Wedding March

by Carabas

Lastly, Prepare for Next Time

Tundra trotted across the palace grounds, some scant minutes after true love had saved the day.

Her gait was controlled and steady, her expression composed and serene. Only the way she nervously twiddled the broomhandle she still bore betrayed what might lie under her surface.

Behind her, towards the Crystal Hall, stunned and paralysed ponies were being revived by their more alert fellows. Cocoons were being hauled out through the sundered doorway by groups of battered-looking guardponies, and were split open to discharge their wheezing, sticky occupants. Princess Celestia had been one of the first, and had inexplicably acquired a new bruise on her forehead as well as a metal padlock. After having a bracing quart of tea poured down her throat, she was holding an animated discussion involving several of the other world leaders, the Element Bearers, the bride and groom, and a constant stream of guards bringing her dispatches from across Canterlot. At least twelve different arguments seemed to be happening at once.

Far to her right, a commotion was underway at one wall. Namely, Dame Lyuba was trying to tear it down, and was making good headway. The exhausted griffon chieftain and the sheep Tyrant had alighted there, and had been joined by a battered-looking Nightguard squadron and the two steel-masked sheep guards. All of them cast varyingly-trepid glances over the wall’s edge as what resembled and sounded like nothing so much as the End-times in flesh kept up her assault. A couple of especially brave Nightguard had retrieved the very-much-alive Shahanshah and were wiggling him in front of Dame Lyuba to try and calm her down. That seemed to be working, albeit gradually.

Once the griffon and ewe were rescued and delivered to the other world leaders, along with the Shahanshah, that would account for most of them. Most. Tundra closed her eyes briefly as she trotted, and her makeshift staff all but twirled out of her grasp as her nervous energy made it an outlet.

Up and to her left, the firebird waltz had migrated into the topmost room of a high tower. Flames and screeches erupted from its windows, as if a lighthouse was throwing a tantrum. Princess Celestia herself had croaked that they were to be left to it in the meantime, so long as Philomena had Charity cooped up there. Besides, she’d never liked the furnishings in that particular tower anyway.

And to her front …

At some point between the charge on the Crystal Hall and when the love of Cadence and Shining Armour had hurled all foes from Canterlot, the Crown had mysteriously gone missing. It now hung halfway up a tree, one of its arches looped around a branch. What had led to it getting up there was anyone’s guess, though several theories were advanced afterwards.

Tundra stopped at the tree’s base, and she swallowed every few seconds as she stared up at the Crown with wide, unblinking eyes, her broom jittering. For its part, the Crown didn’t seem to acknowledge her or its position at all. Its jewels glittered a soft and steady blue, and not a word came from it.

Then, just as Tundra thought she was safe, one jewel flashed, and its diamond-hard sheen fixed her where she stood. “Aren’t you one of mine?” the Crown rasped, a voice from nightmares.

“N-no, Your –” Tundra caught the rote title in her throat and forced it back down. “No. I’m not.”

“Hmm.” And like that, the Crown seemed to lose what interest it had ever had in her. “Well, be a good menial anyway and get me down from here. Celestia pines for my company, I don’t doubt.”

Tundra closed her eyes, coaxed magic to her horns, and unconsciously reached up before her eyes opened and she shook her head, dispersing the magic. The next moment, she slowly reached up with the broom and tried to hook it round one of the Crown’s arches.

Then she thought of life before she’d been taken in by Celestia – as if she could do anything else. But she made herself think of Celestia as well, who, even when she was wheezing and covered in changeling goop within eyeshot if Tundra just turned, still managed to be a great and reassuring presence in her mind. She thought of Alloy, who’d raced off to deliver more tea to Celestia and any ponies that needed it by the bucket-load. And, of all the damned things, the probably-well-meaning and terrifying advice given her by Dame Lyuba and Consort Goldtorc came to mind as well.

Tundra took a breath, stiffened her nerves, and with motions that were nothing but steady and deliberate, whacked the Crown right off the branch and to the ground. Its jewels blazed crimson briefly as it bounced onto the grass, and though the memories thrown up by the red gleam made Tundra almost throw up with fear, she forced herself to stand steady. The red lingered briefly, and then faded away in favour of the steady blue once more. The Crown still didn’t speak. Tundra steeled herself to pick them up with the broomhandle, to take them over to the gathering…

“We got him loose!”

Tundra turned in the direction of the exclamation, and saw the three fillies and dragon whelp she’d previously been keeping safe in the shed, up until a pair of Nightguard had swooped into to retrieve the Shahanshah. They ran ahead of a striding ibex, a grim-looking buck whose muzzle and hooves were chafed as if he’d spent a while tied up. He wore the uniform of servants in Bellbylon’s citadel. It seemed like a long time since Tundra had worn hers.

“Got him untied after a bit, which we ought to gotten cutie marks in liberation or ropework or suchlike for, but never mind,” said the earth pony filly. “Ain’t said much to us, though, have you, feller? Didn’t your folks never teach you to say ‘Thank you’ when –?”

The ibex buck strode on heedless, and when he caught sight of Tundra by the fallen Crown, his gaze sharpened.

“Ah. There’s the proper menial,” purred the Crown. “Pick me up. I have places to be, and beings to meet. Celestia first. Then I’ll see what else the day holds.”

The buck nodded, and the Crown was picked up reverently in his aura of magic. He rose it into the appropriate position and stance, turned towards the gathering by the Crystal Hall, and stopped only to glance Tundra’s way. His gaze was hard and cold.

Tundra swallowed, and dipped her head. “Well-met, kin–”

“I shan’t waste breath on traitors. Good day.” The buck swept past her, and he and the Crown receded as they made their way towards the hall. Tundra stared after them, and she was dimly aware of the four little ones doing the same.

“Well,” huffed the earth pony filly after a while. “Can’t say much nice about his attitude.”

“I know!” The pegasus filly fluffed her wing-feathers “And it’s not like we accidentally tied that many extra knots before figuring out how to undo them.”

“Hang on,” said the dragon whelp with a sudden start. “That crown talked.”

“Miss?” Tundra jolted on realising she was being spoken to, and looked down to see the unicorn filly looking up at her with concerned green eyes. Her impassivity must have slipped. “Are you okay?”

Tundra closed her eyes, breathed out, and thought of where she was, where she’d come from, and what she’d done. And then she opened her eyes again, and smiled softly down at the unicorn. “I’m fine, little one. Or on the road there, at least.”

“Well,” replied the unicorn after a moment’s hesitation. “That’s good, I guess?”

“Hey, miss, you work here, right?” said the pegasus filly suddenly. “Do you know where Sir Wall’s gotten himself to?”

“Sir … who?”

“Sir Wall! We don’t know where he’s gotten himself to. But he was super brave, and we want to point him out to Princess Celestia so she can give him medals and stuff!”

“I’ve … no idea who he may be, little one.” Tundra gestured towards the hall with her forehoof. “But if you come with me, I’m sure we’ll find someone who does. Are those your sisters over there, by any chance?”

As she glanced in the direction of her gesture, back towards the main group before the Crystal Hall, she glimpsed a trailing messenger whispering something into Celestia’s ear. The relief and satisfaction that glowed forth from the alicorn’s features could be made out, even at this distance. And then she said something which was impossible for Tundra to discern at this distance.

The screech that erupted from an unseen world leader wasn’t, though.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, ‘THE WEDDING’S STILL ON’?”

---

Dame Wind Vane of Her Lunar Majesty’s Nightguard stood on guard by the city gate. Or rather, slumped on guard. Every so often, she winced and rubbed whatever parts of herself had received a kick in the last while, and whimpered when she thought nopony was looking.

She would have customarily been seen to and given leave, of course. But the Dayguard and Nightguard commanders, acting at Captain Armour’s behest, had reluctantly explained that the rest of the day had to be all-hooves-on-deck. It was a light duty besides, guarding the city gate, assuming that nobody would invade twice in the same day. And Wind Vane had gotten off relatively lightly in any case, compared to some of the others that had been roused from paralysis. The last she’d seen of Stratus that day, he was being stretchered off towards the barracks and speaking in a newly-acquired falsetto.

So she guarded, and winced, and listened to the sounds of preparation and bustle happening at her back, and blearily watched three figures wind their way up the mountainside and trot up towards the city gates. Two in front, and one at the back pulling a wagon.

They drew closer, and the front two smartly approached Wind Vane, revealing themselves to be zebras. She eyed the one on her left first, a tall, sleek-looking mare. Her white robes were long, flowing, and trimmed with gold at the edges; her mane was tied back with silver beads and held down by a cylindrical silver cap. “Greetings,” the zebra mare said, bowing her head. “We are Lady Azure.”

Wind Vane had had a very long day. She blinked owlishly at the zebra. “Both of you?” she said.

“Heyo,” interjected her companion, sketching a brief bow as well. He was shorter, stockier, and clad in an ochre-coloured smock adorned with a glittering ruff of rainbow-coloured feathers. “Chieftain Zeal. Pleased to meetcha.”

The cart-puller at the back gurgled. Wind Vane inspected them and, on inspection, found the cart-puller to be a zombie. Filmy eyes peeked out at her past a thin gap in layers of trailing bandages, spangled over with ribbons and charms.

Wind Vane stared, and Azure coughed. “We come representing the Pharoahs Punda and Milia of Upper and Lower Zebrica, long may they reign in everlasting peace. They wish to express their fondest wishes and goodwill to Equestria on this happy day, and have bidden us present their gifts to the new couple.”

“Sorry about the delay,” Zeal said breezily. “Airship got caught up in a pod of dirigible whales. Lovely creatures, but a real pain in the haunch to navigate around, pardon my Fancé. Oh, the zombie here’s Gurgle. Say hullo to the nice guard, Gurgle, be sociable.”

Gurgle gurgled.

“We have our invitations and beg entry,” Azure pressed, a long-suffering edge sneaking into her tone. “You may inspect the cart, though I promise you’ll find nothing other than Their Highness’s gifts. Cauldrons of Zebrican make.”

“Great pieces. More enchantments baked into both of ‘em than you can shake a stick at,” added Zeal, winking. “Perfect for all your home alchemy needs. Let me give you some advice, ma’am; angle to get yourself presents from two competitive brothers as well. They’ll practically sprain themselves trying to get you something fancier than what the other’s getting.”

“Chieftain.”

“Whoops. I mean, everlasting peace, harmony ‘twixt the two restored now and for all time, that sort of thing. Can we come to the wedding now?”

Wind Vane stared from zebra to zebra to zombie, her tired mind fizzing desperately for whatever the proper courtesies. After a moment, Azure cleared her throat and said, “We haven’t missed anything, we trust?”

---

“Shahanshah, we are leaving.”

“But Dame Lyuba, it’s all done, the dangerous stuff’s over! We’ve not even seen the proper wedding bit yet.”

Up in the Crystal Hall, intense negotiation was going on between Sailears and Lyuba. Guards and staff bustled about on all sides, setting up the decorations as they had been and cleaning up any stray puddles of ichor, and carefully edging around the mammoth as they did so. Princess Celestia stood a short distance away from the discussion, using her magic to pick up and lay out whole rows of chairs at a time. If she slumped a little more than usual while doing it, none passed comment.

“The messengers are already alerted, Your Grace, and the relay teams are already in preparation to teleport you home.” Dame Lyuba had mostly calmed down, though her tone retained a slight hint of active volcano. “You are returning to safety, regardless of whether the ‘proper wedding bit’ has happened or not.”

“But we came here to meet and see all the outlanders, and to be friendly towards them! I’m the Shahanshah, and I want to –”

“And I am the right-tusk of your Lord Regent, Your Grace, and I will not be gainsaid!”

Sailears glowered, which in the face of Dame Lyuba wasn’t unlike lighting a candle in front of a supernova. After a moment, he bit out, “I’d like to say goodbye to some of them first.” He pressed on hurriedly before Lyuba could object. “That’d be the proper Shahanshah-ly thing to do. And you can watch me.”

For a moment, Lyuba’s expression was cold and unreadable. Then she curtly nodded. “You have two minutes, Your Grace. Under my eye at all times.”

Sailears whooped and galumped over to Celestia. The alicorn turned on him with a gentle smile. “Farewell, Princess Celestia! I’m sorry we’ve got to leave. I’ll tell my uncle you put on a really exciting wedding!”

“I’m sad to see you go, Shahanshah, though it was good to have you.” Celestia dipped her head. “Do give my best regards to your uncle.”

