Chapter 1

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The unicorn held the bottle in a strong, telekinetic clutch. Bring it up to his mouth, a rich, dark liquid gurgled from the bottle downwards, sloppily emptying itself onto his face and chest. He grunted disgustedly and let the bottle clatter to the ground, fanning his hooves over his chest and desk in a haphazard attempt to clear up the mess. He croaked in vague satisfaction as he found that none of the wine - some old Red from Roam or somewhere; still a waste, though - had ended up on the paperwork that littered his workspace.

Dim lights from fading candles cast long, hard shadows over the bitter figure. Ragged blonde hair over a pale, white coat; frigid blue eyes stark and accusatory. A stark jaw and a sharp, rigid horn. An anomaly within a landscape of lovingly-carved and varnished oak and ash, of gold fittings and dark blue sapphires. Displaced and disaffected among elegant carpentered lines and warm colours. A suitable parallel with his position in court, the unicorn thought.

Princesses, but he hated his job. Blueblood II Polaris, Prince of Equestria, Duke of Canterlot, Duke of Rearingsburg, Marquess of Ostarrein, Count of Vladimare and Lord of Stalliongrad, Heir to the Platinum Line, hatefully considered his lot in life to be predestined; a path drawn out by his Aunt and his parents before his conception. Dull, pointless administrative work, filling the void between the ruling Princesses and the civil service. 'Filling the void' was his job description, for the lack of a better explanation, he drunkenly supposed, for that was what he did. And by Celestia, did he hate every second of it.

Appease the nobility. Oversee logistical measures. Attend gallery openings. Attend the Stable of Peers. Oversee the designing of ships by a stable of professional incompetents. Oversee exploration efforts. Attend court. Look handsome. Take the flak for royal faux pas. Become an icon of hatred. Do other inane bureaucratic paperwork. Bully secretaries. Bully underachievers. Bully foreign dignitaries as needed. Appease foreign dignitaries as needed. Resolve border disputes the Princesses can't be bothered to deal with. Bully dissenters. Appease dissenters. The list went on.

He longed for a much more prestigious - and a far less monotonous position, though knew not to push his position. Many in his House had fallen for less. Celestia, how he wished to be designing or onboard a battleship - or a carrier!, his thoughts intruded, or obliterating the whole of Eastern Griffonia! He had a soft spot for exploration too, but his lot in life was to watch people who were less brilliant than he inevitably mess up whilst being bound to his desk. Yes, he thought bemusedly, to be freed of incompetence, duty or bureaucratic constraint was my most desired hope, but knew that reality was not so kind so as to allow his dreams to come true.

The aspirations of his youth had betrayed him, and his lot was to, in effect, clean after the Princesses. It was his luck that found him inebriated in his royal quarters (the smallest of the lot, he bitterly considered) doing paperwork relating to farm (peasant) subsidies at two in the morning. It was a miracle, he thought, that he hadn't been murdered yet.

Fate, however, would not be kind to him, nor Equestria itself, as he would soon find out.

A sudden clatter and an onrush of volcanic light from his doorway. Blueblood instinctively flinched and instinctively, though haphazardly, pulled open his bottom drawer with his magic.

I'm ready for you! I may be drunk, but prepare to taste steel!

A weak telekinetic field wrapped itself around the hilt of a surprisingly well-maintained sword. Upon viewing his 'assailant', however, the Prince let the weapon clatter back into the drawer and dejectedly knocked it shut with a hoof. An assassination attempt would make his life more exciting, but it was not to happen. Fate had other ideas in store with regards to making the caustic Prince's life more interesting, however.

Blueblood's glazed eyes perceived a stout, grey unicorn bereft of a left ear and with dull steel bands running up his left foreleg standing in the now-open doorway to his chambers. Bedecked in a staff officer's uniform, gilded aiguillettes gleaming in the dim light, the unicorn cast a extensive shadow over the inebriated noble. The figure grumbled dryly at him.

"Sir."

General Sir Augustus Thunderclap was the Chief of the Equestrian General Staff, the seldom-seen professional head of the Equestrian military whose job it was to coordinate the deployment of the Guard around Equestria, plan for the worst, and show professional disappointment when the Guard would courageously, but inevitably, fail to defeat the foe that the cosmos would annually match against them. A laconic grey unicorn, Thunderclap did lack particularly high opinions of both his superiors and his inferiors, but would nonetheless willingly chew out anyone who was not acting up to scratch. One ignored him at one's own risk.

"Give me a moment, CEGS..", Blueblood drawled as he hastily attempted to sober and clean himself up in the space of five seconds. "What is it?"

"The Princesses are gone."

"Gone. Gone?!" Thunderclap is too serious to joke, especially at this hour, and to me...

"GONE, SIR. DISAPPEARED INTO THIN AIR. MISSING IN ACTION. ABSENT WITHOUT LEAVE; DESERTED THEIR POSTS. NOWHERE TO BE SEEN."

The officer took a deep breath and lowered his voice.

"Guardspony Grey Stratus went to check on Princess Luna in her observatory as usual, but she was missing; he reported it to the watch officer, who sent runners to find the other Princesses in their chambers - and they were missing, too. I was roused, mobilised the Guard in the Canterlot area and came to find you, sir."

