• Published 16th Nov 2014
  • 10,566 Views, 605 Comments

Chrysalis Visits The Hague - Dan The Man



In a universe where Equestria recently arrived on Planet Earth, Queen Chrysalis sits in chains. Now she must answer herself in front of this world's highest court - the International Criminal Court in the Hague, the Netherlands.

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XIX. Tight Ship

XIX. Tight Ship

Zwolsestraat, The Hague
21. November, 2015
6:02 pm MET

“...Worm?”

“Yes, your Highness?”

The smooth velocity pushed the lawyer gently into his leather seat. With every passing streetlight, the distant brick towers of the Kurhaus seemed to come flying closer against the quickly darkening sky, heralding a homely feeling of finitude.

“You did well.”

“I… Excuse me?” he hesitated.

Chrysalis left a teasing pause.
“I said you did good today.”

The lawyer felt his heart beat just the tiniest amount faster.
The queen had lauded him. Just like that! Out of the blue!

“I… I thank you.” he chuckled. “Coming from you, this means the world to me.”

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, I still think that court hearing today had more in common with a basket of rotting apples standing out in the sun...”
She paused- “But, suffice to say, you might just have been the one apple amongst them without a worm curling around in it. For the first time since you first barged into my cell, it really does feel like you're of use."

What an image. For better or for worse, it still counted.

“Well, your Highness. I was about to tell you just how fantastically you’ve been handling yourself in the courtroom today… and that I felt rather bad for doubting your composure in the first place...”

“Aw...” she cooed. “You do know how to warm my heart.”

“But now I’ll rather tell you that if I ever catch you improvising like that ever again, I swear to God, I will drag you out of the room by your nostrils.”

“Ohoho!” She bellowed, “You must feel quite brave threatening me from somewhere safe and far away… or so I assume.”

“What, do you think I’m sitting behind the next-best wall, whispering to you?” he smirked.

“Hm...” she moaned playfully, “I wouldn’t put it past your kind. Nor your… fancy technology.”

“Even if, I doubt I’d need to go so far.” he laughed, “You, Madam, can take care of yourself. All things considered, you still carried yourself well today. Had I been in your shoes, I…” he added in a whisper, “I mean, I would have probably shit myself.”

“And that, little one, is why you will never get to lead a hive of your own.”
There was a pause that the queen took to sigh, sinking down in delighted relaxation. “Seriously though. Where are you right now?”

“On my way back to the hotel, I suppose.” he shrugged. “Perhaps I’ll take an hour and go over the evidence.”

“Mhm.” she hummed, “You will be back tomorrow though, right?”

“Of course I will. There is no time we can afford to lose now. The shit has officially started to roll.”
As he spoke, he chewed the changeling's words over, and as he chewed them over, he came across a little something that he identified to be a subtle tone of desire.

“Good.” she cooed, her voice becoming increasingly… velvety.

Was she using him as sleeping aid? Granted that was probably the sensible thing to do in her situation, but that wasn’t quite what this sounded like either.

“Have you had dinner yet, your Highness?”

“Oh yes, I'm right in the middle of it, in fact.”

“Should we call it quits for the evening? You sound… drowsy.”

“Hm… no.” she gently protested, “Go on. Say something. I cherish the loneliness here as much as the next mare, but too much of it just makes you go… mad.”

“That is true… that is true...” he agreed helplessly. He suddenly felt increasingly eager to end the call swiftly. Her calm tone confused him. “But you need the sleep. And frankly, so do I. There is nothing I could tell you now that I couldn’t also tell you tomorrow morning… you know… eye to eye.”

“Perhaps… Hm… Tell me something else.”

“What else?”

“Something else that I don’t yet know.”

Gosh, there was really something she didn’t yet know? What madness was this? What did that woman do to the real Chrysalis?!

“Ehm… Did you know that in German - my mother tongue - the word for ‘the proceeding’ is the same one as for ‘driving the wrong way’? That's a very apropos tidbit, that is.”

The changeling laughed.
“Yes, it sure is.”

Was she drunk? Had she been treated with one particularly humorous chicken?

“But worm, that’s not what I meant.”
She inhaled. “Tell me about yourself. How do you live out your life?”