“Also, if you see them before I do, could you tell Sir Wall and the donkey Arch-Minister and the queen of the sheep and the three fillies and the dragon they did a good job assisting and guarding my royal person? I don’t know if non-elephants can get the Order of Nellie or the Ivory Star or whichever, but I’d like it if they got something.”

Celestia nodded, her smile unchanging. “I shall personally pass on your kind words, Shahanshah. Have a safe journey home.”

Sailears hovered by her for a moment longer. A certain cast came to his expression, and he blurted out, “And I want you to know that I think some of what Dame Lyuba and my uncle says isn’t right. You’re not all bad, outlanders. Some of you are nice.”

With that parting shot, he turned elsewhere to make the most of his remaining one minute and forty seconds, and Lyuba eyed him all the while. Her nerves refused to settle, and would continue to refuse until she was back in Pachydermia. What an unrelentingly atrocious day this had been.

“Are you leaving us, Lyuba?”

Lyuba turned, looked down, and saw Goldtorc. The aurochs had secured her bow in a sheath alongside her flank and her magic now bore tea in a porcelain cup.

Well. Not unrelentingly atrocious, in all fairness.

“Yes, Goldtorc.” Some of the volcanicity ebbed from Lyuba’s tone. “I must take my Shahanshah home. Before Equestria finds some fresh calamity to spring upon us.”

“You do it a disservice. There are times where all is peaceful in Equestria for weeks, at least.” Goldtorc ventured a wry smile. “But I understand why you must leave, though I am sorry about it. You will write, I hope?”

“Write?”

“You began telling me the account of how you fell into the company of your Lord Regent before we were unavoidably interrupted by saving Canterlot. I would still very much like to hear the tale. And to converse with you further, of other things.”

Lyuba mulled the prospect over, and found herself nodding. “That could be done. I did come late to my letters, though, and you must be prepared to forgive my grammar.”

“How could I do otherwise, for a friend abroad?”

A friend abroad. Lyuba would have breezily sneered at the phrase when today began. And now…

“Glad to hear it. And I shall be sure to ask about your tourney system as well. But now I must beg your leave. It has been forty seconds since I saw the Shahanshah, and he has almost certainly found someone regicidal to talk to.”

The consort and the guard bowed briefly, and as they parted, Celestia looked away at last. She had been watching for a while, even as she’d continued arranging chairs. A half-smile hovered around her features, and she started humming as she worked.

A motion at her side alerted her to the presence of a Dayguard stallion at her side, heaving a steaming mug containing enough strong tea to drown a regiment. “More tea, Your Highness?”

“I don’t appreciate your service enough, Sir Starstruck.” Celestia turned from her task, grasped the mug, and took a long, fortifying sip. Once it had been drained to about two-thirds of its original volume, she regarded the stallion. “Could you confirm something for me?”

“What is it, Your Highness?”

“Is there a Sir Wall in either the Dayguard or Nightguard?”

Starstruck frowned. “Nopony comes to mind, Your Highness.”

“Ah, I thought so.” Celestia nodded, and her gaze briefly drifted elsewhere. “Now that is interesting. Thank you.”

“Can I render any other service, Your Highness?”

“Yes. One more thing, Sir Starstruck. I need you to bear a message to the south wall. Tell the Tyrant that Dame Lyuba will shortly be on another continent, and that she can come down now.”

---

Across the broad green before the Crystal Hall, most of the debris and paralysed bodies had been removed and/or revitalised, and many of the latter were pitching in, after no small amount of explanations and screaming, to make the green wedding-presentable once more. Elsewhere, out of sight of the green, a bride-to-be oversaw preparations with the Element Bearers.

Above the green, within a high tower, a door stood ajar, and from it, an infernal light flickered, and there rasped a thin, tired, but undoubtedly still omnimalevolent “Keeeeee.” Philomena perched on a plinth outside the door, her gimlet eyes keeping watch for any mischief, even as one of her claws fussed absently with a bit of shredded tapestry, as if she was making a nest.

Three strapping stallions stood before that door, and argued over who got to attend to this particular share of the clean-up.

“Do let me handle this, Captain,” said Simoom, his ragged vestments dangling from his foreleg as he gestured at the door. “I know something of wrangling pyrefalcons. Besides, it wouldn’t do for the groom to be eviscerated on his wedding day.”

“Viceroy, your bravery does you great credit, but this creature imperils the lives and safety of the ponies in Canterlot.” Captain Shining Armour looked mildly knackered for being woken from weeks of hypnosis, sustaining a shield in said weeks, and capping the whole thing by banishing an invading host with true love’s might, but otherwise seemed to be bearing up well. “It may be my wedding day, but I’m not off-duty. I’ll handle her.”

“Well, personally, I don’t see what all the fuss is about,” asserted Prince Blueblood. He’d spent much of the incursion lying paralysed in an ever-growing puddle of his own drool, and after cleaning himself up, now desperately wished to be useful. “Eye-contact, a firm tone, and in extremis, a rolled-up newspaper. That’s all anypony needs to take an animal to task. I should know, I’ve trained dogs.”

A voice behind the three whispered, “Er, excuse me,” and went ignored.

“Captain Armour, please, I know this falls within your duties, but Charity’s rather … ah, spirited. She needs a trained pair of hooves.”

“And you need to stay safe, Viceroy. Your wellbeing falls within my purview as well. And rest assured I’m not underestimating the creature. I saw the scorch-marks on the walls.”

“I can help here if you...” asserted the quiet voice once more, to little avail.

Blueblood sighed and clicked his tongue. “Such a sad lack of mutual confidence. Look here, Captain Armour and Viceroy Simoom, I’ll show you both how it’s done.”

With that, Blueblood confidently trotted towards the gates of hell, only to be stopped when he was tackled from two different directions and forced to the ground.

“I say, unhoof me!”

“Your Highness, go help somewhere else! Go with the Viceroy and I’ll see to this!”

“Ah, no,” Simoom said hurriedly. “No, no, no. By which I mean, Captain, oughtn’t you escort the prince elsewhere? I’ll take care of this.”

“I’ll take care of this!”

“Take your hoof off! You’ll ruin my waistcoat! And get off in general! I’ll take care of this!”

Blueblood tried to force his way free, which obliged Simoon and Shining Armour to redouble their efforts to keep him pinned whilst trying to tactfully kick the other in the direction of the stairs, and the whole roiling ball of well-meaning cross-purposes only settled when the quiet voice spoke from the direction of the door. “It’s okay. I’ve got her.”

The three looked up, and hurriedly pulled themselves off one another and rose to their hooves. The doorway lay open and within it, Fluttershy stood, one foreleg outstretched and bearing Charity in a falconer’s stance. The pyrefalcon perched peacefully, and seemed to be trying to not make eye contact with the mare.

Shining Armour’s brows rose. Prince Blueblood looked disappointed. Simoom recoiled as if Fluttershy had entered brandishing a whole fizzing wagonload of alchemical explosives, and took a moment to calm down sufficiently to start asking questions. “I … you’re one of the Element Bearers, aren’t you? Miss, may I ask, how the deuce–?”

“All you need is a little kindness,” Fluttershy replied. She looked round at Charity, who glanced back up at Fluttershy before hurriedly looking away. Some gazes even a pyrefalcon dared not meet twice.

“And, er,” Flutttershy murmured to herself, “only occasionally instilling a little mortal terror.”

---

And shortly after that, every guest still on hand had reconvened in the Crystal Hall.

In one row, a rumpled and bruised-looking donkey and griffon sat side-by-side. By them, there sat an elderly ewe, and her third brandy of the afternoon jittered in her hooves. By her, a lanky earth pony who looked distinctly unhappy about his own neighbour, a ibex holding up a jeweled crown whose gemstones gleamed a brilliant blue. Past it, an aurochs bull and cow, looking as if they’d come straight from the nearest battlefield. And past them in turn, two zebras who’d been wearing the same bewildered expressions for the last few hours.

The doors at one end of the hall swung open, and all eyes went to the bride. The real one, this time.

And though the griffon kept one claw clenched around the hilt of his sabre, just in case, nothing else got in the way of wedding bells ringing out a few minutes later.

Second time’s the charm.

---

The day drew on. There came a few sad partings.

And a few happy meetings.

In a sky that was darkening to evening, defiantly casting a shadow over the riot of lights and festivity and throbbing music that still held sway in Canterlot below, an ornithopter wobbled its way between the clouds.

As the vessel threw itself into a precarious loop-the-loop, a cyan blur rocketed through the sky overhead. It banked sharply in the air, and swooped down to cut its own casual loops around the ornithopter’s wings. The vessel’s engines almost seemed to growl with indignation as the blur finally flew round to alight on the cockpit’s window and grin in at the pilot.

“Ha! Call this a race? I thought donkey flying machines were meant to be fast!”

“Not fair!” Pollina shouted back at Rainbow Dash. “The Cloud-Kisser’s taken a bit of a knock! Also, I’m drunk!”

---

“A stately trot now, Your Royal Highness.”

“Mwwrgh.”

The stately trot of Her Royal Highness and heir-apparent, Princess Buttercup of Bovaland, was as yet more of a toddle. An especially wobbly toddle at that, due to the little toy poleaxe she insisted on holding in her mouth at all times. Steel Thews, Bovaland’s Royal Concubine, had tried to gently prise it away, and had been squalled at until he gave it back. He was a minotaur who knew a losing battle when he saw one.

“Your parents will have had a long day in Equestria,” he said gently. He walked stooped, one hand steadying Buttercup’s withers and stopping her from tripping over her own robes every few steps as he guided her towards the chamber designated for teleportation. A brace of huskarls ambled behind them, both sporting larger and slightly more lethal variants of Buttercup’s weapon. “They’ll be delighted to be back in Cromlech Taur. They’ll be delighted to see you.”

Whatever opinions Buttercup had on the matter were somewhat muffled by the poleaxe. “Mwwrgh.”

“Amberhorn himself couldn’t have put it more regally, Your Royal Highness. Aha, what’s this?”

The open door of chamber, lying on one side of the tapestry-plastered corridor they trotted down, suddenly emitted a flash of light. Steel Thews smiled. “Immaculate timing. Go on, Your Royal Highness, go to them.” He gave her a gentle nudge forwards, but Buttercup needed no encouraging. She lurched forward, gurgling happily, just as the Bullwalda and Royal Consort emerged from the chamber.

Steel Thews saw them, froze, and his smile vanished. Buttercup barrelled on, quite undeterred.

Their barding was rent and battered, their caprisons torn and scorched, their visible hides covered with the grime of battle. Greenhorn’s blade was missing, and Goldtorc’s quiver was nearly empty. Their horns smoked faintly, as if put to strenuous use in the recent while. Their huskarls, stepping out from the chamber at their back, looked only slightly less spent.

Steel Thews boggled. The royal couple looked up at him, briefly smiled, and then turned down to their oncoming daughter. Greenhorn dipped his head, cooing lowly as she jumped up and scrabbled at his head and hugged at him with her forelegs and all but took his eye out with her poleaxe, before an aura of Goldtorc’s magic enveloped Buttercup and bore her up, squealing delightedly, to her mother. Greenhorn raised his head, revealing tired eyes. Steel Thews hurried forward, letting propriety briefly hang, and reached out to cup his king’s face in one hand. “It was just a wedding! Minos’ blood, what happened?”

“An incursion by a hidden power, intent on subjugating Equestria and casting the world into a unending dark age,” Greenhorn wearily replied, closing his eyes as he leaned into Steel Thews’ hand. His eyes briefly opened as he frowned at nothing in particular, and then he closed them again with a sigh. “Were Chieftain Gellert or some other leader prone to drollery present, I suspect that would be referred to as a ‘Tuesday’. I ought to resent knowing that.”

“We have quite a tale for any peer willing to listen, Steel Thews,” Goldtorc said. “Is the Witenagemox still meeting this eve? We will – yes, darling, Mummy sees your terrifying pole-axe. Have you been fighting foes of the realm while we’ve been gone?”

“I...” Steel Thews swallowed. “Yes, the Witenagemox should still meet as bidden, Your Majesties. I assume you intend to broach a different subject than guild privileges in the royal burghs?”

“Assumed correctly.” Greenhorn rose his head and nodded at the huskarls behind Steel Thews. “Sir Ironsides, Sir Lancehorn, pray go muster those members of the Witenagemox present in the palace and tell them the meeting shall begin earlier than planned. There is much to discuss.”

