XVII. Upper Case
XVII.
Upper Case
ICC Permanent Premises
Garage Level
21. November, 2015
8:25 am MET
The lights flickered.
Like reversed lightning, the bright white shine beaming down on the dull cement floor was interrupted by brief but harsh flashes of darkness, accompanied by subtle glassy jangles.
Estermann the lawyer shuddered in the petrol-tinged air. It was stuffy, yet cold. He would have expected the freshly finished building to have a bit less trouble with things like electricity and ventilation.
Something was not quite smiles and sunshine around here.
“The... the-the-the-the defence of... Her Royal Highness’ defence will be mounted... Mounted? What the hell?”
He gulped, and cleared his throat again. “The defence will be represented through... the Queen will be represented through... herself... among others... and...”
He gave his worn, bleary-eyed mirror image a disappointed glare and went back to straightening his cravat some more. “It's two sentences. Two fucking sentences. Das kann doch nicht so schwer sein, ich bin doch nicht auf den Kopf gefallen!”
At that point, he was literally saved by the bell. A tiny, soft-tinged ring of the lift descending right in front of the lawyer's face, wiping away his reflection.
“Was ist denn jetzt?”
Weary, he turned away from the glass wall that outlined the outside of the lift shaft. Its doors opened just as he stepped in front of them, and the first thing that received him there was one short, fat arm holding a mobile phone in his face.
Stumbling backwards, the lawyer saw Filippo Garibaldi, his Italian aide-de-camp hurrying out of the elevator, grasping his phone like others would hold a pair of burning underpants – as far away from himself as possible.
“Goodmorningmisterestermanntheofficphonelinetwohasacallforyou!”
“What?”
Again, Garibaldi just breathlessly tried to stick his phone halfway in the counsel's ear.
“Uh... Hello? Hello, head defence counsel speaking?”
But his ear regretted it more or less instantly.
“What are you doing, you idiot?!”
Recoiling, the lawyer could discern an agitated, bellowing voice of his changeling client.
“Your Highness...”
“Where are you?! I can hear your voice! Show yourself!”
“I'm at the court. Where... are you?”
”In the corridor outside my quarters.”
“And... why are you screaming?” he asked among nervous gulps.
“Because those grunts are trying to drag me somewhere by my chains and trying to force my face into a mask...”She audibly turned away from the speaker, “What do you mean it's not a mask?! What is it then? A hat?!”
“Your Highness... you did get my message, didn't you?”
There was an apprehensive pause at the other end. “What message?”
Estermann held back his onsetting sweat with a cramped hand on the forehead. “The one that said that you're supposed to appear in court today...”
He could already hear worried mumbles emitted by Garibaldi.
The Queen stayed silent for a few seconds more. “That's today?”
“That's today.”
After a few more agonizing seconds, the call was interrupted by the short, loud sound of the muzzle being violently thrust against the wall. Evidently, the changeling monarch had just barely worked out the logic behind phones, though not that behind closing calls.
As Estermann returned the phone to Garibaldi, the Italian caught some of his breath and inquired, “...Well?”
“Her Royal Highness is on her way now. Which means she'll be here...”
Almost simultaneously, the two jurists checked their watches.
“Fifteen to nine. Well in time.”
Garibaldi nodded, before clasping his sides and pacing the garage in an attempt to regain some stamina.
“Good God, where have you come from that you're so out of breath?” Estermann asked rhetorically.
“Fifth floor. I was still in our offices when the call came through. Heavens, she scared the living daylights out of me.” He swept the sweat out of his dark hair. “She has... a Contralto on her, she almost shattered my eardrums.”
“So... good morning to you too...” Estermann greeted him dryly. “I was actually half-expecting Heartstrings to come down here with some news...”
“I know, right?” Garibaldi shrugged. “She couldn't do enough for you...”
“Where is she?”
“I haven't seen her all morning.”
That was the first time that Lyra was, in any shape or form, unavailable to Estermann. And she chose to be on this day, of all days?
“That's concerning...”
“Not really. If there is any day we don't need her... services, it's today. You know, unless her appearance is mandated in the courtroom.”
He sounded rather scornful at the topic of the mint-green unicorn. “Which it isn't.”
“I suppose not. The initial appearance hearing is still just the initial appearance hearing...” he chanted. Finally unfumbling his hands from the frilly white cloth hanging off his short collar, the defence counsel glanced around the garage stairwell searchingly. “Have you seen my robe?”
Startled, the Italian looked down at his own pudgy form – his tremendous stomach was already hidden under his own perfectly black silky court gown.
“I… I saw one hanging on the hand railing in the lift not a minute ago... Should I get it for you?”
Before nodding, Estermann huffed an unenthusiastic huff and drove his hands through his hair.
“Damn it all, I'm in no mood for a hearing today...”
His aide shrugged with levity. “Why not? If all goes well, we can be out of there by half past nine.”
“Then why do I still have such a rotten feeling about this?”
“Sleep deprivation?” the Italian guessed, scanning his grey, sagging eyelids. “I mean, no offence, Mr. Estermann. Can I perhaps step into Lyra Heartstring's horseshoes and lend you a hand?”
“Thanks,” Estermann sighed, begrudgingly appreciating his aide-de-camp's attempts to be useful. “I still got two of my own.”
“They're shaking.”
The lawyer just absent-mindedly wrapped a handkerchief around his trembling fingers before hiding them away in the pockets of his suit trousers.
“It's my sixth trial... my sixth appearance hearing... but somehow, that still doesn't make it any easier.”
He checked and straightened out his cuffs. “Though, I suppose... I do have a nifty point to make today. Relatively minor, purely formal, but... for a first hearing, I think it packs enough punch. To kick-start the trial into the right direction.”
“Then you're already doing better than me.” Woefully, the Italian unfurled his other hand, revealing a chipped pair of reading spectacles fitted in a spotty brown frame. “Look at this. It's my fourth trial, and I think I managed to step on my one-hundred-Euro glasses on the way down.”
“Well... I did not know you needed glasses, Garibaldi.” The defence counsel, who had gone back to straightening his cravat against his mirror image, glanced over at his colleague and his petty problems. “They look alright.”
Garibaldi seemed mildly hurt by the nonchalance, but with a stiff upper lip, he held the spectacles up to his own nose probingly and peered through. “Cazzo. The glass is completely scratched.” he moaned. “I can't even see you.”
The defence counsel just rolled his eyes. “Now what?”
Hopefully, the attorney glanced up at the ceiling. “I think I have a second pair inside my raincoat. But they're not custom-tailored.” he added, putting a tad too much emphasis on the last part.
“Then what will you do with those now? Try selling them to the idiot who doesn't need them?”
“Like who?”
He smiled tiredly. “...Lyra? She can't even read the Latin alphabet. None of the Equestrians here can.”
“Hm...” A pony wearing the Italian's reading frames… That thought caught Estermann off-guard for a moment. “How would that look?” he sniggered.
Garibaldi produced a smarmy grin. “Smart?”
Stroking his chin in thought, Estermann silently agreed.
Then he backpedaled.
Then he had another thought.
And then he silently agreed some more.
“Garibaldi...”
“ Mr. Estermann?”
“I want those glasses. How much do you want for them?”
At this point, Garibaldi could follow him as little as the unicorn. “Scusi?”
