Amazing Grace

by Silver-Spirits-and-Ales

Chapter eight: At the Gala

Thunderhoof's memoirs

The Grand Galloping Gala. I don't know what to think. It's been years. I remember going to the Grand Galloping Gala just after I got my P.I license. The reason I went was because I needed an address book. Well, I needed one, but I wasn't going to write it myself. All I did was follow Haysley around and talk to whoever he was talking to. Yes, I hate him, but I'm not above using him whenever there's something to be had out of them. For you see, it was convenient for Haysley to parade me around. Having a veteran in the family is good for social status, after all. And I needed contacts, so that was that. Speaking of him, I'll take this opportunity to note that I have worked a few jobs for Haysley in the past. Yes, again, I hate him. But he has money, and I like money. That's how society works, I guess. Toffs at the top, plebs at the bottom, and me in the middle, making a fat pack of gold out of both of them.

Note to self: renounce to lordship and peerage to make this last sentence more believable.

But this time, it's purely social. Cadance asked me to come, and I can't deny her that, certainly not after not responding to her other invitations.

---

"SSF: 'YOU CAN'T STOP A GENOCIDE WITH HEALERS': THROWBACK TO SOIGNEURS SANS FRONTIERES' APPEAL TO THE EQUESTRIAN PARLIAMENT," read the tag-line of the Canterlot Gazette.

"Precisely three years ago today, Sparklecoat Manesley, erstwhile director of Soigneurs Sans Frontières (Healers Without Borders in Ponish) and Lord Fasu, ambassador for Zebrica, appealed to the Equestrian Parliament for the intervention of Equestria in Kudanda, where the infamous genocide had just started. Three days before, on their way to the Kudu capital, an SSF convoy was taken into captivity as they entered the town of Kudopolis. The hijacking in question was performed by the KPF (Kudu Patriotic Front) and the KNA (Kudu National Army), when the latter had promised to grant SSF protection while they performed surgery on Zebra victims.

In front of more than four hundred congressponies, Manesley pronounced these seven words, which went down in history as some of the most striking and truthful sentences ever spoken: 'You can't stop a genocide with healers.' By that, she meant that healing and sheltering victims of the massacre was not going to put an end to the hostilities. The situation demanded military intervention. Ninety percent of Parliament agreed that an intervention was necessary, and Whinnston Chestnut vowed that a gigantic taskforce would be assembled within twelve hours of the motion being passed. And, as promised, twelve hours later, an abnormally large number of soldiers was deployed to forward operating bases in Zebrica. Within one hundred days, the war was over, and Equestria had successfully occupied Kudanda.

General Delherbe was on hoof to give his side of the story. "The massacres were brutal, criminal and disgusting, but Equestria wasn't having it. We did what was right. Thanks to the valour of our troops, and to the helpfulness of the Zebrican Kingdom, we managed to annihilate the armies of evil, just as they would have annihilated the Zebras. This war -as short as it was- confronted Equestria with a threat that it had yet to see: we -and that includes soldiers and politicians alike- were confronted with a situation that we had never seen in the past. It showed us what hate equines and bovines can have. But I hope that with the coming of the new princess, we will enter a new era; a new chapter for Equestria and for the World. One where, instead of having to stop such evil deeds, we can actually prevent them."

When asked what he first felt when he'd received his orders, the general had this to say: "I, just like everypony else, thought that what we were about to face would be just like any other war we'd faced. After all, intelligence reports told us that our main enemy was a militia. Just like the ones we'd seen in Griffonstone and in San Palomino. But we were wrong. We were faced with true killers. Without honour, without a code. Their goal wasn't to preserve something. It wasn't to fight for a cause. You see, the Griffonstone Crisis and the San Palomino Sieges ended with negotiations, concessions, and treaties, because their cause was always partly just. They fought for a cause, to defend something. The kudandan militias, they fought solely to destroy the opposition."

---

Thunderhoof looked up from his paper at the sunny sky that he and Octavia could see from their first-class carriage compartment. He sighed as he saw the towers of Canterlot Castle. It really wasn't a sight that he'd missed. So much unneeded drama and corruption hid behind these high walls and towers.

"The gala isn't really your thing, is it?" asked Octavia Melody, as Thunderhoof's annoyed expression started becoming a little concerning.

"I hate it," answered the stallion. "And everything associated with it."