“Oh…”
Curiously, he scratched his scalp, not sure how to answer that one. “As quaintly and well-paced as one can allow in a profession that requires me to travel between three different countries most of the time.”

“It sounds so busy.”
He could hear her shaping her mouth into a smirk. “Have you had any time for a doe?”

“Pardon?”

“You know…” she enunciated teasingly, “A very special somepony?”

“Uh… If you ask whether I ever married, then yes. I have.”

“Well, marriage’s neither here nor there.” came her inevitable coo. “You know perfectly well what I mean. No need to be shy.”

Estermann wished he had mouthful of water to spit out in that very moment.

Now, he felt, it was his turn to let out a bemused chuckle.
“How about you, your Highness?”

“Too many to count, worm.” She sighed dreamily. “I've had them all… earth pony farmers, gryphon squires, horse warriors... They all fell to me, one after the other. Couldn’t turn to putty quick enough.”

“Maybe we really should… continue this query next thing tomorrow.” Nervously, he let the phone slip into his left hand and continued from the other side of his head, “The lines have ears and all that.”

“If you say so.” the queen sighed. “What is her name, Alexander?”

And Estermann answered, without deliberating even a second about whether she needed to know this.
“Lena. Lena Rosenroll.”

“Is she beautiful?”

“...Stunning.”

“Alright.”
He could swear he could feel her wink.
“We’ll talk on tomorrow. Sweet dreams.”

The call ended peacefully and surprisingly gently for the changeling.
Estermann was left sitting in his seat bearing a weird, fluttering smile on his face.

As he stuffed the phone back into his coat, the lawyer looked over to the mini-bus taxi’s adjacent seat, where his mint-green unicorn companion was eyeing him, with her mouth caught somewhere between concern and consternation.

His satisfied calmness dissipated, only to be replaced by a sour accusing grimace.
“What?”

Smitten, she looked away, first at the gravel-caked car floor, then out the fogged windows.

“How much did you hear?”

She bit her lip.
“You have a very loud telephone.” she explained in a subdued, husky voice.

“Thanks for telling me that... now.
Almost unconsciously, he folded his arms. “Anything else you care to tell me?”

She pretended not to hear his question as she kept staring into the drizzle stubbornly.

“Why are you here, Heartstrings?”

She glanced up curiously at the question.
“You… You suggested we should share a cab back… Didn't you?”

“No, I mean: Whatever led you to the defence team?”

She produced a smile. Of sorts.
“Oh that? Uhm... Fate, I suppose.”

He, on the other hand, remained unamused.
“I do not believe in fate, Heartstrings.”

“Um… okay. Destiny?”

He kept his silence, as though he was still expecting an answer out of her.

She tried hard to keep up the good humour in the situation, forcing herself into another grin and miming awkwardly light-hearted gestures.
“How about… coincidence? A sign-up letter tacked on just the right pin wall hanging in just the right corridor… and the rest is history.”
She cleared her throat and moistened her lips. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I don’t think you answered my question from before.”

“Oh...” she stuttered meekly, going through her mane with a nervously dithering hoof. “Didn’t I?”

Estermann huffed, and leaned down to the mare with threateningly narrowed eyes.
“Where do you know her from?”

“Who?”

He gave her a murderous glare.

“Oh. I mean, yeah, I told you I saw her. Right. On the day of the battle of Canterlot...”

“Where?”

“Well… You see... I was at Princess Cadance’s and Shining Armour’s wedding that day, and-”

“Why?”

“I got invited. I knew the princess very fleetingly back from when I worked as a clerk’s intern at the Canterlotian.”

“Okay?”

“Anyway, I was running late, and I came up one of the big marble staircases outside the throne room as the ceremony was already on its way… There were sounds of some big hubbub going on outside, and I was curious, so I went up to a window… And suddenly, there came Queen Chrysalis with a couple of changelings, bursting through the doors behind me. They just kinda… flew past, on to the far end of the hall. Didn’t even notice me being all hunkered down by the wall.”
She nodded unconvincingly, “Short encounter, yeah, but… memorable.”

The lawyer’s tired eyes darkened.
“Are you taking the piss, Heartstrings?”

“S-sorry?”

