A Prince's Folly

by Doctor Whooves

Alcohol Makes Everything Better

" The leader of armies is the arbiter of the ponies’ fate, the pony on whom it depends whether the nation shall be in peace or peril. "
~ Ponies Make War, by Sun Trot-zu

The throne room was darker by the time the address finished. The nobleponies were gone, the petitions ended and the Princesses sat before me, their ostentatious seats oddly dull in the low light.

It was near moonrise, the sky outside approximating twilight and the sun brushing the horizon. Luna would have to form the night soon, but despite that she sat calmly and silently... unlike Celestia. She looked almost worn, her mane drooping, her eyes flat. She was still harried from the Cash Flow debacle, no matter how much she tried to hide it. A slight inclination to snap was probable; I would have to tread carefully.

They looked tired. Really, I had no idea why the Princesses made me come directly to them from the courtroom. I would much rather have been tucked in my rooms at the palace, and as far as I could see, a good snooze was just what the doctor ordered for them too. So why make me wade through the entire meeting? Why not postpone until we’d all had a chance to catch up on sleep?

The last pony bowed, and closed the large stone doors with a boom. Auntie Celestia looked over coldly and opened her mouth to speak.

“Explain.”

Needless to say, I endeavoured to do so immediately. And needless to say, it took some time. After about fifteen minutes of explanations, I reached my conclusion.

“Then, the fiends threw me into gutter and trotted off! Just left me! So, you see, it was all Benjy and Art’s fault.” I plastered on a hopeful grin. “You see?” I had spun what I could remember from the previous night into a hopefully plausible story for Celestia to swallow, but it didn't seem to be going all too well.

Celestia and Luna glanced at each other, then turned back, their faces perfectly smooth. Apparently they didn't think so either.

“So, let me get this straight. Your friends, upon discovering that it was your birthday, went to your mansion in Norcolt, dragged you to Canterlot, carried you into a bar and forced you to drink it out of stock.” She flicked her eyes at me.

“Yes,” I answered smoothly.

“On your tab.”

“Yep,”

“And then, after they’d finished, they dragged you once more outside, where they threw you in the gutter and left.”

“Yeppo.” This conversation was getting quite repetitive, so I decided to elaborate. “I should have known - the blaggards were likely looking to sell me out all along! Why, if I hadn't discovered their dastardly scheme, who could say what could've happened?”

Celestia muttered something under her breath.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh,” she exclaimed, sitting up. “Oh, nothing,” she said.

“Hmmm.” If that hadn’t been Auntie Celestia, (co-)ruler of Equestria and all round honest pony, I might have been suspicious.

“So, in all this time, what was, ah, ‘Daggers’ doing?”

“Oh, he was in on it too.” I smiled. Celestia stopped, looking like she was waiting for something. “The fiend!” I added weakly. After a moment she gave up and started speaking again.

“Blueblood,” she sighed, and rubbed her eyes with a hoof. “Nephew. You realise, I'm afraid, we can’t let this stand.”

“Hmmm?” I questioned, buffing my right hoof. “Is that so?” Come on, the quicker this telling-off ended, the quicker I could be back in my lovely, warm, snuggley-

“Blueblood!” Celestia shouted suddenly, slamming her foreleg down on the chair. I glanced up, jolted out of the thoughts of my soft, comfortable-

“I'm sorry, did I miss something?” I said, blinking. Celestia did something with her face and her forehoof (I still needed to figure out what that meant) and Luna began to hit her head on the arm of her chair. What was up with them?

After a second, auntie Celestia stood, towering over my even without the assistance of a set of marble steps. I shrank back slightly. “This is it, Blueblood. After the incident in Fillydephia – and I'm not even going to mention the Gala – I can’t just keep letting you off! There are consequences, Blueblood! Even for you.”

What was she talking about? Admittedly the Gala was a bit of a fiasco, and Fillydelphia could have gone better, but I was past that. Surely she could see how reformed and changed I was?

“B-but,” I began, a quickly concocted explanation springing to my lips.

Celestia looked at me. “It’s not that you’re not good enough Blueblood. You’re smart enough to understand that,” she leaned forward. “You’re a role model, an idol! The ponies of Equestria look up to you, Blueblood. If you were a hoofball player, or some pop starlet, then there’d be a small scandal, a few newspaper stories and then it’d all disappear. But you’re not. It has to stop somewhere, Blueblood, and soon.”

‘It’? What was she talking about? “It was just a bit of fun,” I said, searchingly.

“No, it’s not. This is beyond a joke now, Blueblood. You can’t act like some spoilt colt all the time! Do you know how hard we've had to work to deal with the fallout of even your most recent escapade?” She seemed frustrated, tension carved into her brow.

I took a step back – figuratively – and took a real look at the two sisters. I’d noticed that Celestia looked tired before, but this was more than that. There were bags under her eyes, her coat was ruffled, even her usually untouchable flowing hair was suffering! I knew that the Princesses rarely needed sleep, but she looked like she’d been awake for days, at the very least. Was that my fault? I glanced at Luna. She wasn't as bad, I suppose, at least not as bad as she had been, but then the last I’d seen of her was not long after her return to Equestria and subsequent magic rainbow-bombardment, and that could take it out of anypony. She was still looking decidedly teenager-y, which was probably bad for her image as ruthless mare of the night if nothing else.

