Battle of Canterlot: I Want to Break Free

by Captain_Hairball

Chapter 1

Prince Blueblood sighted along the top of his revolver, his attention concentrated on the thin iron nub atop the end of the gun’s barrel. He centered it on his target, lined up the rear sights, and squeezed the trigger with his magic. The gun bucked like a lover in his telekinetic grasp. He fanned the hammer. Five more shots split the morning silence of the Canterlot Palace parade grounds.

He lowered his revolver — a customized Wonderbolts Filly with the mouth grip removed and the trigger shortened so that only a unicorn who knew what they were doing could fire it — and nodded to the orange guard, who pulled the cord that would bring the target forward. A tight grouping of holes clustered around the target’s center like a foal’s drawing of a daisy, slightly offset from the bullseye.

“Oh, your Highness, excellent performance I must say!” said Fancy Pants, who had been following him around all morning like a dog too stupid to know it wasn’t welcome no matter how often it was kicked.

“I can do better. I will have to if I’m to place well in the Friendship Games. Set up another one, guard.” The orange pegasus guard saluted and obeyed. Blueblood reloaded. Measure in the powder, place the wadding, the lead ball. Rotate the cylinder, work the ramrod lever. Repeat. Soothing and precise.

“With such exquisite aim, I’m sure you’ll take the gold medal!” brayed Fancy Pants.

Blueblood accidentally scattered a few grains of black powder across the top of the cylinder. “If all the other countries send blind goats.”

“Haha! If dashing repartee were a competition, I dare say you’d be the world champion.”

Blueblood sucked in his breath through his nostrils. Couldn’t he have one day of peace from these sycophants? “How is your beard? What was her name? Tête de Noeud?”

Fancy Pants’ cheeks paled, and his jaw quivered in restrained outrage. “Fleur de Lis, your Highness.”

“Ready, your Highness sir!” shouted orange guard, trotting back to the safe zone behind Blueblood.

Blueblood rounded on Fancy Pants, revolver pointed skyward. "You can be open about what you are. No one in Canterlot cares. Why lie? I might imagine you loved her if I didn’t know you were at the bathhouse without her every night.”

“Your… your Highness,” stammered Fancy Pants, “I know you haven’t had a lover in some time…”

Blueblood glanced meaningfully at orange guard, with his massive wingspan and military-grade musculature. Oranged guard grinned back at him. “I didn’t know I’d been so discrete. Now tell me why you’re bothering me.”

Fancy Pants took a deep breath, preparing to launch into his pitch. “Ah, yes. The fellows of the Hospital and I…”

The doors to the parade grounds swung open. Orange guard snapped a salute. “Her royal highness, Queen of the Morning and Bringer of Daylight, Princess Celestia!”

Celestia stepped out of the doorway onto the grass of the parade field, followed by her majordomo Raven Inkwell. Fancy Pants fell to his knees. Blueblood holstered his pistol and trotted forward to meet his many-times-great grandmother. She draped her neck across his. Blueblood pressed his cheek against her soft, pale shoulder.

Celestia looked up at Fancy Pants. “I wish to speak to my grandson in private.”

“Of course, Your Highness.”

Thank Harmony.

Grandmother and grandson strolled across the silky grass of the parade field. Raven and orange guard trailed after them, Raven busying herself with some paperwork she held in her magic. Celestia spread her wings and tossed her head in the sunlight, lambent mane rippling behind her. “I wish I could get outside more often. You’d think, with my job, I’d be in the sun all the time. But no. We’re like an old married couple who’ve drifted apart. We barely see each other any more.”

“You’re very busy,” said Blueblood. “I don’t want to bother you.”

Celestia gasped. “Oh, no, my little pony! I didn’t have a double meaning.” She looked away. “I suppose I didn’t think about how that sounded. Anyway — how is your shooting going?”

Blueblood sighed. “I’m not good enough.”

Celestia laughed. “You’ve come a long way. I remember when you first fired a pistol. You half jumped out of your skin.”

He blushed. “I suppose I’ve improved.”

They walked to the end of the field in silence. Celestia looked up the wall of pink granite, following the vines that tangled up it with her eyes. “The Festival of Friendship is tomorrow, you know.”