Blueblood shuddered as he took in this information, grasping for breath and shaking his head in an attempt to clear the cloudiness. He reached for a glass of water and took a gulp before glancing back at the scarred officer.

What is one to do when the Princesses go missing?! "You have sent out scouts, messengers? How long has it been since this occurred?" Is this really all necessary, part of his mind started to itch.

"Scouting parties are turning the surrounding towns and hamlets upside down; couriers have been sent to mobilise detachments around Manehattan, Stalliongrad, Cloppenburg and the other major cities. It's been half an hour since Princess Luna disappeared without a trace, sir."

The grey unicorn caught the unease which had quickly darted across Blueblood's face.

"Your Highness, considering the similarity of this... occurrence with the incident which saw Princess Luna returned to us, we are fully warranted in mobilising all Royal Guard forces throughout Equestria, and in declaring a State of Emergency."

A state of emergency?! That'll just rile the dumb populace even more! Celestia knows how panicked they were after her disappearance a few years ago... Would they even accept a leader who wasn't an alicorn, though?

He nervously glanced up at Thunderclap's grim, ashen-faced visage. Then, a though struck him.
"Thunderclap, you said the Princesses were missing. Are Ca- Princesses Cadance and Twilight secured?"

"No, sir; as I said, all of the Princesses are missing."

It took a second for this information to filter through. A second, however, was all that was needed.

"My sister's sleeping with the Captain of the Guard and STILL she went missing?!" The white coated prince raged, alert and aware. He found his sister overly-enthusiastic about everything and her choice in a spouse despicable, but still held affection and cared - not that he would ever mention such to anypony. "Didn't the vaunted Shining Armor notice WHEN HIS WIFE DISAPPEARED INTO THIN AIR RIGHT NEXT TO HIM?!"

"Apparently not, sir. He's in a, erm.." The officer paused to formulate a properly polite continuation. "In a.. catatonic state, I believe. Incapable, sir. Unable to make head or tail of the situation, Your Highness. When we found him he was sleeping soundly; he lost his wits once he was fully roused. My informing him of the entire situation and of his sister's additional disappearance did not appear to help his condition, sir."

Blueblood's blue eyes bored into the unperturbed unicorn, and groaned.

His cynical - and somewhat paranoid mind - saw the hallmarks of... a plot. A plot! Against his person! They'd always hated him, and always knew he sought for greater things. Yes. A plot. They were going to humiliate him! Yes, humiliate him whilst they go off and party - he suppressed a shudder at this heretical and ignoble thought - and eat cake and do nothing and let him endure the punishment as Equestria crumbled! Once he had failed they'd trot in and restore order and throw him into an asylum or make him into the court fool or something! How better to remove the ugly reminder of the old Unicorn monarchs than to lay low its last heir (Cadance, he surmised, was an alicorn in appearance and ability, so she did not count)! But.. he could spring the trap. He knew of the plot now, and could work against it! Yes, he would show his quality in the days that came! But what if it wasn't a plot against him, but a plot against Equestria itself?! What if Equestria's monarchs had really been kidnapped - or worse!

If that was the case, then Equestria really was doomed. He, Prince Blueblood, despised of all Equestrians, would have to rule over a nation which had a distinct tendency to implode on occasion, regardless of whether it was being attacked by some monster, demon or malicious god-figure.

Blueblood, Prince Regent of Equestria. Blueblood the Unready; Blueblood the Accursed.

Blueblood the Bad? Too stereotypical; like a villain from some filly's fairy tale.

Blueblood the Beleaguered. That would fit.

What in the name of Celestia did I do deserve THIS?!

It was a miracle that it had ever gotten to this point, he thought to himself.

Equestria was a nation whose military was de facto ceremonial in function yet which had a budget that surpassed that of its strongest neighbours, the griffons. A nation which effectively relied upon a hoofful of ponies - six 'Elements of Harmony', his two aunts, his irritating sister and his imbecilic brother-in-law. To say that these ten were an impenetrable defence would be a gross exaggeration, too. Even in his wine-addled brain the Prince could recall with ease two incidents which had nearly brought the realm to heel. In one case, one of his aunts was possessed of some kind, and in a traitorous manner attempted to bring about eternal night. More recently, his other aunt was defeated by a changeling queen in an attack on Canterlot where the conventional military had been shattered in less than half an hour. He did not even wish to consider the other close escapes the nation had endured.

It was remarkable, therefore, that nopony had ever noticed that the Principality of Equestria's continued existence was an astonishing miracle and a complete defiance of acceptable political thinking - nay, a complete defiance of reality itself. A great cosmic joke, thought Blueblood, but then the embodiment of chaos itself, allegedly, has wreaked havoc upon our lands. The only thing missing from Equestria's gloried history was perhaps an assault by a singular Malignant Bee of Devastation, but the utter disappearance of the four co-monarchs in all probability topped the list.

Perhaps he was drunk; perhaps he was not. There was only one way to find out whether this was a childish prank or not.

"General Thunderclap. As heir presumptive to the throne of Equestria, I order you to answer my next question truthfully, on pain of treason and death. I have known you to be an honourable stallion, but I demand this of you nonetheless:"

"Is the moon moving?"