More than anything, she seemed almost apathetic, leaning back in her throne like she didn't really care. But I could pick up the signs of overwork, an overwhelming weariness that could bring even goddesses to their last legs. The way she looked at me - heck, the way they both looked at me - was enough to make me feel almost disappointed in myself.

“It was my birthday!” I said, grasping at straws. I know that didn't explain anything, not really, but I couldn't think of anything else.

“Yes, Blueblood, your birthday!” Aunty Celestia said. “But that doesn't excuse you from you duties, your obligations! You can’t just disappear whenever you feel like a drink! You need to learn some responsibility, Blueblood; but most of all you need to grow up.”

I gaped, my mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“What?” I choked out. “I don’t, I... what?” My voice petered out.

“I know you don’t, Blueblood. But that doesn't make it any better.” She smiled, but my brain catalogued it as a sad sort of smile. “So that leads us to what to actually do now.”

My brain clicked round in circles like a broken toy. Thoughts and ideas rushed and flowed like rapids. How to deal with this? How to get out of it? Perhaps if I acted humble enough...

“I can do better!” I thought that would be it, but I caught the look directed at me. “Really, I can!” I said, trying to make her believe me. I just needed to sort things out! Perhaps I could donate something to one of those orphanages? They say charity makes the stallion, right? Or, no, something to make up in the public eye, that’s what I needed. Grants? Tax levy? More superfluous statues and fountains in public places? Adoption?

I smiled weakly. “Maybe I could, um, build a new concert hall?” My voice turned up hopefully at the end. Celestia’s look turned into a glare. “No?” I squeaked.

“No.” Bugger. But still, not much point in pretending to be upset any more.

“Ah, well. Worth a try.” The faux stress and tension melted off my face, and I waved a perfectly coiffured hoof. “Go on then, out with it.”

Luna and Celestia sat shocked at my sudden transformation. “What?” Celestia stuttered out.

“You know,” I pressed. “My punishment?” They sat silently in confusion. “Ban me from my public funds? Set me a curfew? Put me in the stocks for ponies to laugh at? Whatever floats your boat, really.” I just wanted to get on with it. Not much point in dragging it out. Though maybe the stocks would be going a bit far – I struck it off my mental list.

Regardless, I’d been in this position dozens of times, you understand. Last chances, final warnings, I've seen ‘em all. This wasn't anything new. Auntie would get angry, I’d argue back, I’d get ‘punished’, end of story. Frankly, I couldn't care less.

Celestia appeared to be having some trouble articulating a response, so Luna stepped in. “Are thou’st saying that thou wishes to be disciplined?” Luna said disbelievingly.

“Yep.” Whoa, déjà vu. “Well, I don’t exactly want to be, I suppose. I just reckon that I should get it over with now instead of later.” That was true, at least. I really did want to get it over with. The sooner we finished up, the faster I could retire. ‘Course, if I could figure out a way to get this done without getting punished then I’d take it in a flash of my polished gnashers, but that seemed unlikely.

The Princesses stared at me incredulously. I stared back. There was a pause. Perhaps I’d broken them? Seriously, I could probably take out a book and start reading, and I doubt they’d even notice.

There was another pause.

“Erm. If you aren't going to punish me, that’s fine as well. But could you let me know? My legs are kind of getting numb.” It’d probably mean that I’d get a bigger sentence when Celestia came to her senses, but I’d take whatever right now.

The Princesses didn't acknowledge me. “Sooo. I’ll just be going,” I said testingly. No movement. “Alrighty then. Au revoir!” I turned for the door.

“Wait!” Huh. It seemed I hadn't broken them after all. I turned back to see Luna with a sly grin on her face.

Uh oh.

This was exactly the sort of thing I’d learned to keep a look out for in court, but I completely missed it. Luna was an unknown, a variable; who knew where she’d cast her vote? To be honest, I’d kinda just expected her to go along with whatever Celestia suggested. A thousand years is a bloody big culture gap to come out the other end spouting opinions, but, still, I really hope she just wanted to fine me some bits and be done with it.

“Er, yes?” I said.

She turned to a bewildered Auntie Celestia, ignoring me. “Celestia? You mentioned something about ‘learning responsibility’?”

Celestia mumbled something approximating an affirmative response and Luna’s smile increased in size.

“Well, if we recall correctly, was it not once common practice to send the more, well, challenged, members of the nobility -” Oi! Who was she calling challenged? “- onto more practical endeavours?”

“Well, yes. Not so much anymore, though,” Celestia said warily, shaking herself out of her stupor. “What exactly are you suggesting?” Hooray! Auntie Celestia to the rescue!

“We believe we have the perfect solution to, well, this.” She gestured in my general direction.

“Auntie Luna,” I began respectfully. “You just gestured to all of me.”

She smirked, then went back to explanations. “Anyway, as we were saying: we know of precisely the impetus to teach him accountability,” this sounded bad, “dependability,” very, very bad, “and, most of all, a goodly work ethic.” She finished.

Yep. This was definitely bad. I was tempted to run away, but I knew one of them would catch me. Maybe if I teleported far enough? Manehatten? The Moon?

“Go on,” Celestia said, intrigued. Help me Lun– I mean, Celest- ah, buck it, Discord! My last hope was that Luna failed to convince her: this didn't sound good at all!

“Tell us sister, is the Royal Guard still hiring?” She said.

What? The Guard?! They expected me to join the Royal Air Guard?

“What?” Celestia echoed, if not quite as effusively as I.