Estermann stuck a hand into his pocket and retrieved his wallet. “Yes. How much?”
“Ehm, I...” Unsure, he dully scratched his scalp. “Do you need any?”
“Nope. I'm twenty-twenty. Speaking of which, will this be enough?” He produced twenty Euros.
“But they're scratched.”
“I know.”
“Oh, do you... want to repair them?”
Resolutely, Estermann waded the bill over his fingers. “Consider them beyond repair. Come now. Hand them over, Garibaldi.”
Under the - now unbespectacled - eyes of his increasingly irritated aide, Estermann marched up and down the garage ramp, which led out into a crisp Dutch morning, wet and cold and lit by a blood-red sun.
Save for a few security guards anxiously waiting in the wings, there were only some odd defence staffers gathering by the elevators, in expectation of their client.
But even so, the place was alive with sounds. The unforgiving oceanic wind howled through the garage's windowless holes, and brought with it the distant chanting and yelling of the protestors still persevering outside the premises. Only after some seconds were these voices drowned out by the wailing of sirens and roaring of motors, which continuously became louder as it moved closer.
“Alright. I've got the porter on the phone,” Garibaldi announced, straining his short neck as he tried to get a glance beyond the car park's pillars. “He says the Queen's convoy just passed the gate.”
With almost unprecedented speed, four vehicles rushed down the ramp with flashing lights and wetly squealing wheels. Two police motorcycles led a rather heavily armoured bus, which in return was tailed by a squad car, to a halt near the elevator passage, directly in front of Estermann and his assembled colleagues.
The bus, marked with the seal and the name of the Dutch ministry of justice, unlocked its doors. Immediately, half a dozen gendarmes stepped into formation in front of them. The inevitable tranquiliser rifles were raised.
Then she was led out.
A curious gasp went through the rest of the staffers, of whom none had evidently laid eyes on the changeling in person. Her equine snout was covered by the sturdy metallic mesh of her dog muzzle.
Despite this, Estermann thought that something seemed a little off – or at least more off than usual. Her hair and her eyes hung equally lifelessly from her face, and she seemed generally drowsy and uncoordinated, swinging from one foot to another, almost hanging by the chains that led her out.
She focused on the lawyer as he stepped up to her and gave her a short greeting bow. “How are you?”
“I fink I cannof breaf.” she croaked back, before covering her mouth-hole with the side of her left forehoof.
Concerned, the lawyer turned to the helmeted motorcade leader.
“You didn't strap it too tight, did you?”
He just shook his head, before waving his hands over both his ears.
“No no, she scared.” he explained, in bare-bones English. Then, with a couple masterful movements, he relieved the changeling of her mask.
“The hay I am!” she snapped at him, among deep breaths, as soon as the grid was gone, “They force me into that mask before stuffing me into that metal crate on wheels, which then starts shaking and wheeling around like a millstone! And then somepony starts banging all over the outside walls. It nearly drove me nuts.”
“Aha,” the policeman agreed. “De Demonstranten.”
“It's alright,” Estermann soothed her as he led her away, “I suppose automobiles... and protesters... and muzzles... take time getting used to.”
They walked past the still-gawking staffers. “Should I introduce you to your defence team, your Highness?”
The queen didn’t even grace them with a side glance, and shuffled on to the lift doors as gracefully and importantly as was physically possible. “I don't think so. Just let us get this over with, worm...”
Wordlessly, he summoned their elevator with the push of a button.
“The Queen and I will get this one,” he informed his staff as it arrived on their level. “You go get the next!”
The monarch slid in and pulled her chains along without a comment. The container was barely big enough to hold the two of them; both had to lean against the adjacent glass pane walls to get a halfway comfortable ride.
“So... how are you feeling?” he made sure.
“Queasy.”
“So am I. It's normal. The world's eyes will be upon you today.”
“Upon us...”
“But mostly upon you; please, please try not to antagonise anyone.”
“But I thought this was a court.” she mumbled, unimpressed, looking out into the speeding Dutch dunes and forests outside the windows. “I thought 'antagonising' was the name of the game.”
“All you have to do today is answer every question the judges give you; briefly, neutrally, and honestly. There won't be any tough questions. Just basic ones.”
“How long will they be going at it?”
“If we can keep it simple... thirty, forty minutes, maybe?”
She chewed those words over rather aggressively. “You... you had me carted all the way here for some half-hour meet’n’greet?”
He sighed. “Do you remember the television set the other day?”
“Yes?”
“You will be on that screen today. They brought in the cameras especially because of you. It’s not at all typical for pre-trial, but evidently, the ponies want to gloat at your misery, in realtime, from beginning to end. And this time, nothing will be make-believe.”
“Ah,” she conceded, her eyes widening just a bit, “Not exaggerating about the eyes of the world after all, huh?”
“No...” He started up. “Which… reminds me...”
Reaching into his robe, he retrieved a pair of brown reading glasses. “If it's all the same to you, I will need you to wear these.”
She stared down at his palm, not understanding the situation.
“These, your Highness, are glasses.”
“I know what those bucking are.” she snapped. “I just don't need them. Because I can see perfectly.”
He raised them to her muzzle. “Just let me try them on you.”
“Why?!”
“Well, how should I put this?” Carefully, he steered the earguards past her bulbous, insectoid eyes. “In America, they have a saying; 'Never punch a guy with glasses.’ People tend to have a much mellower approach toward eyeglass wearers than to others. It makes people look... innocent, but intelligent at the same time.”
“That's the stupidest thing I have ever heard...” she sighed, “Why should impaired vision evoke any sort of sympath- ow!”
Estermann pulled the glasses back immediately.
He hadn't even noticed that he had grazed the regent's left eyeball with one of its arms.
“Oh God, I'm terribly sorry!”
“Just...” she hissed, almost curling her eye into her head as she held up a silencing hoof.
“Apologies. Now, more importantly, the glasses are quite a status symbol in these parts. The symbol of leaders. Of royalty, even.”
“Nonsense.”
“I'm not joking. I'll bet you a hundred Euro that there isn’t a single king or queen in the human lands that doesn't sport one of these.”
Once she had blinked her eye back to health sufficiently, she rolled it in annoyance.
“Well, evidently I won't be going anywhere with those because they're made for a head half my size. Are they yours?”
“No. Just a colleague's.”
Damn. She was right.
Estermann winced as he browsed through the possible solutions of their conundrum. He decided to take the easiest and bluntest one.
With both hands, he gripped the glasses tightly and bent them slowly outward. He only stopped when he sensed a slight crack forming in the high-grade plastic.
“Forgive me, Garibaldi!”
With the reading aid sufficiently deformed, he went for a second try, placing the glasses on the nervously flinching changeling's head as though he was accessorising a giant horse figurine.
“I can't see a thing.”
“You don't need to. It's not like you can read any of the stuff I showed you.”
“Also, I look ridiculous.”
“I thought you can't see a thing.”
The lift shuddered. The doors opened to a brightly illuminated atrium. Already received by a trio of hawkish bailiffs in dark blue, short-sleeved shirts and trousers, the monarch and the the defence counsel were quickly ushered out of the glass cage and through a number of conveniently cleared corridors, through the equally abandoned defence lobby and, through a set of open double doors, into a large hearing room.