Blueblood’s spine stiffened. “Twilight’s festival. I will attend, as promised.” Oh, how he hated Twilight. Twilight Sparkle was everything he knew he ought to be and wasn’t — friendly, brave, open, beloved by the ponies. She didn’t even know she was Celestia’s heir; though Blueblood did. Celestia had asked his permission for the arrangement, and he had granted it cheerfully. He didn’t covet the throne, but he did covet Grandma Tia’s love, and he feared she loved her more than him.

“I was wondering if you’d like to help with the preparations this afternoon,” said Celestia.

Blueblood’s vision turned red. His muscles trembled, his belly churned with rage. “No!” he snapped. “It is neither my duty, nor is it my role!”

Celesia’s face fell. “Honey, no.” But Blueblood went on. He felt like a heel for talking to her like this, but he couldn’t stop himself.

“It’s bad enough that I must be present at these events,” he growled. “But to work at one like a common servant? No! Never! The people dislike me, and they don’t need to like me because I will never rule them”

“Sweetheart, that’s not what I meant.”

Blueblood reared and slammed his forehooves down, digging divots in the flawless grass. “My bloodline is a joke. I’m nothing more than your favorite daughter’s million times grandson. Why can’t you let me be?” Behind him, a disdainful snort. Blueblood looked back — orange guard snapped to attention, trying to hide that he’d been staring at Blueblood’s flank this whole time. Raven watched him over the tops of her glasses, quill hovering in mid-stroke. She rolled her eyes so hard the irises almost vanished, then went back to her work.

Blueblood ground his teeth. His chest swelled with outraged pride. His horn began to glow.

Celestia spoke, her voice heavy with sadness. “I loved her for who she was, as I also love you. I only asked you to help because I thought you might enjoy it. You spend so much time alone. Being with other ponies more might help you with your moods.”

Blueblood deflated, his head handing below his knees. Grandma Tia never lied, for she feared nothing. All that she ever wanted was to help him, and he’d thrown it back in her face as he had so many times before.

Blueblood watched a worm crawled through the dirt he'd kicked up. “I need to lie down.”

Celestia kissed him on the crown of his head. “I love you.”

Blueblood tried to speak, but his throat closed and he knew that if he said anything, he’d start sobbing.

“Captain Spearhead?” said Celestia. “Please escort the prince back to his rooms.”

✭☆✭☆✭☆✭

Blueblood liked guards. They were so much more convenient than lovers. And the guards knew what Blueblood liked done to him; special duties that made it worth putting up with the prince’s daily tantrum. Orange guard was especially attentive in these duties; and their early morning wrestling session with him left Blueblood feeling used, drained, and ready for a nap.

“Thank you, your Highness,” said orange guard, nuzzling the back of Blueblood’s neck.

Blueblood arched his back against orange guard’s broad chest and soft belly. He knew perfectly well that orange guard’s name was Spearhead. But guards came and went. There was no point in getting attached. “The royal person is happy to be of service to the common folk.” Service was all it was, of course. Sex without the pressure of commitment or friendship. Bodies for bodies' sake. Guards, being simple creatures, could understand and appreciate that.

“I’ve been enjoying my shifts with you,” said orange guard.

“The parts in my rooms, I can imagine.” Blueblood stirred against the guard’s body, wondering if he could coax another round of activity out of him. Orange guard was quite vigorous.

“I mean, in general. You do cool stuff, dude.”

Blueblood’s body stiffened at the familiarity, but the guard didn’t notice.

“The shooting. The airship racing. The martial arts. Even the library. Fun stuff. You hardly ever have to go to meetings.”

Blueblood relaxed. What was this warm feeling in his chest? It felt very strange. “I have a rare opportunity to live a life devoted to pleasure. It would be a shame to squander it.” That life of pleasure didn’t make him happy. But if pleasure didn’t bring happiness didn’t, then what else could? Blueblood could only conclude that true happiness was impossible.

“I volunteered to work at the Festival of Friendship.”

“Oh, that old thing,” said Blueblood with a derisive snort, though the warm feeling in his chest was growing more intense. Where was orange guard going with this?

“I was wondering…” the orange guard hesitated. A strange tingling sensation began to suffuse Blueblood’s body. “…If you’d like a personal escort…”

Blueblood’s body tensed. An urge to bolt like a startled foal seized his legs, but he was not about to retreat from his own bed. Was orange guard asking him on a date? The warm, tingling sensation went nowhere, but… no, that was completely out of the question! There was no way he could consent to such a… such a… lovely…

“Your Highness?” said orange guard anxiously.

