The Girokon Incident: A Living the Dream Side Story

by Corah Il Cappo

Understanding Vulnerability

To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one.
-C. S. Lewis

“So let me get this straight,” Frederic said, wiping sweat from his brow. “Unless a group of bronies travels to the Gryphon Kingdoms and makes peace, Equestria ends up at war?”

Lance nodded, squinting his eyes in the harsh orange glare of Frederic’s workshop. The forge was in full flame as he repaired a dented breastplate. The alicorn’s reddish dun coat seemed nearly black against the flowering fire and his wings rustled restlessly as he gnawed his lip.

“I guess that squares with the reports I’ve been hearing from the guards.” Frederic’s horn burned a deep crimson as he wriggled the breastplate left and right, trying to pop the dent back into place. “Gotten some reports that they’ve been fighting with gryphons on the border, but figured it was the usual. Drunken brawls, fights over girls, and the like.”

The armor popped and Frederic held it up to the light for a better look. “They’ve been saying that the gryphons have gotten pretty damn cocky lately. Taunting everypony about some new secret weapon they’ve got. So I guess they’re itching to try it out on somepony. No clue what it is, but I can't imagine it's anything good.”

“Yeah.” Lance kicked his legs as he sat on an anvil and watched Frederic polish the repaired plate. “It just sucks that bronies were the ones who kicked this all off! Like, really? Equestria is our home! The last thing any of us should want is for our friends and family to be in danger!”

“Well, Lance, when somepony gets a second chance at life, there are two ways they can go. They can make a clean break and try to be a new, better person, or they’ll try and force their old mistakes on a new world.” Frederic’s eyes glossed as he stared into the sputtering flame of his forge. “That’s what my father did, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember.” Lance furrowed his brow. “But we’re better people than we were before, right?”

“I mean, I try to be.” Frederic shrugged his shoulders as he set the finished piece on the rack to cool. “I guess that’s all we can do.”

“So you’ll go with us?”

“Course I will, Lance. We’ve lived in Equestria for almost two years now, and we’ve done everything we can to keep it safe. Just another threat for us to get under control.”

“And you’re cool traveling with a guy like Blueblood?” Lance arched an eyebrow. “I mean, the dude is kind of an asshole.”

“Heh, don’t I know it!” Frederic laughed, unhitching his heavy blacksmith apron and hanging it on a hook. He wiped the grease and soot from his hooves with a damp cloth. “Kind of is an understatement. He’s a grade-A prick, but the ponies around here respect him. No idea why.”

“Money probably.” Lance huffed as the two of them left at a gentle trot through the high-ceilinged, echoing corridors of Canterlot Palace.

“Yeah, probably.”

After a brief pause by Frederic’s room, so he could bid Luna goodbye and gather his belongings into a suitcase, they were off. The pair ascended a grand bifurcated staircase carved from illustrious marble that glittered with flecks of inlaid gold. A pair of guards opened the doors for them as they passed through, saluting the pair solemnly. Plush Saddle Arabian rugs underhoof muffled their hoofbeats and soaring tapestries of Equestria’s great legends soaked up their hushed conversation. The silent maw of Canterlot seemed to swallow them whole as they passed through a second door with neatly oiled hinges. The temperature steadily dropped as they meandered through the winding, slightly upward-slanted hall. Lance’s breath froze in vaporous fog with every exhale.

There was one last door at the end of the hallway. Compared to the opulence of its surroundings, it felt starkly utilitarian. A slab of stone and iron choked with rust and crusted with frost. Lance shivered as he stretched out a hoof and pushed it open.

The wind nearly blew him off his legs, and Lance skittered backward and slammed into Frederic, who dug in his hooves and pushed them both forward. This door led outside, onto a bustling outcrop of the palace where balloons and airships docked. Garish personal craft mingled overhead with drab beige military schooners. Guards marched in orderly columns here and there, their sergeants barking out orders to tie down this craft, release this one, heft these cannonballs there, and so on. Pegasi flitted like hummingbirds through the sky, running cables and guiding anchors to their destination. Weather-trained pegasi swarmed around just beyond the veil of buzzing airships, diverting certain winds and breaking up the oncoming fog. Crates, barrels, baskets, and bundles were everywhere, stacked into tidy piles by burly earthponies. Lance peered over the cargo being unloaded from one ship, a slim hulled trow emblazoned with “Whirligig Dancer”. He spied casks of wine, bolts of fine linen, aromatic spices, dried fruits, and whole kegs of tea leaves.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” Lance craned his neck this way and that, trying to take in the whole spectacle at once. “I figured we’d be meeting in Blueblood’s room or something.”