"I assume you've already been?" asked Octavia.

"Oh, yes, many times," answered Thunderhoof. "Just to think that while I was in the airship, flying away to the Forward Base in Zebrica, they were there stuffing their faces and sucking up to Celestia."

"You're beginning to sound like a Stableist," giggled Octavia.

"Oh, goodness no," chuckled the investigator. Truth be told, unlike his brother Haysley (or most nobles, for that matter), Thunderhoof wasn't exactly keen on trickle-down economics or the abolition of property tax, but he was even less keen on the abolition of freedom, which he thought was what Stableism brought.

The train screeched to a halt, and the doors opened. As Thunderhoof dismounted and walked onto the busy platform, he saw that there were a lot of Royal Guards present. Ever since the fiasco at the Royal Wedding, Celestia had been going to great lengths to satisfy the nobles' needs. Security was one of them.

"Lord Butterscotch, Sir?" asked one of the sentries, approaching the investigator. "I've been told to escort you to your hotel."

"I've got a plus-one," specified Thunderhoof, indicating Octavia.

Without a word, the guard levitated Thunderhoof and Octavia's saddlebags off their backs and placed them in a cart that was sitting a few yards away. He attached the cart to his own back and trotted forwards. Octavia and Thunderhoof followed.

"You told me that you were friends with Shining Armor, didn't you?" asked Octavia.

"Yes," answered Thunderhoof. "Met him at Saddlehurst, when we were training to become officers."

"So, you're a Major, right?"

"Yes."

"And he's Captain of the Royal Guard. Does that mean that you outrank him?" asked Octavia.

"Not really," answered Thunderhoof. "You see, 'Captain of the Royal Guard' gives you a special status. The Captain is personally appointed by Celestia, chosen from a list of candidates written by the previous Captains, and higher-ups in the forces."

"So a... general could become a Captain of the guard?" asked Octavia.

"It's rare, but it can happen. Generals aren't usually the first choice for a Captain of the Guard. Sure, they can lead divisions and armies, but generally, when you become a general, you haven't seen combat in a long time."

"Makes sense."

"The specific qualities and responsibilities of a Captain are detailed in the Royal Military Protocol," continued Thunderhoof. "The captain must be a fast thinker, a charismatic leader and a brave fighter. His responsibilities, among others, are leading the guard, obviously, managing security, and escorting the First Princess (that means Celestia) to her various meetings during the day."

"Back to the ranks thing..."

"Yes, sorry." Thunderhoof cleared his throat, and continued. "According to the RMP and the Posse Regnum Act, the Captain is supreme commander of all forces posted inside Canterlot City. So if we're at war, and, say, General Delherbe sends troops to reinforce the capital, they fall under the Captain's authority."

"Interesting," said Octavia. "I heard about the Posse Regnum Act," said Octavia. "It's the one that states that the Military can't intervene on Equestrian Soil without parliamentary approval, right?"

"Yes," said Thunderhoof. "Unless the enforcing to be done is directly inside Canterlot, or if it involves the Royals. It also states that only a fifth of all active personnel can be stationed inside Equestria. That means that the bulk of our troops is stationed either on ships or overseas. The entire law was drawn up to limit the military's presence and to prevent society from becoming too militarised."

"I see," said Octavia. "Does that mean you spent most of your time outside Equestria?"

"Yes, and thank the Maker," answered Thunderhoof.

At that moment, the guard halted in front of the Butterscotch Hotel. Without a word, two porteurs came out through the front door and discharged the guard of his load. And after they'd done so, a third unicorn stallion came outside to greet his resident.

"Ah, your Lordship," said James. "I've just finished preparing the bed for you and your..." his eyes met Octavia's. "...guest."

"James?" asked Octavia to the old Maître d'Hotel, uncertainly.

"Milady?"

Octavia rushed to hug her former equerry. "It's been so long!" she said. "How have you been?"

Thunderhoof looked confused. "You know each other?"

"James was my equerry," said Octavia. "Back in Trottingham!"

Thunderhoof suddenly remembered that she'd mentioned him when she'd told him her story. "Oh, yes!"

"After I helped Lady Amazing escape, I was fired," said James. "Thankfully your Lordship had a position for me in the hotel."

"Huh," said Thunderhoof. "I guess fate has a way of just working out."