“She clearly saw you!” he suddenly bellowed. “She clearly fucking knows who you are!”

Lyra shrunk into her seat.

“And you know her.”

“E-everypony knows her.”

“Then where the fuck does Queen Chrysalis know you from?!”

“I...” the mare stammered, almost beggingly, looking anywhere and everywhere but the defence counsel’s face.
“It’s… not… important...”

“What?” he breathed.

“It’s really... really... really not that important... Mr E… sir...”

Estermann gawked at her for one excruciating moment.
Then, his fingers travelled up to his door’s upper frame and knocked.
“Stop the car at the next sidewalk, please.” he commanded the driver, his tone hauntingly serene.

The cowed ‘Equestria expert’ shivered as the cabbie obeyed and the car slowly veered to the side and slowed to a halt.

As soon as they were no longer moving, the lawyer bent forward.
“Do you fancy yourself indispensable?”

“H-huh?”

“Do you feel irreplaceable? Are you under the impression that you possess enough of a sway over the proceedings to afford such things as secrets?”

She held her perturbed silence, among hesitant shakes of her head.

“Who the hell do you think you are, Lyra Heartstrings?”

“Me? I… I am your adviser… Mr E...” she answered, dutifully this time, “You ask me things… and I explain them.”

“Then explain the following… What can you get me that a paid, certified human ethnological scholar couldn’t? Maps? Records? Statistics? Grade-school classical poetry?”

“I-”

“Why the flying fuck,” he burst, “Should I be keeping around an Equestrian who seems quite content ignoring my questions and thinking she can tell me that it’s not something that I need to know of?”

“Listen… sir… If there’s anything I said that might have rubbed you the wrong way, then I take it back.” she pleaded. “I never meant to hurt you.”

“Hurt me?” he stammered in disbelief, “Can you even hear yourself? This isn’t about hurting my fucking feelings. This is about safeguarding the integrity of this entire investigation! Should it turn out, in a month’s time, that my Equestrian adviser has in fact herself been tainted…”

“T-tainted?”

“Yes. If it turns out you had at some point been a victim of the queen, or that you had gotten infatuated with the changelings, or - God beware! - been recruited by the Equestrian crown… then you are tainted!”

“Huh?”

“...And that’d be the end of us! It’d be the end of you, the end of me, and, most importantly, the end of the queen, because everything your hooves touched - the defence’s entire case up to this point - has just turned to shit!”
He pointed a scathing finger into her, “And let me tell you, I will not let you stab a hole into my boat! Because, no matter how small the hole, it’ll still sink the fuckin boat!”

“You… you… don’t trust me then?” she gasped, then sobbed.

“Why the hell should I? You’re on first-name basis with the defendant herself and you never even bothered to tell anyone?! Trust is earned!”
He snorted and covered his forehead with all his hands,
“I’ll have to review every piece of evidence. Double-check it, triple-check it, get confirmations from third parties! Should it turn out I invited a saboteur into the queen’s own defence team...”

“L-listen...” she stammered, trying herself at a no-nonsense tone, but overwhelming herself with sobs, “I spilled my sweat to get you all these files. More than enough than you could ever possibly need to save the queen! I stayed up whole nights on end to review the information and get it as accurate as I could! What… what reason would I possibly have to tamper with my own efforts? My own… everything?!”

“I don’t care. I could think of a hundred off the top of my head. And frankly... the more I go over them, the more inclined I feel to call the Registry and ask them just who the fuck they thought they sent me. Or better yet, ask the Equestrian embassy.”

Don’t!” she called out, clearly panicking.

The lawyer paused.
“Why not?”

“Because… because that might muddy the waters much more than I could ever do on my own. Okay?”

He leaned back.
“Now what the fuck-”

And at that moment, Lyra was, quite literally, saved by the bell.

Estermann slowly peered down at the ringing noise emanating from his coat.

“Hold that thought, Heartstrings. Hold it tight.”
The lawyer wasn't hesitant, and his hand delved into his coat pocket in one apt, swift motion. Almost as if in a trance, he picked up.
“What is it now, your Highness?” he sighed.