Glass walls abounded, leading up to tall white ceilings brandishing dozens of lanterns and spotlights dropping down above brightly lit strategic positions in the room. Rows of tables, each tightly stacking computers, microphones, folders and glasses of water next to each other, were turned towards a number of subtly raised platforms leading up to the thickest, heaviest desks of them all – the judge's bench.
Between the chairs and computer monitors and camera tripods and blue-white ICC flags, court workers tussled about. Ushers, stenographers, even a paramedic team had secured themselves a seat for the proceedings. Security was, unsurprisingly, through the roof, with officers posted in every corner, one hand always hovering over their sidearm, the other over the chemical mace.
Chrysalis was directed behind a desk on the left side. Instead of a chair like at the desks left and right of her, she had been obliged with a thick pillow on the floor, next to a metal bolt sticking out of the marble tiles to accommodate her chains.
As Estermann took a seat next to her, he managed to catch a glimpse of the sizeable public gallery, which was separate from the actual courtroom by an enormous panorama glass pane and a grey Venetian blind that reached all the way up to the ceiling, to be opened only at the start of the proceedings.
Next to them were the much smaller translating booths, with big tags glued to the insides of their narrow windows. 'English', 'Francais' and one that seemed to exist of strange, entirely unintelligible letters. He just freely assumed it was supposed to spell 'Equestrian'.
Raising his head slightly, he found himself looking straight into the lens of the dreaded camera. This was the angle from which the whole known world was seeing him at that very moment. God, he hoped the two of them were at least halfway good-looking.
“Nervous?” the queen ultimately inquired, a somewhat complacent smile painting her face as she got a fascinated look around.
“Me? Woher denn... What made you think that?”
“Well, for one thing, your hands are writhing around like a dying snake.”
The lawyer noticed how he was absent-mindedly toying with a pen lying in front of him. He dropped it that instant.
“Have you... ever heard of the saying 'You don't get a second chance to leave a first impression'?”
“...Actually, I have.” The queen raised a hoof and slapped it against the counsel's shoulder. “Oh, get your chin up. Not even you're this pathetic. Don't you embarrass me in front of everyone.”
“Embarrass you?” he laughed.
It was a nervous laugh, but still more optimistic than the wince that came before it.
After some short minutes of waiting, three sudden strikes of a gavel rang out.
“All rise. Vous éleves.” a court officer announced, partly in mangled French.
The room rose. Estermann more or less jumped.
“The International Criminal Court is now in session. L'audience de la Cour Pénale Internationale est ouvert.”
Through a hidden panel door, three judges entered. First the Ugandan, then the Equestrian, then the Irishman.
Estermann immediately saw what gravity this case had for the ICC – for most other suspects, only one judge would ever turn up for pre-trial. But here they were, all three of them, strutting in, single file.
Whereas Mullan and Suruma were wearing their black-blue court dress, Lexy Fori wore a robe of shimmering crimson over her light green body. She had traded in her semi-formal business collar for an archaic frilly cloth. On her head throned a somewhat medieval purple cap, which she ceremoniously took off as soon as she reached her place.
“One of these things is not like the other...” Estermann heard the queen whisper in his ear.
“Shh...” he quickly replied.
Almost as if the earth pony’s big ears keenly picked up on the banter, Fori immediately retaliated by latching onto the ear of the Ugandan next to her and whispering something particularly conspirative. At that, even her otherwise dull expression sprang to life.
“Ahem, Your Majesty...” Suruma promptly addressed the changeling, “You may be aware it is customary to rise as the justices enter the room.”
Puzzled, Estermann glanced over, only to find the queen on her haunches, defiantly sitting on her pile of chains.
“Why would I do that?” Chrysalis hissed over to him, “I am a queen. If anything, she should rise for me! And I didn't see anypony bothering to get up when I entered the room.”
“Your Highness, please! Do as you're told."
He tried to avoid the six eyes of judgement burning down on him from the panel.
“Mr. Estermann,” came Suruma's voice again. “Is there perhaps a problem?”
“I...” he thoughtlessly improvised, “Yes, her… Madam President, it’s her chains. They cause my client quite some discomfort when forced to move.”
“I see,” she pouted. Despite her empathetic mien, she was obviously aware of what was going on over there. “See to it that it's righted in time for the next hearing, will you, Mr. Estermann?”
‘What a fantastic first impression’, Estermann squirmed.
“Yes, Madam President.”
Magistrate Fori shook her head while trying hard to concentrate on the files before her, while Colm was content getting out a pen and starting to write things down that hadn't been said yet. Suruma, meanwhile, proceeded to address the room.
“Alright. Please be seated, everyone. Good Morning, ladies and gentlemen; fillies and gentlecolts. I also greet the occupants of the gallery and the viewers following the trial all over the world.”
The defence counsel counsel gave the gallery another quick glance. The curtain had opened, and he was surprised to see a number of familiar faces - among them, none other than the now-famous Sparkle siblings.
“As you know, this hearing had originally been set for Tuesday, November 17th, in compliance with the standard seventy-three hour period, but... due to some security issues which I will not delve into further, it has been decided to delay the proceedings until today.”
Again, a ghastly second of time was spent glaring down at the changeling.
“With no time to lose, we shall get on the way immediately. Can the court officer present the case please?”
Said court officer nodded and began, “The situation in the Principality of Equestria. The Prosecutor versus Her Royal Highness, Chrysalis. ICC zero-one stroke fifteen, zero-one stroke fifteen. C.o.H. five.”
“Thank you. Now then, can I ask the parties to introduce themselves, starting with the prosecution?”
Both the Swiss lawyer and the changeling queen observed the South African rise on the other side of the room.
“Thank you, your Honour. The Office of the Prosecutor will be represented today by Mrs. Marigold Harshwhinny, Senior Solicitor To The Victims at the Council of Harmony...”
She pointed out an orange earth pony sitting behind her – a somewhat peeved-looking creature with rings under her large pony eyes, who obviously could stand the notion of herself sitting here today as little as Estermann.
“...Mr. Indigo Beam, cooperation advisor, also from the Council of Harmony...”
A slightly familiar-looking pegasus smiled and nodded, so avidly that his spiky lightning-yellow mane shook all over the place.
“...and lastly, myself: Serafina Pierman, Prosecutor.”
“Thank you, Miss Pierman.”
Then came the defence's turn.
Soothingly patting the changeling on her back, Estermann rose from his seat and began.
“Madam President, Her Highness’ defence will today be represented by...”
He glanced to his left, where his Italian aide-de-camp had sat down some time ago already, “...Mr. Filippo Garibaldi, senior trial lawyer, from the… ehm...”
He did not remember.
“The Supreme Court of Cassation in Rome.” the Italian filled in for him.
The Italian performed a confused double-take towards his client as he realised that she was, in fact, wearing his own pair of spectacles, hopelessly malformed and irreparably ruined.
“Supreme Court of Cassation, precisely.” Estermann meanwhile confirmed and cleared his throat. “As well as myself, Alexander Estermann, duty counsel with regards to the Office of Public Counsel for the Defence.”
“Yes, and as I understand it...” she reiterated, “Her Majesty is relying on you as a court-appointed duty counsel... as she would not supply her own defence?”
He gave the changeling a short inquiring glance before confirming. “That is correct. Her Royal Highness unfortunately found herself in no position to seek legal assistance from her home… region.”
The queen snorted rather loudly.