---

After Thunderhoof and Octavia had settled back into the hotel, Octavia decided to get herself a quick practice session before the gala started. So, Thunderhoof took that opportunity to go collect Hoofington's report, down at the club. To Thunderhoof, re-entering Hoofington's nightclub was like slipping back into a nice comfy sweater. It was the only place in the whole of Equestria, apart from his room and his office, where he truly felt at home. But something wasn't right. At that point in the afternoon, it was normally serving lunch. But there was a large sign just next to the main entrance, that simply read "Closed".

Thunderhoof got his key (which he had as deputy chairman and forty-nine percent shareholder), and unlocked the door. As he stepped in, he found the club completely deserted, save for Hoofington, who was sitting at a table in front of the stage, pouring over papers of some kind. He didn't seem to be have noticed that someone had just walked in.

"Hello, Hoofy," said Thunderhoof.

Hoofington almost jumped out of his skin, and violently spun around. "Thunder? The hay are you doing here?"

"Why's this place closed?" asked Thunderhoof. "Something wrong?"

Hoofington rolled his eyes in a tired way, and thrust one of the letters at Thunderhoof.

"Dear Mister Hoofington," Thunderhoof read aloud. "We regret to inform you that following our merger with Sangbleu Shipping Company Ltd, we will no longer be able to supply your venue with requested . Yours sincerely, Rice Flower, ex-CEO of TipTop Shipping." Thunderhoof raised an eyebrow. "Well I know that losing a supplier can be bad, but can't you just find another shipping company?"

Without a word, Hoofington slid the stack of letters towards Thunderhoof, who read them all. They were all of a similar nature, from different wholesale companies, and there was a recurring name in all of the letters: Sangbleu Shipping Company Ltd.

"Huh," said Thunderhoof. "I'd say someone is trying to run you out of town."

"Ya think?" asked Hoofington, angrily. "I get these letters from all them wholesale bastards, and all you have to say is the obvious? OBVIOUSLY THEY'RE TRYING TO RUN ME OUT OF TOWN!"

"Hey, calm down," said Thunderhoof.

"I'm sorry," said Hoofington, holding his face. "They all came in this morning, I just don't know what to do..."

"Look," said Thunderhoof. "I've got something going on tonight. How much liquor do you have?"

"Enough to last a couple of weeks at best. But I'm closing up for the night. I just need time to think."

"Alright," said Thunderhoof. "I'll be looking into the supply problem when I can. Just stay strong, okay?"

"Thanks," answered Hoofington. "Now, I guess you want to hear about what I could dig up?"

"If you don't mind," said Thunderhoof.

"My guy in the police told me that the guys you met on the rooftop were hitponies for the Cavallo crime family in Manehattan. Somepony hired them to kill Poppy before he could spill the beans. They don't know who, for now. As for the guys down in Ponyville, they were also part of the Cavallo mafia and had been sent to give you a good beating."

"So what's going to happen to them?"

"Well the Canterlot Police and the Royal Guard were gonna charge all of them with assault, kidnapping, and grave misconduct towards agents of the Crown among others, but unfortunately the affair's come to the attention of, erm..."

"Of whom?"

"Well right now the Pan-Equestrian Criminal Police and the Royal Investigation Bureau are fighting over who gets to take over the case."

"Damn," said Thunderhoof. Not only had he been involved in both cases, but he'd played a central role in both of them. And the last thing he needed was to be under national scrutiny.

---

"Are you ready to go?" asked Thunderhoof. He brushed a hair off his uniform, and looked at himself in the mirror.

"I am," answered Octavia. She was wearing a gown, made by Rarity in Ponyville. It was a plain white dress, with a simple tiara to go with it. After all, Octavia preferred the simple over the extravagant.

Thunderhoof donned his peaked cap, which bore the insignia of the Royal Pathfinders, and the pair made their way downstairs. James held the door for the couple, and Octavia and Thunderhoof climbed into the carriage that was waiting for them.

"Well I hope this'll go well," said Octavia. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't nervous."

"Any particular reason?"

"Not really," said Octavia. "Well, there is the issue of... him..."

"Blueblood?" asked Thunderhoof. "Don't worry, he's too self-absorbed to pay attention to anyone else."

"I take it that you've met him?"

"Oh, yes," said Thunderhoof, almost huffily.