“Your Majesties,” implored Steel Thews, “please tend to yourselves before then. Change your garb, allow the physician to check you over, clean and refresh yourselves, at least–”

“Not yet, Steel Thews. I shall leave them under no illusions over what happened westwards.” Greenhorn pulled himself away from the minotaur and began lumbering down the corridor. “We have had our fill of those, of late.”

---

“Blood teshts,” said Fairy Floss, swaying gently. “Blood teshts at the highest levels downwards. The creatures bled ichory-stuff, we bleed … er, blood. All teshting to be done under the sight of verified membersh of the Black Company. You shall be all teshted first, to lead by example, and then direct said Company members to those key sheep serving in your polis. Undersht–stood?

She swayed in the middle of the Thousandfold Chamber, a half-full brandy glass on the floor next to her. High, vaulted walls of white marble rose above her, and a light that seemed to have no source filled it with a soft ambience. Around her on the floor, there stood a circle of black stone statues, sheep standing frozen in various classical poses. Pale light glimmered in their eyes.

The eyes of the one on Fairy’s right, a strapping ewe with a discus in her mouth, suddenly pulsed, and there crackled out the somewhat-uncertain voice of the Archon of Shearta. “Aye, Tyrant. But is it likely we are infiltrated by these creatures? This was an incursion on the far side of Ungula, and we’ve no reason to believe the creatures dwell in the east.”

“Well, we didn’t know they bloody well dwelt in the west. And the likelihood of the prospect doeshn’t matter, Archon,” Fairy Floss said, wheeling on the Archon’s statue and almost falling over as she did so. “The mere fact that it is a prospect compels ush to banish any doubt. If there is so much as the shadow of a chance we have been infiltrated, we will burn it out, root and branch. The integrity of the shovereignty of the Tyranny and your Archonates is paramount. The security of Ovarn is paramount.”

There came a cough from the Archon of Eweboea, speaking through a ram frozen in an eternal flex. “Ah … Tyrant, is there no other test that comes to mind? If these tests should become widespread and necessarily regular, then even the most passive demos in the most loyal polis will resent the process. If anything less intrusive comes to mind, we should give thought to implementing it instead.”

“Barring cross-examining every single sheep about their pershonal history, nothing else suitably mass-producible occursh,” Fairy Floss said. She gestured with her hoof and accidentally knocked her glass over. “But if – rut, I hadn’t finished that – but if any of the Black Company find a changeling, resht assured, tests will be done. Perhaps an alternative will emerge.”

There followed a strained silence from Ovarn’s massed Archons, and though it was technically impossible in light of their medium of communication, there seemed to be a silent battle of wills and glances going on between the statues. Eventually, the young Archon of Rhovies lost, and she spoke up from her ram in antiquated bronze panoply. “Beg pardon, Tyrant, but are you a little … drunk?”

Fairy Floss pored owlishly at the ram statue, and after a few moments, said, “Remind me of your name, Archon.”

“Tethera, Tyrant.”

“Well, Tethera, with those powersh of obshervation, you’ll go very far indeed. And yes, I am somewhat over my typical brandy limit. But let me assure you, young ewe, and all of ewe...whoops, you, that I have had a very trying day, which included shtaring down death in the form of a mammama … mammara … big hairy elephant thing. And if any of you had been in the same position, rest assured, you’d need a reshtorative or ten to calm your nervesh too!”

No more questions seemed to be coming, and as the statues held their hush, Fairy Floss rapped her hoof twice on the floor. “Dismissed, then. I shall check some black sheep myself, and they shall go about verifying the rest of the company. Once that is done, Archons, expect visitsh.”

As the eye-lights in the ranks of statues winked out, the Tyrant sighed and settled. She eyed her spilled glass and contemplated another before bed-time.

But truth be told, her nerves didn’t need much more soothing. There was little better than monstering the Archons to make her feel better at the end of a hard day.

Sometimes, Fairy’s conscience would try to prickle her with regards to monstering being an unkind thing to do to sheep, any sheep. But she could easily quash that by reminding her conscience that she knew what the Archons were like. After all, she’d been one once.

---

In a cave in the woods just off the main road heading north, Thorax shivered, and slept, and dreamed of being a hero once again.

It was, in all honesty, a pretty nightmarish dream, but he faced up to it regardless.

---

“Sir, you’re not meant to just come behind the bar and help yourself to bottles.”

“Don’t fret, lad,” Burro said to the annoyed-looking unicorn as he hefted a magnum bottle in his foreleg. “I’m an old hoof at appreciating champagne, it shan’t be mistreated. Oh, I’ll relieve you of a couple of these as well.”

“Sir, you’re especially not meant to drink it in tankards.”

Burro winked, his mouth occupied by a pair of pewter handles, and ambled away from the drinks tent and back out into the party. The evening had darkened to proper dusk, and upon the deep blue vastness that filled the sky, the shapes of various constellations jostled for space. Princess Luna had emerged from her slumber briefly, had lingered just long enough to throw up the night sky, and then had vanished with Celestia into some deeper recess within the palace complex. Muffled yelling and minor earth movements had begun the moment the main doors closed.

The evening may have worn on, and the bride and groom may have long since vanished, but ponies were still making the most of it. Burro navigated around a knot of whooping dancers, all of them shoogling approximately to the beat pulsing from a nearby sound system. Around them, and past a line of trees strewn with lights and streamers, he sighted his quarry. A stone fence ran around the edge of this particular terrace, and Gellert sat perched upon it, smoking as he regarded the stars. He had appropriated a fat cigar from somewhere, and smoke rings surrounded him like so many misplaced halos. He puffed and turned on Burro as the jack approached with the champagne and tankards, and a broad grin broke across his features. “Plunder secured?” he asked.

“Yeth.” Burro spat out the handles and gestured at the cigar. “Come over here and pour. I’ll treat that nicely while you’re busy.”

Gellert passed the cigar over, and Burro took a long, satisfied drag on what he recognised as Gazellen tobacco as the griffon popped the cork free and began topping up the tankards. For a moment, in this secluded space behind the tree line at the very edge of the palace, the gurgle and fizz of champagne was the loudest noise on hoof.

“Saw Simoom when I went pillaging,” Burro said absently. “Lad was having fun composing a telegraph. Sent a message to his dearly beloved back in Saddle Arabia a couple of hours ago, letting her know how things went.”

“Oh? That would have been fun reading for her.”

“I don’t doubt. Caught a glimpse of her reply as I wandered past, and there seemed to be a lot of capital letters. He looked a bit concerned, so I gave him a reassuring pat on the wither and suggested a few phrases to set her mind at ease.”

“Think they’ll actually work?”

“Tides, no. I’ve met her, she’s sharp. Still, had to try something. If he’s still at it when we check later, let’s put our heads together and help him.”

“Good idea.” Gellert pushed a full tankard at Burro. “Fill your head with that first, though.”

Burro needed no second telling, and he knocked tankards with Gellert and swigged for several seconds. He lowered the tankard and smacked his lips. The lightheadedness of victory and the slight dazedness of a lingering concussion were joined by the champagne, and he leaned on the fence and smiled unreservedly up at the stars.

“Good day, all things considered,” Burro said.

“On balance, yep.” Gellert leaned over and re-swiped his cigar. “Lovely ceremony, when it happened. Few brawls beforehand, to limber us up for it. I’ve had less exciting weddings in my day, that’s for certain.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I was there for most of them. Some of the memories stand out.”

“All those curious ponies and journalists and clicking cameras as well. I reckon we’ll come out well in that one they got us both to pose for.”

“You cracking your knuckles, me brandishing the sabre, both of us looking battle-hardened and swashbuckly as we ever were?” Burro smiled, and winced as the bruise on his face twinged. “If that comes out well, and it makes onto the front page of the Brineside Gazette or Pennant or what-have-you, that should be good for a poll bump. Damasque might even not slay me horribly for failing to come back this night.”

“Especially handy that they moved on to other folk just before all our aches caught up with us at once and we spent the next while mewling in a corner. Might have made for even better front pages, mind you, but less in your favour.”

“True.” Burro looked down into his tankard, which fizzed tantalisingly at him. He obligingly swigged.

A long hush lasted then, and the throb of the music and noise from the revellers were distant things. Burro, his mind drifting elsewhere, was jolted back when Gellert said quietly, “They didn’t find any sign of Chrysalis, did they?”

He recognised that tone of voice from Gellert. It rarely surfaced, and was rarely more fun when it did.

Burro sighed. “No. No, they didn’t. Thrown clear of the city along with her remaining forces. Those that weren’t flattened over walls, of course. I’d hope that the power of true love killed her stone dead, but … well, we know the world’s not that kind.”

“Equestria will be turning up every stone on the continent and hunting to the ends of the earth for her,” Gellert said lowly. “The last couple of times they underwent this sort of thing, they could either turn the threat back into stone or make ‘em a princess. A monster like her at large doesn’t put me at ease. Can’t imagine it thrills the alicorns either.”

“I hear you.” Burro looked back out towards the stars, his lightheadedness ebbing. “Especially if she goes about looking for refuge, for allies. I imagine there’ll be a few players willing to welcome her aboard. Make use of her and her hive’s talents.”

“More fuel for the fire,” Gellert muttered. “Especially after what they saw today. Celestia laid low. I don’t care how loudly the Crown claimed to be as horrified as any of us. It’ll be plotting already.”

Burro didn’t reply immediately, and Gellert went on. “We knew about that with Nightmare Moon, but didn’t see it. We saw it with Discord, but nobody could treat with him, and Celestia reminded us what she was then anyway. But now there’s blood in the water, and the Crown and Corva and whatever schemers may be scheming overseas … they’ll come sniffing. And if they reach a concord with a creature like Chrysalis –”

“Equestria will find her,” said Burro. “Asinia will pile in as well. Celestia’s spies can attend to the ‘every stone on the continent’ part, and we’ll handle the ‘hunting to the ends of the earth’ part. Besides, you heard some of Chrysalis’ monologuing. She’s blown the secrecy of her species. She’ll have a hard time going to ground again.”

“I hope you’re right.” Gellert sighed and sipped from his own tankard. “Simurgh’s paps, I hope you’re right. The world’s looking more and more like a powder keg. I’ve seen it at peace too long. I’d happily fight anyone and anything myself … but I’ve got too many tribes to safeguard to countenance anything large-scale. I’ve too many children.”

Burro was quiet again, and this time, Gellert didn’t elaborate. Overhead, the constellations glittered in place, still and fixed and silent.

Then Burro spoke. “Then let’s keep them safeguarded.”

Gellert looked up, and Burro continued. “We’re not helpless. We’re an Arch-Minister and the high chieftain of a silly number of tribes, and we may not be the most splendid examples of either, but damned if we can’t do our best. We’ve accomplished more impossible things with vastly less resources at our beck and call. We can put our heads together with Celestia and put in whatever hard graft we need to keep our course steady. Whatever form that takes. And you know what? We can start that tomorrow.”

Gellert opened his beak as if to speak, and Burro pressed on. “Hang today, and for now, hang Chrysalis. She came at us hard enough to take down Celestia and neuter the Element Bearers, and she still lost. Cadence and her beau earned their salt. For tonight, we’ve won, and I feel young again. And every night after, though I imagine I’ll get back to feeling creaky and getting ever-creakier, we’ll be ready.”

Gellert’s expression didn’t change for a moment, and then the same sharp grin returned to his features. “Hah!” he barked. “No wonder I’m terrible at being a morose drunk. You keep inflicting yourself on all my nice dolefulness and ruining the whole thing.”

“You knew I was a ruiner from the moment we met. None to blame but yourself.” Burro gestured at the magnum bottle. “Top us up. We’ve a riotous evening to make the most of, and we’ve not even toasted anything yet.”

“Good call. What do you reckon?” Gellert plucked up the bottle and slopped champagne in the rough direction of either tankard. “To readiness?”

“To more exciting weddings?”

“To idiots who thought leadership was a fun ambition at the time?”

“Oh, who cares about that pair of reprobates?” Burro raised his drink. “Nah, here we go. To the happy new couple!”

Tankards crashed in the night.

---

In the middle of the arid Equestrian Badlands, half a day’s flight from anywhere sensible ponies would willing set hoof, a lonesome figure trotted. A cowled robe covered them from the hooves up, obscuring them from any unwanted attention. The cowl itself rested atop the curving shape of a pair of ibex horns.