It was.

This, however, was not necessarily a good thing, as Blueblood remarked to himself, for it merely complicated the situation. Any prospective 'villain' who had succeeded in capturing the four reigning monarchs, or whatever they were, would surely know that it was in their interest to maintain a facade of normality in his target. Equestria would panic and overreact; once it had all calmed down and the interim government had collapsed or had let its guard down, then was the time to strike a decisive blow. It was what he'd do, after all, if he was planning a coup. Blueblood felt rather confident in this claim: after all, he had help plan a number of coups against foreign powers and often spent his time alone in his quarters - when he was not inebriated - indulging his fantasies in carrying out a coup. Not that he would, of course.

Of course.

The other option was not much better either. Whether it was a prank or whether it was intentional, it indicated that the Princesses were alive somewhere and fully capable of using their powers, but deliberately chose to leave, without a trace, in concert and at the same time in the middle of the night. Whilst the paranoid part of his brain did suggest it was a vile joke, and the deranged idealistic portion a trial of his ability, such conclusions did not help one bit as to relieving the situation.

He considered his options. Firstly, perhaps returning to that drunken stupor was the best course of action. 'Masterly inactivity', as Celestia put it, had served the country well: the entire continent had largely remained in a state of assorted technological stasis, and the lower classes as uneducated and apathetic as ever (though somewhat cleaner) and enemies came and went, usually through some great flank-pull of a triumph by some hero or heroine, like the stories of old. It could just merely be an isolated incident; perhaps the Princesses wished to be alone for a while - a sentiment he could understand. Alternatively, he could merely be too drunk as to tell the difference between an insane reverie and reality.

Leaning back against his chair, he knew what the far more uncomfortable choice was. He could 'do justice to your position, dear nephew', as his now-missing Aunt Celestia used to remark, in a slightly condescending tone that he found both harmful to his pride and yet something to be highly sentimental about. It would not be an easy task, not at all. He felt confident in at least pacifying his fellow nobles; the rest of Government, not so much. The Civil Service had exploded in size since Luna had returned; with Twilight Sparkle's elevation to royalty, the already-bloated force had doubled in size with an excessive number of needed yet undesired checks and oversights. Four Princesses and one Prince to deal with the inane paperwork and monotony of domestic administration were as needed as ever. The matter of the public had to be dealt with too, as much as he loathed them. If the press knew of this, then all manner of panic would have spread throughout the country; whilst he did have fond feelings for his homeland, Blueblood did not have much for its jumpy populace. There was also the foreign angle to consider, which he did not even wish to consider in the long run. The zebras chafed under disadvantageous border tariffs; warhawks in the Griffon government were always attempting to press claims upon the border colonies.

Then there was the need to 'ensure the family legacy', or more properly, 'ensure the realm's legacy'. Blueblood groaned and placed his head in his hooves.

Sleep it off, dear boy.

Equestria can wait for two hours or so.

Just.. tell Thunderclap to secure the other elements - and the actual element things. Amulets? Discreetly, of course. Yes. Can't disturb the populace, or I'll be dead in two days. Yeesss.

That would do. Masterly inactivity combined with some decisive action. Perhaps it'll be fine and resolve itself in two hours - Equestria was absurd like that. He yelled for his secretary.

"Inkwell? INKWELL!" he shouted out the door. "INKWELL, GET YOURSELF IN HERE, NOW!"

The startled bureaucrat stumbled, half-awake, from the chambers opposite from Blueblood's.
"Look here, Inkwell, I need you to do the following. The security of the realm depends upon it."

And my sanity.

Frayed Inkwell had the thankless task of being Prince Blueblood's primary secretary. As a qualified Guardsman, he was also responsible for the Prince's security, though he was very rarely needed for this function. A well-built but messy blue-grey unicorn, he shared his superior's cynical nature somewhat, though was far more prone to 'indiscretions' in public. Namely, indiscretions on the line of panic attacks as opposed to the indiscretions his superior was supposedly infamous for. Regardless, he to a point agreed with a statement Blueblood had memorably recalled to him once. There were allegedly two factions in Canterlot Castle: "sycophants" and "cynics". Presumably there were also cynical sycophants to add to this eclectic mixture, but the Prince was in a state of inebriation when regaling this tale and at such times it was difficult to tell whether he was being earnest or not. Then again, Inkwell reminded himself, it was difficult enough to tell whether the Prince was earnest at all, regardless of alcohol consumption. Ethanol in His Royal Highness' bloodstream merely made the task harder.

Such was a problem of working with an absolute flank-hole of a superior, alongside the supremely uncomfortable need to be at hoof at all times. Yet it was, Inkwell concluded, not a terrible job. The pay was quite reasonable for his position, though this was in part due to the number of sinecures which he had taken up after becoming Blueblood's Chief Secretary. He also fulfilled the non-sinecure positions of being Blueblood's de facto bodyguard and colt-servant. In a rare stroke of empathy Blueblood had allowed him to keep his sinecures after they had been found out. The sinecures, however, did not always make up for the rigours of serving the alleged-heir-to-the-throne. His Royal Highness demanded much from those serving him. Of his Chief Secretary and right-hoof-colt he merely demanded more.

