I’m not going to win...?”

“No, my Lord.”

A moment passed, and then Dralthor drew a hand across his brow – which was of course completely devoid of sweat. “Phew,” said Dralthor. To Rogi’s surprise, actually, he then stepped forward and took hold of the top of his King piece, and pushed it, causing it to topple over. Then he stood proud, chest out and announced, “You may have defeated me this time, Princesses, but I will return! Come, Rogi! Back to the castle quickly, to prepare our next devious plan!” Then he began striding away across the lawn toward the high gates that marked the palace exit.

Rogi looked stunned for a moment, then slumped and rolled his eyes. “‘Quickly,’ he says. It took a week and a half to walk here. Time doesn’t quite have the same meaning when you age in geological terms,” he sighed. He turned back toward the princesses and gave a sincere bow. “Princess Luna, it has been an honour to meet you. Princess Celestia, thank you for your understanding. With luck this will satisfy him for a while. And you have my word that I will do my best to keep any impositions on your time from becoming a nuisance.” He turned and began to follow his master toward the palace gates.

“Go well, Lord Rogi,” Luna called behind him and offered him a wave and a smile.

Prompting Rogi to stop, half-turn, and look back. “Ah... it’s just Rogi, your highness,” he said, and walked on and did not stop.

“What an odd pair of creatures,” said Luna after a moment. “And yet I feel as though I have heard the name Dralthor before. Have we heard that name before?”

“I honestly don’t recall,” said Celestia absently, watching as the two not-villains left her sight around the corner of the palace gates. “But I believe we may yet hear it again.”

Comments

[fanreader999999]

Hrm.

[FanOfMostEverything]

Wonderful to see more of this, and some fantastic fleshing out for both characters. Excellent work with the princesses as well. I wasn't expecting to see more of Dralthor and Rogi, but I'm very glad that I did. And I really would love to see the former meet Maud. Thank you for this.

[Raistlin]

From an one shot comedy to a heartwarming one with a reflexion about the true nature of Evil. Bravo.

[Alitaher003]

Very cute. You get a fav.

[Emptybee]

A fine addition to the story.

[Gloaming]

That was a lovely sequel. Though I'm a bit disappointed that I can't call this "my favorite story under 10.000 words" anymore.

[Empty Shelf]

This was kind of cute. A bit melodramatic at times, but still fun.

[Antiquarian]

The sisters looked by turns surprised, then confused. At length Luna sat back in her seat, folded her forelegs and gazed at Dralthor with a nonplussed, thoroughly unimpressed expression. “You fiend.”

I had no idea you'd updated this story. Glad I stumbled across it. Just as humorous as the last chapter, though what really stuck out to me was the way that Rogi describes true villainy. How many tyrants and monsters have risen to power in the name of doing 'good' and bringing 'harmony?' How many have convinced people to renounce freedom in the name of security? The last century saw more than its fair share. It's always refreshing to see that be portrayed as the most terrifying of villains. For, in truth, the seduction of a villain who appeals good is far more dangerous than an obvious evil. Rogi's warning is chillingly put.

The dynamic between Rogi and Celestia is on-point, Luna is delightful, and Dralthor brings a smile to my face. You knocked it out of the park!