Frederic pointed a hoof through the crowd. Peter and Greg were already waiting beside an airship so ornate it was almost comical. Flowery rococo curves festooned the white-painted wood, contrasted cleanly with gold and silver trimmings. The balloon of the ship billowed in a more luxurious way than those around it; sewn from silk rather than canvas. Blueblood’s compass rose cutie mark was embroidered into the fabric, making it obvious who owned it. As he and Frederic approached, Lance saw the ship’s name carved in flowing cursive script.

Volonté de Celestia.

Lance adjusted his duffle bag as he waved to Peter and Greg. “Hey! You guys made it!”

“Wouldn't miss it for the world, my guy,” Greg said as he reclined against a pair of beat-up cardboard boxes. “Peter’s been freaking out for the last two hours. Offered him a little puff but he said nah.”

“I'm just trying to make sure I have everything I need!” Peter paced in front of his luggage. “My guitar is in the hard case there, clothes are in the bag here, snacks and soda in this tote, winter clothes in this one…”

“Peter you're such a mare!” Lance exclaimed, slapping his duffle bag. “I got everything I need right here!”

“Not to judge, but it does look like a lot.” Frederic snickered.

“I just wanna be prepared!” Peter whined. “Remember how when we went skiing we got caught in an avalanche? If we had a shovel then…”

“What, were you gonna go down the mountain with six bags?” Lance replied with a smirk. “Here, me and Frederic packed light, so we'll help you carry your stuff.”

Frederic’s magic extended, levitating three pieces of luggage with ease. Peter slung his snack bag over his shoulder and tucked his clothes bag under his foreleg. Lance reached for the last box, hefting it up and hoisting it over his shoulder.

“Lance wait!” Peter cried, rushing to try and straighten out the tilting package. “That one needs to be level when you carry it!”

“Why?” Lance readjusted it roughly, trying to find a comfortable carrying position. Something damp and sticky splattered against his flank. It smelled sugary and familiar somehow. As another glut of the creamy stuff leaked down onto his back, Lance recognized it. “Peter, did you seriously bring an entire box of custard cream pies?!”

“What kind of cheap jokester do you take me for? Of course, it wasn't just custard cream pies! There was itching powder in there too!” Peter called over his shoulder as he bounced up the gangplank.

Lance could feel his skin crawl. It felt like ants scurrying across his spine. Dropping the box, he furiously scratched at his coat with his hooves, growling under his breath. “Son of a bitch, Peter! I'll get you back for-”

As Lance stepped on the crushed, soggy case, a jolt flashed through his body that made him shriek. Every hair on his body stood on end and he could taste the fillings in his teeth.

“I see you found my joy buzzer too!” Peter vanished through the door of the airship, leaving Lance to stagger in after him.

“Oh, we’re so getting him back for this,” Break murmured darkly in the back of Lance’s brain. Something primal and animalistic made Lance agree with him as he scratched and itched his back.

The exterior of the airship had primed Lance and his friends for an equally ostentatious interior, yet what they found within was far more modest. Polished wooden floors, burgundy leather seating, and a large table of wrought iron and oak with a world map pinned to its surface. The walls were covered with bookshelves, wine racks, and a small kitchenette set against the craft's rear. It was luxurious, yes, but subdued and quiet. Lance couldn’t help but feel reminded of his home in the Ponyville library.

“Dude, check it out!” Greg pointed to a wooden sign that hung over a doorway. Smoking Room. “They’ve got a whole room for this shit? And you were gonna leave me behind!”

“It’s a nice place,” Frederic said as he slipped comfortably into a seat at the table. “A little more down to earth than I expected for him.”