Being roused at two-thirty in the morning, therefore, was not a particular difficulty nor was at all surprising to Inkwell. This did not stop him, however, from holding residual discontent at Blueblood's demands. He was not majorly surprised, either, at having to attend a provisional meeting with the CEGS and the Prince, the latter of whom wore the visible signs of one of those late-night drinking runs he had started to take regularly. The secretary stumbled through the doorway.

"Look here, Inkwell, I need you to do the following. The security of the realm depends upon it." Shuffling on a cloak telekinetically, the secretary stood to attention.

"And what is that, sir?"

"I'll need you to run around the Castle for quite a while. Fetch and carry." Blueblood rapidly explained. "You'll find out soon."

The said secretary was used to this delaying too, and resorted to fastening his cloak and staring at the wall with an expression of professional boredom upon his face. Asides from the usual indicators of discarded wine bottles, broken pens and discarded scraps of paper, it seemed to be a relatively normal night. It was sometimes remarkable that the Prince would be utterly alert four hours later, completely prepared for the daily council meetings.

Blueblood casually ignored his secretary, and instead turned and started to speak to the other stallion in the room, General Thunderclap.

"Firstly, CEGS," Blueblood said, before noticing the mild distaste on the officer's face, "Thunderclap. I need you to send a detachment of your best guardsponies to Ponyville. Secure the other Elements, but be discreet! We cannot risk stirring up panic in that settlement of hypochondriacs."
Blueblood paused, and tapped a hoof against his chin as if in thought.

"May I advise that you take care in securing the erm. Eh. The white unicorn and the blue pegasus. The golddigger and the Wonderbolts-wannabe. Uh.." The Prince appeared to wrack his brain for the names of those Elements before giving up, and looked to his secretary. "Inkwell! What are they called?! The one that stalked me at the 'Gala and the one that demolished the Ballroom?" The Prince reflexively shuddered to consider the mares upon which national security was anchored.

"Rarity and Rainbow Dash, sir" Inkwell offered. "The Elements of Generosity and Loyalty, respectively, sir. Rarity followed you around the Grand Galloping Gala and you used her as a barrier against a massive flying cake, after which she splattered you with confectionary material. You then tripped and slipped and knocked over an unsecured statue, which Rainbow Dash promptly attempted to hold upright. She failed, and started accidentally knocked into another statue, causing a domino effect and the consequent destruction of the ballroom. Damage costs were unprecedented. However, I would like to point out that Princess Celestia did not entirely attribute the damage to the Grand Ballroom as being wholly the fault of Ms. Dash, rather..."

The General merely inclined his head towards the secretary in a minute gesture of gratitude.

"Yes, thank you Inkwell," remarked Blueblood monotonously, cutting off his secretary. He continued,

"Thunderclap, as I was saying, of the... unstable ponies that make up the Elements those two are the worst. Especially the former. Princesses!" he exclaimed, exasperated. "You may need to give the lads earplugs. And possibly opiates afterwards. And a pay rise, definitely. Absolutely terrifying. Worse than an entire company of Griffon screamers. Once you've convinced them to come to Canterlot, stick them in some highly-secure wing of the Palace - preferably soundproof - and put a double-guard on their chambers. Do not let them out. Do NOT."

Silently observing from the side, Inkwell had the distinct impression that his superior ordered as such primarily as to prevent the Elements from reaching him than any threats from reaching the Elements. To a point, he agreed, but part of him wanted to see the old colt squirm and rave.

Thunderclap stood to attention and saluted, with Blueblood returning the gesture in a somewhat-drunkenly, then marched out of the room. Satisfied, the Prince turned his icy blue eyes towards his evidently-tired secretary.

"Close the door, Inkwell. What I am about to say to you is in my utmost confidence in your loyalty to myself and the realm. Not a word to anypony." Inkwell raised an eye at this statement, but nodded confirmation and closed the door with his telekinesis off-hoofedly. Cloak-and-dagger scheming was of the norm in the civil service, even if on occasion the methods and results utilised were wholly unsuited to such intrigue. It made life somewhat more tolerable and interesting amongst the soulless gold fittings and marble ornaments. Inkwell's eyebrow twitched. His Royal Ponciness was surprisingly lucid at this time of day, despite the stark indicators to the contrary.

Has he found his voice tonight? The secretary was bemused by these developments, though remained wary. There was always a threat - and deeply pragmatic competence - in that mind, regardless of external appearance.

Blueblood continued. "The Princesses are gone - where, I have absolutely no idea. I will have to lead Equestria, but regardless, the realm will bleed." This was a shock, and Inkwell stared at his superior. The civil service had adjusted to the fact that marauding evils would plague Equestria, but never considered that any force would be so powerful or daring to successfully decapitate the state in a single evening. Ignorant to his secretary's agitation, Blueblood carried on.

"Until we find the Princesses, it is a matter of survival. I do not intend to die, and I am sure you do not either. Inkwell. I need to know everything, do you understand? Everything. Inkwell?"