A hushed, gravelly human voice answered him.
“Highness? Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here, shall we?”
The way it was painted with distinctly Irish intonations made no mystery of who the caller was.

“Ah.” the lawyer promptly sighed. “Your Honour. Or is it… ‘My Lord’ after all?”

“Don't keep your hopes up, boy.” he replied, his tone serious but still permeating cheek.

But the lawyer's tone remained decidedly distanced and reserved towards his companion.
“May I inquire what you’re calling about?”

Ominously, the judged cleared his throat and stayed silent a couple of moments.
“Have you had a thought about... that thing? That thing we talked about? The other day?”

Mystified, Estermann pressed himself closer against his phone.
“What thing?”

“The thing that we discussed with him about her. In the hotel!”

“Oh,” he caught on, “You mean... that thing... with the big glasses and the flipchart and the unflattering stories?”

The judge said nothing.

“I did.”

“Well?”

Summoning his will, the lawyer harrumphed loudly.
“I'm very sorry, Colm. But no. It’s too risky. She won't play along. And neither will I, under these circumstances.”

The judge smacked his lips audibly.
“Well.”

Curious, the lawyer listened in on the slightly strained breathing of his long-time friend.
“That's it? 'Well' and ‘well’?”
He had a feeling that he knew him better than that.

The judge just sighed tiredly.
“I had a strong feeling you wouldn't. But it was worth a try anyway.”

Now came the lawyer's turn to pout.
“Colm, wait. Did you honestly think it was a good idea? If the changelings-”

“Shushush!” Colm silenced him. “Pipe it down. The lines have ears, I told you that a hundred times!”

An icy shower gripped the back of Estermann's neck.

“Where are you now, Alex?”

“Uh...” The lawyer needed a minute to swallow a stutter. “Bound back to the Kurhaus. I left the court ten minutes ago.”

“That's alright. Listen, tell your cabbie to take you to Arnestraat 10, next to the Ferry harbour. He'll know which entrance.”

“Colm, wait...” Estermann was perpetually growing restless. “What is going on? Do you have something to tell me?”

“I'm telling you, aren't I?”

“I mean that I should know now?”

The judge didn't make an effort to quell his mystery mongering much.
“Yeah. I'll be waiting inside.”

The call terminated. Estermann grit his teeth in unsettled frustration.

The mare across from him lowered her eyes once more.
“Whatever it is... I’ll do anything to not stand in your way. This, I swear to you.”

Estermann sighed and glared at Lyra.
“Before this night is over, I want, from you, a clear answer to my question. It will be precise, and you will elaborate. Either I hear it from you to my face, or in a letter, or an email, I don’t care. But if I don’t hear something from you by dawn, I will instruct the bailiffs to not let you near my offices again.”

Shivering in browbeaten desparation, she pressed her eyes shut.

“Did I make myself clear?”


The waves were grey as clay. Their otherwise colourful display were subdued by the cold winter sky, getting darker and gloomier with every passing minute. Behind the mile-thick clouds hovering above the Western European coasts, the sun flew far into the west. The piers, windswept and soaked in oceanic froth, lost their wet shimmer. In the distance, a dark grey cloud bank was rolling in from the North Sea.
The gale was taking up. It was strong but warm.
Estermann, having been raised at the feet of the Alps, knew exactly what that heralded.

Even so, the usually so weather-sensitive lawyer was surprised when he found himself yawning delicately, cradling his Camomile-scented towel and leaning closer to the panorama windows. His head was foggy, but not confused or nervous. Thoughts were swirling around like quaint little fish in a squeaky clean aquarium. He felt okay, and for the love of it, he could not tell why.
Something compelled him to face the gathering fray beyond the elevated quay above the beach.

Taking in another mouthful of the warm herb-scented air around him, he began to perceive slow, lumbering footsteps closing on the heated stone slabs behind him. For a change, they weren’t pony ones - he could hear the slippers squeaking.

“A storm is coming, Alexander.” a deep voice declared, ominous and haunting.

But the lawyer could only sigh. “Oh, Colm. Firstly: no shit. Secondly: Could you be any more trite if you tried?”

“Incidentally, I did try to be trite.”