In the recess of the cowl, in the ibex’s magical grasp, there hovered the Capricious Crown.

As the ibex trotted, they drew ever-closer to a great mountainous formation of ridges and canyons, the black, serrated mass of it clawing up at the sky. Clouds pressed in tight together, tinted scarlet and dark blue by the dusk, blotting out the remains of the sun, the moon, the stars.

“Stop,” said the Crown suddenly, and the ibex smartly halted. “We’re in sight of their main entryway. She’ll see us now, whenever she chooses to appear.”

As he’d not been asked a question and had been very well-trained, the ibex didn’t answer. The Crown was silent for a moment longer before it said, “There’ll be time. Set up the … what did she insist on calling it? … the keekin glass.”

The ibex set to the task, opening its saddlebag and drawing out four lengths of dark, gnarled wood, their pitted shapes covered in minute runes and etchings. Discreet slots and tabs allowed them to snap smoothly together, forming a frame.

The Crown’s jewels glittered. As it watched the ibex work quickly, it heard a distant growl from the knotted clouds overhead. Thunder without. And within...

Restore the Capric Empire. Restore the Capric Empire. Restore the Capric Empire. Restore–

It had been so mercifully quiet this morning, as well.

“Menial,” it growled. “Don me.”

The ibex closed his eyes, breathed out, and stammered, “My life for –”

“Shut up. Do it.”

Without another word, the ibex drew back his cowl, raised the Crown over his head, and gently donned it.

There was a soft noise, like the release of breath.

There was a faint stiffening of the ibex’s stance.

The Crown opened its eyes. It experimentally flexed a forehoof, and stopped the flexing just short of where it guessed the breaking point of sinews to be. It reminded itself that breathing was one of those annoying and necessary bits of maintenance. Flesh-and-blood forms were so fussy. And for all that fussiness, they couldn’t even make full use of themselves barring those few occasions of extreme duress.

How lucky that the Crown could.

One moment of concentration, and magic screamed to life up around the Crown’s new horns, crackling and coursing and spitting like lightning. The Crown lowered its head, touched the horns to the frame of the keekin glass, and fed the magic in. White-hot lightning pulsed around the runes, glowed out through the etchings, and as the moment dragged on and on, smoke began to curl up from the tip of one of its horns, smoke and a hint of flame…

...until the glow around the runes and etchings settled in, subdued, and from the filmy blur that filled the space within the frame, there came a voice. “Aye, hello, whit?”

The Crown stepped back and regarded the image in the frame. Past a blurry, mottled film, as if ink had been splattered over water, the shape of a room became clearer. Wooden, curving walls, as if a great hole in a vast tree had been expanded and made habitable, lit up by a guttering gas-lantern and strewn with cushions and jars and papers here and there. A large nest made of layered planks and lined with furs covered most of one side, and a couple of corvid-shaped stands for armour and gonnes stood empty.

A corvid leaned in from one side, their eyes bright and their red-brown feathers streaked with blue, and gawked curiously at the Crown.

The Crown spoke first, its tone coming out dry and flat. “You are not the Cormaer.”

“Och, no,” the jay said amiably. “I’m just Aunty Cranreuch’s equerry, or aide, or summat like that. She’s oot just now. Should be back soon, if ye were hoping to blether with her. Name’s Bahookie. Whit’s yours?”

“I am the Capricious Crown of Capra,” said the Crown, who tried to remember how one injected suitable iciness into one’s tone when wrangling with an actual vocal apparatus. “The Cormaer will be expecting me.”

“Aye? Heard of ye, I think. And dinnae fash, she’ll be back anon. If no and ye’ve got to wander off soon, I’ll tell her the Capricious Crown called.” Bahookie frowned, as if realising something, and flapped as he leaned in closer to the keekin glass at his end of things. “Here, I have heard of ye. Ye’re a crown.”

The Crown’s reply, when it came, could have done the polar regions proud. “Golly. Am I really?”

“Jings, I thought Aunty Cranreuch and a’corbie else was just being metaphorical, ye ken. Like, the Crown was anither way of talking about Capra’s high heid yin and their office and whit-not. But naw, ye’re actually a crown, that’s amazing.”

“Glad to amaze you. I suspect many things do.”

“And are ye possessing that goat, likes? Urgh, that’s a bit minging, if ye don’t mind me saying. Why no just make some enchanted barding or cadge a golem and ride aroond on that? I mean, aye, maybe there’s technical difficulties I’m no appreciating, but –”

“Speck,” said the Crown. “Do be kind to a centuries-old artifact and stop talking. You’re not important enough to get to talk.”

Bahookie stared, and the red-brown feathers on his face flushed redder. “Here, ye’re a bit rude. Whit’s wrang with a wee bit of blethering?”

“Everything when it comes from you,” replied the Crown. “Keep it up, and I shall advise your Aunty Cranreuch to take you to the nearest loch and push your head under the surface until talking ceases altogether and for all time. Understood?”

“Whit?” said Bahookie, all indignation. “Well, advise her on that if you like, but she willnae...” He hesitated. “I’m sure she wouldnae...” Another pause. “I … I’m reasonably sure she wouldnae ...” A last pause. “I’ll wheesht.”

“Yes. Yes, you shall.”

A state of awkward wheeshtness persisted for the next few minutes. Overhead, thunder growled. From Corva, the Crown heard what sounded like rain and wind rattling off the trunk of the tree enclosing the room it could see. Then there came a crash and a flash from the top of the frame, and the Crown looked up to see a stiff flap of hides near the top of the room being shouldered, revealing the large shape of an armoured raven.

A lightning flash briefly silhouetted the Eighth Cormaer as she alighted down into the room, shedding water from her dripping armour, plain steel sheets that covered her torso and legs and head. Her broad wings flapped free, glowing with dark blue magic, and she shrugged off a battered-looking claw-gonne that had been slung over her back. Dark eyes glimmered, taking in both Bahookie and the keekin glass.

“Aun – Cormaer!” Bahookie exclaimed. “Did ye see off Radge?”

“Saw off the guid chief and those pillocks who dared follow him into battle,” rasped the Cormaer, in a voice which sounded like it had done a lot of shouting in the last while. “Scattered those who didn’t have the guid sense to flee before things kicked off, and they’ll have all nicht to come crawling here, begging my mercy and forgiveness. They’ll get it ere daybreak. After, we hunt them doon and put them to the blade.” She nodded at the keekin glass. “Ye been waiting, Crown?”

“Yes,” the Crown replied.

The Cormaer turned on Bahookie. “I’ll see to my ain armour. Gie us peace. Your eve’s yours.”

Bahookie nodded nervously. “Aye, Au – Cormaer.” He took off, left through the same flap the Cormaer had come in from, and when he was gone, the Cormaer groaned. Magic coursed around her wings, pulling off her armour, and dragged over a large clay jar. As the armour fitted itself around one of the empty stands, she dipped her beak into the jar and drank for a long moment. The Crown waited.

“Do me a favour,” it said. “Drown that one in a loch.”

“Naw,” replied the Cormaer absently, not looking up from her whisky jar. “My sister’d never let me live it doon. Besides, he’s a jay. Jays are lucky.”

“Oh, fine. Was that a conversation about trouble on the homefront?”

“A smidge. Chief Radge of Clan Haarfirth had the notion there was time yet tae stop me from re-enacting ‘The Seventh’s Folly’, as he put it, and save Corva. Now he’s got nae such notion, nae Clan Haarfirth, and nae mortal coil for that matter. That should crimp the boldness of any ither Radges oot there.”

“I don’t doubt.”

“Aye. But never mind my day. Gies the clype about yours.” The Cormaer looked up at the Crown, the edges of her beak tightening in a wintery smile. “Whit went wrang?”

“Jumping to conclusions, aren’t you?” the Crown replied.

“Is that the smouldering wreckage of Canterlot ye’re calling me from, then?”

“Our new friend performed promisingly. Adequate competence and admirable brutality all throughout. A few inefficient decisions here and there, a tendency to gloat, but despite those, things were on track. She defeated Celestia, and contained those Element Bearers. I was already planning how my legions would wait until she was bogged down in subduing the rest of Equestria, and then march in to secure everything at one stroke. It very nearly worked until Equestria’s third alicorn and her spouse threw things off.”

“‘Nearly’ is a queer way to pronounce ‘didnae’, Crown.” The Cormaer looked smug. “I telt ye it wouldnae pay off. Ye’ve only rattled Equestria, and wasted the surprise of Chrysalis and her lot.”

“The outcome isn't ideal. I don’t need to be convinced of that.”

“Telt ye ye should have kept her in reserve. Kept her sweet on ye by feeding her hive your ain excess goats, and unleashed her only when we unleashed oorselves. Or bidden her infiltrate and only wreak chaos when we attacked. Or waited for any more opportune time.”

“A chance to strike at all three alicorns at once seemed entirely opportune,” the Crown coldly replied. “And though it may not have ended quite as happily as I’d have liked, there are several silver linings. For one, we now know what Cadence is capable of. I can’t say I like her capabilities much, but I’d sooner know than underestimate and get caught out. Secondly, we laid low Celestia for a time, and for all that she got back on her hooves, the world will have seen that. Anyone reluctant to join our cause for fear of Equestrian might will now know that Equestria isn’t invincible, it can bleed. And thirdly ...” It remembered to breathe when it realised the words coming out were getting somewhat hoarse. “Thirdly, Chrysalis is now obliged to throw her lot in with us. She has no other option if she wants the secrecy and security she once had, if she wants to avoid Equestrian retaliation.”

The Cormaer looked thoughtful. “Chrysalis isnae deid, then?”

“I don’t believe so, no” said the Crown. “She and any of her hive that yet live will return to where I stand. I shall greet her. I shall be my most charming and personable.”

“Will ye, aye.” The Cormaer turned back to her whisky. “If she’s reticent, snuff her oot if ye can. Let Equestria tie itself in knots looking for a loose end that isnae there. But if you can draw her intae this entente of oors, all the better.” She looked up again, her eyes glittering with amusement. “Chrysalis, the Crown, and the Cormaer. Reckon ye could recruit Celestia as well? She’d keep oor naming scheme braw and consistent.”

The Crown chose not to dignify that with a response, and the Cormaer smirked wryly. “Mind ye, I’m surprised the others let ye oot of Canterlot. Were ye no suspected of being bound up with events?”

“Absolutely I was. But when the suspicions were voiced, they were fraught and not as grounded as they might have been. I pleaded innocence and horror in a suitably forthright way. A little confusion bought me breathing space, and up till I left, I was the very picture of wronged and justifiably snide innocence. I even found a few half-way convincing excuses, like ‘Why would I enact a plan that put me in the line of fire?’ That sort of thing.”

“Aye, that’ll convince the others. They’d ken only a complete bampot would do that sort of thing.”

“Hah,” purred the Crown. “As if I’ve ever feared the line of fire. Possibly some will do a little more thinking or hold to their first suspicions, and I’ll still be suspected. But what of that? I will be safe in Capra, and they will not.”

The Cormaer shrugged. “Well, ye do whit ye need to at that end of things. I’ll attend to things here.”

“What’s the shape of things there?”

“I’ve been busy, Crown. Those bards I’ve cowed have flown Corva’s length and breadth to stoke fires, singing laments of the Seventh and Dream Valley, and calling all corvids in possession of a spine to fly to the Eighth’s banners. And they have come. From north tae south, from east tae west, from a thousand clans, all keen to wet their thrapples with cuddy blood. Wee clan wars shall sate them for now, but not forever. Whatever ye fancy scheming with Chrysalis, keep me in the loop. And dinnae take too long.”

“Duly noted. Though while we’re on the subject of preparation ...”

“Your gonnes are on their way. Two-dozen bombards, half-a-hunnert lang-gonnes, and two hunnert claw-gonnes re-fitted for hoofheld use. And enough powder to keep them all firing for three months. Drill your picked soldiers’ heids aff, and if I get that shipment of black stone ye promised, and if ye’re very guid, I’ll send ye mair.”

“Ah, the black stone. What a profitable discovery that site was.” The Crown eyed the Cormaer. “My previous offer remains extended. Many more tons of the stone, in exchange for a craftscorvid or two capable of simply making the powder. Imagine all the magic-breaking bullets you could fashion with that. What arcane shield would be safe?”