“Well,” Luna explained. “Before our bani- before we went away, it was expected that-”

“Yes, yes, I remember. But you expect him,” she pointed a gold-clad hoof at me (would they stop doing that? Please?), “to join the Guard? Him?”

I flicked my mane from my eyes. The Princesses watched incredulously.

“Yes,” said Luna. My jaw banged open. Surely they didn't actually expect me to go through with this?

To my dismay, Celestia nodded slowly. “Hmmm. I see what you mean. I still don’t think it’s entirely appropriate...” Yes! I pumped my hoof happily. Nopony was going to make me stay up on an airship for weeks on end!

“On second thoughts,” Wait, what? “Well it’s not like it could do any harm.” I'm pretty sure my chin must have left a crack in the marble when it dropped open. At least a dent, anyway. Ignoring the pain in my jaw, I quickly found my voice.

“I'm right here, you know.” Both Princesses glanced at me, then turned back to each other.

“Are we agreed, then?” Luna asked. No. They couldn’t. They couldn’t.

“No! Wait! I have a list of very good reasons why you-”

Celestia nodded. “I think we are.”

“Stop! You can’t-”

“Very well,” said Luna.

Apparently they could.

“Gah. Fine. I’ll go pack for the flight.” It would be different, I knew, but I could probably handle a few weeks of commanding an airship. Or, rather, however long it took for the Princesses to forget that I’d ever done anything. And it wasn't like I would be joining the army. I mean, I was already captain and owner of the good ship Beautiful Storm, all that was really needed was a commission and I was ready to go. No point in retraining me as an infantrypony! Ha-ha!

“A flight?” Luna’s eyes sparkled mischievously. Oh no. This better not be what I thought it was. “Now, Blueblood, whyever wouldst thou need to prepare for a flight?”

My left eye twitched. “On the Storm? My airship? The one you ‘borrowed’ to ‘take a closer look at the night sky’, and I had to have refurbished immediately afterwards?” My, wasn't that a debacle to remember. “You know; the one I'm to be commanding?”

“And why would you be doing that?” Celestia appeared to have caught on to whatever scheme Luna was planning, the same spark dancing in her eyes. For a moment they looked scarily alike, colours and sizes notwithstanding.

“Because I'm going to serve as its Captain for the Air Guards?” I said hopefully. Please, please let me be wrong about what they were thinking.

“Mmmm... nope.”

Buck.

Celestia smiled in that annoying holier-than-thou attitude she sometimes had. “I think a nice long stint on the ground is what’s called for here,” she said. “The army could always use new recruits.”

“No! I-I refuse! You can’t force me!” I couldn't join the army, I couldn't. The RAG would be bad enough, but I’d heard stories about the army!

“No, you’re right. We can’t force you.” Celestia said. Yes! “However,” Bugger. “I can ban you from alcohol.” Well, that wasn't so bad. I could handle that- “For ten thousand years. Deal?”

“No! No deal!” I said quickly. Ten thousand years! I had good genes for longevity, but not that good. I couldn't stay sober for the rest of my life, I’d go insane! But, since I wasn't turning into an alicorn any time soon... “You can’t do that either! I'm a grown stallion. You can’t order me around!”

My aunts looked dubious. “Uh huh,” Celestia deadpanned. “Well, it’s one or the other I'm afraid. No middle ground.” I wriggled my eyebrows.

“Yeah?” I snarked. “And how are you going to stop me? Tell all the pubs in Equestria to not let me drink anything alcoholic?”

Luna gave me a look, as if to tell me that that was exactly what they’d do.

Oh. Rulers of Equestria. I forgot.

So, what now?

Well, it was a deceptively simple choice, really. On the one hoof, no more drinking, having fun, or partying ever again. On the other, mud, dirt, hard work, shouting, and the stories. Oh, the stories. So, what was it to be? Hard work, or teetotalness? Work or sobriety? Sobriety or work? The choice wasn't getting any easier. But I had to pick one-

“If you would prefer not to make the choice, we could always choose for you,” Luna inserted dryly. “And we believe you mentioned something about ‘stocks’...”

I sighed. Well, the army was only for a little while; or at least only until Celestia and Luna got bored, so I might get out of it pretty quickly. And I‘d still get to drink.

“I’ll do it.” I glanced over at my aunts and two pairs of eyes dancing with glee. “Join the army, I mean. Not the other thing.” Their eyes continued to dance. “Or that other thing. But I have some rules! I get to choose which regiment I join, and I at least get to be an officer. I'm not eating with the commoners!”

I’d have to choose just right, preferably a regiment that’d just come back from active duty. I didn't want to actually do anything. Oh, and the uniforms had to be red! Red went fabulously with my palette. Yep, red and off duty. That sounded about right.

“That is acceptable.” Celestia nodded. Phew. I turned to go. “On one condition.” Bugger, what now?

“Yes?” I said warily, turning back to my aunt.

“That Cash Flow mare. Perhaps you could arrange something special?”

An evil grin stretched across my muzzle.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

---

It was around about my... third? Yes, my third glass of Bordeaux when I decided that this ‘Royal Guard’ bailiwick might not be so unbearable after all. I mean, it wasn't quite top class fare, and I’d have gladly traded my fetlocks for a serviceable maneicure, but the commissioned officers (one of which I most certainly was, Major Prince Blueblood, at your service!) had their own sleeping quarters and mess hall.

And, though I made most attire remarkable merely by dressing in it, I look simply dashing in uniform.