After a few minutes, the carriage halted, and the couple exited the carriage. They made their way through the gate, and into Canterlot Castle's main room. It was already packed with notables, who had formed a line to go and introduced themselves to Princess Celestia, as was the tradition. Thunderhoof and Octavia took their places at the back of the line, and the investigator started readjusting his uniform, medals, and cap. He didn't really care about what the aristocrats thought of him, but the princesses' presence made him self-conscious.

"Ah, Thunderhoof, I'm glad you could make it," said Celestia, as Thunderhoof and his date arrived at the front of the line. "And you're Octavia."

Octavia blushed. "I'm very sorry I can't play this year."

"It is quite alright, my little pony," said Celestia, serenely. "One has to take a break now and then."

When that was done, Thunderhoof took a moment to scan the ballroom, maybe spot someone he knew. There were a lot of businessponies, nobles and celebrities, some of which he'd met or had heard of in the past, none of which Thunderhoof liked. All he could see when he looked at them was a bunch of pampered, self-serving and corrupt idiots.

But in the centre of the room, as if their purity of heart made them glow a thousand times brighter, were the six friends. The Elements of Harmony. Voices of warmth and reason in an otherwise cold and unreasonable atmosphere. Applejack spotted Thunderhoof and winked at him. Since she'd learned about what Thunderhoof had done a month ago, she'd sent baskets upon baskets of apples to Octavia's house, always with a kind word.

"Strange," said Octavia in a disinterested manner. "I come here every year, and nothing ever seems to change..."

"True," responded Thunderhoof. "Just to think that everypony strives to be part of the nobility. They imagine wealth, fancy gowns and big houses, when in the end it's nothing but a bunch of wretched, incestuous..."

"Should we get some drinks?" interrupted Octavia. "We're here, might as well enjoy ourselves."

They went to the buffet, and talked to the elegant unicorn stallion who was manning the liquor.

"I'll have an Eleven-Eleven," said Octavia.

"Same," said Thunderhoof.

The Eleven Eleven was a cocktail that had been created for Celestia's 'ones-versary' by some bartender in Manehattan called Mango Twist. He'd probably created it between two hoof fights on a rainy saturday afternoon, and had woken up the next day to find that it had become very popular. It combined many ingredients that 'embodied Equestria and the Princess'. Those ingredients were diverse and there were many of them. Those included Trottingham dry gin, Stalliongrad vodka, and Appleloosan Tequila as the main spirits. That way, the alcohol represented Equestria: vodka for the north, tequila for the south, and gin for the island that everyone thinks is weird. As for the diluents, the drink included maple syrup from Vanhoover, and cream from Canterlot County, and some other odds and ends that somehow made the drink pleasant. The end result was a creamy, sweet cocktail that was as white as Celestia's coat.

"Please enjoy the evening," said the bartender, as he levitated the drinks towards the two guests.

"A bit rich," said the investigator as he took a sip.

"Richer than them?" asked Octavia, sweeping the room with her eyes.

"I said rich," sniggered Thunderhoof in return. "Not disgustingly rich."

They both sniggered into their Collins glasses.

Octavia spotted a white mare, who was speaking to Fancy Pants. "Fleur de Lis?" she mouthed.

"What was that?" asked Thunderhoof.

"I know her!" said the musician.

"Well she is a model..."

"We were at finishing school together!"

"Oh," said Thunderhoof. He looked at the Fancy Pants-Fleur de Lis couple.

Fancy Pants, or The Right Honourable Fancy Pants, Eleventh Viscount of Ponesdale, was mostly a banker, who'd somehow managed to triple his mother's already great fortune. He also ran different charities, had a school or two in Zebrica named after him, owned property. Among the trophies that he'd been given over the years was his fiancée, Fleur de Lis. A supermodel whose father had money problems. And at least there seemed to be some love shared between the two, unlike other spouses at the gala, who seemed to be swung around like Rainbow Dash swings her medals around.

"Would you mind if we separated for a while?" asked Octavia. "I have to catch up with her."

"If you must," said Thunderhoof. "But try not to take too long. Cadance told me to bring a date, and I don't want to disappoint her again."

"Sure," said Octavia. And without another word, she went to talk to her finishing school friend.