“And my previous answer remains, Crown. My heid doesnae button up the back.” The Cormaer smiled. “I’ll have to show face at the post-battle festivities sooner or later. Ye have fun blethering tae Chrysalis if she shows up. Call back if ye dinnae end up melted.”

“I shall,” said the Crown as the image of the Cormaer winked out. It stepped back, its gait stiff, and turned around to keep an eye on the skies.

Restore the Capric Empire had fallen that little bit quieter. And it remained that little bit quieter for all the while the Crown spent watching the skies, and when it saw a black speck moving down through the sky.

The speck drew closer, took shape past the black clouds, and became Queen Chrysalis. She was run-ragged and panting, with several still changelings dangling over her back and one held by the scruff of their neck in her mouth. As she flew down, she sighted the Crown.

The Crown waved.

Chrysalis hovered mid-air for a moment, her poison-coloured eyes seething, and then she came down in a blur to crash into the ground just before the Crown. She spat the changeling to one side and loomed over the Crown, her expression locked in a snarl, her horn alive with magic. Not as much as earlier, the Crown noted.

The Crown spoke first. “Why, Queen Chrysalis, how pleasant to meet you he–”

“You,” she hissed. “You led me into ruin.”

“No,” the Crown replied. “I led you to a very great prize, and Equestria snatched it from your grasp. I was as surprised as you when Cadence and the captain pulled that power out their sleeves.” It paused contemplatively. “Love as friendship writ large, perhaps? Empowered yet more by her purview? I should get my caprids to research this.”

“You were surprised? Hardly.” Chrysalis leaned in. “Confess. Confess you set me and my hive up for a fall, and maybe I’ll end you quickly. Otherwise, I’ll drag it out.”

“Why would I have done that? I wanted you to run roughshod over Equestria, Queen Chrysalis, and I’d have helped you had the others not denied me this menial at the time. I wanted you to gorge yourself and for my state to lose its greatest rival. We both stood to gain from your victory. And I wouldn’t have returned here if I didn’t think there was still a chance for us both to prosper.”

Chrysalis laughed. “Are you trying to persuade me of some idiotic course of action yet again? Are you that foolish?” Her horn blazed, and she bared her teeth. “I should dispose of you right now. I should slay that wretched host of yours, and fly you out to the middle of the ocean and drop you into the deepest trench to waste away for eternity. I think I would prosper from doing that, don’t you?”

“I don’t,” said the Crown, its tone low. “And I think you could certainly try that.”

Chrysalis stared down at the Crown, and bit out a short, cruel laugh. She shrugged her withers, and the changeling slumped over her back fell to the ground. “Do you think you have so much as the ghost of a chance, little crown?”

“Considering what I can push this form to do? Considering you’ve considerately brought some spare bodies there for me to teleport myself to if this one breaks? Considering you’re almost certainly not on the same form as you were when you overcame Celestia?” The Crown’s own horns crackled, and Chrysalis’ eyes narrowed.

The world stood silent, as if waiting for the storm to break, and then the Crown dimmed its magic, shrugged its withers, and said, “I genuinely don’t know. We could find out together. But I’d prefer we didn’t. What’s to be gained from it? We still have mutual interests and a mutual enemy. Equestria stymied us once. It needn’t do so again.”

Chrysalis didn’t immediately reply, though the magic around her horn diminished a fraction. The Crown was silent, and then said absently, “Though if you’re looking for advice and feedback on all that, I have some to offer. You made good use of the intelligence I gave you – impersonating Cadence herself was truly inspired, well done – but you should have dispatched her out of hand after feeding on whatever love you needed. On that same note, I understand the urge to keep ponies alive to maintain a full larder, but a bit more ruthlessness might have been –”

The magic blazed forth once more and Chrysalis leaned in so close her fangs all but scraped the Crown’s face. “Do I look as though I desire a lecture, little crown?”

“Of course not. My mistake,” the Crown replied quickly. “If you wish to discuss possible approaches later, I will be happy to do so. For now, though, let me keep my promise to you.”

Chrysalis frowned. “Your promise?”

“I promised you a refuge if things didn’t go entirely to plan. I intend to keep that promise. And all I’d ask is that our interests continue to align. And that you meet some allies of mine. I do hope you’ll get along with them as much as I.”

For a long, long moment, Chrysalis didn’t speak. Then she drew back, and casually scooped up her changelings with her magic and deposited them on her back once again. “What refuge do you have in mind?”

“A place far from here, much further north, where Equestria shan’t seek you out,” the Crown replied. “A old holdfast of your kindred, I believe, from days before you were ever obliged to hide in the shadows. My researchers found it a few months ago, and have had such fun exploring it. Built from this marvellous black stone, which I believe thwarts all non-changeling magic. None of Equestria's divining spells will be able to touch it. It falls within Capra’s territory, right on our north-west border. I offer it to you.”

“You offer it?” Chrysalis stared for a moment, and she frowned. “...Why?”

“I have had my fill of the place, and have extracted what I need. Now I need a strong ally. Thus I freely offer it. You would hopefully be understanding if Capra requires access to it in future, but we can negotiate on such things if the occasion ever arises. I can replenish your resources as well. There are isolated settlements nearby that nobody shall notice or care about, and you can take freely from those. And if they aren’t sufficient, Capra’s prisons could always do with emptying. I can send some your way.”

Chrysalis frowned. “I’ll have to do much rebuilding. Much replenishing of the hive. Will you have enough criminals to sate us?”

“One useful thing about a state like mine, Queen Chrysalis, is that I can manufacture criminals whenever I like.” Some strange motion seemed to be taking place at the edges of the Crown’s mouth, as if it was trying to twitch upwards. “What do you say? Refuge and sustenance for your hive, and the promise of a second strike at Equestria some time in the future?”

The strange motions continued, and Chrysalis took a moment to answer. “Why are you offering all this?”

“Why, Queen Chrysalis,” replied the Crown, past its own wildly-twitching mouth. “I just think it’s past time I took a page from Equestria’s book.”

And, horror of horrors, the Crown figured out the motions, and at last, it smiled.

“I think it’s past time I made a friend.”

---

Agent Alloy trotted through the palace, pushing a cart with a nearly-full tea service on it. At this time, where evening’s and morning’s boundaries began to blur into one another, most guests still standing had moved onto something stronger. He’d made a sweep regardless, listened for anything interesting that anyone drunk might have let slip, heard nothing, and now made his way to somewhere he knew the tea would be appreciated. And where he might hear interesting things indeed.

One of his hooves trembled slightly. It had been a hell of a day, for all the obvious reasons, and for a few others.

One of those was the Arch-Minister, and Alloy still wasn’t sure whether he should have knocked him out and dragged him to safety the moment insane plans started coming out his mouth. Granted, if you knocked out an Arch-Minister any time they spouted insane plans, you’d never stop, but he suspected that sort of situation had called for it. He may yet get in trouble when he submitted his report.

At least said Arch-Minister was safe now. Alloy had last heard him outside along with the griffon chieftain, the pair of them singing for want of a better word. They were managing to hit entirely different notes on the same song, and not once did they alight on the correct one. But that was only dangerous to any listeners, not them, and Alloy had left them to it.

Then there was Tundra.

She’d accosted him in a side-corridor, where he’d been bearing a tray of canapes out into the fray, with an expression that suggested she’d been bracing herself for several minutes beforehand. “I don’t have to follow their advice exactly,” she’d said to herself. “But I can trust that they thought I could. And if it’s a day for doing extraordinary things anyway, no harm in doing one more.”

“Er, what?” he’d intelligently replied.

She’d met his gaze, and her eyes shone with determination. “Ahem. Would you like to get coffee sometime this week?”

He’d cogitated on the question and all it implied, and had come up with another dizzyingly intelligent reply. “Coffee?”

“Or tea. The exact liquid doesn’t matter too much. But I would like to get it with you.”

His brain had roiled for a moment. Part of him was stunned, another flattered, another curious. He didn’t customarily go for xenophilia, but Tundra was easy on the eyes as ibexes went, and he knew and liked the personality underneath. Another part of his brain reckoned this ought to be the sort of situation spies got into anyway, and he’d frankly been a disappointment to the profession in that regard for the last few years.

One more debonair and dashing reply then, to seal the deal. “Sure, why not. Joe’s at midday day after tomorrow?”

And she’d smiled, and agreed, and went on her way with a spring in her step he’d never seen before.

The only part that galled was that a better being than himself hadn’t put it there. He shook his head, smiled at the world, and returned to his work for the rest of the night.

Now he only had to deliver this last spot of tea, to somewhere he knew it would be appreciated, and that would be one of his jobs done for the day. And then he’d just have to head home, write a report that would probably take him until dawn, and that’d be his other job done for the day.

He trotted deeper into the palace, towards a distant and muffled yelling. He recognised the Royal Canterlot Voice – it was hard not to, if you’d shared a time-zone with it even once – and trotted faster towards whatever spirited discussion was going on between the royal sisters.

The subject of the discussion became clearer as he neared the door leading into a private chamber.

“...cannot believe we were not awoken!” blazed the source of the Royal Canterlot Voice, and Alloy’s eardrums began instinctively looking for a place to curl up and hide. He forced them to stand their ground. Never any harm in an eavesdrop.

“Be fair, Luna,” came the softer, more strained reply, as Alloy reached the door. “Some amongst our guards made the attempt. Alas, there was only so much they could do.”

“We are a heavy sleeper, we appreciate, but Sir Contrabassoon has managed to wake us before! Why was he not sought out?”

“Because he’s currently on holiday in Zebrica with his wife and two foals, and shall remain so for the next week. Imagine all the barracks gossip he’ll have to catch up on when he returns.”

A silence, and when Luna spoke again, she’d begrudgingly shed the Royal Canterlot Voice. “I mean not to belittle him, or either of the guards who made the attempt to waken us. They are well, I hope?”

“Dame Wind Vane is somewhat battered, but alive and well. Sir Stratus is considerably more battered, and intends to spend the next while lying in an icy bath and trying to recover his baritone. He should make a full recovery, though.”

“I am glad. I shall ensure their rest is untroubled.” A pause, and then Luna spoke again. “None were hurt seriously? Or slain?”

“None. Sir Stratus has come worst off out of everypony. Happily, Chrysalis had far nastier designs than mere bloodshed. In all honesty, whatever aura of invincibility I still retained has been the greatest casualty of the evening.”

“Quite.” Luna’s voice fell. “That will be a problem, you appreciate?”

“Don’t doubt I do. Forgive a sudden digression, but I’m sure I heard a cart pass by and stop a moment ago.”

Alloy blinked, grumbled at the keen senses of alicorns, and rapped twice upon the door. “Tea, Your Majesties?”

“Ah, Alloy. Tea would be most appreciated, thank you.” The door swung in, and Alloy stepped into the little chamber. It was plusher than the palace average, with a thick carpet, bright wall-hangings that ran all the way up to a ceiling that reflected the night sky, and little hovering magical lights that lent a soft ambience to proceedings. Luna paced at one side, and fixed Alloy with an austere look as he entered the room. Celestia reclined on a couch at the other side, and whatever energy she’d mustered when she’d shown face at the dance floor earlier seemed to be at a low ebb. “A cartload? You spoil us. Luna, this is Alloy. He’s the –”

“The spy,” Luna said coldly, giving Alloy a look that threatened to wilt him, and then favoured Celestia with a dose as well. Alloy winced at his real nature being known to more than he’d already budgeted for as Luna spoke. “I would have had stern words with the Arch-Minister for sending one into Equestria had we been in your position at the time of discovery, dear sister. And thrown this snooper out on his ear.”

“Then we’d be in the dark as to whoever the next spy they sent would be. Even amongst our closest allies, spying is a given, Luna. Much happens in Equestria that impacts upon the rest of the world, and they’ll do what they must to stay in the loop.” Celestia smiled over at Alloy. “Consider also that if Equestria is over-run and we can’t get word out in time, Alloy and those like him very well might. I consider that a good potential exchange for whatever other tidings he may pass on.”

“Hmmph.” Luna looked unconvinced, and the glance she flashed Alloy had all the warmth and welcome of a glacier face. She snorted and turned back on Celestia. “We must talk about our next steps, sister mine. Shall we bid him stay and take notes for that? Make sure he has sharp quills if he needs them?”