I was currently serving under that utter buffoon, Colonel Shining Armour, who had apparently been commissioned in the twenty-four hours since I’d last seen him. Not that I had met the stallion since coming into his command, of course. He was much too busy organising the new intake of guards. Even too busy to greet his new subordinate, the Prince of Equestria.

I snorted, inadvertently spraying a good portion of my extremely expensive wine over the bar top. As if he didn't have time enough for the ME! No, he was driven by pure spite, nothing more. Well, what could you expect from a common pony. I’d been forced to work for this damnable organisation, and that damnable stallion, but that didn't mean I had to like it (‘no sir-ee’, as he might put it)!

In fact, I needed to work my magic on this place. A few contacts here, a couple of ‘friends’ there, and I’d be running this place before the week was out. Nothing long-term, I wasn't going to stay forever, but I wanted to get some creature comforts into this dump before I went insane.

To begin with, what I needed was a guide. Not literally: I required some way of finding out all the information I needed without arousing suspicion. Names, faces, places, ponies, that sort of thing. The best informants - old bucks with dirt, the ambitious colt looking for a step up, the elderly hero wanting a peaceful retirement – weren't the sort of thing one could discover in a day. But with a helping hoof...

A stallion pulled up the barstool beside mine.

“Vodka.” He ground out; his voice like somepony had removed his vocal chords and replaced them with sandpaper.

I took a look over and winced. Judging by the angry red scar gracing his throat that might just have been uncomfortably close to the truth. He wasn't a big stallion, at least not in size, but he had a certain something about him. The kind of something I’d seen some of the Royal Guards back at the castle displaying, a sense that this was not a pony to cross. The medals on his cloth uniform (obviously just back from someplace like the Amarezon, and boy did not I not envy him for that), and the smooth silver sword at his side ‘sealed the deal’, as it were. He wore his tail short and his mane shorter, which only served to accentuate his great, shaggy eyebrows, like monstrous caterpillars that’d settled down on his brow. It would have looked comical, were it not for everything else.

I had an idea.

“Put it on my tab,” I said smoothly, and the barpony frowned, before nodding. The buck raised his bushy eyebrows, and I hastened to clarify. I didn't want him to think I was coming on to him – that probably wouldn't end well. Not that I would have done it even if it were likely to go well, of course! “It’s the least I could do,” I said, lying through my teeth and nodding at his uniform. “I can’t imagine what it must have been like. Consider it thanks.”

He grunted. “Just signed up?” He growled.

I nodded emphatically – I need to get this just right if I were to get what I wanted out of it. “Yeah, something like that,” I said. Or nothing like that, but, well, ‘whatever’.

He grunted again. Yeah, not exactly one for conversation this one. He shifted, and I caught another glimpse of that sword that hung by his side in the grimy light – dear goddesses, it was beautiful! I'm pretty sure I was gaping like a fish, but... that sword!

Silver in colour and possibly in composition, it had a blade, a handle and a hand guard, like most any other sword you might care to mention. But this! This! The slim lines, the elegant proportions, even the understated decoration – I felt like a foal again! Tooled engravings on the grip, a sure sign of pre-classical working, and (was it?) (It was!) a horizontally-recurved cross! I’d only read about them in history books! Magnificent! Like some cruciform personification of beauty, it transcended the pony bearing it. No, he wasn't deserving of such a wondrous blade.

And since he so obviously was unworthy, it would be mine. Suddenly, I didn't care about gathering information, or worming my way up the ranks. That could wait. But one thing was for sure: that sword would be in my hooves by nightfall, no matter what I had to do to get it.

I forced a smile on my lips.

“Ah, I must say, that’s a lovely blade. May I ask how you got it?”

I caught a flash of a smirk on his grizzled muzzle. “No.”

Git. Regardless, us Bluebloods are nothing if not tenacious.

“Well,” I said with a carefully casual shrug. “We've all got our secrets, I suppose.” Despite my relaxed demeanour, thoughts rushed quickly through my head. Why wouldn't he talk about it? It could be a bad memory, but this buck didn't seem like the sort of fellow to shy away from bad memories. No, more likely something to do with me. It couldn't be my social skills; they were finely honed instruments of diplomatic power; similarly, my eternal charisma and lovable character were as perfect as I... wait a moment... that was it!

I was simply too perfect! To the point of being unapproachable, I must simply have overwhelmed his puny mind with my splendour. I was the progeny of a living goddess after all, and even if I hadn't quite received the genes for flight or the ability to move celestial objects, I was no lightweight.

So, what I needed to do now was to tone it down a bit. Appear approachable, friendly, even.

“Garçon!” I called, taking my eyes off that simply fabulous sword. The barpony looked over, snorted (the nerve!) and trotted back. Now, what was a suitably common drink? “A pint of your finest ale, if you please!” I plastered a grin larger than Fancypants’ ego on my face, then turned back to the guardspony.

“Soooo. How was the Amarezon, ah, mate? Can’t imagine going out there myself.” It was a guess, but a safe one - there weren't many places in Equestria where one could get scars like those. The barpony trotted off once more, presumably to get my drink, and the guard raised an egregious eyebrow. What, hadn't he ever seen a perfectly normal stallion before?

“Wet,” he grunted. What? Oh, the Amarezon. Did he ever communicate in anything other than grunts? Or one word sentences? I struggled for something to say, which was new.

“Wonderful.” I was about to add more, but I was interrupted as I saw a brown, frothy glass of... ale? What even was that, anyway? Slam down in front of me. The lamps above the bar cast a dim glow, making oily rainbows flash on the greasy glass. I sincerely hope he didn't intend for me to drink that.