Thunderhoof drained his glass, in the hope of making this whole party a little less of an ordeal, and looked around the room, maybe find someone interesting to talk to. It was then that he spotted two very familiar ponies: Haysley and Stableton.

Thunderhoof's elder unicorn twin brothers were standing about ten metres away from him, and were looking at him with matching serious expressions. Just as usual, Haysley was wearing a hoof-tailored suit, which alone had (and that was a fact) cost more than an average working-class pony's week's worth of wages. Stableton was wearing his meek pastor's cassock and collar, a Cadenzian pendant around his neck. They were both very tall and gangly, had emerald green eyes, and light brown manes. It seemed morbidly ironic to see a fawning sycophant so physically and emotionally close to a very virtuous minister.

As they were both looking at him, Thunderhoof felt obliged to walk towards them and at least say hello.

"Hello, brother dear," smirked Haysley, as Thunderhoof approached.

"What's up?" asked Thunderhoof. "Looking for spare change, Haysley?"

"Very funny," said Haysley in return.

"Hello, my brother," said Stableton, smiling slightly as he bowed his head towards his younger sibling. He was about to ask how Thunderhoof was holding up, having given spiritual guidance to Thunderhoof spiritual guidance in the past, but Haysley cut him off.

"Good of you to finally show up, Brother dear," said Haysley. "I have a... message for you. From Father."

It suddenly occurred to Thunderhoof that his father wasn't present, whereas he normally never missed the gala. "Where is he?" asked the investigator.

"Father... he couldn't make it..." said Haysley.

Thunderhoof's eyes widened in shock. "He isn't... is he?"

"No, he isn't dead," said Haysley, in an exasperated manner. "Not yet, anyway," he muttered. "Not that I'd expect you to turn up to the funeral..."

Thunderhoof gritted his teeth. "That's rich, coming from you," he retorted. "Celestia knows you go and see him to keep up appearances. You'd oversleep on the funeral day, but you'd never dare miss the appointment with the solicitor."

Haysley's smirk was replaced with a rather ugly look. His and Thunderhoof's eyes locked for a few seconds, and Stableton was wondering if the investigator was about to punch his brother in the jaw, just as he'd done on at least one public event in the past. But soon enough, Haysley's smirk was back. He gazed over to the right, where Octavia was.

"And who might that be?" asked Haysley. "Is she another one of your whores, Thunderhoof?"

"Octavia isn't a whore," responded Thunderhoof, defensively.

"Don't worry, she'll be a whore once you're done with her."

But as Thunderhoof was about to respond, Stableton interjected. "Please, my brother. Listen to the message we bring."

"I'm listening," said Thunderhoof, his eyes not leaving Haysley's.

"Father's condition is very critical," Stableton explained, with a shaky voice. "When I went to see him, to perform the weekly rites, he told me that he wanted to see you."

"I see," said Thunderhoof. He seemed unfazed, but he was crying on the inside. Despite his efforts to distance himself from his family, he'd always had a great admiration for his 'father'. "I'll find the time to go and talk to him." And, not wanting to spend more time with his brothers than he actually had to, he just said "enjoy your evening," and walked away.

"Don't you think you're going a bit hard on him?" asked Stableton, as he watched his veteran brother walk away. "He needs somepony to guide him, not pound him into the ground."

The major went towards the buffet yet again, and stepped in line behind two stallions, one very large, the other very thin. They were talking, but Thunderhoof was too busy with himself to care about anything else. All he wanted to do was to get a drink to calm his emotions.

"Are you alright?" said Octavia, arriving from the side and placing a hoof on his back.

"Yes," lied Thunderhoof.

"Thunderhoof?" Octavia pressed on.

At the mention of the investigator's name, the two stallions who'd been standing in front of him turned around, and faced the investigator. And the major found himself face-to-face with the Prime Minister, Sir Whinnston Chestnut, and the Chief of General Staff, General Delherbe.

"Thunderhoof, old boy?" asked the Prime Minister, in his usual down-to-earth, booming tone. "How are you?" He forcefully took the investigator's hoof in his own, and shook it profusely.

"Ah, Prime Minister," responded Thunderhoof, shaking himself out of his trance and shaking the PM's hoof in return.