“For who?” Peter said as he plopped down in a revolving chair, spinning it around as he waited.

“Well, I’m glad to see you all made it.” Prince Blueblood appeared at the top of a flight of stairs, dressed in a white suit jacket and red tie. Lance noted that he'd changed clothes since that morning, and also seemed to have gotten a manicure. Unless his hooves were just naturally that shiny. He descended the steps, horn aglow, as he retracted the gangplank and slammed the airship’s door shut. “I was expecting more than four, but traveling light is probably wise.”

“Now Lance!” Break erupted in his mind. “Deck his stupid ass!”

“Break! Leave him alone!” Dawn echoed. “We can’t solve all our problems with violence!”

"Yes, we can! Choose violence, Lance! Do it!"

Peter’s expression was one of pure rage. He looked like he had seen a shambling corpse. His breath grew shallow and rapid. His hooves dug into the armrests of his seat so hard that the leather squealed. “You…”

Blueblood paid him no mind as he stood at the head of the table, his eyes coming to rest on Lance. “Celestia’s mane! You're tracking dirt all over the floors! And is that…” He sniffed, wrinkling his snout. “Ugh, custard? You'll get the wood all sticky!”

“YOU!” Peter thrust an accusatory hoof across the table. “You're that jerk who snubbed Rarity!”

“I have no idea who that is,” Blueblood replied drolly. His eyes were still locked on Lance as he attempted to shoo him off. “Now, before you sit anywhere or touch anything or god forbid get cream on something important, there's a bathroom just past the smoking room with a shower. There are three different conditioners and seven coat cleaners which you should apply in this order for maximum effect. First, rub your coat with the sandalwood wash to-”

“You insulted my wife, you son of a bitch!” Peter slammed both of his hooves on the table so hard they made the wine bottles clang in their racks.

The atmosphere in the room chilled noticeably. Even Greg stood still where he was, eyes shifting between the two ponies.

“Oh no. Lance, you forgot Peter might have a history with the prince!” Dawn’s voice shuddered. “You really ought to have seen this coming.”

“Why didn't either of you warn me?!” Lance responded in a panic.

“We're just parts of your mind after all. If you forgot, so did we.”

Blueblood merely rolled his eyes. “You're delusional.”

“What did you call me?!” Peter shouted, his nostrils flaring.

“I've never met your wife. I've never met you. I don't spend time in Ponyville mingling with a bunch of ill-bred mongrels.”

“You met her at the Grand Galloping Gala!”

“Darling, I meet thousands of ponies at the Gala. Whoever she was, she-”

“She's my wife, you asshole!” Peter snarled as he launched himself across the table with a flap of his wings. He threw a punch that the Prince easily sidestepped, but the follow-up managed to crack Blueblood on the cheek.

Blueblood staggered, bringing a hoof up to his bruised cheek in disbelief. He worked his jaw and narrowed his eyes. As Peter pulled back for another haymaker, Blueblood kicked the table and shoved it out from under him. Peter collapsed in a heap but was on his hooves a second later. Just in time for Blueblood to drag the table back with his magic, slamming it into Peter’s spine. Peter yelped, but renewed his assault, swinging wildly as Blueblood sidestepped.

“Whoa! Whoa! Easy there!” Frederic threw himself between them, wings outstretched. “Why don't we all just calm down a little and-”

Peter tried to vault over Frederic, only for Lance to catch his back hooves and drag him down. It took both of them to restrain Peter’s rage as he thrashed and kicked and cursed Blueblood’s name. Greg rushed into the melee, used his magic to pry open Peter's mouth, and stuffed something bright green inside.

“Dude! Chill!’ Greg said as Peter attempted to headbutt him. He threw the Pegasus into a headlock to hold him still. “C'mon man, nice and easy. Just chew and swallow. Chew and swallow.”

Peter swallowed and within a moment he seemed to lose the will to fight. He sank to the floor with a frustrated huff and lay there, staring blankly at the ceiling.

“Greg, what the hell did you do to him?” Lance said, hastily checking to make sure Peter was still breathing.