Perhaps he had underestimated his superior's mettle. He had known Blueblood for years, and had known that he feigned incompetence (in more ways than one, his mind chuckled) in public. He knew Blueblood was a bureaucrat (amongst other, more unsavoury titles which all but a few knew nothing about) and had some leadership qualities, but not this. The heads of department would be killing themselves, literally.

"I need reports, information, anything, Inkwell. Use my seal - or the diarchs' or whatever it's called now seal - to get access to every department in the entire Castle - and do not let on to the situation."

That was definitely extraordinary - a complete violation of all known precedent! And the Princesses were gone too! Inkwell blabbered, trying to form a coherent response whilst figuring out a plan of action. "How?! I'm your Primary Secretary!"

"Exactly!" Blueblood demanded vigorously. "You're my Primary Secretary! FIND A WAY!" Blueblood seemed to have enough and stood up. The civil servant withered under the noble's judging glare.

"How, sir?!"

Blueblood took a deep breath.

"Look here, Frayed Inkwell. I need you stay calm, and your duty. I trust you, Inkwell; do this for myself, do it for the realm, do it for the Princesses - whatever makes you feel better. I need to know everything that is going on and has gone on for the past week."

Perhaps it would be best to ignore the consequences. Besides, such praise and responsibility was unprecedented, Inkwell thought. Perhaps waking at such an ungodly hour did earn its rewards. Serving with the de facto monarch of all Equestria could serve him well.

"Oh, and Inkwell? Once you've done that wake me up in about... two hours."

Inkwell merely shook his head and walked out the room.

The developments were concerning. His head rang once more, his vision started to cloud over, and Blueblood failed to sufficiently grasp the implications of what he had heard in the past minutes, or at least, to his own liking. Sleep would be a commodity he would find scarce in the upcoming months, though his work was not done yet. There was one more task left to do before the break of dawn, and before the inevitable public onslaught.

"Who could one rely on?" Blueblood mumbled to himself. It helped him to sleep knowing one's enemies and allies, and the sheer banality of it all irked him to no end.

Inkwell was always reliable, but unimaginative and literal most of the time. Un-ambitious. Loyal.
His under-secretary, Golden Letter, was ambitious. However, she did have a moral compass, which he could perhaps exploit. There was some romanticism there, too. Relatively loyal.
Thunderclap. CEGS. A patriot; would support rule if it benefitted Equestria. Old ally in the Council; dependable, especially in times of war.
Argent Typhoon, Lord High Steward. Old friend; leading pegasus commander in the Guard. Politically and militarily able. Connections with the Navy; former dab hoof at the Navy Office. Utterly loyal?

There were others in the Royal Council, of course, but one could only judge them so far. One could not be everywhere, nor know everything, one could not cling to their loyalties permanently.

Serene Bloom, the Lady High Chancellor. Capable and very close to Cadance, warm in the relatively rare conversations they had.

Then there was the Lady High Chamberlain, other prospective heads of departments and senior officers, all of whom were decent ponies, but of these names one in particular stood out.

Shining Armor. The Great Enemy. The brother-in-law. Would staunchly oppose rule but strongly support finding the Princesses. As of yet controls much of the Canterlotian Guard. May be removed in favour of Typhoon? There was a desperate option, though. Make peace?

There was another unicorn of note, though, one outside of the Royal Household and Administration.

Fancypants. Ambitious but to an extent an ally. Favours the status quo. Controls the golddigging upper classes; a useful ally.

Then there were Equestria's most valuable and most volatile assets.

The Elements. Recalcitrant; hated him. Irritating. Unpredictable. Wildcards.

Blueblood tiredly sighed and rose. He strangely found he could not sleep, despite the alcohol and the new burdens put placed upon sagging shoulders. He walked towards the window; Thunderclap had irksomely left one of the curtains loose. Before he could close the thick, red sheets a sight caught his eyes. He turned to face it. Slowly, carefully, Blueblood took in Canterlot and Equestria in its glory. Were it not for the chaos that were to ensue, Blueblood would have marvelled at the abnormal beauty of the sight. Dim lights dotting throughout the lower town; the moon's silver reflection glazing over the gentle curves and sleek spires of the city. Gentle wisps drifting across verdant farmland. Pinpricked clusters of stars majestically scattered over a rich, dark sky. Soft shadows slicing across alabaster and marble.

And yet, for once, he had a distinct sensation of clarity.

Equestria needs you, Aunt Celestia. Somepony with the experience, with the tolerance and ability. I won't be able to hold this heap together for even a week.

If he hated his old job, he hated his new one even more. Von Hoofwitz would have fainted at such odds. He did not particularly care for any of the Princesses with the exception of Cadance, he reflected. The other three he respected, yes. It was that, he assured himself, that lay behind his desire for them to return.

Knowing my luck, it'll all blow up tomorrow morning. Might be for the better then. Our enemies will be on their backs laughing, utterly incapable of attacking.

That was not a reliable strategy, though. But without the Princesses, Equestria was deprived of protection; it lost a shield, a deterrent and its upper leadership in the blink of an eye.

Accursed dreams. It will be an utter nightmare in the months to come. A slow, tortured death surrounded by insane fools and backstabbing lunatics. Not like this.