I shook my head. I had better things to worry about.

“So,” I said, taking another glance at the drink and deciding to give it a minute, “I think introductions are in order! My name,” I grinned roguishly (force of habit, honest), “is Blueblood. Yours?”

“Grimy Skies.” He frowned into his drink. “Tha’ wouldn't be Prince Blueblood, would it?”

Finally, more than one word! Odd name, though, for a non-pegasus.

“Ah! You recognise me. Why yes, yes it would.” I put a pleasant smile on, but inside I was seething. My plan! It was all going horribly wrong! Even when I was trying to act common, my regal manner shone through. A curse of breeding, I suppose.

“Hm. ‘Splains it.” A small smile quirked at his lips.

Struggling with his syntax, I finally figured out his meaning. “’Explains it’? Explains what?”

His grin morphing into a full-blown smile, he slapped his leg. “The smell!” He shouted, roaring with laughter. Much to my dismay, the entire room joined in!

For a moment, I found myself speechless. What in Equestria did he think he was doing?

“Excuse me?” I snarled. I was as close to snapping as I’d ever been. I almost found myself missing Fancypants. Fancypants. At least he was bleedin’ subtle about hating me: this, this earth pony, couldn't even find subtlety if I stuck it on the end of his pretty little sword and shoved it into his skull!

The buck slowly stopped sniggering, and rested a hoof heavily on my shoulder (his hoof! On my royal personage!). After a brief moment, he began explaining.

“Well, the way I figger it, only a Prince or the entertainment,” here he pointed to a small stage in the corner of the grotty bar, where skimpily dressed mares paraded themselves scandalously for a crowd of raucous soldiers. “Wear perfume!” He burst into another round of howling laughter. I roughly threw his hoof off my body with a flick of my toned muscles.

Perfume? PERFUME? How dare he? This wasn't perfume, this was Au De Cheval! By Fleur’s! I didn't deserve to be mocked for preserving a modicum of dignity, did I? That colt was FINISHED! When I was done with him, oh-ho, not even the crows would laugh at his jokes! And their not-laughing would be the last thing his ugly, common ears would hear before I fed him to them! Oooh, he was going to get it.

After I finished my drink. Never leave a perfectly good drink to waste, that was my motto, even if it interfered with turning a certain ponies into mulch. Alcohol first, revenge later.

I eyed the dirty glass of whatever it was. Ale? It certainly looked like the descriptions I’d heard about it – brown and nondescript – but was it supposed to be so scummy? Like, seriously?

After giving it a quick once over, I could see that half of the liquid had slopped out of the side after it’s... enthusiastic... delivery.

“Ah, barpony?”

“Yeah,” he grunted – oh, goddess, another one – and picked up a dirty glass to polish.

I nodded to the beer in front of me. “Could you stick a short in that?”

He perked up. “Per’aps I could,” he said, leering at the heavily stocked moneypouch hanging on the belt of my fancy new uniform. Drinks were free to Royal Guards, but spirits were one-a-night, and I’d already used up my quota on that buck of a buck. One-a-night unless, of course, the asker had a few bits to spare.

“Excellent.” I smiled. “In that case, do you mind giving me a full pint then, old chap? Frightfully obliged.” I went back to glaring intermittently between the guard and my still-not-topped up drink. In the warped reflection on the glass (more to do with its dirtiness than any refraction of light), I could see the barpony’s face turning odd colours. Huh. Weird lighting.

“’Scuse me, mate?” The buck at the bar spat out, like each word was poison.

“Hmmm? Oh yes, fill it up, chop chop. You might be able to get away with cheating somepony else of their money’s worth, but not I!” There was a collective intake of breath from those within hearing range, but I didn't pay any attention. Inside my head I was striking a heroic pose. Prince Blueblood: defender of the ordinary pony from spendthrift barstallions! That sounded good! Now if I just knocked the last bit off, maybe I could add it to my list of titles. Yeah, right between ‘Lord of the Eastern Isles’ and ‘Chancellor of Ca-

SPLOOSH!

All of a sudden, something cold and scummy and wet drenched me to the bone, running down my mane, and covering my hair in – UGH, something! The stuff doused me more thoroughly than my six-jet power shower back home, coating me in strange - brown? – liquid down to my hooves. Fluid dripped from my fetlocks, collecting in a pool beneath me.

“Wha-haHAHAAT?!” I sputtered out, a spout of ‘liquid’ spraying from my muzzle. Through the stuff dripping off my mane (my beautiful, gorgeous, mane!), I spied the barpony holding a cup. To be precise, an empty cup. To be even more precise, MY empty cup that FORMERLY held the ale that was now presumably pouring off my body!

No, he couldn't have, could he? Nopony could be that monumentally stupid, after all. Nopo-

“Get out of me bar. Now,” the stallion said evenly, his piggish eyes narrowed. “I don’ ‘preciate colts like you pissing about.” I decided that overestimating commoners wasn't something that’d be a problem again.

Nor, similarly, would that stallion be a problem ever again. I’d had it up to here with horseapples like that today, and the buck stopped here. Literally.

As I was going to end him.