The justice nodded. “My thanks to the defence.” Then she turned to the registry and the court officers to demand their introductions.
Estermann used the chance to rein in the monarch. “Could you do away with the smartass mouth noises? This isn’t a speaker’s corner, this is a court of law!”
She huffed, quite bored. “What will happen if I don’t?”
“They’ll have you removed!”
“Goody. Maybe I’ll get chance to catch up on some sleep.”
“Yeah. And listen to your own trial from behind closed doors. There are faster ways to jail, you know.”
“My learned friend.” an irked voice interrupted him from high above. “If you are quite finished...”
Submissively, he nodded his head and straightened himself in his seat like a shamefaced schoolboy.
And then, startlingly enough, a second voice decided to join into the fray.
“He does love the sound of his own voice, but I think he is now. You can continue, if you want.”
Multiple shivers ran down the lawyer’s back as he glanced over and confirmed his fears - that was his changeling client.
A wave of bemused whispers went through the room.
With the concentrated disappointment of a stern grandmother, the Ugandan justice cocked her head as she addressed the suspect. “Thank you, your Majesty. But I would appreciate it if you could leave interjections to your attorney.”
“Why in Tartarus do you keep calling me ‘Majesty’?” Chrysalis inquired, completely unfazed.
One of Estermann’s hands probingly hovered over the general vicinity of his chest. He was certain he would suffer a fatal heart attack at any moment.
“Because...“ the judge hesitated, throwing a verifying glance at her files, “This is what you are, isn't it? That's the title that you lay claim to.”
As shocked as Estermann was, the defence counsel didn't realise that, unlike all those previous times Chrysalis came up with a complaint, there was no actual malice in the changeling's buzzing this time. No, not even a hint of irritation. The way she raised her brows at the justice, she seemed to be, at worst, confused but amused.
“But why 'Majesty'?” she asked on.
Suruma evidently took offence, but something inside her aboveboard and orderly personality compelled her to explain herself to the suspect one final time.
“Well, as a Ugandan, I am accustomed to the British etiquette of address. And according to it, you are a ‘Majesty’.“
“I think we both know I‘m not from ‘British’. Don’t we?” the Changeling queried back, quite matter-of-factly, even if obviously out of her element.
The earth pony judge next to Suruma, her already short fuse slowly charring away, decided to join in the conversation and give air to some of her own pent-up annoyance. “Unbelievable. Unbelievable! You are being told to be quiet, and you just don't want to get it. Be quiet, suspect! Quiet!”
The entire courtroom winced at the Equestrian magistrate's outburst. Estermann knew that it was as unexpected as it was inappropriate. Fori wasn't supposed to speak at all during the trial. Suruma was the presiding judge and the sole voice of the panel, not her. At least Chrysalis had the excuse of being the accused; which excuse could Fori possibly have besides being unprofessional?
Estermann slowly but surely overcame his shock stasis, but he didn’t yet manage to catch on. He couldn't see how intently the queen was scanning the judge panel. How she was skimming them as though slowly unfolding books.
Justice Suruma, having aptly assumed the role of the calmer to her out-of-line Equestrian 'bad cop', folded her hands and leaned into the room. “Your Highness... With your pedantic heckles, you are disrespecting this court. You will quiet down now or you will be held in contempt. Do you understand?”
The queen stared into the justice long and hard. Her face looked curiously enlightened.
“I'm... disrespecting this court?”
“Yes, you are.”
A moment of silence passed as the changeling seemed to process the statement, the buzz at the back of her throat building up.
The whole room fell completely still. Everybody watched and gaped. The air sizzled with expectation.
They waited for the teeming monster Chrysalis’ to raise her voice in protest. For her to have one of her sulphureous outbursts – the ones they all had already heard and read so much about.
Everybody knew, of course, what traversed on the airfield the other week – even if the judge wisely went without mentioning it.
In one way or another, officers and spectators alike had been counting down the minutes to the inevitable meltdown of the petty tyrant, and her eventual, if forceful, removal from the courtroom.
Even Estermann braced for the worst. After all, he had witnessed them all too often before. The lawyer almost sank down on his knees and ducked under his desk – not as much out of self-preservation as shame.
However, something managed to drive a spoke in all of their wheels: The meltdown never came.
“Huh...” the changeling merely remarked, before deducing, “Well, the least we want at this point is to withhold respect...”
Then she nudged her non-functioning glasses up straight and leaned back into her haunches.
Another moment of - anticlimactic - silence passed.
But she stayed as calm as a clam, as she just let that awkward moment pass by her with quizzical, darting eyes.
“Very well...”
Even the oh-so pragmatic and collected Suruma looked like a rug had been yanked away from under her feet. “Now, with the introductions out of the way, we must address what is easily the most basic issue of these hearings: language.”
She sniffed and turned the page. “My files tell me that Her Royal Highness is fluent in Equestrian, but in neither of the court's two working languages – English or French. Now, this information is quite obviously false, as you have just addressed me in, as far as I can judge, rather good English.”
The changeling sat still for a few more seconds before she realised she was being addressed directly.
“Ehm... Does that mean I can say something now?”
“Yes, now you have the floor.” Suruma pouted. “Can you quickly confirm to me here and now that you speak English fluently?”
Confused, Chrysalis glanced over to Estermann, who began to nod avidly.
Then came her answer.
“No.”
Suruma blinked. “Excuse me?”
As Estermann sank further and further into self-pity, the changeling only shrugged, blissfully clueless.
“I don't know what that is. I have never heard of it before.”
“But... but you're speaking it at the very moment!” the judge persisted, digging into the bridge of her nose with her fingers, apparently strongly trying to suppress a despairing smirk. “You have at no point been supplied with an interpreter, and even now you haven’t once felt the need to pick up the earphones that would have provided you with the Equestrian live translation.”
Both the regent and her lawyer glanced down at the scrawny human headset that had been laid down on their table. “Is that what this is supposed to be?” she inquired curiously, shoving the plastic barrette around.
On the other side of the room, a member of the prosecution decided to come forward.
“M'lady, perhaps I can make sense of this...” The bored annoyance the voice threw off was not disguised.
“Ah, Missus... Harshwhinny, is it?”
The orange-brown pony rose from her desk and, lifting her shortly-cut mane up with a hoof, gave the changeling across from her a pitying glance.
“The suspect is very obviously under the effects of a powerful magic spell that allows her to speak this 'English' language perfectly.”
That Equestrian's lip movement and emotional range proved to be surprisingly subtle and dry for a pony. “She will most certainly have received the same incantation as every other Equestrian in this room.”
“Magic... ” The judge looked slightly dumbfounded. “Does it require... practice of any kind?”
“Not from her, no.”
“And yet, it can guarantee full proficiency?”
“Of course, M'Lady. Just listen around.” She glanced at the gallery. “I doubt that anypony here – including myself – will have bothered to learn your 'English'.”
She sniffed elegantly. “No offence.”
“None... taken.” Suruma mumbled. “You aren't a professional magician, by any chance?”
Harshwhinny shook her head. “No, I'm a sports arbiter.” she rectified, formal to a tee, and sat back down - before standing up again, and righteously adding, “Under ordinary circumstances, that is.”
Behind her, a subtle wave of laughter passed through the courtroom. It seemed to faze every one in the prosecutor's corner, including Prosecutor Pierman, but not the earth pony.