And as much he loathed Equestria and its people, Blueblood remised, he felt strangely beholden to remain at his post. Ethics and honour had become abstract, bizarre concepts to him over the years. He loathed and admired himself for having developed such an attitude in such a short period of time, and, irritatingly, knew not why.

Perhaps it was pride; perhaps it was the family legacy. Perhaps it was out of some quixotic sense of honour; perhaps it was sheer stubbornness. Stubbornness he could understand. It was the only thing he'd openly respected earth ponies for. Stubbornness would help.

What was that tale my father used to tell? Of the King and the sword he had suspended above his head with a single hair? How does one cope with that? How does one cope when one's previous burdens are but a drop in the ocean of one's new?

Perhaps it was simply because of that accursed mark on his flank.

I'll stay at the wheel, no matter the cost, but you had better return. All Equestria depends upon it. Even the strongest steel buckles eventually, and I have far from the strongest.

He glanced back at his desk and saw the paperwork regarding agricultural subsidies. He allowed himself a small smile and threw the accursed sheets into an ornately decorated willow tray labelled 'Low (no) priority'. Enough of that garbage.

He had spent many nights stargazing; tonight was nothing special. In that fraction of a second had stopped thinking about politics, or any of the princesses, he reflected; his eyes had finally, and solely, gazed upon Equestria in all its glory and wonder. An achievement not to the Princesses, but to the equine races themselves.

Captains did not abandon ship.

Might as well be me; who else could take the fall? Beleaguered indeed.

The new Captain-in-Chief resolved that he would not abandon his.

The first dawn of the day of Blueblood's reign as Regent was met with a lack of distinct ceremony. It was at least, Blueblood thought, a relief that it dawned at all, considering the situation Canterlot Castle found itself in. The Castle was completely locked down, and its occupants all in a manic state, though none was as frustrated as the unwilling ruler of three races of equines.

"Inkwell. When I said I wished to know everything, I did not mean literally everything."

"I... I thought it best to fulfil your demand to the best of my ability, Prince Blueblood. Besides, I did not know what you needed to know, Highness."

This was the type of situation Celestia would love to think up, Blueblood thought. In front of him lay stacks and stacks of reports - and other stacks littered his rooms. The Prince lazily lifted up a cream-coloured file and opened it up with his telekinesis.

"Yesterday's kitchen inventory, Inkwell?" Blueblood looked over the rim of the folder with a perfect expression that sat somewhere between disappointment and irritation. The types of idiocy one had to deal with sometimes were an astounding damnation of the equine races.

"Perhaps the Princesses' disappearance had to do with what they ate?" the hapless secretary offered eagerly. The stare intensified.

"Inkwell," Blueblood said as he carelessly tossed the file to the side, "I ate the same as them yesterday."

The secretary mustered up a response and replied, grinning weakly. "With all due respect sir, you aren't... an alicorn, sir."

"Thank you, Inkwell..."

Blueblood sighed and placed his head on his desk, a signal which Inkwell took as a dismissal. He would need to find some time to read through all these scraps of paper to determine what was important and what was not. Perhaps bureaucratic reform was in order, he wished. Blueblood reflected upon his first three hours as Prince Regent. Nary an hour into his nap the Mistress of the Robes had run into his chambers, screaming alarums, until a sentry outside dragged the crazed mare out of his rooms. The entire Castle had soon found out about the disaster that had befallen them, yet Thunderclap and the Officer of the Watch had worked miracles in damage control within the Castle at least. The Comedies of the Ancient Pegasi were petty puns in the face of his situation. How the sages of old would wish to have thought of this! His mind drifted to the other occupants of the Castle - the military. The guards had shown remarkable stoicism about the situation, but then again, Blueblood thought, stoicism in the face of Tartarus itself was the only function they performed admirably at. Stoicism which he was at times capable of performing, but which he believed was utterly lacking on the inside.

As such, it was utterly inexplicable how easily he had accepted the role of Regent of Equestria. One did not immediately reverse one's view upon the entire world and one's philosophies in a single experience. He loathed the title, loathed the associated duties and loathed the population in general, yet, to his own disbelief, had not instantaneously 'chickened out' as the foals would call it. He had dreamed of becoming a King, but not over this wretched heap. There it was! He still hated the accursed country and his accursed inferiors; he had not succumbed to insanity yet. He didn't want the job and wanted the Princesses back, now, but unfathomably had not collapsed in a frenzied, terrified heap nor had the intent to drive it through Tartarus and back. Not yet, at least.

Every minute made their absence worse. Blueblood steeled himself, and picked up the next file in the pile, and flipped it open. Agricultural Report - Ponyville. Swallowing, the Prince read on. But as he read, a disturbing itch scratched at his thoughts. The niggling thought that this was permanent; that the burden of leadership would fall upon his shoulders for the next forty or more years. He needed clearance, and as boring agricultural reports were, he could not. A glance at the clock. Now was as best a time as any. He stood up, stretched, and made his way to the Great State Rooms - the Council Chambers.

The first major event of the day was a meeting of the Royal Council, devoid of four of its members. Four of its most esteemed members: the four alicorn princesses. Blueblood arrived half an hour early, as he always did. Entering the empty hall, with the sun peeking through the curtains, he slowly crept towards the seat positioned at the far end of the room. A cool breeze fluttered through the windows, gently brushing at the Prince's golden mane.