Greg shrugged. “Weed gummy. It'll wear off in a few hours. He'll be fine.”

“Real sorry about that,” Frederic said sheepishly. “We’ll talk to him, see if we can get him to come around on you.”

“Later,” Blueblood replied, brushing the dust from his jacket and gently rubbing his cheek. “I’d like to get on the way as soon as possible, so introductions can wait. Follow me.” He gestured for them to follow him back up the stairway he had emerged from.

They stepped out into the guts of the machine. Pipes lined the walls, valves sputtered and spit, and a large furnace at the center of the room crackled with a controlled burn. Blueblood approached the central gas shaft and tugged a lever, sending hot air shooting skyward to fill out the balloon.

“I need somepony to release the anchor.” He gestured to a large crank on the other side of the craft. “Reel that in.”

Frederic quickly crossed to it and started to turn the crank. As he did, their craft lurched to one side, slowly lifting from the ground.

“We’re listing. Lance, hit the stabilizing fins.” Blueblood pointed a hoof to a pair of valves at the back. “Set them both to fifty percent.”

“Got it!” As Lance twisted the heavy metal screws, he could feel the craft starting to level out.

Blueblood stepped up to the captain’s wheel, gripped it with his magic, and turned it in a slow circle. They twisted as they ascended, rising through the air and weaving through a cloud of oncoming pegasi. “Bring the gas down to forty percent!”

Greg happened to push down on the right lever, slowing down their ascent until they hovered in place. The Prince grabbed a throttle that dangled from the ceiling and thrust it forward with full force. The engines roared to life and the Volonté de Celestia lurched forward like a staggering drunk. The craft rocked a few times as the wind buffeted her, sending Lance rolling across the metal floor as everything listed beneath his hooves. Frederic and Blueblood both held on tight to the machinery as the airship gained speed, while Greg seemed not to notice the constantly shifting floor. Once they had cleared Canterlot Palace and were soaring just below the cottony clouds, Blueblood charted a course and locked the wheel in place. He produced a compass from his pocket and double-checked to ensure they were heading in the right direction, made a minute adjustment, and breathed a sigh of relief.

“Well, with the course set, I suppose we’re all overdue for an introduction.” He straightened himself and tossed his mane regally. “Prince Vladimir Blueblood, as I’m sure you already know.”

“You already know me. Lance Greenfield.” Lance nodded.

“Frederic Bourdages.” Frederic bowed politely. “At your service.”

Greg stared at the prince with a blank expression. “Dude your name is Vladimir? Isn’t he like… Some kinda dictator or something?”

“Greg, just tell him your name!” Lance said, rubbing his temples with his hooves.

“Oh shit, yeah. Greg Campell.” Greg pumped a hoof in the prince’s general direction. “I’ll be in the smoking room if anypony needs me.” He vanished down the stairs with a clatter.

“And uh, that’s Peter downstairs.” Frederic managed an uneasy smile. “Sorry again about that.”

“It's no trouble. This isn’t the first time I’ve been punched in the face by a subject. It’s why I never leave home without a bit of makeup to cover up any bruises.” Blueblood followed Greg down the stairs and the others shadowed him. “Your chambers are in this room to the right, if you want to settle in. The galley is right here, and dinner will be served in about an hour and a half.”

He stepped over the still hazy-looking Peter and pointed to the Smoking Room. “Your friend has already taken up residence in the Smoking room. The hall to that branches off to the bathroom, which is fully stocked for your cosmetic needs.” He stopped himself, looking both Lance and Frederic over with a disdainful frown. “Not that you’ll be making use of that, it would seem.”

Blueblood paused as he spied Lance’s still creamy coat. “And Celestia and Luna both, Lance, go shower!”

Lance glanced at his still-sticky back and frowned. He sheepishly slunk off in the direction of the bathroom Blueblood had indicated earlier to wash up. As he slipped into the cramped, spartan space of the bathroom, he was able to hear Greg shouting from the Smoking Room.

“Yo! Holy shit! Nopony told me this thing had a pool table!”