The plump earth pony prime minister was just as Thunderhoof remembered: a deep chestnut coat, an almost nonexistent gray mane, a homburg hat on his head and a huge carrot protruding from his mouth. He was known to be brash and frank, like most earth ponies were. But his unicorn heritage had left a mark, which could be seen through his absolutely fabulous dress sense. He was the son of Lord Dandypants Chestnut, a Trottinghamite unicorn, and Jessamine Jayflower, daughter of a wealthy Manehattan stockbroker. His half-breed status had attracted criticism from several extremist figures within the Fieldist Party, but those voices were quickly silenced when he came to the head of the party several years prior. His popularity among the Equestrian people wasn't what it had once been, and many voices in parliament wanted his resignation. Thunderhoof had worked a few cases for the Prime Minister, in a strictly unofficial capacity. They were both very pragmatic, which was probably why they got along so well.

In bold contrast to his friend, General Rosépine Delherbe was a thin pegasus stallion, with a caterpillar moustache running under his nose and a short graying mane that was hidden by his military beret, which he wore in conjunction with his ceremonial uniform. He was a stallion of a few words, but he chose those words with extreme wisdom. He was a well-respected pony in all classes of society, ranging from the aristocrats in Canterlot to the miners in Griffonstone. A very empathetic stallion, he had a constant worried look etched onto his face. A concerned expression that was comforting. The general seemed to understand whatever you were going through, the way you want your struggles to be understood.

The general ruffled his feathers and extended his hoof towards Thunderhoof. "I remember you, Major," he said. "That Celestia Cross looks good on you," he added, admiring the investigator's many medals.

"Thank you very much, sir," answered Thunderhoof, trying his best not to shed a tear as he shook the general's hoof for a second time in his life. "It was truly an honour."

The PM's gaze drifted towards Octavia. "Ah, Miss Melody!" he boomed, bowing to her. "Are you with Thunderhoof tonight?"

"Yes, Prime Minister," answered Octavia.

"Fine chap, that!" said the PM, patting the major on the shoulder. "A good choice indeed!"

"Well it wasn't really my choice," said Octavia, "but he is pretty charming," she giggled.

General Delherbe was looking increasingly awkward. He seemed to have zoned out. He took a sip from his glass of mineral water, and stared into the abyss of the party, with his permanent look of guilt and concern. As Whinnston and Octavia delved into a conversation about music and arts, Thunderhoof took this opportunity to speak to the general.

"I really enjoyed your last book," said Thunderhoof.

"W-which one?" asked Delherbe. "I'm sorry, I-I have a lot on my mind."

"They fight like bucks but fall as calves," answered Thunderhoof. "You have a certain facility with words, I say."

"I-I do?" asked the general, modestly. "I, uh... just tried to write about what I felt during the war. It's just... ah... I don't know how to put it..."

"It was very relatable," said Thunderhoof. "Those poor souls... there was one particular quote that stood out to me. 'The only difference between an adult soldier and a child soldier is that a child doesn't know right from wrong'. It just says it all, really."

Delherbe smiled. "Looking back, it seemed that the kudu didn't know right from wrong altogether." He sighed.

"I know this isn't really the good place for a heart-to-heart, but I wanted to know, do you feel these emotions too? About the war?"

The general took another sip from his glass. "I'll deny that I ever said this," he said. "But I still... see them. The people who were killed. I just... these poor zebras... and I can't help but think that it was all..."

"Your fault?"

"Yes. You feel them too, don't you?"

"Yeah."

The general and the major stood there in an awkward silence for a few seconds. "If you'll excuse me, I have something to do," said the general. And with no further ado, he trotted away.

"Poor stallion," thought Thunderhoof. "He's got the world on his shoulders..."

Thunderhoof suddenly noticed that Prince Blueblood was present. He was talking with Celestia. He was looking smug as he always did while Celestia looked very concerned for some reason. But Thunderhoof didn't really care for anything that had to do with the fake prince, so he averted his eyes from the conversation. Just to be safe, he went to warn Octavia.

"Blueblood at six o'clock," muttered the investigator, prompting a wide-eyed expression of fear from his date.

"Blueblood, you say?" said Whinnston, peering at the prince. "I wish him no ill," he said, nonchalantly, "but I do think Equestria'd be better off had he never been born."

"If you'll excuse us," said Thunderhoof. "I have to parade my date around to ward off any proposals."

Octavia giggled.

"Suit yourself," said Whinnston. "I have to check up on Delherbe. Fine chap, he just worries me sometimes."