Estermann loosened his bathrobe a little.
“When you said 'let's meet us next to the ferry harbour for a confidential talk, urgently', a five-star spa wasn't the first thing that sprang to mind...” he mumbled, his own words intertwined with smooth jazz music playing from some nearby loudspeaker.

Solemnly, the lawyer gazed beyond his friend and almost immediately got lost in the azure depths of the flat, acrylic Aegean landscape behind him, taking in the flat ruinous Greek pillars and flat deep green pine tree groves dotting the olive panorama.

“What were you expecting, a walk by the quay? It's minus three degrees outside, for Christ's sake.”

Colm grasped his younger colleague by the shoulder, turning him away from the fake antique murals filling the walls and over to the spa corner, where a faux-Polynesian cocktail bar and half a dozen faux-Roman sun loungers arrayed themselves by a continuous panorama window.
The entire room was plastered with white tiling, occasionally interrupted by the odd flower pots laid out on tall iron tripods in the corners. Behind a glass brick wall, there was the bright shimmer of swimming pool ripples reflecting off the walls.

“I still don’t understand why they wouldn't even let me keep my swimming trunks though.”

“Welcome to the Netherlands, my friend.” Colm chided him, importantly grasping the lapels of his own bathrobe. “They are very outgoing when it comes to pampering ungrateful foreigners in their resorts.”

Hesitantly enthusiastic, Estermann buried his hands in the robe pockets.
“Why do I get the feeling you’ve only sent me here to have an excuse to spend your Monday eve in a Jacuzzi?”

“I’ve been coming here to flounder about for years, Alex. But what I cherish most about this place is its exclusivity. These people run a very tight ship. No one gets in who’s not supposed to get in. Means, we can speak freely.”

“Free enough for you to explain to me what's the reason for our get-together is?”

“Hm. Maybe if you can get me pissed enough.” Colm laughed, before railroading his friend straight to the barman behind the counter. “Good sir! Two Dark And Stormys to the pool if you please!”

“One!” the lawyer corrected him. “Make it one. I want to keep a clear head tonight.”

“And right you’d be. Now, off to the jacuzzi. I’m freezing my arse off in these rags.”

But as they were about to move along, Estermann stopped himself.
Something caught his eye from behind the bar.

Between the strong liquor bottles and the beer fridge, an array of respected international quality papers - as well as an assorted of lower quality local print - had been laid out for the guests' taking. Among the latter, Estermann found a certain changeling queen’s distinctive head snarling up at him from a particularly glaring front page.
It was enough to intrigue him.
“Ahem… you there, pass me that paper, will you?”

A copy of the rugged tabloid and a golden-brown iced cocktail soon landed in front of the duo.

“Whatever have you discovered there?” Colm inquired as he took a probing sip from his drink.

“Good question.”

The judge indulged in the headline text.
“I've picked up a little bit of Dutch over the years. Let me translate for you.”
He relieved the Estermann of the paper and started seeking out the offending article. Judging by the size of the headline, it had to be somewhere in the first few pages.
“Funny little tabloid. Though I wouldn't want to be seen walking with one of those under my arm. What would society think of me...”

“Well?”

“Oh. How's that for news: 'US President... Seen Walking... out of Shipping Container in Rotterdam Harbour... Customs Baffled.'.”

“Colm!”

“Alright, alright. Give me a minute.”
Almost a minute passed. “Oh. 'Sweet Justice?... 10 Reasons... Why The Future… Of The Changeling Menace... Ends Today'.”

A mid-sized comical sketch was drawn beneath the headline.
It was staffed with most of the important players of that day’s ceremony.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Estermann sighed. “They already drew the pictures of today?”

Three dark-clad officials had been settled on an off-screen bench, each of them leaning into the frame with a different ridiculous grimace of their own.
Speak No Evil. See No Evil. Hear No Evil, cardboard hand cut-outs seemed to order.

“Hello, handsome.” the judge purred and helped spread the page. “There I am. And I look good. First time they didn’t draw me like a pug.”

In front of them, there knelt a hard-edged, big-nosed man with a cotton wool cap shoved down his throat. In his hands, he held aloft an English dictionary, as though it was the bible itself.

“And…” the attorney gulped, “Is this one meant to be me?”
He sighed, already sick of it.
“I can’t believe they actually remembered the hat.”