*****

Dinner was served promptly at six, just as Blueblood had stated. After all, he prided himself on punctuality, and his cooking skills weren’t far behind. It wasn’t exactly fine dining, but it was hard to ruin pan-seared oats and peppers with a white wine reduction sauce. As he ate, he surveyed his crew. They weren’t much. Having an alicorn on your side was always good, as was somepony who prided themselves on their skill with a forge. But beyond the obvious benefits of Frederic, Blueblood saw very little to set his mind at ease. Lance was nice enough, though he acted on impulse and lacked tact. Peter despised him and likely wouldn’t listen to any of his orders, even if they’d save his life. And Greg was…

Blueblood watched as the green unicorn stuffed one of his queer-smelling cigarettes in his nostril and inhaled sharply. “Dude, check it out. I can smoke and crush my munchies at the same time! Ha!”

This was hopeless. He had a cohort of ponies who had scarcely left Equestria and had no experience with diplomacy. Already he was staring at the map and trying to plot out the opening moves of the almost certain war. Shining Armor had assured him that the Royal Guard could slow any advance through the mountains, and he had shuffled the 101st Shield Division along the northern border. Blueblood could only hope it was enough.

Pushing his empty plate away, Blueblood tapped a hoof on the table and exhaled. “I suppose I should give you all an idea of what our mission is. The Gryphon kingdom of Kleinkrieg has declared that unless something is done to dissuade them, then they will cross the mountains and declare an open war against Equestria. Obviously, that would be bad for us. Now, who here has experience with Gryphons?”

Much to Blueblood’s shock, all four of the bronies raised their hooves.

“We’ve got experience, but it wasn’t exactly a good one,” Frederic said darkly. “My father decided he hadn't hurt me enough in our world, so he came to Equestria and took the form of a Gryphon. He nearly killed us all before we managed to take him down.” He swallowed and shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t really like talking about him. I spent most of my human life trying to get away from him, and the idea that he followed me into Equestria because he couldn’t let me go…”

His voice trailed off and Blueblood levitated a bottle of wine across the table to refill Frederic’s glass. He clearly needed it.

“Terribly sorry to hear that.” The Prince managed a touch of genuine concern. “Does anypony here have experience with Gryphons other than that one?”

Their raised hooves fell.

“That’s what I thought. We only have three days until we reach Kleinkrieg, so I won’t be able to brief you on all the intricacies of Gryphon culture, but let me give you a crash course.” Blueblood downed the rest of his wine before continuing. “Gryphons value strength above all. Their myths all center around great warriors blessed by the North Star who conquer their foes with beak and blade. If we want them to take us seriously, then we’ll need to project power of our own.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem for us,” Lance said around a mouthful of peppers. “We’ve been fighting pretty much since we got to Equestria!”

“Yeah, we’ve got one hell of a history!” Peter spread his wings and flexed. “And you’ve seen I’ve also got one hell of a right hook!”

Blueblood chose to ignore that particular jab. “They want power without vulgarity. Just strolling around throwing punches will do nothing but get you arrested. To a Gryphon, the best power is one that you don’t need to draw attention to. It’s the difference between swinging a sword around at a tavern and stopping a fight by showing that you have a sword. Is this making sense?”

Everypony at the table nodded.

“If everything goes according to plan, we’ll project power, diffuse the situation with a few well-timed negotiations, and they’ll call off their war before it even begins.”

“And what if things go wrong?” Lance raised an eyebrow curiously.

Blueblood stared down at the table. “Then they declare war and likely revoke our diplomatic immunity. We’ll be stuck behind enemy lines with targets on our back.”

“So we’ll have to fight our way out?”

“We won’t make it out,” Blueblood said with deathly certainty. “Kleinskrieg is no backwater villa. It’s a metropolis. Millions of citizens and hundreds of thousands of soldiers. We’ll be outnumbered ten thousand to one.”

“You mean five?” Frederic chimed in as he swallowed the last of his wine.

“Ten thousand to…” Blueblood’s eyes fell on Greg, who was leaning back in his chair lazily blowing fetid-smelling smoke rings. “Four. Still, terrible odds to be faced with. We would be shot to bits before we could flee, and if they don’t kill us they’ll hold us hostage for leverage with Equestria.”