“If he likes, though there’ll be little need,” replied Celestia. “Since once the Arch-Minister and Chieftain Gellert are awake and conscious tomorrow, I intend to make them aware of our next steps. Some of them may be somewhat alarming, so perhaps it would only be fair they got some forewarning.”

‘Somewhat alarming’ didn’t put Alloy at any ease at all, and he tried not to look too trepid as he poured tea into cups.

“I don’t doubt,” Luna said dryly. “If we are talking freely about it, then, did you perchance get final word back from the archaeological team in the north? Have they confirmed things?”

“They have.” Celestia levitated over one of the cups and drained it in a single long sip, lowering it with a look of grim satisfaction on her face. “Senior Field Researcher Gallivant has done himself proud, and confirmed what we hoped it was, as well as the nature of the magic containing it. Between the two of us, we can unravel it. And when Cadence returns from her honeymoon, she will find her inheritance awaiting her at long last.”

Alloy blinked, and Luna smiled. “Good,” she said gently. “She merits nothing less. And the restoration of the Crystal Empire will be something for all Equestria to take delight in.”

“Indeed. And putting one particular old ghost up there to flight will be delightful as well.”

“His reckoning is long overdue,” Luna said, and her tone ran ice-cold with wrath. Alloy shrank back reflexively. Luna coughed, and recovered herself. “Though related to that sort of topic ...”

“I still think there is a chance it may work. And if it doesn’t, the ponies who stopped him once can stop him again.”

“Amazing,” said Luna. “I did not even mention anything or anyone by name, and yet you still knew what sort of self-inflicted calamity I might be advising against.”

“I know you’re skeptical.”

“I named it folly before, Tia, I name it folly now. I could append adjectives to that, if it please you. I have learned some fascinating modern ones.”

Alloy blinked at the turn the conversation had taken, and looked from Celestia to Luna, somewhat lost. Celestia insisted, “There is a hope. Fluttershy is that hope.”

“I hold nothing against Fluttershy. She has rendered great service to Equestria. She appears to be of sound moral character. I even dare say she is, by and large, a good pony. But I cannot believe that she, nor anypony, is capable of –”

“Today, she tamed a creature that was surely made by the Creator out of simple bad humour alone. She can tame most anything, if she puts her heart and will to it. And she would.”

Luna ground her teeth. Then she said, “He will be watched throughout. At the first sign of trouble, Twilight and her companions will freeze him anew. And when he is inevitably frozen again, we shall take him and –”

“Depth’s tides!” yelped Alloy suddenly. “You’re talking about Discord!” The exclamation had slipped out his mouth, and so had part of the tea service from his hooves. Scattered china and tea splattered across the carpet.

“We concur with the sneaking blackguard’s dismay,” said Luna sternly, and Celestia switched her look of remonstration from Alloy to her. “Whatever low cunning guides him has not done so incorrectly on this occasion. Alas, I suspect his voice added to mine shan’t sway your resolution.”

“We can contain him if it doesn’t work,” Celestia urged. “And if it does, we have gained a great deal indeed.”

“On our heads be it,” sighed Luna. “Naturally, I reserve the rights for a ‘Told you so’, and anticipate making ample use of it.”

“Duly noted. Alloy, are you aware you’re hyperventilating?”

Alloy had not been aware, and struggled to re-master himself for a moment. “Apologies, Princess. Bad memories involving halves.”

“No apologies needed, and indeed, my own for distressing you. I promise that Burro and Gellert will have ample opportunity tomorrow to dissuade me. As will Fairy Floss and Greenhorn, once I am able to speak with them.”

“Let us all hope their powers of persuasion are up to snuff,” Luna said. Her face then softened, and her tone, when she next spoke, was gentle. “One more thing that warrants discussion, then. Do your designs for Twilight Sparkle still hold?”

“They do,” said Celestia, equally quietly. “After today, I don’t doubt her capability and bravery. She would certainly shame me in the role. But … you know better than I do that there are certain unenviable aspects to our condition. And I would not wish them on her. Not unless I was absolutely certain she would master them.”

“One more test, then?”

“One more test. Maybe more. Perhaps the Crystal Empire will hold that test. If not, somewhere else. And should she succeed … then we will see.”

“It’s no light mantle for a pony.” Luna’s voice was still gentle, but undeniably firm. “I will help you assess her. And I say we three – you, Cadence, and I – must all concur. We cannot inflict more on Twilight Sparkle than she can bear. We both know what happens when that befalls an alicorn.”

“Very well,” Celestia said quietly, after a moment. “Both you and Cadence will have to correct for my bias, I fear. I very much wish there to be yet another princess. Equestria’s too broad to rest on my withers alone.” And then, yet more quietly. “Too important to rest on my withers alone.”

“Your withers are sound, Tia. They’ve done sterling work for a millenium.”

“Indeed. And the world has just about scraped by. Let’s not test its luck any longer. Let’s ensure I can always be countered should worst come to worst.”

Silence reigned for a moment, in which Alloy realised just what they were proposing in regards to the Element Bearer under discussion, and Celestia murmured, “There’ll be a time when all this maneuvering and game-playing on our parts will fall away. When we all finally have to put our cards on the table. Have all our masks burned away, and see who our allies are, and see who we are, and have what we’re capable of put to the test, once and for all.”

She looked up at Alloy, tired magenta briefly swallowing him up, and she nodded. “Thank you for the tea, Alloy. Do give Burro and Gellert adequate warning tomorrow, if you think they need some sudden, dire distraction from their hangovers. And get a good night’s rest.”

Allow swallowed, and nodded. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“The next day shall dawn,” Celestia murmured as he turned to leave. “I … we will all make sure of it.”

Comments

[Georg]

Post-Wedding Royal Correspondence
(From the Royal Historian, not for distribution)

(From the Royal Vintier)
TO: Their Royal Highnesses
Someone seems to have gotten into the secure storage vault of your personal cellar and absconded with the contents of every bottle of the priceless Chatau Pantalon '07 vintage. The only clue we have found to the criminals are a number of smaller foal-sized hoofprints and some griffon clawmarks, along with what we think might have been a note of some sort, if it had been written before the bottles had been consumed.  With the number of diplomats in the vicinity of late, we hesitate to bring this to the attention of the guard for fear of causing some sort of incident. At the present, we are discounting it as changeling mischief, but as always we leave the ultimate disposition of this incident to your discretion.
— Dry Cork

(From the diplomatic corps)
TO: Her Highnesses, either of you really at this point.
We have just received a diplomatic message from the Viceroy of Saddle Arabia about the possibility of importing Equestrian phoenix into their country for the purposes of, and I quote, "improving the hybrid vigor of the native pyrefalcon population."

How in the heavens did Simoon get this idea!  We consulted a biologist from your school who not only said such a hybridization was impossible, but that anypony who would think of such a thing was stark raving mad.  Please, find some way to discourage the Viceroy in this matter before the worst of dooms occurs, and I’m not exaggerating.
— Kind Words, Dept. of the Royal Diplomatic Corps
P.S. Has anypony seen your pet phoenix since the Saddle Arabian delegation returned home?

(From the desk of Princess Celestia)
TO: The Royal Household Regiment, Day and Night divisions
Please locate Philomena at once.  Do not disturb or attempt to catch her, just report her whereabouts.
— Celestia

(From the accounting office)
TO: Princess Celestia
Why do we have two official letters from Arch-Minister Burro that read, and I quote, “Celestia, IOU One Door” and “Cadence, IOU One Wedding Present sacrificed in the line of duty”

(From the accounting office)
TO: Princess Celestia
Never mind.  I just got a look at the front door to the castle.  Or what’s left of it.

(From the diplomatic corps, without comment)
To the nice princess in ponyland
My uncle the Lord Regent has given me permission to have my friends at my birthday party next week and since I made friends with some of your ponies I wanted to see if you could send them here and bring them back with a guard to protect them because sometimes outsiders say things that are not taken well and having a guard around to discorage such stomping and trumpeting would be best and I am including a list.
Spike
Apple Bloom
Scooterlou
Sweet Bell
Sir Wall for the guard type because he is really brave even though he says he is not

Sincere lee
Shahanshah-in-Waiting Sailears the Second of Ancient and Glorious Pachydermia and all surrounding lands
P.S. they should not bring gifts because that would make my uncle upset for some reason and I will have a bowl of the gems that Spike likes.  And apples.

(a private message, slipped into Princess Celestia’s tea cart)
Your Highness, I hate to impose, but I have recently stumbled upon a situation that I am ill-prepared to face.  Could you please do me the favor of arranging an appointment with Princess Cadence upon her return? I would be deeply more deeply in your debt.
—Alloy

(a private message, slipped under the Royal Bedroom door)
Princess Celestia. I have taken a largest step since I came here and now I am afraid to make any more steps without close advice from somepony who knows a lot about this. Other than Goldtorc.  Can you arrange a meeting with Princess Cadence after their honey moon is over please? Tundra

(From the official files, tagged ARMAGEDDON)
TO: Princess Celestia
FROM: The Royal Garden Staff, Greenskeeper Greenhooves

Ma’am, your phoenix has taken over one of the nesting boxes out in the garden and won’t let nopony look inside.  I woudln’t have written you, except this ain’t really the way she normally behaves, and the nesting box has been on fire for the last week.

The eggs is real pretty, though.  Four little ones, all gold and red.

i.gyazo.com/f103aad6dc088198310afc8732b13776.png
(The Four Hatchlings of the Apocoltypse, named War, War, More War, and Even More War)

[Obsidian]

A wonderful piece...

Of course the Crown was involved. I doubt anyone would have a problem with it being melted down for raw materials or dropped in a dragon horde for all eternity. It's simply too dangerous and driven to frankly horrible actions through it's own programing.

In reality, though Discord is now somewhat of a known quantity in that everyone knows he exists and probably are making plans and contingencies for him, I have no doubt that his reformation would be a huge impact on the international scale. A god level power siding with Equestria? Would definitely put a cramp in the Crown's plans.

[FoolRegnant]

I love the politicking from the Crown and the Cormaer. Those plans will be quite the adventure to thwart.

[erictheblue]

“Equestria will be turning up every stone on the continent and hunting to the ends of the earth for her,” Gellert said lowly. “The last couple of times they underwent this sort of thing, they could either turn the threat back into stone or make ‘em a princess. A monster like her at large doesn’t put me at ease. Can’t imagine it thrills the alicorns either.”

"make 'em a princess"? oh, right, turning Nightmare Moon into Princess Luna.

[Raging Mouse]

Well if that epilogue doesn't signal a sequel then I shall be quite sad. You make politics an interesting read. Politics. Granted, you do it with explosions, chase scenes and sudden but inevitable betrayals, but still.

[Reese]

Excellent!
...
So, when's the next one? :D
(Joking, about that. This one was very good, though.)

edit:
Oh, right, forgot these:
"and had inexplicably acquired a new bruise on her forehead as well as a metal padlock"
What was this?

"and they’ll have all nicht to come crawling here, begging my mercy and forgiveness. They’ll get it ere daybreak. After, we hunt them doon and put them to the blade."
...So, hunting down the ones who didn't start begging before daybreak, or hunting down the ones who did? With someone like this, probably not completely safe to assume the former.

[Carabas]

8866228
Post-wedding vignettes are the superbest vignettes. Chuffed to have seen these earlier, and chuffed to see them now.

Sailears' valiant attempt at spelling Scootaloo remains the best thing.

8866298
Glad you like it! The Crown's definitely due a reckoning. Discord's reformation would put a crimp in its plans, no question, though the fact of his last re-appearance would have definitely had everyone scrambling to find anti-Discord measures. Maybe they'll even find something.

8866311
They're a nicely villainous pair, aye. Entirely in need of a stiff thwarting.

8866366
If only the same principle applied to every threat Equestria's faced. Princesses Discord and Tirek would be things of beauty.

8866401
Glad you like it! There's lots to find fascinating in politics in its base form, but a few all-out battles and near-death experiences at the claws of a pyrefalcon never hurt if you want to spice it up a tad.

8866402
Glad you liked it, though some post-Wedding March recovery might be in order before I even begin contemplating a sequel. Some things take some recovery.

The padlock's a consequence of Spike freeing the world leaders from the garden shed, and the Cormaer means the former. Understandable confusion, though. She's not the most benevolent of entities.

[TheStratovarian]

Now thats an ending, lovely and fun! Thank you for its writing!