“The gutter press, Alex, is like an elephant.”

“They’re prone to running amok?”

“That… and they never forget.“

“Heh, tell that to the artist. It looks nothing like me.”
Estermann pressed the paper closer to his forehead. He intently studied the queen, reduced to a mere silhouette leering in the background. She had been positioned near him, closer to the centre of the image, and sat in something that resembled an enormous birdcage, wearing her - now trademark - enormous grandmother glasses. The parts of her that were visible seemed to be somewhat less flattering.

“Is that… a snake tongue?” the counsel mumbled in disbelief.

“Huh… So it is. But don’t worry, you almost don't notice it for all the... tremendous fangs.”

Disappointed, the lawyer handed the paper to his friend.
“Well. That wasn’t the image change I was looking for.”

“Why? Are the fangs new?”

“The snake tongue is.”
Wasn’t she supposed to be more bug, less reptile?
He sniffed. “God, how far will I still have to do to make her face halfway... salonfähig? You know, acceptable?”

Smirking, the Irishman clapped him on the shoulder.
“You can put glasses on her nose, you can smear lipstick on her face, you can staple a halo to her horn... but nothing will hide the fact that she’s still a fucking changeling.”

Estermann started grasping his face and pulling at his skin until it showed little more than a pained grimace.

“You didn't expect the media to shower her with roses after today, did you?”

“No...”

The two jurists continued on their paths to the hot bath corner.

“T'was an interesting stunt you tried today with that upper case-lower case dilemma. It certainly made us and the prosecution stop in our tracks for a moment.”

“Oh, so it did?”

“Yeah. I just advise you not to overdo it. The court will not take kindly to you implicating us in racism. You definitely cannot base your entire defence on ‘youse are being unfair to the poor old changeling over 'ere’, you know.”

“Alright, I got it.”

“Oh! Oh, and what’s more!" he added sharply, raising a reminding hand, “Deal with that damn shrink of yours already.”

His friend peered over, his forehead wrinkled in confusion.
“What shrink? I don’t need a shrink. Never did.”

“Not for you, you numpty. Your client’s psychological caretaker, what’s-her-name… van Biene. Antje van Biene.”

Again, it took Estermann an agonising moments to recognise the name.

“It’s been a week. Have you even met her?”

“I… don’t think I have. Perhaps because the queen had more pressing matters at hand than a mental assessment.”

“But we don’t.” the judge moaned, “Do you even know why we attached a psychologist to you? We need to establish whether that… that changeling monarch is mentally capable of comprehending the injustice of what transpired. That was the whole damn point of the exercise."

“So what about Van Biene? Is she not doing her job?”

“Have you read her report?”

The lawyer’s hands waved about helplessly as he sighed, “I… skimmed the… fucking title. Just give me a synopsis.”

“Well, she...” The Irishman almost couldn’t contain a flight of grin at the ridiculousness of the sheer thought… “Let me put it like this: It almost seems like she has been typing the writ… one-handed.”

The Swiss lawyer shook his head, still not getting to the bottom of his point.
“Do you not like her grammar, or...”

“I mean, Alex, that I think she fell in love with your queen.”

Only now did Estermann’s features squinch up in the expected way.
“Oh.”

“Over fifteen pages, she had nothing but praise left for Chrysalis. She’s positively fawning over that changeling.”

The lawyer just smirked, strangely warmed by the accolades.
“Where’s the problem?”

“It’s bollocks.”

She’s the psychologist. Are you a psychologist?”

The judge rolled the eyes beneath his bushy brows.
"No need. She wrote, and I quote, that, ‘In her intelligence and benevolence, Her Royal Highness is a credit to most of us.’”
He took another premature drink from his glass, “Those aren’t the words of a certified clinical psychologist filing a report… those are the words of a woman with a bag over her head, sitting between a camera and a flag, moments before her third finger’s hacked off.”

That was morbid. But not too morbid for two chuckling old friends.
“Alright, Colm, I think I can have a word with her. But for the record! I wasn’t the one who hired her.”