“I feel drowsy. Drape your wing over my heard; the sound of ponies singing outside is becoming tiresome.” Blueblood nestled into the warm, faintly sweaty-smelling depths of orange guards’ feathers.

Apparent romantic rejection notwithstanding, orange guard was snoring in seconds, but Blueblood couldn’t sleep. He kept thinking. Thinking of what a waste of flesh he was. All his hobbies — the shooting, the martial arts, the fencing, the airship racing, five languages, his reading — what did they bring to the world? They kept him from boredom. He’d never have to work for a living. He doubted he’d ever have a family. What would he leave when he was gone? A humorous footnote in a history book or two, at most.

Beside him, orange guard mumbled in his sleep. “Blue… he’s not that bad. No? I’m serious. Says who? My hoof says who.”

He remembered the orange guard had shown up with a black eye last week. Blueblood had been angry with him. Could it have been…?

No. Imagine — somepony getting in a bar brawl over him? Only a dream. Still. The implied compliment was nice. He nuzzled in amongst orange guard’s feathers and finally drifted off the sleep.

He woke, two hours later, to the sound of screaming and explosions.

✭☆✭☆✭☆✭

Blueblood rushed to the window. His bedroom overlooked Platinum Plaza, where two hours ago happy commoners had been dancing and singing and setting up stalls. Now three large armored airships hovered over it, disgorging infantry — tall, shaggy, bipedal beasts with fur patterned black and bluish-white, eyes like white-hot coals. Raiju.

“Why would the Storm King come here?” muttered Blueblood, voice trembling with fear. “Isn’t he afraid of the Princesses?”

“Storm King?!” yelped orange guard, tangling his hooves in the sheets and tumbling out of bed.

Blueblood levitated a detached rifle scope off his bedside table. He swept his gaze across the plaza. There was no sign of any organized resistance. Carnival stalls and amusement rides glowed with flames. Dead and wounded ponies littered the cobbles. Rauji soldiers herded living ponies into bell-shaped cages. He didn’t notice the new statues until his second sweep. Four of them. He noted the extreme realism of their design; accurate down to the veins of their feathers. Celestia, Luna, Cadence, and a small pegasus wearing a pointy hat.

Blueblood stumbled back from the windows on his hind legs, letting the scope fall. “No. No. It can’t be real.”

“What happened?” said orange guard, rising from behind the bed. His blue mane pointing in all directions, struggling to fit his upside-down breastplate onto his torso. “Is there a battle?”

Blueblood ran a telekinetic comb through orange guard’s mane, ripped the breastplate out of his grip, turned it right side up, and shoved it onto his chest. “The battle is over. We lost. Grab your spear, we need to run.”

Ignoring orange guard’s confused stammering, he pulled on his revolver holster and a red cloak. He considered taking more things — books? Money? Valuables? But there was no time. It might already be too late. He needed to get to his airship, the Anan; it was his only hope. It was fast enough to evade heavier military blimps like the ones the raiju were using. So he ran, orange guard’s hoofsteps hammering close behind him.

Sounds of violence from outside. The Raiju were at the walls. To get to the airship dock, Blueblood needed to go down four flights of stairs, across the inner curtain wall parapet, and halfway up the south tower. There wasn’t enough time to stop for the little gray unicorn mare in thick glasses that tried to wave him down when he reached the second landing.

“Blueblood! Spearhead! Wait!” screamed Raven as he and orange guard stormed past.

Wait. Raven would know. Blueblood skidded to a halt, sliding down three steps before he could turn around. “Celestia. What happened to her?”

“Dead,” said Raven, her voice raw and frightened. “Turned to stone. Luna and Cadence, too.” Tears glistened behind her glasses. The collar and cravat she always wore was torn and undone, her fur was marked with soot, and the tight bun she wore her mane in had begun to come loose.

“No!” he growled. “It can’t be true. It’s impossible!”

“The raiju have a unicorn with them — they call her Tempest. A purple mare with a broken horn. She used the Misfortune Malachite. She…” Raven’s sentence degenerated into incoherent sobbing.

“Then we’re doomed,” said Blueblood. “We need to flee.”

“We aren’t!” Raven’s head snapped up. Her brown eyes locked with Blueblood. “This city is our home. We’re not going to give it up. Not as long as we have a leader. Even if that leader is you.”

Blueblood barked a bitter laugh. “Me? A leader? Really? Then we are doomed.”