"Until we meet again."

The Prime Minister grunted, and went off to find his friend.

"You didn't tell me that you knew Whinnston," said Octavia, as she and Thunderhoof walked down to the gardens.

"Neither did you," retorted Thunderhoof.

"We met at a painting class in Trottingham," Octavia explained. "He wasn't very good with painting faces. Neither was I, so we sort of kicked it off. I played for his son's birthday last year. How do you know him?"

"Oh, I ran a few errands for him a while ago, and now I'm one of his drinking buddies, basically. Well, it's more complicated than that, but it's all you need to know."

Thunderhoof opened the door to the gardens, and stepped aside for Octavia, before following her outside. The socialites were eating aubergine caviar and drinking Dom Percheron, and mostly keeping to themselves. They went to the very edge of the garden, and looked up at the star-spangled night.

"A refreshment, sir and ma'am?" asked a waiter who happened by.

Thunderhoof and Octavia grabbed glasses, and stood together to admire the night sky.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" asked Octavia.

"Sure is," answered Thunderhoof, who was somewhat insensitive to whatever poetry Octavia was going to conjure.

"The sacred texts describe the stars as... rifts. Gateways between our world and the next. Through which the Creator's energy flows, enabling everything. Life, magic..." she put her hoof on Thunderhoof's. "emotion..."

Thunderhoof started to feel strange. A little over two weeks ago, he had followed Octavia all the way to Ponyville because he wanted to know more about her. And there he was, bringing her to a date. He didn't know her all that well, and despite that... he felt good when he was next to her. It wasn't lust. Or at least not entirely lust. Nor was it love. But it felt like it.

But Thunderhoof was suppressing his emotions. He'd fallen for mares in the past, and every time he had, either him or the other had gotten hurt. But nonetheless, he said "you look beautiful" to her.

Octavia pressed her head deeper into Thunderhoof's shoulder, and her mane brushed against his cheek. "This night... it's perfect. I've never felt like this before."

"Neither have I," answered Thunderhoof.

Octavia leaned her entire cheek onto the major's shoulder, and Thunderhoof leaned his onto the top of her head. He pulled her hoof up, to his chest, and she stroked the soft fabric of his uniform, his hoof caressing hers. It was as if the whole world had just halted, while the pair shared a passionate embrace. Tired of the world, longing for each other.

The major stared up at the moon. And for a second, he was sure that it had turned blue. The fates had seen him sitting alone, without a dream in his heart, without a love of his own. And suddenly, Octavia had appeared in front of him. The only one he wanted in his life. The graceful and mysterious cellist, who had made his heart bleed.

"Please don't let this end," prayed Thunderhoof.

"Please don't let this end," prayed Octavia.

---

It was when Thunderhoof and Octavia left the garden to go to the buffet table that they finally bumped into Princess Cadance and Shining Armor.

"Well hello," said Thunderhoof, as he saw his cousin's unique mane and Shining's recognisable face."I was beginning to think you wouldn't show up."

Cadance's only response was to jump on Thunderhoof and hug him. "I missed you so much!" she said. "How've you been?"

"Can't complain," answered Thunderhoof. "This is Octavia Melody," he added, putting a foreleg around his date.

Cadance was surprised to see Thunderhoof dating a pony about ten years younger than him. But she shrugged it off, and extended her hoof towards the cellist. Octavia grabbed it and curtsied to the princess. "It is an honour, your Highness."

"Thunder, bro, how long's it been?" asked Shining Armor, clapping Thunderhoof on the shoulder in his trademark 'dude bro' way.

"Have no idea," answered Thunderhoof. He had been friends with Shining ever since Saddlehurst, but as of late they'd grown very distant. For one thing, Shining Armor had that constant chipper, almost 'colt-scout'-esque attitude about him, that was enough to annoy Thunder. Secondly, no-one had ever told him that Cadance had planned to marry Thunderhoof, and that was enough to create some awkwardness on the major's side.

"You haven't changed a bit!" declared Shining.

"Neither have you," responded Thunderhoof. "How's the baby?" he asked, in case Shining was about to inquire about what Thunderhoof had done all this time.

"She's alright," answered Shining. "A bit of a hoof-full, like all babies are, but ya know... you get used to it. She's a bundle of joy, she'll become a great leader."