“Well... you are definitely in good hands with us, then...” the head judge commented with unapologetic sarcasm.
All the while, the queen was sitting and smiling. “What a farce...” she whispered delightedly.
Estermann would have shushed her, but he felt inclined to agree.
Suruma made a little cross on her piece of paper. “Your Highness... Does the fact that you are wearing glasses signify that you can read as well as you can speak?”
The queen peered over to her lawyer once more. He, however hesitantly, signalled her the apparently obvious 'no'.
“I can't read the papers the way you wrote them, no.”
“Why the glasses, then?”
Estermann nearly choked on that question. But Chrysalis, ever-so masterfully, smiled a content smile and explained. “Because, when I look others in the eye... I appreciate seeing something.”
The justice surrendered with a raising of an arm. “Yes, a silly question indeed. Moving on... Your Highness, following Article 60, passage 1 of the Rome Statute and Article 12, 1 passage 1 of the Rules of Procedure and Evidence, the purpose of this hearing will be to positively confirm the identity of the suspect about to stand trial.”
Chrysalis peered around for said suspect.
“...We are talking about you.”
“Oh, I see.”
“Yes... and we need you to identify yourself.”
“Why?”
And the chorus sang a collective groan.
Chrysalis shook her head, as though she was the only sane creature in a crowd of imbeciles.
“It's just that... you've obviously spared no expenses hauling me over seas and mountains and deserts... halfway across your puny... your world… and yet you still somehow have the gall not to believe that I am who you think I am?”
Jeers emerged from somewhere in the prosecution's corner.
“I'd put nothing past her! Nothing! Once a changeling, always a changeling.”
“Silence in the courtroom!” Suruma barked, before turning back to the queen, bearing a forced smile. “It's just protocol. So please... please state your full name, your date of birth, place of birth and so on... so that our stenographers will have something constructive to do.”
Gracefully, the regent lowered her insectoid muzzle before lifting her massive body effortlessly up from behind her table.
“You... want to know my name?” she asked in a somewhat more declarative tone. “I have been known a lot of things over the centuries. They call me Chrysalis. The Queen of all Changelings. The Master of all Hives. Mother of all Nests. Regent on the Rocks. The Mare in the Mountains. The Shadow of the North.”
Gleefully, she observed the ponies of the prosecution's faces turn to ash and ice. “The Scourge. The Terror. The Beast. Yes, that's what they call me. Or used to, anyway.”
“Age?”
“The question every lady fears worst…” she sighed, disappointed but quietly. “My age… I don’t know.”
“You don’t know your exact age?” the human reiterated stiffly, “Are there any… estimates?”
The changeling just shrugged.
“Once upon a time, in the darkest night of the stormiest winter, in the icy caverns of the Frozen North, there grew a putrid acorn off a solitary oak that curled between the flowstones. And this acorn was snapped off by a squirrel and mindlessly thrust into a pool of unspeakable magical deluge that flowed beneath; an abominable natural cauldron that drew off the flies and cadavers and other swamp waste to breathe unholy fertility into that one acorn, and let it grow into a strong and mighty tree, which would one day burst, and release upon Equestria the feeding, breeding perversion of nature that was... the first changeling.”
A much-needed pause followed, more for the audience than Chrysalis herself. “Or… so they say. This is a time so long in the past that it has remained as unknown to me as everyone else...”
“Okay...” the judge interrupted her epic tale, “Basically, you are stating that there is no viable way to confirm your date of birth?”
“Did you... not listen just now?” Chrysalis sighed back, “There wasn't a pony scribe sitting by my pupa to record the exact moment I hatched. Even I, believe it or not, began in rather... obscure conditions once.”
“Pah! Smug witch!” a heckler commented.
“Silence, I said!”
The sour judge wrote down another confirming annotation in her notes.
“But... I can point you to the exact mount under which I first saw the light of my world. If that would help.”
“That's a start.” the judge confirmed. “Alright. Current profession?”
“...Profession?”
Before the changeling regent could answer, she felt her lawyer tug at her tail. Estermann gawked at her intently and laid a discrete finger over his mouth – a clear indicator of how she should treat the enquiry.
“Like I said... I am... the Queen of all Changelings... and all that that entails.”
By that point, the poison-green earth pony to the chief justice's right felt the last straw collapse from under her. She jumped on all fours and barked, “You're evading, changeling! Answer the question in full!”
“Now, now...” the elderly Ugandan soothed her impulsive, virtually boiling colleague and slid a comforting hand over her hooves. “If the defence finds that any in-depth elaboration on her work may harm their position, they are of course free to withhold it.”
“Horseapples,” the magistrate coughed, and settled down reluctantly. “We’re getting nowhere here.”
“Your Highness... I trust you have been informed in detail about your charges by your attorney?”
“Who,” the changeling laughed, “That motormouth? Are you jo—”
Estermann jumped up and loudly cut his client's snide remark off. “She has! I mean, I have. Madam President.”
“...Then we now come to the part where I will formally inform you of the crimes you are purported to have had a part in. Can I ask the court officer to read out the counts as listed in the redacted version of Her Highness’ Warrant of Arrest?”
Chrysalis grinned over to Estermann. “Oh… it’s ‘purported’ now, is it?”
The court officer produced a portfolio from which she immediately began to read in an almost surreal speed.
“Thank you, Madam President. Pursuant to the redacted version of the Warrant of Arrest against Her Royal Highness Chrysalis, in force as of September 17th, 2015, it was concluded by Pre-Trial Chamber II that there are reasonable grounds to believe that Her Royal Highness Chrysalis, among other persons whose identities are as of yet unknown and arrests outstanding, ordered and oversaw the commission of crimes in the jurisdiction of the Council of Harmony, namely genocide, crimes against sapiency, war crimes and crimes against the sanctity of the mind. The warrant lists twenty-two individual counts of alleged crimes, spanning over four separate incidents, as well as the time framed between them.
Over the time frame of the Equestrian years 1 to 1003, HRH Chrysalis ordered and oversaw a policy of systematic persecution of members from the Equestrian species and ethnic groups, comprised of earth, pegasus and unicorn ponies, implicating herself in one count of Crimes against Sapiency, which in fact occurred...”
And as she recited, the Swiss attorney took the chance and stole a glance at his changeling charge.
Mesmerised, she was gawking up at the camera hanging above their heads, apparently trying to make sense of it. Momentarily, it was almost as if the charges that were read didn't really concern her too much.
“In the Equestrian year 1, HRH Chrysalis led a military assault on, and subsequent razing of, the Flying City-State of Timbucktu, formerly located on the territory of contemporary Western Equestria, implicating herself in one count of Genocide, which in fact occurred – orders to be perpetrated against the pegasus population of the city – one count of Crimes against Sapiency, which in fact occurred – the ordered deliberate murder of non-combatant civilians inside the city – two counts of War Crimes, which in fact occurred – the declaration that no quarter would be given, and the ordered willful destruction of the entirety of the cloud city's standing structures.”
Estermann nudged her attention away from the lens with a tug.
“Don't look into the camera. They tend to cut back onto the suspects as the counts are being read.“
“In the Equestrian year 21, HRH Chrysalis initiated a surprise assault on, followed by a brief occupation of, the City-State of Trot, located in contemporary San Palomino county, implicating herself in four counts of Crimes against Sapiency, which in fact occurred – the orders to enslave, forcibly transfer, imprison, and cause serious bodily and mental harm to, local civilians and 'hors de combat’ – and one count of Violation of the Sanctity of the Mind, which in fact occurred – ordering and overseeing the enactment of ‘mind control’ on several city leadership figures to achieve cooperation.”