“What about Twilight Sparkle?” said orange guard. Blueblood winced at the name — her. It was always her.

“Gone,” said Raven. “Celestia sent her to find help.”

Blueblood snorted. “So she ran away. I always knew she’d prove herself a coward.”

Raven and orange guard stared at him, eyes wide with horror. Orange guard backed away from him, pushing up against the outer wall. Bloodblood sneered. He knew that Twilight was no coward, but it had felt good to say, and he wasn’t about to take it back. “If you don’t want to die, come with me to my airship.”

Raven’s snout wrinkled up in contempt. “Are you a coward, too, your Highness?”

Before he knew what he was doing, Blueblood’s hoof flashed out, striking Raven in the cheek, shattering the left lens of her glasses and knocking her back across the landing. She groaned, struggling to get back to her hooves.

“Dude. Not okay.” said orange guard. He knelt beside Raven and took her head in his hooves, turning it so he could look at her face. “It’s all right,” he said. “It’s not bad.”

“Guard. I command you to come with me!” said Blueblood.

Orange guard ignored him. Below them, crash that could only be the main gate falling split the air.

Blueblood fled.

✭☆✭☆✭☆✭

Shame.

Blueblood fled across the wall walk, golden mane and red cloak flowing behind him. Battle raged in the courtyard below. Guards and armed civilians struggled hoof to claw against the advancing raiju, supported by gunponies firing from behind statues and decorative trees.

But there were too many raiju. Their shock lances did brutal work, taking down even armored guards in seconds. They laid down a withering suppressive fire on anything that looked like it might have a riflepony behind it. Obstacle by obstacle, they moved forward.

There was no hope.

Bullets buzzed past Blueblood as he ran, but no raiju smart enough to lead a moving target thought him worth wasting ammunition on.

He wasn’t a worthy target. He was a coward of the worst kind. Running away? He could rationalize that. There wasn’t much he could accomplish in Canterlot. But what kind of pony struck an unarmed, unprepared pony less than half his size? Had she insulted him? Yes, but he’d only proved her point that he was a coward.

He could see his airship from here. Small, sharp-nosed and golden, it hovered beside the beside a platform halfway up the south tower. His way out of this nightmare. But where was he going to go in it? Equestria wasn’t safe, and the little airship’s steam engine was built for speed, not range. Griffonstone? The Crystal Empire? He might be able to make it that far, but no matter where he went, Blueblood would be waiting for him, looking out of every mirror. Blueblood the ornamental prince. Blueblood the cad. Blueblood the coward.

Then he saw her, down in the courtyard. An armored unicorn fighting at the vanguard of the raiju infantry, raw magic power crackling around the stump of her ruined horn. Lean, hard, her long fine-boned face contorted with rage. The mercenary Raven had described. The one who had killed Grandma Tia. Blueblood’s horn flared bright with rage. He drew his revolver.x

It was a long shot. The Filly was a brutal little weapon up close, but at ranges of more than a hundred yards, it became inaccurate. The unicorn stood, in Blueblood’s estimation, a little inside that range. He leveled his Colt and squeezed the trigger. The bullet cut a furrow through her brush-stiff mane, less than an inch above her neck. He’d aimed high. There wasn’t time for another shot – six of those raiju riflemen whose aim he’d mentally derided opened fire at him. Blueblood ducked behind the parapet. A hot line of pain traced along the middle of his left ear. They could hit a stationary target just fine.

He flopped belly down on the walkway. Gunfire crackled above his head. He stifled a sob. Shooting difficult targets was the thing he was best at in all the world, and now when it mattered he’d failed. He was useless. He should stand up, put his head into the rain of bullets. Those raiju riflemen would turn his skull to paste in a matter of seconds. It would be quick and painless. But he couldn’t move. He wasn’t brave enough to do even that.

“Get him! Get the blonde pony! I want him alive!” The unicorn’s raiju had a thick Equestrian accent. Blueblood himself spoke the language flawlessly. Heart slamming against his ribs, he crawled forward as quickly as he could. That unicorn had recognized him, and she wanted him alive so they could torture him for palace secrets!

He scuttled a hundred yards on his belly, feeling the dirt and grit of a thousand hooves scrape against it. The palace janitorial staff were in for an extended tantrum if he survived this. The raiju were still fighting for the courtyard, so they couldn’t have reached the south tower yet. He had a clear path to his airship if he could evade the rifle fire. Surely he’d moved far enough that they’d lost track of him by now? He surged to his hooves and sprinted for the gate to the south tower, now less than fifty yards away.