“So what you’re saying is,” Frederic swallowed hard. “We can’t fail.”

“Exactly. I wanted to make you all aware of the stakes we’re facing. It would be uncouth of me to lead you into this without letting you know how much rests on our mission.”

“I wish you would’ve told us before we were loaded onto an airship and on our way,” Peter said as he picked at the last of his food. Sighing, he pushed his fork and plate aside and rose without another word. He stalked out of the room with a sour expression. Blueblood too rose from his chair, finished with his meal. What he wanted now was some peace and quiet to try and prepare.

“Yo Lance!” Greg said as he tipped his chair back, slamming onto the floor and rolling over onto his belly. “You wanna try and play me in pool? I’ve been practicing my trick shots since last Nightmare Night!”

“Hell yes!” Lance leapt from his seat so fast that the chair rattled. “Dude, I’m gonna whoop your flank!”

The two of them exited the room with a flurry of arguments about whose flank was getting kicked and how hard. As Blueblood turned towards his quarters, he found Frederic blocking his path.

“Hey uh,” The alicorn scratched his mane and flashed a friendly smile. “I don’t really know how to put this, so I guess I’ll just say it outright. You should talk to Peter.”

“The one who tried to kill me?”

“I don’t think he really meant it.”

“He seemed pretty intent on it an hour ago.”

Frederic shook his head. “I think he’s just sore about how you treated his wife.”

“I told you, I never met-”

“I know, I know.” He held up his hooves pleadingly. “It doesn’t matter whether you did or didn’t, he just wants some sort of apology. You don’t have to do it directly! But just… Y’know. Talk with him! Try and set things right! We’re all on the same side here, right? We can't be fighting with each other when we need to have each other's back!”

Blueblood withered him with a scouring snarl, yet deep down he knew that Frederic was right. That was what made him so angry. Equestria itself was hanging in the balance. He couldn’t afford to have a company too busy fighting each other when they had a common enemy. It would hurt, but he had to do it. Blueblood stopped by the kitchen to grab a pair of chocolate cake slices from the kitchen fridge as he made his way through the craft. He had a feeling he knew where Peter would be.

He crossed through the smoking room, where Greg was currently trying to aim the pool cue between his legs, and passed beyond it to a ribbed metal door at the rear of the craft. He spun the wheel lock, which opened with a satisfying clack. Cool air rushed through it and buffeted his mane as he stepped outside. There was a small balcony with a pair of iron lattice chairs at the very end of the airship. Sure enough, Peter was seated in one of the chairs, watching the sun sink below the clouds as he tuned his guitar. He said nothing as Blueblood approached and in turn, Blueblood said nothing as he took a seat beside him.

He set both plates down and gazed out on the horizon. The clouds churned silently as the craft glided across them like an ocean of cotton. A scarlet sun stared at them like a half-lidded eye as it hovered just above the edge of tomorrow, painting their world in gilded pinks and inky shadows. Peter strummed a few chords on his guitar, sighed, and twisted the tuning knobs again. The quietude between them was stiff and heavy, like a leaded pane of glass. Blueblood folded his hooves in his lap and tried to think of something to say.

“I understand you’re not thrilled at the prospect of us working together.” He began, trying to tread on inoffensive ground. “And that’s understandable.”

Peter didn’t reply. His hair drooped over his eyes as he stared down at his guitar with resentment simmering beneath his skin. Blueblood shifted uncomfortably. He took a deep breath and reminded himself that Equestria hung in the crosshairs. Celestia save him from what he was about to do.

“Not many in Equestria are excited about working with me.” Blueblood exhaled slowly, his eyes drifting into the distance to avoid eye contact with Peter. “Honestly, I’d wager nopony is. I’m not exactly popular among Canterlot circles, and I’ve spit enough bile about Ponyville, Manehattan, and Appleoosa for my name to be poison there too. So I get it. Working with me is a burden. A test of patience.”

“You got that right,” Peter said darkly, brooding over his instrument.

“You punched me, and I probably deserved it.” He had to fight himself to say the words, damn near speaking them through clenched teeth. “It isn’t the first time somepony has hit me for something I’ve said.”