I took a quick glance around the bar. Obviously some ponies had noticed who precisely I was (apparently the barpony was either too thick to figure it out or just didn't care), and so the crowd was anxiously waiting for something to happen. There were few unicorns – the majority being earth ponies, and most of the remainder pegasi – and of those, exactly none of them seemed like they’d be any threat whatsoever. Apart from that, I could probably bribe or bully everypony at the bar into ‘forgetting’ what they were about to see, and even if I couldn't at least I’d be getting out of this bloody army. A dishonourable discharge could be hushed up, but if I had to stay for too long in this place I’d go insane.

Only a few seconds had passed since the buck had spoken, and so I calmly rose to my hooves. I glanced forlornly at the empty glass, but it would probably have been crap anyway. After a moment, I turned as if to go. The bar almost tangibly seemed to relax at my ‘compliance’, and few quiet conversations even restarted. Simpletons.

I began running a few calculations; I had to do something big; impressive. It had to be enough to ensure that anypony hearing of the event would be suitably terrified of crossing me, but not so much that I was arrested. Again. So, imposing, dramatic, but not lethal. Got it.

I concentrated, and after a moment an icy-blue corona faded into being around my horn. A few ponies made curious sounds, but I ignored them, focussing on my breathing.

“One. Two. Three.” I muttered under my breath, then focused hard, forcing a layer of overcharge around my horn. The light grew bigger, brighter, crackling outwards and throwing crude shadows around the bar. “Four. Five.” I resolutely set my mind on the target: Barpony McIdiotface. I filled my imagination with his thin, priggish mug, setting a mental target. “Six...” I set up a solid contact with the floor. Had to keep grounded, didn't want to get hurt, after all. I readied myself.

“SEVEN!” In one great burst, I released all the energy I’d built up in an instant. There was a BOOM as waves of light blasted from my horn in a mighty flash. For a second, the entire room was bathed in a blinding glare. Then the light suddenly coalesced into a swirling vortex around my horn, before disappearing entirely. There was a pause.

“What -” somepony managed to utter, before he was interrupted by an immense CRACK! All the light, concentrated into a thin, crackling arc of sapphire energy erupted from my horn and threw itself towards the bar, twisting and spinning at colossal speed.

The spell, primarily designed to rip through magic shielding, and one of the most powerful I knew, tore through the ozone-laden air of the bar towards the shocked barpony. Some of the patrons were already attempting to stand – well trained, then, if ineffective – but none of the unicorns were making any move to stop me, just as I’d predicted. Not that they could do anything even if they’d tried, of course.

Time seemed to slow.

The bolt wouldn't be enough to kill him, obviously. Fame was a fickle mistress, and the paperwork even more so. The work involved in pulling something like that off! Phew, I didn't want to have to sort that out, it’d barely be worth the satisfaction. No, this was a warning. A shock, unconsciousness, some hospital care, he’d be right as rain in no time, hopefully with some hard-learned respect for his betters.

But he didn't know that. I relished the look of horror in his eyes as the magical lightning screamed closer. Closer. The blue energy spat and crackled, burning through the thick air of the bar, sweeping ever nearer to its inevitable target, who was frozen in place, terrified, now just feet away-

Some interesting facts about this particular spell. Created in the 2nd century by genius philosopher and mathematician Sunstrike the Sage, it embodies the power struggle at the time between the progenitors of two great Schools of magic: Sunstrike, and his legendary rival Starswirl the Bearded. Their differences were a matter of personal opinion. Sunstrike was of the view that the number seven was the most powerful number in all of magic, and the universe itself was based on magical manifestations of seven, whilst Starswirl believed that all forms of magic were equal, the strength lying in the caster, and you were an idiot to think otherwise. Well, we all know how that turned out. Sunstrike’s ‘seven-shot’ spells, as they became known, were notorious for their instability and uncontrollable nature, and so fell out of favour with the ponies at the time, leaving Starswirl as the grand and wise master of pre-classical magic, and Sunstrike forgotten.

An aspect of this uncontrollability is due in part to volatile nature of the spell. Seeking inspiration from the natural world, Sunstrike looked to one of the most powerful forces in Equestria: lightning. After careful experimentation, he made a discovery: if one were to reduce the base magical composition of lightning down to the lowest possible level, it would invariably result in a multiple of seven. Every time he performed the experiment, he received the same results. Delighted with this finding, he knuckled down to produce his greatest work, sure that this would finally prove his superiority over Starswirl.

Unfortunately, or conveniently depending on your view, he died suddenly whilst testing one of his experiments, leaving his work to gather dust in the corner of the Canterlot Library. Perhaps more fortunately for him, said work was placed in a corner of the library which just so happened to have a wonderful view of the mare’s hoofball changing rooms.

Give me a break, I was a teenager.

It was during one of these excursions that I discovered the documents. Originally intended as a backup in case somepony wandered by and asked what I was doing, I was quickly drawn into the impressive magic within. I made a small study of them (again, I was a teenager. I was drawn to anything involving massive amounts of power), and then disposed of them. I mean, they weren't doing any good to anypony there, were they?

On a completely unrelated note, I’ll be publishing a paper on the Magical Properties of the Number Seven soon, so keep an eye out. All my own research, of course.

Regardless, the point of this is that the magic I was using was incredibly volatile. One mistake, and I could end up blowing a hole in the moon, and Luna would come down on me hard if that happened. She was still going on about the stocks, last time I heard. So, I had to take some precautions. Number one, concentration. If I lost my concentration for even a moment... well, Boom. Number two, direction. I had to keep at least half a mind on exactly where I wanted this spell to go, or, you guessed it, Boom. Number three, NEVER LET IT GET NEAR LIQUID. EVER. Remember all that stuff I said about this spell being based on lightning? Yeah. No liquid.