After Luna's return both Celestia and Luna attended Royal Councils together, most of the time. On the occasion that one of the diarchs was not present, the present diarch's throne would be moved to the head of the table, alone. Each throne had been intricately and delicately decorated, each a stark contrast to the other. When Cadance and Twilight were elevated to a similar status, they had received such thrones of their own - though the thrones of the original diarchs were by far the most imposing pieces of furniture in that room.

Celestia's chair - solar motifs and all - was at the head of the table that morning.

Every inevitable step closer to that chair heightened Blueblood's trepidation twofold. He brushed past his own chair - the traditional seat of the Unicorn Princes. It was hard enough to take his father's place, despite the training he had prior, despite the schooling. His father was already old when he was born; it was no surprise, then, that Blueblood took the Unicorn throne at an unprecedented low age.

He had always resented Cadance for that. She had the calmer, less strenuous childhood. After her elevation to Princess, he always wished he could spit his years of service in her face every time she quasi-complained about her workload. The accursed bureaucratic reforms had not helped; the monotonous work seemed to teleport to his office desk regularly. A most princely task indeed.

He could still remember the tales of the days of old - before Celestia and Luna. How it took three - and sometimes six - ponies to keep the equine races together.

How would one unicorn do it alone now?

Advisors would always be advisors; they could not be crowned. The dumb populace had always preferred tradition over rationality. It was a false hope to believe that the Chancellor and the Lord Commander of Cloudsdale could be elevated to the positions Puddinghead and Hurricane had once held. The people had come to tolerate, nay demand, rule by divine right.

Part of him wanted to laugh at them now. They would all have opposed his sitting in this chair regardless of the situation. How he desired to spite them, spite their memories and their opinions of himself. It made it easier to approach that chair.

He stared at it for a minute before finally approaching it. Carefully, delicately, he lowered himself into it. It seemed effortless at first. It was just a chair, same as any other. It was even comfortable. Until he remembered.

From this seat Equestria was ruled for countless years.

From its height the Prince looked out over the Council room, and felt distinctly inferior. He had always felt inferior in this room, but today was different. He was infinitesimal in comparison to those who had come before him. He considered himself capable, but no ordinary pony would be capable enough. Not being an alicorn of his Aunts' size, and crushed by the legacy of over a thousand years of good government, Blueblood shrank further within himself. It was an unbearable burden for one unicorn alone, he tried to console himself, but failed. The public's perception was no longer a concern, no his place in history. His mind was set on a record of failure upon repeated failure.

Blueblood sat on that honoured throne, and wept.

Author's Notes:

I apologise as the plot starts rather slowly. This is necessary as I think it would be beneficial for readers to grasp my basic characterisation of Blueblood before the actual plot advances - in other words, before he starts properly 'ruling'.

To summarise the characterisation, Blueblood's a cynical jerk, with a rather demeaning attitude towards non-unicorns, social climbers, golddiggers and ponies who don't pull their own weight. However, he is competent in the fields of bureaucracy, leadership etc, but his abrasive nature tends to get in the way more often than not: a stallion with few friends but a number of close allies, favouring those who demonstrate skill and quality over a populist attitude or schmoozing. He is, however, definitely more paranoid than he is a coward, and distinctly overworked.

Again, I apologise for the rambling nature of my narrative style and dialogue; if it helps, it's my first fic, and it hasn't been proof-read.

Comments are highly appreciated.

Chapter 2

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“Blueblood”, his father had sagely remarked, “you must always know your place.”

A small white colt glanced up, bewildered, at a gaunt, greying unicorn dressed in the finest silks.

His father continued. “Now, Blueblood, it is your duty to do as I have done once I have passed beyond the veil. The same you shall ask of your sons and your grandsons. What is that, you may ask? It is service, service to Equestria and Princess Celestia herself.”

He paused and took a deep, shuddering breath. “Furthermore, colt, you must know the place of those who are utterly beneath you. Just as Princess Platinum, our honoured ancestor, bent the knee to Princess Celestia. Therefore, we must bend our knees to her, and those beneath us must bend the knee to both her and us.”

“No other House is as ancient as ours, none as worthy to rest so high. Though we dream of our gloried days as the rulers of all equines, our House has fallen since. We, the Lords of the Unicorn race have led our brethren – and thus, the other equine races in turn, to peace and prosperity. This you must always remember, and never forget. It is our House’s place to rule and lead, and in turn, serve.”

“And what if the Princess were to, for whatever reason, go?” enquired Blueblood innocently.

His father roughly smashed a hoof into the colt’s face, and spoke disgustedly, “Do not even think of such a thing! Our House’s time has long gone; only the Princess can maintain Equestria as it is today. It is Celestia who raises the Sun; it is Celestia who raises the Moon. She keeps the harvests bountiful, and the tides good. The lifeblood of the nation is Hers. Celestia, who protects us all. Our House, and those below us, have grown decadent and foolish since the era of Platinum and Hurricane. Though the era of feudalism has passed, the facts remain still: we are her loyal vassals, her most loyal servants, and I shall not suffer your speaking on such matters again. Seek not that which has fallen beyond our grasp centuries ago. No more can the Unicorn Princes raise the Sun; so our splendours grow old and faded, there is but one task we may yet fulfil.”