“So why say it?” Peter finally glanced in his direction, even if it was just a side-eye. “The ball is in your court, Blueblood. If you want to be liked, then start acting likable.”

The Prince couldn’t meet his gaze. “Because the second I become likable, I become weak. It’s a chink in my armor. A vulnerability that I cannot tolerate.”

Peter found the tuning on his guitar and stroked the strings, eliciting a few somber notes. “That’s part of life, isn’t it? You have to be vulnerable to love someone. I know I had to knock myself down a few pegs for Rarity’s sake.” The pegasus paused, his hooves frozen in place on his instrument. “You’ve loved someone, haven’t you?”

The wind whispered through the hollow silence in the wake of that question.

“Peter,” Blueblood’s voice was disquietingly meek. “I couldn’t do that to somepony. Not to anypony.”

“You couldn’t love them?”

“I couldn’t let them love me.” He stood and strode to the railing, his every muscle wound taut. “I’m a prince of Equestria. I speak and the sun and moon listen. It’s a great power, but it comes at a cost. Equestria has to be first and foremost in my every decision. I cannot get close to anypony, because at any moment I might be asked to choose between them and Equestria.” He glanced over his shoulder, his face shaded against the setting sun. “Would you be willing to sacrifice Rarity if it meant saving Equestria?”

“I…” Peter struck a shrill, sour note. He screwed up his face in thought. “I wouldn’t. I couldn’t hurt her! She’s the world to me, Blueblood.”

“Nopony should have to make that choice. Not you, not me, not anypony.” The prince said solemnly. “I don’t even know if I’m strong enough to make it myself. That’s why I have to stay detached. That’s why I can’t be vulnerable.”

“I mean, it's pretty vulnerable of you to tell me about it,” Peter said with a ghost of a smile.

"I suppose it is." Blueblood slumped his shoulders glumly. "This is a side of myself that I'm not terribly comfortable showing. I'd appreciate it if this conversation stayed between us."

Peter sealed his lips with a hook and pantomimed throwing away the key. "You got it. I'm glad you can show this side to somepony, even if it's just me."

Blueblood nodded tepidly, rapping his hoof on the metal railing. “As unfortunate as the situation is, I have to trust you bronies. I just hope that next time you’re throwing a right hook, it’s aimed at a gryphon’s beak rather than my snout.”

Peter chuckled, brushing his bangs off to one side. “Cross my heart and hope to fly.”

“You’re a pegasus, Peter. You can fly.”

“Oh. Yeah, you’re right.” He laughed again, setting his guitar to one side as he picked up the chocolate cake the Prince had gifted him. Blueblood returned to his seat looking like he had seen combat. He grabbed his own plate and stared down at the pastry with a long, exhausted exhale. Peter held up his fork and extended it towards his former rival. “Truce?”

“Truce.” Blueblood’s utensil clinked against his and the two shared a dessert in peace. They were entering that time of day that was neither night nor morning. Where the stars shone in the ultraviolet between bands of cloud that burned with dying sunlight. A time when the world was hushed by the stark awe of the universe and where the sun, moon, and north star shared the heavens.

Unfortunately, the silence was broken by the shattering of glass and the opening of the steel door to the balcony.

“Blueblood! We gotta stop the ship!” Lance panted as he sprinted out onto the terrace.

“What did you break?”

“He’s lying! Whatever he says, he’s lying!” Greg emerged in a cloud of acidic smog. “He shot the cue ball straight through the window!”

“Greg broke the window 'cause he was using magic to curve his shots! He was cheating!”

Blueblood sighed as he took a bite of his cake. The peace was nice while it lasted.

Comments

[Ciphers]

“It's no trouble. This isn’t the first time I’ve been punched in the face by a subject. It’s why I never leave home without a bit of makeup to cover up any bruises.” Blueblood followed Greg down the stairs and the others shadowed him. “Your chambers are in this room to the right, if you want to settle in. The galley is right here, and dinner will be served in about an hour and a half.”

no wonder why he's so good at fighting

[DatGuy1st]

Tbh with Blueblood's title as Prince
How many gold diggers have he met?