So, what with all these rules and precautions I was taking, I was somewhat nervous when something odd happened.

The spell was still moving swiftly towards the buck, when all of a sudden it began to turn.

Despite my iron will and solid concentration, the bolt was curving away from my intended destination. It was as if a great magnet was pulling it away from where I wanted it to go. I watched in slowly mounting horror as the bolt curved slightly, away from him, and downwards, downwards towards a puddle of ale on the bar top.

Working quickly, I brought my formidable mind to bear on the magic, and with every iota of my metal ability began to focus on turning it back around. Time slowed even further. I struggled intently, eyes straining, mind focussed on stopping it. For a moment, it seemed to wobble, inches above the bar top. A half second it paused, then, jarringly... struck straight down.

Right in front of my eyes, the blue energy struck the sticky liquid without a sound. That must have been what ended my control; the natural conductive properties of the liquid, mixed with whatever the buck used to clean his glasses (paraffin and gold dust, for all I knew) must have formed a powerful magical conductor, strong enough to rend direction of the energy away from me. On that note, if I could somehow market it... but this wasn't the time. The hotchpotch magical energy conductor behaved exactly as you would expect it to, and conducted the magical energy along the distinct trail, from the puddle on the tabletop, down the side of the bar, along the damp carpet on the floor and towards the wettest thing in the room.

Me.

“BU-”

In a flash of light, the energy discharged. I blacked out.

---

Then promptly woke up again, as I was sent soaring into an alleyway. After a short flight, I smacked into a solid brick wall with a sickening crunch. After a moment of dazedly observing the new Blueblood-shaped imprint, I slid to the ground in a heap.

“Ow,” I said observantly. At least the electrical damage to my nerves appeared to be numbing the pain I felt, for the moment.

“Yeah! And yer’d best be staying out,” sneered a voice from the doorway.

I glanced up, and past the mini-pegasi that were circling my head, I could spy the rat-like barpony in the doorway. Flanked by two hefty (and by hefty I mean fat) bodyguards, he was looking somewhat smug.

His goons nodded sternly along with his words, sending multiple jowls wobbling. They ought to be more careful, that much flab could probably crush a passing foal.

Noting my unresponsiveness, he smirked one last time. “Careful not to give yerself anuvver nasty shock, Prince.”He said, then slammed the door shut.

Oh joy, sarcasm. Yes, clearly the highest form of wit there was. If there was one thing I hated more than being thrown out of pubs in the wee hours of the morning – and it seemed to be a common theme recently – it had to be dealing with sarcastic ponies.

And I knew this wouldn't be the last I saw of him; I still had to sort out all the trouble of me making a bit of an idiot out of myself in public, and then there were all the forms I had to fill out to get that buck fired. I wasn't feeling as hyped-up as I was inside the bar (severe trauma could do that), but I still wanted to get back at him. Oh, and I still had to sort out that Vodka-swilling, wisecracking stallion, which probably meant that I wouldn't be getting my hooves on that sword. Ah well, you win some, you lose some. I’d just get the Royal Armourer to knock something ceremonial up for me. It wasn't like she had anything else to do.

Lost in my thoughts, I’d barely noticed the sounds of a disturbance from within the pub. But what I couldn't miss was the a dark body of a buck, complete with uniform, deadly silver accessory, and unforgettable eyebrows, fly through the air at great speed before impacting heavily into exactly the same bit of wall I did, before siding to a rest on a piece of ground nearby.

Through the door that was leaking yellow light onto the cobblestone, the barkeep stuck his nose. “And don’ think I missed you two cosyin’ up t’gether.” He shifted his beady gaze to me. “Ye can keep ya buckfriend, boyo,” he said, sniggering foalishly, before withdrawing once more inside.

Buckfriend? What was he blathering on about? He couldn't mean- oh.

I was suddenly very glad that I hadn't had enough time in the bar to get drunk. Drunk ponies couldn't run very fast, after all, and I had a sneaking suspicion that if the pony currently stirring from his position beside me had heard that, I was going to have to do an awful lot of running in the near future.

With a sudden burst of willpower, I found myself standing. If I could get out of there before he regained consciousness, I could retreat to my stronghold of legal reprimands and lawful revenge, and not be attacked by any enraged soldiers.

I began silently navigating my way down the filthy street. The back entrance to the bar was halfway down one of the Canterlot side roads, so if I could get to one of the main thoroughfares I was clear. Just a few hundred feet, I could see the light of the streetlamps beyond a pile of rubbish.

I could hear groaning behind me, presumably from the buck, so I quietly hurried myself. Around the broken drains, under a fallen tree branch, just a little way to go-

“OI!” A seriously annoyed voice shouted from behind me. Bugger, there went the ‘softly, softly’ approach. What now?

“Where are you, you bloody poncy git?” The buck, significantly closer than before, shouted. Well, that settled what to do.

Leg it.

I galloped, cursing the higher power that put obstacles in such annoying places, heading towards the light of the main road. Behind me, there was a loud bout of incoherent swearing and a stomping of hoofsteps, followed by a series of cracks and crashes. I didn't have time to turn around, but I assumed that that was the buck storming through the barriers that had forced me to turn. I could hear him coming up behind me, but I was just a couple of dozen yards away from the exit of the alley now. Surely I could make it. That expensive personal training had to have some use, after all, and what better to put it to than outrunning an insane alcoholic?