“I know that woman! She’s considered one of the brightest psychological minds in the Benelux area. Now, I don’t know what happened to make her write something like this… but this is ridiculous.”
He tapped his younger colleague’s chest. “For your sake, you give her a good slap, tell her to pull herself together, and deliver a report that you can actually afford to show to the chamber. The defence’s credibility rests on Van Biene’s shoulders. Don’t forget that.”

“Okay, Colm. Speaking of hirings...” Estermann interrupted him, bringing himself back on track,
“Didn't you want to explain why the hell you tried to set me up with that... Equestrian Wunderkind the other week?”

Expectantly, the judge chewed the question over.
“Well, to put it bluntly... he presented a relatively safe and easy solution to all this.”

“I never took you for the guy who fell for easy solutions.”

“I'm not. But I am rather keen on options to avoid any further bloodshed. Declaring the changelings animals could have opened up possibilities for... say... nature reserves and breeding grounds and a relaxed situation for both sides to grow and prosper at a safe distance and out of each other's faces.”

“And lest we forget, the possibility of mass extermination.”

“It's Equestria!” He groaned, “They do not do that sort of thing there. Besides, I'd do a lot to keep them from slaughtering each other for another thousand years. Even an uneasy peace is preferable to the most straightforward of wars.”

“You... crusty old peacemonger.” the lawyer grunted at his friend. “Do old habits really die this hard?”

“'Blessed are the peacemakers', Alex.” he chanted, one index finger solemnly pointing up, “Matthew 5:9.”

“Colm...” Estermann sighed, wiping his eyes, “I get that you’re Irish… but you don’t need to quote scripture at me to make a point.”

The judge rolled his eyes and smirked.
“As if a bloody heathen like you could tell.”

“Bloody heathen? I’m Roman Catholic.”

“Exactly.”

Without a single warning, the judge immediately stepped out of his sandals and threw off his bathrobe like a streaker in a thunderstorm.
Suddenly, there he was, still holding a cocktail in one hand and the cheap tabloid in the other and wearing nothing but his God-given birthday suit, and sank into the circular pool with a pleasured shudder.

His friend peered down at him with somewhat less vigour, pacing by the poolside, hands still in pockets.
“I still can’t follow your trail of logic. Since when has it been easier to protect animals than people?”

“Since when has it been easier to carve out nationstates than wildlife preserves?” the judge asked back adamantly.
“Do you think the Equestrians actually give two fucks about that desolate, frozen wasteland they’ve got up north? It’s all about pride and principle and public outrage, not substance.”
He took another sip from his drink .“They don’t want to be seen as the nation that ceded her own soil - or, rock and ice, in this case - to her oldest and bitterest nemesi. So of course they’d never accept changeling autonomy unchallenged…provided one calls it autonomy.”

Estermann shook his head and looked up to the heavens.
“Doesn’t make turning this into some environmental stunt any less of a shit plan.”

“You’ve got no idea what soft-hearted suckers Equestrians are for that sort of thing. To protect cute woodland critters, they would call off wars. No exaggeration.”

“It’s not like I cared if it appeases the ponies. I want a rock-solid guarantee that this reserve becomes untouchable.. and the changelings therein remain unharmed.”

Seemingly readying to give a defeating lecture, the judge propped himself up in the tub.
“Alexander, your beloved changelings can take care of their bleeding selves. They’ve got at least more than twice the number of warriors under arms than the ponies do.”

This was the first time the lawyer had heard this estimate.
“Excuse me?”

“Yeah, everybody seems to forget that.” the judge confirmed smugly. “Quite frankly, the only thing that’s stopping them from descending upon Equestria anew is probably the fact that their only capable leader is chewing on metal grates in Belgisch Park. Means they're immobilised, but not that they're defenceless.”

“Where did you get that estimate from?”

“A... reliable source.”

“An Equestrian source?” Estermann nodded, not quite willing to concede the point.

“Alex...” his friend sighed accusingly and dabbled around the tub, “Are you going to stand up there and interrogate me the whole evening?”

“Answer my questions, and I'll stop asking.”

Yes, Alexander.” he finally answered, albeit a bit louder and aggravated than expected. “It was an Equestrian source. And the same source told me that the Equestrians are in the process of marching the bulk of their forces up north as we speak.”