The changeling's mood visibly changed. A hoof pressed against her cheek, in an apparent attempt to stifle a phantom ache in her gums. Her breathing slowed and became more deliberate. Her eyes shrunk.
Something happened inside her, and it caused her demeanour to grow increasingly meek and troubled.
What, what, what was going through the changeling's mind? What wouldn't Estermann have given to find out?
“In the Equestrian year 259, HRH Chrysalis commenced an attack against Equestrian Royal Guard forces, followed by the occupation of the nearby Hamlet of Kiger, located in contemporary Mustangia, implicating herself in four counts of Crimes Against Sapiency, which in fact occurred – the orders to enslave, forcibly transfer, imprison, and cause serious bodily and mental harm to, local civilians and 'hors de combat' – one count of War Crimes, which in fact occurred – the ordered murder of Royal Guard soldiers following the formal surrender of the latter, and also following an issued declaration that no quarter would be given – and one count of the Violation of the Sanctity of the Mind, which in fact occurred – ordering and overseeing the use of ‘mind control’ on officers and soldiers of the Royal Equestrian Guard to bring about reversed loyalty.”
Her snout turned floorward. She nervously combed back one of her stiff, horn-like ears.
“In the Equestrian year 1003, HRH Chrysalis infiltrated and commenced a surprise assault against, the Equestrian Capital City of Canterlot, implicating herself in four counts of Crimes against Sapiency, several of which in fact occurred – the orders to enslave, forcibly transfer, imprison, and cause serious bodily and mental harm to, local civilians and 'hors de combat' – one count of War Crimes, which in fact occurred – ordering the bombardment of civilian buildings and objects – and, lastly, one count of the Violation of the Sanctity of the Mind, which in fact occurred – ordering and overseeing the use of mind control on Equestrian military personnel, Equestrian state officials and civilian bystanders, to bring about both cooperation and reversed loyalty.”
As the court officer finally concluded her exposition, a wave of reserved harrumphs and self-conscious coughs resounded through the room.
And Chrysalis was squeezing one of her eyes dry. Whether she was rubbing the sleep out of it or suppressing a tear was not immediately apparent... though Estermann certainly felt he could guess which one it was.
“Thank you, Court Officer. Now, your Highness...” Suruma addressed her, taking back over, “I will inform you of your rights.”
It was the usual stuff. Run-of-the-mill, really. It was things like the right to be considered innocent until proof of guilt, the right to be informed about the proceedings however quickly and intricately as she desired, the right to a translation, should that turn out to be of needed after all.
The queen sat through most of it with her eyes closed, one of her hooves massaging the upper half of her face, constantly nodding after every one of the justice's sentences.
“Have you understood everything?”
Again, a nod. “Yes... yes...”
Suruma's stare intensified. Also she could see that some change had come about the queen.
“We are now... coming to the end of the hearing. If the prosecution, the defence or the suspect have anything else to state or submit, now would be the time.”
The changeling snuffled.
“Your Highness?” the judge asked again. “Is there?”
Chrysalis glanced over to the lawyer, then over to the gallery, and lastly at the judges' podium.
“Well...” she shrugged, her voice weaker and more hoarse, “What can I say? I've heard all those charges, I had to listen to them all and... there is one thing I can say for sure: I'm pretty mad.”
Startled at the mention, the viewers behind the glass leaned in excitedly. The anticipation was still there.
“I'm mad to be sitting here and listening to all this. Having to witness how... those charges all being heaved onto me.”
Suruma sat upright. “As I stated just now, this court considers you innocent until any guilt can be proven without reasonable doubt.”
“I have been told to accept them in silence. To sit still and like it. But the thing is... I don't like this. I don't like any of it at all. In fact, I hate it.”
“And you don't have to like it, your Highness.” the Ugandan assured. “You are in every way entitled to maintain your innocence. But respect towards this court is expected from your side even in this situation.”
“Do you think I'm guilty?”
The judges sat still. Of course, Lexy Fori seemed all too eager to give a straight answer, but even she managed to keep her silence.
“You know that there is no way we could possibly form a professional opinion on your guilt or the absence thereof at this point in time.”
Melancholically, Chrysalis nodded and pressed her lips together.
“It's just that... I know who does...“ she chanted softly, “I know who here does. And I worry.” An accusatory eye locked itself on the Equestrian magistrate.
“With all due respect...” Suruma reprimanded her, her voice perfectly no-nonsense, “This is neither the time nor the place to draw the impartiality of this chamber into question. If you feel like you take issue, you will need to raise this through appropriate channels, and not the courtroom.”
“Quite.” she vibrated, curling on her pile of chains. “Apologies.”
“Are there any other matters that the defence would like to raise?”
Only tearing his attention away from the increasingly grief-stricken changeling monarch with much difficulty, Estermann sorted his files and rose. He felt that now was the best time to play that little trump card of his.
“Madam President, I believe that there is a certain matter of formality that needs to be raised before the trial can continue.”
“Yes, Mr. Estermann?”
“I took the liberty to look through an array of documents pertaining to the charges of my client, and noticed certain discrepancies that... while seemingly banal, carry some rather unfortunate implications.”
He raised a paper he tore from the arrest warrant, showing off several areas he had underlined with thick neon-green marker. “You are aware that, several times in the documents, both Her Royal Highness and her absconded subjects are repeatedly described, and referred to, as 'changelings'...”
“Yes?”
“...written with a lower case first letter, as is to be expected spelling... for the species.”
“I don't think I can follow.”
“You see, while it's more than appropriate to state such obvious trivia as, 'the suspect is a changeling' when given a physical description... I think it's quite unprecedented for this court to use the suspect's species as a substitute for both their nationality and demonym.” He smiled a little with ridicule. “At least, I don't remember Mr. Bemba or Mr. Al Bashir being introduced as 'humans' instead of Congolese and South Sudanese.”
“As far as I was informed, my learned friend, the changeling population of Equestria profoundly rejects the demonym 'Equestrian',” the judge explained, knowing very well how accurate what she said was, “even if it would legally apply to them.“
“What?” the changeling queen just hissed inaudibly.
“And further, if I am not mistaken," Suruma explained on, "'changeling' is the national identity that this group prefers.”
“That is quite correct. However..." Estermann countered, "...had the documents been correctly referring to Her Highness' nationality – official, de-facto or self-chosen – they would have referred to the Queen as 'Changeling', with capital spelling. After all, the suspect is here to answer for crimes that she is supposed to have committed in her position as the alleged Queen Regent of the 'Changeling Kingdom', and not as just 'a changeling'. In fact, that could very easily be misconstrued as... exceedingly intolerant towards the changeling species at large.”
The three judges looked around the room, their faces marked with bashful surprise. Even Colm had gone from obliviously doodling on his paper to cluelessly scratching his scalp.
“Mr. Estermann, you are hopefully not implying that this was the intention of the prosecution.”