I was closing in on the way out, now. Twenty yards. Fifteen. I was almost there, I just had to round the last blockage, aaaand....

“OOOF!” A voice grunted, and I let out (a very manly) squeal as the body of the stallion tackled me from behind, sending me sprawling to the floor. How did he get here so fast?

I struggled back to my hooves and was about to make a move, when I realised that I’d somehow got switched round in the tussle, and the buck was between me and the exit. I immediately began making plans. If I could just...

I concentrated on the metal bracket in the wall above the buck, and tugged it sharply down with a burst of telekinesis onto his head. Or rather, that’s what I would have done, had my horn not taken the opportunity to pack in with a spray of sparks and a sharp pain.

“Ah!” I hissed. Well, that was that for magic. I must have burned out, what with losing control of the seven-shot and all. I was lucky it wasn't more serious.

“You,” Grimy snarled. “You got me thrown out of the bar.” He stepped forward menacingly.

“Erm. Yes?” I giggled nervously (laughed in face of danger) and shifted my hooves (readied myself for a fight). “Sorry about that, all a misunderstanding really.” Grimy narrowed his eyes. My voice rose in pitch. “I'm sure we can sort this all out calmly and rationally...?”

He whinnied in laughter. “Sure.” I sighed in relief, but then he raised a hoof. “This is calmly,” he said, then raised the other, “and this is rationally.” He looked at me. “Got it?”

"Ah - yes?" I stammered out.

He stepped forward. Then again. And again, until his muzzle was pressed up against mine. He narrowed his eyes.

“It was a rhetorical question.” He ground out, then raised a hoof – and I doubted it was to make a pithy quote this time.

“No! Wait!” I cringed, covering my face with my forelegs, expecting for something to happen any second. Nothing did. I glanced up, and saw him raising an eyebrow queryingly.

“Please, enlighten me,” he said, spreading his front hooves wide.

“Ummm, I'm an officer! You can’t attack me!” I flashed my epaulettes proudly. “See?”

“You? An Officer? You’re kidding me, right?" He lowered his hoof and broke down laughing. I didn't move. "I thought you said you’d just signed up.” He stopped sniggering and looked hard at me, and I remembered the conversation from earlier.

“Special consideration?” I squeaked.

“Well then,” he said. “I suppose that only leaves me with one option.”

I perked up. “To go away and forget about it?” He snorted.

“No. A duel. To the death.”

Comments

[totallynotabrony]

I sense a vicious cycle forming.

Party!
\/
Drunk!
\/
Run!
\/
Not fast enough!
\/
Bad Stuff!
\/
Lecture by Aunts
\/
Got off easy!
\/
Party!

[The Great Derpsby]

It seems Blueblood is terribly impulsive (probably from Luna's side-seeing how prone to outbursts she can be).

Honestly, from what I can gather, he doesn't mean half the things he thinks, and doesn't think through half the things he says. His aunts are right, he's sort of an overgrown man child. That said, I highly doubt they wanted him to actually get hurt, like a duel might entail. Let's see how they deal with these news...

[Doctor Whooves]

1272240
Ah, the sweet, sweet life of Prince Blueblood. Shame it's all going to go horribly wrong.

1274208
Well, I don't think Luna would have objected to giving Blueblood a quick smack upside the head, but no; she doesn't want him (seriously) hurt. If it helps him learn a lesson or two, though...

[Doctor Whooves]

1264355
I thank you kindly for the comment, friend
And hope you continue to read,
My humble fanfiction, onwards, to the end,
So I get more poems from thee.

Know I appreciate it greatly,
And though all my lines do not rhyme,
I've enjoyed writing this lately,
And I'm glad you're having a good time.

[The Great Derpsby]

1274418
Ah yes, the "something good might come of this yet!" reasoning. And they might be right! I just hope for their sake (and his) that it won't end too painful; otherwise they might never forgive themselves.

Interestingly enough, I do think he might forgive them relatively quickly. Not that it's their fault really, but still, that's the other side of Blueblood's impulsive nature. Unless I completely misinterpreted his character- in that case, things could get ugly...

[Piquo Pie]

Sunstrike the Sage

Thank you for not simply recycling ponies mentioned in the show and being original.

1274458

I have read exactly 2 good Blueblood fics, well three but one is a continuation.

The Best Night Ever -> sequeled by The Platinum Crown,
And this.

Both are completely different, and yet involve copious amounts of alcohol and Blueblood being unable to take care of himself.

Note to self, when writing blueblood add alcohol.

1272240

I should have known you would have good tast sir.

[Doctor Whooves]

1302041
Yeah, Sunsrike just popped into my head whilst I was writing. Glad you like him!

Cap'n Chryssalid is one of the greatest fanfiction authors of all time, in my opinion. The Best Night Ever - wow, just fantastic.

[Piquo Pie]

1302570

And I just put you at just below him in terms of quality.

[Doctor Whooves]

1305965
Seriously? Aw, shucks, you've made me all embarrassed

[Piquo Pie]

1309269

Its a very underdone style. This means you get extra props for being

A) Unique
B) Gutsy
C) Extra points for quality since quality obscurity is always better

I also sent it to Under The Raven's EyeWhich is a group to appreciate under-appreciated fan fics. I don't know if they will recommend it but it I thought you should know.

[Pashoo]

Yaaaaa. Incoming fire-forged-friendship bromance? Possibly?

I think Blueblood should stop getting injured. It's definitely not healthy.