Thunderhoof nodded and took a sip from his glass of champagne. As Shining droned on about Flurry Heart, a guard came by, whispered something in Princess Cadance's ear, and he accompanied her elsewhere. Thunderhoof was curious as to the reasons for the interruption, but he didn't say anything.

But not ten minutes later, the guard came back, and accosted Thunderhoof. "Your Lordship?" he asked.

"Yes?"

"Their Highnesses have requested your presence in the study. If you'll please follow me,"

"Alright," answered Thunderhoof.

As he tried gesturing Octavia to follow him, the guard specified "Your presence only, your lordship."

"Sorry for leaving you on your own, Tavy," said Octavia. "But I'm needed, apparently."

"Have fun," said Octavia, pecking Thunderhoof on the cheek.

The guardspony lead Thunderhoof through the dining hall, up some stairs, and into the highest tower of the castle. He opened the door to Princess Celestia's study, saluted, and closed the door behind the investigator. In front of him stood Princesses Celestia, Luna, and Cadance. He bowed.

"Ah, Thunderhoof, excellent," said Celestia. She looked uneasy.

"Is there a problem?" asked the investigator.

Luna blinked and jerked her head forwards at the same time, showing some form of irritation in the easily-irritable princess.

"We've summoned you here to provide you with a royal mission," explained Celestia, looking pretty somber, the complete contrary of the image she usually projected.

Thunderhoof, who liked money, was very favorable to a case hoofed to him by a Royal. The crown paid their consultants very well, after all. "I'm listening, Your Highness."

"It has come to our attention," said Celestia, "that the Right Honourable Whinnston Chestnut, our Prime Minister, is unfit to carry out his duties."

Thunderhoof raised his eyebrow. "Yes?"

"And as you know, Royal Protocol forbids us to be directly involved in our country's politics. We can only force an elected official to resign if we have proof of their inability to carry out their duty."

"I understand." Thunderhoof was familiar with Equestrian Constitutional Law and Royal Protocol, so everything thus far checked out. "So why do you need me?"

"We want you to bring us that evidence," said Cadance. Her voice was shaky, just like Stableton's when he'd delivered his message to Thunderhoof.

"So you're going on an assumption that he is unwell," Thunderhoof clarified.

"It's more than an assumption," interjected Luna. "'Tis all over the press. 'Tis on the lips of every single citizen of our fair country."

Celestia looked down at the ground, took a deep breath, and lifted her head towards Thunderhoof. "Besides, his image among foreign leaders is not what it once was. It is in the best interest of everypony if he steps down and lets someone younger take the helm." She laughed nervously.

Thunderhoof took a moment before responding. He looked into the eyes of the three princesses, and noticed that they were all wearing a similar look: one of fear. In fact, he'd know that something was wrong from the moment he'd stepped into the room. It was as if an invisible pony was lurking behind them, aiming an invisible crossbow at their necks. "I hope I'm getting paid well for this," he said, finally.

"Does that mean you'll take it?" asked Cadance, uncertainly. It felt odd. She knew Thunderhoof enough to discern his tone and recognise agreement, but there she was, doubtful.

"Yes. One condition, though."

"Of course," said Celestia.

"An up-front payment of sorts. My friend, who runs Hoofington's Gentlecolts' Club has a supply problem. I want you to keep him stocked until I find a more permanent solution."

"As you wish," said Celestia. "But please, get this done quickly."

Without a word, Thunderhoof bowed to the princesses, and left the room.

---

"What a night," said Thunderhoof, loosening the cuffs of his tunic and stretching his legs.

Octavia yawned as she got out of the bathroom. She'd changed back into her bow-tie. She picked up her cello, and started playing a melancholic sonata.

Thunderhoof poured himself a glass of gin, and downed it without a word. Then he looked at Octavia. She was back to him, and her elegant curves seemed to glisten in the lamplight. He slowly approached her, and reached out a hoof to her neck. He wanted to undo her neckgear, and offer a night of passion to the mare. But as his hoof almost made contact with her neck, Thunderhoof stopped, and remembered what his brother had said:

"Don't worry, she'll be a whore once you're done with her."

Thunderhoof relented. Now was not the time.

Author's Note:

The characters of Whinnston Chestnut and Rosépine Delherbe are directly inspired by two people I admire very much, Winston Churchill and General Roméo Dallaire.