[Reese]

8866228
Very nice. :D

"The only clue we have found to the criminals are a number of smaller foal-sized hoofprints and some griffon clawmarks"
...Foal-sized? Gellert, what did you do? More to the point, how did you avoid getting the wine cellar covered in inexplicable tree sap?

...
And the CMC. In Pachydermia. Yes, that would go well. :D

"The Four Hatchlings of the Apocoltypse, named War, War, More War, and Even More War"
Hah! :D

8866476
"Glad you liked it, though some post-Wedding March recovery might be in order before I even begin contemplating a sequel. Some things take some recovery."
Oh, of course, of course; that part was, as I said, in jest. Looking forward to it whenever you do get to it though!

"The padlock's a consequence of Spike freeing the world leaders from the garden shed"
Oh! Hahahah! Okay, I'll admit, at first I still didn't understand your answer. Then I got it, though, and I think the delay made it better! :D
...Though would it really have bruised her, given that she was upside-down in a cocoon at the time?

"and the Cormaer means the former. Understandable confusion, though. She's not the most benevolent of entities."
Ah, thanks. And aye. When dealing with some people, it can be potentially very important to remember that mercy is relative.

[redmar]

Chrysalis dethroning is known to us all and even without Thorax overthrowing her she would undoubtedly betray the Crown when she had a chance and she certainly planned to counter the Crowns contingencies for that event. I think the best fate for the Crown would be The Smooze which would destroy it, after all Nothing Can Stop The Smooze.

[Ianthe]

The sheer scale of your worldbuilding and politicking and character motivations is a wonder, Carabas. It's so beautifully intricate and devious and delicious. It's so hard to pull off in a way that stays believable and comprehensible and doesn't fall into that tired trope of being grim and dark for the sake of it. And I love how you managed to incorporate later events into the story - the Crystal Empire, alicornification, even Thorax and Chrysalis' black throne (I don't think the season 6 finale had even been produced when you started this fic, so kudos for including it in a believable manner)

I love all your characters, though Sailears is especially wonderful. Bless his heart, I want him to have more adventures with the CMC and Spike. Many, many adventures, all over the world. I feel the Cormaer deserves to be adventured at by the Shahanshah and the CMC. Repeatedly adventured at.

(Also, special mention to Charity. Charity is a work of genius.)

[Alondro]

Only 189 likes... for one of the few stories that elevates the simple children's story of magical ponies to the level of high fantasy literature, with structure and narrative depth which belong among the likes of Asimov, Herbert, Tolkien... (But not Hubbard. He was a hack. ;] )

Truly, such work for this fandom is casting pearls before swine.

I can only imagine how little attention "The Last Unicorn" would receive from this site had that story been a fanfiction retelling of the life of Rarity.

[Frustration in Excelsis]

Save a couple typos, your writing is as spectacular as always.

Her white robes was

Singular/plural disagreement.

whoops, you,that

Missing space.

But let me assure you, young ewe, and all of ewe...whoops, you

That's the danger of living in a world where three out of four place names are atrocious puns on their inhabitants' species, I suppose.

This story did a very nice job of tying the actual episode's plot with both your preexisting world and future finales -- the Season 3 events, to begin with, and more or less everything to do with future changeling developments. As tense and teetering as the situation is, I can only imagine how it's going to be after the imminent events of season three -- Sombra, the reappearance of a nation, Discord's reformation, the appearance of a fourth alicorn... and after that, of course, Tirek will come calling. I doubt he's the sort that even the Crown can talk over to its side.

The Crown's little triumvirate is doubtlessly going to cause a fair few headaches of its own -- although, given the nature of such things and these three in particular, the question of whether Chrysalis, the Crown and the Cormaer are going to betray each other seems less a question of "if" than "when", or at least of "are they going to get defeated by the good guys before the backstabbing can commence?"

Given the degree of Tundra's trauma, I shudder to imagine what palace life must be like in the Crown's court, although how breezily it talks of framing its own subjects for crimes in order to feed them to the changelings gives me an inkling.

Overall, I immensely enjoyed this story, and I am very much looking forward to more!

8866570
I heartily second everything. For me, Lyuba and Charity were the best new characters in this story.

[psychicscubadiver]

Damn, I went with the outside bet of a Gazellian contingent (not necessarily with the permission of the whole congress) being the ones to contact Chrysalis. Should've known the Crown was up to its nasty tricks.

Also, I have to admit the thought of the Crown and Corvids teaming up with Chrysalis, to say nothing of them having anti-magic stone from the Changelings' fortress, is spooky as all Hell.

Well done, good sir. This is yet another excellent story from you and I thank you kindly for it.

[Eroraf86]

Give Gellert a medal, knight Goldtorc, hug Thorax, and drop the Crown into the depths of the ocean. Boom, happy ending.

[Carabas]

8866499
Thank you! Glad to have written it.

8866502
Brick jokes are best jokes. Even the somewhat obscure ones. As for the bruising, I'll assume the laws of slapstick had their thumbs on physics' scales.

8866517
Chrysalis planning to sideline and overthrow her erstwhile allies is a given. Frankly, all of the three see the others as tools in achieving their own domination. Alliances formed with nothing more than a mutual enemy tend not to last.

8866547

"Sir, does that rock look like it's cringing to you?"

"That it does. Thorax, stop mucking around and at least try to look like you're enjoying all the war crimes that're happening on all sides."

8866570
Deid flattered by this, especially that you think I've not gone too far into the realms of darkness while still setting up a believable world. A setting as light as Equestria ought to get lightness, even past whatever terrible things I lob at it.

You're right as well that I started writing this well before the season 6 finale, with Starlight and co. taking on Chrysalis. A few final scenes had to be re-planned in light of that, and honestly, I'm now glad they were.

8866623
Feh, I don't merit anything like those sorts of comparisons, flattering though they are. Very glad you liked it, regardless ... and hope you appreciated the outcome of Burro bringing insecticide to bear on a changeling in the penultimate chapter. Albeit not in the way the makers probably intended.

8866728
There's ethical guidelines regarding what you can do to species like Charity's, after all, and the CMC surely fly right over it.

8866735
Typos fixed, and much obliged for spotting them!

Glad you liked it, and you thought I did a decent job of playing nicely with canon as well. Future events undoubtedly have lots of fun potential for the cast of these to sink their schemes into. And aye, the Triumvirate's future really does come down to 'inevitable backstabbing' or 'defeat at the hooves of the goodies'. The assorted Cs have a little too much self-interest to allow any other outcomes.

And aye, best to assume life as a citadel servant under the Crown was absolutely nothing to envy. Everything in its state is a thing to it, to be spent as it pleases, for any cause at all.

8866743
Glad you like it! I was a wee trepid about whether the final reveal regarding collaboration between the Crown and Chrysalis would be sufficiently plausible, but so far, nobody seems to have objected too much. It's entirely in keeping with the Crown's playbook, in all fairness.

8866787
Happy endings for everyone! Except the Crown, but frankly, screw them.

[Arkonfleight]

At least Tia was nice enough to give her allies advance warning for the next one.
I'm going to laugh if the Shadow in the North Situation story is just the crew turtling in a bunker with an obscene amount of alcohol. Also some git let the Crown in for some reason.

[Carabas]

8866841
Always considerate, giving your allies warning before the next potential crisis.

"Poking at a long-dead empire and sorcerer-king in the frozen north. That cool with you all?"

"Screw it, we don't even care anymore."

[Seether00]

Yo dawgs! An ancient evil wizard king that I knew was coming back has back in the north.

World leaders: God damn it, Celestia.

Oh, and I'm releasing Discord to the custody of animal caretaker. And mutating my student into another alicorn. We'll have FOUR now.

World leaders: That's it! We're out.

[Reese]

8866832
"As for the bruising, I'll assume the laws of slapstick had their thumbs on physics' scales. "
Eh, fine. It would be terrible to lose the humor, after all. :D

"I was a wee trepid about whether the final reveal regarding collaboration between the Crown and Chrysalis would be sufficiently plausible, but so far, nobody seems to have objected too much."
Well... I mean, it does almost break suspension of disbelief, true. Took some effort to stay in the story. I mean, who could believe the Crown would do something so nefarious? It has such a good heart(1), and it has such a commitment to open government(2)!

(1) Several of them, in fact, on plaques, given out to particularly "favored" underlings(3) after being pulled from the living chests of ex-underlings who let things like "concern for the people under them" and "horror at the state of their government" get the better of them.
(2) In Capra, the government is open and active all the time, at all hours of the day, and is always eager to hear about any little troubles or issues its people may have with it and let them know what it thinks of them (see footnote 1 above).
(3) Some people might be of the opinion that giving them away means that the Crown no longer owns them. These people are advised not to share this opinion anywhere the Crown might catch wind of it, unless they are very confident in their personal security and/or that they'll never need to visit Capra.

(More seriously, I don't think I saw that in particular coming, but, uh, yeah, I'd been thinking of "Will the Crown try to ally with/use the changelings?" as more a question of when than if, and finding out that the time count was in fact in the negative was a bit surprising but far from unbelievable to me. :D)

[Malandy]

Whoo! This was great!

“And, er,” Flutttershy murmured to herself, “only occasionally instilling a little mortal terror.”

I was wondering if they'd get to meet. ... Really wondering how she'd do with other Saddle Arabian Wildlife...

Wait... What is Fluttershy? Is she Literally Best Animal Caretaker in Equestria? How?

Lol at every fanfic that says that Mane6 are Ordinary. Rarity = Best Gem Pony, Applejack = Best Apple, Rainbow Dash = Best Flyer, Pinkie Pie = Pinkie Pie, Twilight = Best Mage.

These are sooo not ordinary ponies that were picked as the Elements.

How and Why is Celestia preventing the Elements from doing their magic in the Crystal Empire? ... Does it react badly with the Crystal Heart??

Also, wow, those connections to Season... 6 Finale. Yep. ... How... ... Ah. Equestria is not in ruins, since Celestia's Alliances keep the land safe, even though she's away!

If there are Pyrefalcon X Phoenix eggs, I thought both of them were female... Then again, magical beings, and stuff... Also, dunno and don't want to expand my knowledge on, how bird sex works.

Typos:

Before Equestria find(s) some fresh calamity to spring upon us.”

A half-smile hovered around her features, and she started humming as she worked(.)

None of Equestria('s) divining spells will be able to touch it. It falls within Capra’s territory, right on our north-west border. I offer it to you.”

[Carabas]

8866989
Haha, and now that I remember, on the off-chance something really evil and powerful arises to subdue us, the plan's to invest the power of all four alicorns into just one of us and see what happens. Do you think she'll explode? I think she might explode.

World leaders: Space travel and a way off this god-forsaken setting when

8867004
Lovely entity that the Crown is, it deserves those sorts of footnotes.

Glad to hear cahoots between the Crown and changelings wasn't that far off base, then! Cahoots of that sort would have been inevitable, but a wee bit of legerdemain let me play with when the cahoots came into play, at least.

8867013
Typos fixed, and much obliged for spotting them! Fluttershy, in some alternate timeline, would definitely be the one-mare tamer of the Saddle Arabian wilderness.

[Misplaced Mage]

8867033
Encore! Encore! Have a mustache!

[Bugsydor]

8866228

(From the diplomatic corps, without comment)
To the nice princess in ponyland
My uncle the Lord Regent has given me permission to have my friends at my birthday party next week and since I made friends with some of your ponies I wanted to see if you could send them here and bring them back with a guard to protect them because sometimes outsiders say things that are not taken well and having a guard around to discorage such stomping and trumpeting would be best and I am including a list.
Spike
Apple Bloom
Scooterlou
Sweet Bell
Sir Wall for the guard type because he is really brave even though he says he is not

Oh dear. I really want to read this as-of-yet nonexistent story.

That said, freaking loved Wedding March. I look forward to the sequel, both as slow and yet as inevitable as a glacier.

[Bugsydor]

8867033
Didn't you foreshadow the Crown's involvement at the end of the previous adventure? I vaguely remember something about a shadowy goat-shaped figure meeting some changelings and telling them about a wedding.

[Sypher]

As of late, I’ve been struggling with the motivation to read anything more than a few thousand words, but I couldn’t resist the call of a completed Palaververse story. What a delight! Stylish from beginning to end with the wonder and unique characterizations of this diverse cast, and the ever-lingering promise of what the future holds in store for everyone.

Awesome story!