And instantly, the lawyer turned every-so slightly greyer in his face as seemingly all blood got sucked back into his heart.
“The Equestrians are… what?”

Colm’s innocently spread hands emerged from the bubbling water.
“Don’t ask me why. Evidently, they seem to be under the impression that they can take on the changelings while they’re grounded and deal a decisive blow.”
Then he folded his fingers, point made. “I hope you see my dilemma here. I want these ridiculous wargames to find an end once and for all. I want to preclude further escalations with some kind of arrangement.”

“I didn’t know any of that.”

“Of course you didn’t. This is a state affair. And a secret operation. Even I only know it because Le… my source is an old tattletale.”

A solitary name boiled up in the lawyer at that moment.
“And Chrysalis?”

“What about her?”

“She doesn’t know about this either. What role is she to supposed play in all this? What if I do manage to get her off the hook? What if she gets to go home after all? Will it maybe... throw a spanner into your little scheme?”

“Why?” the judge inquired, “Do you think your client hasn’t got the most peaceful intentions at heart?”

Estermann clamped his jaws shut immediately.

The corpulent man in the tub just smiled.
“At ease, Alexander. I think we both know that we can’t do away with Her Royal Highness just yet. Her flock may be grounded and scattered for now, but it won’t be forever. Either way, she will have to return to it to drum it back into line.”
Another sip from his cocktail. “If history has taught us anything, it’s that power vacuums are bad news. Out of every Robespierre, a Napoleon. Out of every Lenin, a Stalin. Out of every Tito, a Karadžić. When tyrants leave the ship, the helm might be taken by someone who really makes us wish the old buggers back.”

His heart skipped a beat. He didn’t know whether he should feel elated or even more worried.
“You... actually want to reinstate Chrysalis?”

“We soften her up, we turn her, and then we reinstate her. Because, for all her massive faults, she’s proven capable of effectively steering this people like no other. Animal or not, she’s a born leader.”

“Amen...” the lawyer chewed. “Well then, Mother Teresa… Just out of curiosity... how do you want to manage to do that?”

“As you might imagine… being a judge at the ICC has its perks. I had tea with many people. Ministers, governors, gen-secs… from states important enough to make a difference in Equestrian politicking.”

“If you…”
Excited, the lawyer bowed down to his bathing friend, “If you can actually put in a good word for Queen Chrysalis in the international community… That might actually sound halfway sensible.”

“Doesn’t it though?” Colm concluded, sated, and scooted to the furthermost point of the spherical pool. “Now… don’t embarrass me in front of the other guests. Get in the fucking tub.”

Shrugging, the lawyer finally hung aside his robe and slowly descended into the nigh-boiling pot in the ground. When he was in up to his navel, he abruptly stopped.

The Irishman groaned and boredly stirred his cocktail.
“Something the matter now, o devil’s advocate?”

“The… the offensive you mentioned.”

"Yes?”

His eyes darted around the unruly water nervously.
“It… it’ll remain a secret operation, right?”

“I’d imagine that they’ll try and keep a lid on the affair for as long as possible. Why do you ask?”

He looked back up at his friend with great concern.
“Chrysalis… she mustn’t learn of it. She cannot know that the Equestrians are marching on her home. Not now.”

The judge drank and pouted. “Why? What can she do?”

“That’s just it, nothing. And she’ll react… volatilely to the fact. And with all those hearings coming up... I worry that she wouldn’t be able to stand the pace very well.”

“Then you better stick her back into solitary, because I can guarantee you that it will be hitting the TV screens within the next two weeks. You can’t keep this sort of thing under wraps forever.”

Drawing heavy breaths through his nose, the lawyer sank deeper into the pool.
Jesus, Maria und Josef.

“Hey… She’s a disgraced monarch in exile. Treat her to a bottle of vermouth, and the guilt shall be overcome by breakfast.”

“She’s a mother.” Estermann uttered sparsely.

“Ah... oh.” Colm sputtered apprehensively. “That’s a bit harsher. How many, did she say?”

Again, he shrugged.
“By the looks of it… all of them.”

Colm nodded.
“Better make it a bottle of poitín, then.”

Author's Note:

...For anyone wondering: The word is 'Verfahren'.