Thunder shattered the air. A bolt of lightning with the distinctive thaumatological imprint of unicorn magic slammed into his ribcage, knocking him through the air and into the parapet on the other side of the wall walk. Blueblood lay gasping, blinded, ears ringing. He couldn’t move. They were going to torture him if they caught him.

He had to flee.

He pushed himself into his knees, only to be knocked back to the walkway by a solid kick to the rear.

Blueblood rolled over so he could see his attackers. Five raiju, towering, armed with shock lances, reeking of dog breath and ozone.

“That was easy,” said the nearest one.

“Pathetic little ponies,” said another.

Blueblood’s revolver blurred from its holster. He squeezed the trigger and fanned the hammer with his magic, firing five times in rapid succession. The first shot tore a hole in the first raiju’s forehead, and the other four went right behind it. Perfect grouping!

No. Wait. He could have killed all five of them if he hadn’t been thinking like he was on the firing range. Idiot!

The second raiju lunged at him with his shock lance.

Blueblood was an indifferent student of the unicorn martial art of cornu mareda, which combined telekinesis with hoof-to-hoof attacks. He rarely placed well in competitions. But in battle, he could use all the dirty tricks that he couldn’t when sparing. He deflected the lance with a force field. He bent the raiju’s leg backward with a telekinetic blast to the kneecap. Then he kicked him in the groin. The raiju went down in a heap.

Again, Blueblood felt proud of himself for a second. Then the other three raiju closed in with their shock lances. A blast of electricity arced from a lance into his face, blinding him and making him jerk and twitch on the walkway. Twin blades slashed across his chest and shoulder, leaving two blazing lines of agony on his coat, and severing his holster strap.

The third raiju raised his lance over his head for a killing blow.

“Stop! Commander Tempest wants him alive!”

“But he killed Tsonda!”

A cruel laugh. “She didn’t say she wanted him in good condition. Let’s teach him a lesson.”

Electricity rippled through Blueblood’s body. His muscles contracted of their own accord, making him flop like a fish. His jaws snapped together, gashing his tongue and filling his mouth with blood. Searing bolts crackled across his coat, filling his nose with the scent of burning fur. The raiju shocked him again and again, well past any level of pain Blueblood had ever endured, and then going further still. Skin burned, muscles twitched, bones ached. His tongue felt like a slab of raw beef in his mouth.

“All right, all right. That ought to keep him gentle until we can get him in a cage.”

One of the raiju laughed. “Look at him. He’s drooling blood. Think we cooked his brain?”

Talons tangled in Blueblood’s mane and jerked him up until he was face to face with a fang-filled maw. “Hey! Anybody home?” he said in Ponish.

All Blueblood could do was sob in reply.

A different raiju kicked him in the ribs. “No crying in war. C’mon, on your hooves.”

Blueblood wanted to obey, afraid they’d hurt him again. But his legs felt like they were made of mud, and he couldn’t stand.

“I said on your hooves! Or I’ll drag you!”

“I can’t!” Blueblood wailed. A raiju kicked him in the head, and everything dissolved into light.

Comments

[FanOfMostEverything]

Shooting difficult targets was the thing he was best at in all the world, and now when it mattered he’d failed.

"Harmony guide my aim" can be a curse or a blessing, depending on who you're aiming at and what they need to do in the future.

[Pony4Koma]

I don't care if he came around in the end. For what he did to Raven I am, now and forever, the eternal enemy of Prince Blue Blood!

On to chapter 2... I am actually enjoying this fanfic a lot :-)

[Jaybird78]

Well this certainly is an interesting read

[Blues Rider]

This was a really surprising opening, I really enjoyed some of your character choices with Fancy Pants and Blue Blood. A little different to how they're normally portrayed, but despite this you have a very nice descriptive grasp of torture, shooting and depression that makes this to be an enticing read.

[Blaster M]

Blueblood reloaded. Measure in the powder, place the wadding, the lead ball. Rotate the cylinder, work the ramrod lever. Repeat. Soothing and precise.

Reloading Colt Walker, afk 3 minutes

[PresentPerfect]

As if a mere bullet could stop Commander Tempest Shadow. :V

[Captain_Hairball]

9955816

Haha I feel both validated and called out by this comment.