[Carabas]

8867101
Who could ever turn down an elephant or several on their flanks?

8867133
Thank you!

8867588
She's a mammoth of many talents, so few of them related to tact or stealth. That sounds like an ace rogue story, though. About on a par with Sir Bearington.

8867638
Yep, at the end of the first chapter here. Kept them all swaddled up under a cloak and cowl, mind, which are always handy for concealing the nature of plot relevant entities.

Glad you liked it as well! Next one's coming at about the speed of continental drift, I'm sure.

8867717
Delighted it sparked that sort of motivation again. Slog to write at times, this, but I'm glad a few've found it worth completing.

[A_Stupid_Name]

So this is how it is! After waiting a whole year for this story to go on, I don't connect for just three days and in those EXACT THREE DAYS you post not one, not two, but the three chapters! And now the story is complete!

[Misdirection]

Excellent goddamn fic, good author. I hope we can look forward to further installments.

[Carabas]

8867843
I did that on purpose.

8867938
Glad you approve, and hope to deliver them!

[FanOfMostEverything]

Marvelous touch with Fluttershy and Charity. And to think, we wondered how she might be expected to wrangle Discord...

I love the teleconference statues for the Ovish archons. Lovely touch of casual, practical magic.

Oh, Thorax. Creator only knows what mutation led to you developing a sense of morals, but it'll take you far.

Could I get a definition of "shoogle"? I love the words, but I want to make sure I use it properly should I co-opt it. (Also, nice to know that Luna was as displeased at her exclusion from the invasion as anyone else.)

I'm surprised telegraph lines can run from Equestria to Saddle Arabia. I'd think that either something oceanic or on the Arabian side would consider them a delicacy.

I'm surprised both by the Crown's plotting and the fact that I'm surprised by said plotting. Glaringly obvious in hindsight. Certainly colors the second invasion of Canterlot in a different light... though I can't help but wonder how the black stone would interact with the Crown itself. Stick a magical intelligence in an antimagic field, and what do you get? What's left when it leaves the field?

Good to see Gallivant's still kicking about and poking around ancient ruins best left undisturbed. I suspect he has a complete collection of Daring Do novels at home.

Always fun to see the sisters plotting. And there's quite a lot on the political horizon. Equestria annexing lost city-states, yet another alicorn (and her attendant madness,) some domestic incidents regarding hellwoods and centaurs, and then matters start really getting international. I doubt anyone's going to be happy to see yaks re-enter the political arena... though now I want to see Dame Lyuba and Prince Rutherford attempting to have a civil conversation. Specifically, I want to see it from a safe distance. Which may be from another universe.

In any case, sad as I am to see one of your stories end, this was a most satisfactory conclusion to it. Here's looking forward to whatever's next down the pike, and what deviations from the show's timeline you might throw in.

[Carabas]

8868152
Glad you approve of the conclusion, belated though it may have been.

Could I get a definition of "shoogle"? I love the words, but I want to make sure I use it properly should I co-opt it. (Also, nice to know that Luna was as displeased at her exclusion from the invasion as anyone else.)

To sway about, rock back and forth, and/or shake. Use it in fun sentences like 'That ladder looks a bit shoogly, are you sure you should go on it?' or 'Let's get on that dance floor and shoogle aboot.'

I'm surprised telegraph lines can run from Equestria to Saddle Arabia. I'd think that either something oceanic or on the Arabian side would consider them a delicacy.

Consider what would live around the Saddle Arabian coastline, it'd have been one of the few times the donkey engineers assisting with the project would have had to build cables that could fight back.

Good to see Gallivant's still kicking about and poking around ancient ruins best left undisturbed. I suspect he has a complete collection of Daring Do novels at home.

Glad you picked up on this! Yep, Gallivant's gotten somewhat greyer since his last outing, but still very much kicking about, and the proudest possible possessor of Daring's complete oeuvre despite stiff competition.

8868458
Lucky break for Fairy and the rest, the way that invasion put the wedding presents into perspective.

[Misplaced Mage]

8868658

Glad you picked up on this! Yep, Gallivant’s gotten somewhat greyer since his last outing, but still very much kicking about, and the proudest possible possessor of Daring’s complete oeuvre despite stiff competition.

Big deal—I still have a (nearly) complete run of The New Tom Swift Jr. Adventures. Now, if they’re all first editions, that’s more interesting. If they’re galley proofs, even more so. And if they’re the original manuscripts, then A.K. Yearling probably has a bounty out on them.

[Carabas]

8869393

And if they’re the original manuscripts, then A.K. Yearling probably has a bounty out on them.

Never mind Yearling. Celestia's likely to be after them. Expect to find a pony princess rummaging through your strongbox, intent on old literature.

8869529
Silver linings.

[Giginss]

"But … you know better than I do that there are certain unenviable aspects to our condition...One more test. Maybe more. Perhaps the Crystal Empire will hold that test. If not, somewhere else. And should she succeed … then we will see.”

This is clearly Celestia talking about the alicorn Nightmare. Did she know that Sombra would have the Door of Showing You Your Worst Fear^TM so that Twilight could start trying to tackle her fears and doubts?

Well, show canon has confirmed that she can catch glimpses of the future, so I wouldn't put it past her to know this.

Anyway, this has been a lovely end to another adventure in Equestria, where Tuesday are indeed the worst days. More scheming and plotting by all parties involved to give out enough cliffhangers that you could build a veritable mountain range from all of them. I eagerly await the next installment of this fantastic series.

[DannyJ]

It's over. I never thought I'd see the day.

...So when's the next one?

Final comments:

I have to say, Wedding March is kind of unusual compared to previous Palaververse fare, because it doesn't really play much with the tried and true characters and tropes. The world leaders are still the focus for the story as a whole, but they're also sidelined for not just whole scenes, but sometimes most of an entire chapter, in favour of characters like Lyuba and Goldtorc, or the Crusaders and Thorax. There was also noticeably less emphasis on the wider geopolitical implications of the events compared to the immediate situation at the wedding, which was realised through several big action scenes that are unlike anything in previous stories.

I think overall I prefer the direction and style of previous stories more, since the geopolitical aspect holds more personal appeal for me, but this was an interesting change of format, and it had its own appeal. Even if I mostly wanted to get back to the world leaders, I still liked all the additional characterisation that the side characters like Tundra and Lyuba got, especially the latter's relationship with Goldtorc, and this is also the first fanfic I've read that made me like Thorax, so that's also commendable.

And, of course, I have to give props for the ending, and how you welded the Palaververse back onto future canon. I was sure that you'd have to go AU to deal with season six, given where the changelings were when the story started, but you tied it back in at the end in a way that felt surprisingly natural, given that I know it couldn't possibly have been planned from the start. So good work there. Don't even bother trying with season seven onwards, though. Not because I don't believe you could do it, but because the Pillars are lame, and your versions of Star Swirl and Meadowbrook are significantly superior to the show's.

I give Wedding March an official rating of a Carabas story/10. Scotland shall be spared another year.

[Neece]

8870915
What are the other stories in this 'verse? Just found out about this one, read it and I'm mighty curious about it now.

Excellent story, by the way. I so want more!

[Carabas]

8870901

Did she know that Sombra would have the Door of Showing You Your Worst Fear^TMso that Twilight could start trying to tackle her fears and doubts?

I'd say she wouldn't have known that exact door would come up - evil wizards with too much time on their hooves can be a pain to predict - but she'd expect Twilight's mettle to have been tested in some way, and wouldn't have been disappointed with the result.

Glad you liked this latest entry!

8870915
I can live with that rating. I can live, period.

It's a wee bit of a break away from the norm of Palaver and Tempest in the regards you mention, aye. Some of that probably comes to me wanting to play way more with whatever the background events of the wedding were, including all the sidelined show characters and characters yet to come (CMC, Spike, Thorax, etc), as well as give a wee window into what other beings in the setting who weren't the leaders themselves might make of things (hence the guards, Goldtorc and Lyuba). Still tried to give the leaders and their own thoughts on the worldly implications of it all sufficient room, though throwing them all face-first into near-certain death and action scenes might have crimped them in that regard.

Glad you reckoned I did a decent job with welding it onto show canon. I'd had totally different plans for the final confrontation between the Crown and Chrysalis before the season six finale aired, and honestly, I'm glad they ended up being scuppered - the final version works better, I reckon, and is a bit more tone-congruent.

8871085
Most of my other stories here fall into the same overall 'verse, and the TV Tropes page has a good list of what is and isn't part of it (at the time of writing, Starscape and The First Stitch are part of it as well.) This, Moonlight Palaver, and The Tempest are the spine of it, though the others explore their own corners and facets of the setting.

[DannyJ]

8871085

Moonlight Palaver is the big one that started it all, and it has two sequels (one of which is this story), as well as a bunch of supplementary blogs linked on the author's userpage that I highly recommend. This particular series is what one normally means when they refer to the "Palaververse," though technically, I think all but Carabas's earliest stories share this setting, even if they're not part of the main Moonlight Palaver series. I know Terra Incognita and Second Sun definitely do.

[DannyJ]

8871194

I'd had totally different plans for the final confrontation between the Crown and Chrysalis before the season six finale aired, and honestly, I'm glad they ended up being scuppered - the final version works better, I reckon, and is a bit more tone-congruent.

I hope we'll see this topic covered in your upcoming blog?

[Carabas]

8871213
It'll be part of the post-mortem, yep.

[DannyJ]

8871230

Good.

[Obligatory vague parting threat.]

[DocFlareon]

I don't have much to say here, except to be quite happy that the Luck of the Jays has been made canon in the Palaververse.

[Carabas]

8872501
Glad Bahookie's appearance satisfied. It was good stuff you came up with for the jays, it deserved inclusion.

[Psyonicg]

There isn’t a review I could really leave the could sum up what I feel. This is a masterpiece and I see set up for stories going as far as the current season. I eagerly await the chance to read them and If you ever decide to make a print run of theseI will happily buy 2 hard copies of every single one.

[Carabas]

8873688
Very glad you think so! No word yet on future stories, but we'll see.

[Starlight Serenade]

You know, I had mentally categorised the Crown as "that one asshole," and I was actually surprised by the revelation of the plotting. Not because the conclusion was unrealistic, but because I didn't assign a high enough threat level to a talking piece of jewlery.

Now I guess I'll have to wait patiently for a continuation! I really enjoy your worldbuilding and character interactions; you've done a lot of interesting stuff.

[Carabas]

8874595
Nobody ever suspects the sparkliest ones.

Glad you liked it, and that whatever comes next satisfies as well!

[Alondro]

“Equestria will be turning up every stone on the continent and hunting to the ends of the earth for her,” Gellert said lowly.

You'd have thought that, wouldn't you?

And yet Seasons 3 through 5 happened with nary a mention that anypony even remembered they existed.

[Alondro]

8875062 Actually, I saw the Crown as the most dangerous creature on the whole planet.

I've wanted to utterly destroy it since the first story.

Either that or let Deadpool play with it. Then it would BEG me to destroy it!

Alloy blinked at the turn the conversation had taken, and looked from Celestia to Luna, somewhat lost. Celestia insisted, “There is a hope. Fluttershy is that hope.”

See, this is an example what the show keeps forgetting to do: seemingly crazy ideas need a REASON to be attempted. Otherwise we are left to conclude Celestia just got bored and decided to throw Discord at the Mane 6 for the lulz.

And you also explained where Chrysalis got the anti-magic stone. Good work. Too bad the ACTUAL SHOW can't be bothered to shore up its own plot points!

“The next day shall dawn,” Celestia murmured as he turned to leave. “I … we will all make sure of it.”

And she dies dramatically after a scene where she's holding a massive shield around ponies fleeing through a portal as the Crown's most vile ally, Tirac (not the lame power leech, but the terrifying, brutal, savage Master of Dark Power from G1) freed from the bindings of the True Hell, impales her through the heart with the Black Bolt. She could only survive if she surrendered to the evil magic in its spire (what befell Luna), but she would not... for she would be too powerful to stop with the Bearers scattered. So she dies after giving a lovely speech about the strength Twilight has gained and that she's ready to take her place in the sun (more than a little figuratively) and advice on bringing the light to all and blah blah blah dramatic music, her hair slowly falls and becomes light pink strands and her wings blow away as her life fades... and it's really amazing and will totes win me an Academy Award (along with the climactic battle scene which is AWESOME!).

Now I just need $150 million and control of Hasbro...