He chuckled subtly and shook his head. “Far from it. I am absolutely certain these are nothing more than simple grammatical errors. However, the defence likes to stress, without pointing any fingers, that this will need immediate and complete mending – lest it would lead many to... cast doubt on the true nature of Her Royal Highness' warrant of arrest. A type of uncertainty that ought to be avoided if at all possible.”
Suruma peered down at the bundle of some thousand pages that was lying on her desk. It was but a fraction of the relevant files.
“The Defence wishes to have dozens of separate court documents rewritten and completely redistributed because of a handful of capital spelling errors?”
Smugly, Estermann peered up at her, and performed an almost invisible shrug.
“Oh please...” came the inevitable grumble of Suruma's right-hand mare. “I think the defence is tipping over strawponies. The court files are fine, they'll just have to be read with the right intentions in mind.”
“I'm... inclined to agree.” Suruma surprisingly nodded here, though not before briefly quietening Lexy Fori with a disapproving glare. “As embarrassing as this... very obvious clerical error may be, it comes down to simple logistics that we cannot possibly alter every existing copy of the court files that are in circulation at this time. The misspellings, for now, must remain, and all involved will have to keep the inconsistencies in mind, on their own merit. Thank you, Mr. Estermann.”
“Oh, Celestia...” came Fori's almost inaudible curse, eyes lifted towards the ceiling.
Justice Suruma leaned over to her left, and briefly discussed something with Colm Mullan, who appeared positively delighted to be finally included in the proceedings.
“Alright. With this matter laid to rest, I believe we can finally conclude this session.”
She folded her arms, giving the mysterious changeling suspect a skeptical look. Chrysalis didn't even return it. “It has been a... rather interesting first appearance hearing. No doubt about it. I am looking forward to the next scheduled hearing, on Wednesday, November 23rd, the day after tomorrow.” She didn't quite seem to mean it, though; her voice cast exasperation and doubt at every corner. “The date of the final confirmation of charges hearing has, for now, been set for Monday, December 7th.”
The confirmation of charges hearing. Estermann squirmed uncomfortably.
On this day, the charges would be set in stone. On this day, no more new evidence could be taken in. So if, by that day, he couldn’t convince the Justices to discard the existing charges - should there be anything left to accuse Chrysalis of - then there would be hell to pay. It was almost a given that she wouldn't see the world outside the courtroom for years. If anything were to come after December 7th, it would either be unconditional freedom, or, in his own experience, an inevitable and particularly ugly legal mire.
But even so... it just had to be December 7th, didn't it? The day after St. Nicholas' Day – one of the principal holidays, both here in the region and Estermann's own native land - the day where The Hague's streets would be invaded by a swarm of bearded, red-cloaked bishops?
Estermann would have never thought that those silly costumes would come to mean so much dread to him – at least, in his adult age.
He sighed.
Chrysalis entered the Netherlands on November 16th - that was only one day after Nicholas himself.
But she had to be about the worst St Nick in the history of the country.
“Your Highness...” resounded the voice of the Ugandan head justice just one last time.
Chrysalis glanced up from her wallowing.
“One quick question... Why not 'Majesty'? Is it considered bad form in Eq... in your home region?”
The queen, with a determination that wasn't displayed even by her the whole day, pouted and shook her tremendous equine head.
“It sounds sarcastic. It... really does.”
Chrysalis gazed into her mirror image's aqua-blue eyes for seemingly an eternity. Finally, once she felt she had stared enough, she struck out with her head, and plunged it into the filled sink.
As the bubbles danced around her battered snout and past her twitching eyes, the damaged designer glasses softly drifted off to the porcelain bottom.
She didn't care.
The bitter taste on her tongue made her gag. The thoughts that crowded in her head made her deaf. And the constant electric tickle on the top of her horn made none of it any easier to bear.
“Those... curs. Those slimy, good-for-nothing curs.”
Not a trace was left of her pained, pathetic countenance that she had worn in the courtroom not five minutes ago. It was gone, washed away with the lukewarm bathroom water like make-up.
“Judging... liars. Entitled hypocrites. Every single last one of them. Heavens, I wish I was back...” she blew into the water, where the words inaudibly disappeared. “I wish I was back...”
Alexander Estermann could not lose his happy smile for a lot longer than was necessary. Leaning against the open double doors leading to the defence lobby, hands flung into his trouser pockets, he complacently nodded all the little court officers good-bye as they passed him.
”Bye.”
The reason for his ecstasy was certainly a weird one. But today had gone so much better than he expected it would. Everything somehow just fell into place today, despite – or more appropriately, in spite of – the queen's incessant heckles and taunts and mild tirades.
“Good day.”
The ponies had certainly shown their true colours today – on the judge's bench, lopsided, and in the prosecution, incompetent.
Past him came Prosecutor Pierman herself, her thick curly hair wrapped into a tight black bun, and dragging her robe, slung over her short stature, like a crap statue of liberty.
“Morning, Fräulein.”
She passed quickly, with a detesting shake of her head.
Soon after, the three judges strutted out of their little chamber, observing the dissolving assembly with deliberating slowness.
“Madam President. Mister President. My Lady...”
The Ugandan granny cocked her head and pouted her lips.
“Missus Suruma…” he stuttered, ” I may have to apologise for... my client today. She has - evidently - never seen a trial like ours. A serious trial.”
He couldn't help but give the earth pony in the royal purple gown an apropos glance.
“Mister Estermann...” Suruma sighed and scratched her nose, “Do you realise what I had to put down as the Queen’s date of birth today?”
He shook his head.
“Time Immemorial. A term that should only ever be applied to cities, countries and God. Forgive me if I can’t quite lead myself to believe that there is something she hasn’t undergone in her unduly long life.”
Politely, he smiled.
“I’ll… have another word with her. To make her remember. Thank goodness there’s still the time and opportunity...”
“Listen,” the earth pony magistrate below him immediately countered, “Mister Defence Attorney, if you think you can help Queen Chrysalis escape any just punishment by... dragging this trial out until everyone's gotten bored and wandered off home... you're very, very mistaken.”
Smirking, he nodded down at her. “I would certainly be, Miss... Lexy.”
“Alex,” Colm hailed him tersely.
“Hello, Colm.”
Smiling to his two fellow judges, the Irishman stepped closer and crossed his hands behind his back.
“Listen, I'll call you.” he whispered.
“What is it?” the attorney whispered back.
“I'll call you.” he ominously repeated, before clapping him on the shoulder before leading the others further along and away.
Estermann decided not to question the Irish judge’s secretive behaviour for now.
He was still waiting for his client, who had absconded into a nearby men's room – not that she noticed or cared – and hadn't shown herself in at least ten minutes.
Had she escaped?
He smiled. It would make an interesting new story.
“Mr. E!” came a sudden battle cry.
A blueish-green blur bolted through the main doors, dodging bailiffs and prosecution members in her way.
Estermann instinctively scratched his nose, suppressing the mild annoyance at his massively late 'Equestria expert'.
Though, even that slight disgruntledness evaporated when he noticed the tears streaming out of her huge amber eyes.
“I'm so so sorry!” she sobbed at him, not giving a damn about the other people moving around the two of them. “I overslept. I don't know why. I don't know why!”
“Jesus, calm yourself!” he whispered and bowed down to her. “It can happen.”
She wheezed like a dog, barely taking the time to catch her breath. “I just don't know what came over me... One moment I'm wide awake, and the next, it's five to nine!”
“You overslept, yes, now calm down!”
“B-but the hearing, the Queen... Queen Chrysalis?!”
“Everything is under control.” He slowly raised and lowered both his hands, to lull the anxious unicorn into a calming trance. “It went well.”
Her voice flattened. Her eyes shrunk.
“It... did?”
“Yeah, of course. In hindsight, not too much could have gone wrong, I…”
He saw the unicorn's focus drift away from him, and onto something behind his back.
Turning, he caught the changeling queen shuffling out of the bathrooms, her mane wet, water dripping from her ears.
Then he glanced back at Lyra. The little unicorn's mouth was hanging open, her knees weakening as she stood and gaped.
“Your Highness...” Estermann stuttered, not quite sure what to make of the situation, but determined to get the drop on any sort of conflict between the changeling queen and the unicorn mare, “May I introduce you to one of my closest colleagues in the defence? Miss Lyra Heartstrings, of Canterlot.”
Even the queen seemed momentarily confused in the presence of the unicorn.
“I know this may come across a little... strange, but I can say with certainty that, up to this point, she has been my single most valuable and trustworthy adviser in Equestrian matters...”
Chrysalis ignored him. Passing by her legal representative, she rounded the unicorn with a uniquely curious look on her muzzle.
The young mare was frozen in a powerful stasis as she let the changeling monarch circle her and inspect her from all sides, with only her eyes curling hungrily upward to espy more of the queen.
“Heartstrings?” the lawyer asked softly, letting the scene play out without disrupting it too much.
A whistle emanated from Chrysalis, the kind of whistle only someone with a cold would cause when breathing through the nose.
Her eye twitched. And then her craggy features softened. From one moment to another, her worn-out and sore eyes became all the more motherly.
“Ah, yes.” she whispered, as though recognising something long-forgotten.
Lyra gasped as the changeling closed her rounds and came to a stop before her. Her breath increased tenfold between indistinct whimpers, as though she had a dozen thoughts at once and wanted to air them all at the same time.
“Now, now...” the monarch cooed, and raised a commanding hoof. “Little hoofmaiden.”
The tears almost returned on Lyra's anguished countenance.
“A little hoofmaiden so far from home... but does she still know how to act in the presence of her betters?”
Her mouth relaxed and sealed itself. With an earnest and utterly devoted gleam, the unicorn slipped onto her haunches. It came so sudden that Estermann had to resist his urge to catch her.
Her head limply held the gaze, seemingly hypnotised by Chrysalis' mere presence.
And Chrysalis, she was about to shower that unicorn mare with more compassion than with any other pony Estermann had witnessed.
Her hoof travelled towards Lyra's head and touched her right on her fluffy, rugged mane. And the mare shuddered with delight.
At some point, something clicked in the lawyer’s nominally deductive mind, and he decided to come right out with it.
“Do you two... know each other?” he inquired, the piercing interrogative tone hidden under an unconvincing, toothy grin.
For better or for worse, the question showed a reaction. The queen's hoof, tellingly enough, flinched, while Lyra, meanwhile caught in the moment, didn't react at all.
“Equestria sure is small...” Chrysalis sighed, “But, alas, not that small.”
“Pardon, your Highness?”
Giving the mare a last playful noogie, the queen finally managed to let off of her.
“We're done here, aren't we? I'm tired. Let's go home, worm… Or, whatever’s closest to it.”
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Chryssy the political machine...
I wonder what Chryssy and Lyra are going to be doing in the future? That doesn't seem the most stable of relationships. Why do I get the feeling that this Lyra is a changeling...
7593331 After reading the ending scene a second time.
I think you are right oO
7593373
Either a changeling or Chryssy likes ponies with PTSD.
Ok, there is no way the court would allow the ponies to act like that. It immediately opens them up to mistrials due to bias. Any judges who acted like that would get slapped down hard, especially at the fucking ICC.
Finally all caught up on all 140k+ words of this story.
Unfortunate that it took me almost two years to notice this one, because it's brilliant.
I'd say its best feature is all the humans act like humans. No obnoxious Sues, or bland 'imagine yourself here' characters. That is sadly a rarity on this site.
I haven't seen a lot of fiction authors who can write convincingly about international politics,because it's one of those things where you really have to do your research beforehand. This one manages it. The part with the international court trying to apply laws retroactively is a bit of a stretch, but the story doesn't just hang a lampshade on it. It addresses the complications, and now we're starting to see the fallout.
Normally I find the human-obsessed Lyra trope to be annoying, but this one is quite clever.
I like how it portrays Equestria as a society with an internally consistent but alien set of rules, instead of just westernizing everything.
7611265
HFY moment?
Wazzat?
7611440 "humanity fuck yeah", something I got from /tg/ @4chan
So Lyra was/is/going to be a changling/supporter?
It's easy to believe that some of them went the hearts and minds route.
Because it's better to have a city full of ponies taking care of themself and future generations to work with. Then fighting a city to capture one generation...
7612135
My word, how delightfully absurd. Whatever gave you that idea?
How could such a lowly unicorn staffer possibly play any noticeable role in this affair?
7612759
I love it!
So much will happen in this timeframe that will cause loyalties to shift and friends to drift!
The main thing would be that Celestia also committed genocide and mind control but allowed them to still understand what was happening to them so it'll be interesting to see how this plays out in the following months.
That equestrian judge was showing a extreme bias towards the queen and Is showing that she believes the queen is guilty already, so in note she could be considered unfit for the case if anyone is willing to bring that fact up before the next hearing.
So Chrysalis played the Fiddle quite well.
Keep Going! ;)
7612759
Please don't use that crap about changelings we just found out about.
Please...
7626626
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...
Seriously though, I'm under self-imposed radio silence.
I know nothing.
This chapter was the best one so far.
Can't wait for another Court chapter.
Too bad most of my experience with the Law consists of the Ace Attorney series.
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Be glad.
Courtroom drama is usually not to my liking, but I do like the depth at which author describes the moral ramifications of the whole pony-changeling conflict. And a nagging question: what would Chrysalis do if she managed to dodge the proverbial bullet and avoid death sentence/imprisonment for life? Just going back to kidnapping/impersonating business would lead to her getting caught again, and sooner than she would think, since it would be easier for pro-pony groups to garner popular support this time around. And Chrysalis seems to seriously underestimate human capacity for violence and destruction. It's not a given that the Princesses would want to deal with humans again, though.
Another thought I had: what would happen if Chrysalis went for desperation ploy instead? As in, "we can and would gladly coexist with ponies, except we had never been given the chance". On one hand, that would show in a bad light Sisters' attempts to paint her as a monster. Attempts to eradicate changelings would certainly (and correctly) be perceived as nothing but genocide - given that changelings would stick to this closely enough for it to be believable. It might be enough to open human cities for changeling immigration, too, and almost nine billion of potential energy sources is not something you can just pass up. But Chrysalis would really have to swallow her pride to do that. More than once, too, if splinter groups of changelings sticking to old ways were to appear.
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Hague does not sentence someone to death. There are only sentences to prison.
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Lyra was mind-controlled in the wedding episode, and acted as a bridesmaid for Chrysalis-disguised-as-Cadence. She was also one of the ponies sent to confront Twilight in the crystal caves beneath Canterlot.
She presumably has similar Stockholm Syndrome issues as Shining Armor.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Um65fpXCCrs