The colt looked down ashamedly, blood slowly trickling from his nose. His father placed a hoof under his chin, and lifted it up. Their eyes met, and his father continued.

“Know that without her, we are nothing. Without her, Equestria is nothing. You are nothing.”

“It is the duty of every son or daughter of Platinum to do so whilst those below us choose to waste away under their own imprudence. To live and die in service to the realm, as your ancestors have done, as I will do, as you shall do. To do so without query or question. To do as our House has always done, and as our words dictate: So we maintain.”

She had gone.

The constant in everypony’s life had disappeared whilst visiting some forsaken little village nobody had ever heard of, inexplicably. She didn’t have to turn up for the Summer Sun celebrations there for any reason whatsoever. In the blink of an eye, she was gone. One small mistake was all it took. Celestia, Princess of Equestria. Celestia, who had united the equine races. Gone.

Perhaps Twilight was right; there had been rumours leaking out of Ponyville about how the Nightmare Moon had returned, and the entire country was in uproar. He had itched with uncertainty before Celestia left; itched with deadly certainty that his former classmate and acquaintance was correct. If they survived, he swore, perhaps he would strike up the intellectual ‘companionship’ they once had. It was a false hope, he scolded himself.

He had eventually come to admire her intellect, her dedication to her research, yet had shrugged away her concerns when she came to him. It was a myth, he told her, an old mare’s tale. Trust not in ancient prophesies and grand old legends. The world did not work in such storied ways. He had regarded her innocence as endearing, but dangerous. He regretted it now; perhaps his influence may have made Celestia do otherwise. Perhaps her beloved nephew’s words could have done what her faithful student could not.

The Stable of Peers had wanted to yield in a most disgraceful and traitorous act. Perhaps they truly wanted Celestia back, or perhaps they wanted to save their own skins. The latter was far more probable; most of the members, representatives and Lords had instead remained at home, cowering under their own beds. It had mattered not; he controlled The Stable, and with an iron hoof brooked no discontent. There would be no capitulation, no surrender, Blueblood declared, and if the Nightmare chose to come to Canterlot, then he would fight her himself if the Most Honourable Cowards of the Stable would not. Had they not sworn oaths of fealty to the Princess? Had they not repeatedly proclaimed their loyalty to Her and to the realm? If it was necessary, then the oldest House of them all would remind them of their errings and assurances. He feared the Nightmare not.

Every word he spoke was a lie, an utter rejection of what he held inside. He knew the odds, but perhaps all it took was one pony to stand up? Such a feat would surely fit the fabled accounts Twilight found, he chided himself mockingly. He was sure, though. Sure that if the Nightmare came then nothing could withstand it, and that if the Nightmare did not, all ponykind would slowly starve whilst he sat and watched, alone in ivory towers surrounded by strutting fools and dishonourable cowards.

But Canterlot held; order was restored, and the Council waited and prayed that their weak measures could repel such a primordial evil. Defeat was inevitable, yet Equestria was maintained.

It was all over in a weekend. Celestia’s genius of a student, a pretty young mare from the minor gentry, had did it, raising up and harnessing a magical force which all had long forgotten. It were as if, laughably, it were all a tale by some chivalric poet, or a story to tell to your foal to send them to sleep. Blueblood did not believe it, but knew only to loathe himself for it. It had all ended happily, but not by the effort of the Platinum Line. His prior criticisms and doubts upon Celestia’s personal student were wholly unfounded, to his disgrace. Were it not for the Elements of Harmony his follies could have shattered the realm.

The old certainties had gone, his mind asserted. To further loathe oneself was pointless, another part added. Celestia’s sister had allegedly returned. The old oaths and laws would have to be redrawn. The old loyalties renewed; ancient trespasses forgiven.

And above all, so too would be his post, his place in the Royal Hierarchy, his view and knowledge of the world. What could the Prince of Unicorns maintain if the status quo had changed so much? What duties need he carry out?

He was lost and confounded in the new Era of ‘Friendship’, of rule by diarch, of ancient magics and threats reborn.

And Blueblood, despite his skill and nature, knew not what to think nor do.

Blueblood had timely roused himself from his sorrows by the time the meeting had been scheduled to start. At least, that was what he told himself. More than ever, whilst he externally portrayed a visage of absolute stoicism, his mind and heart raged with discontent, distrust and above all, indecision. Looking back to his prior thoughts, there was a distinct irony about his current musings. What was happening now had happened mere years ago with the Nightmare Moon incident. Yet disturbingly, there was absolutely no clue whatsoever. No ancient prophecy, no letter left behind. Absolute nothingness, an emptiness reflected in his own heart and that of the noble few who would bear a part, but ultimately only a minor portion, of the burden he carried.

It is strangely familiar. Strangely welcome.

He flickered a quick over at a mirror in the corner. No signs of weakness were allowed. A quick flash of his magic and the tears were quickly gone. A quick swipe at the mane; a couple of hairs dropped onto the table. The gold wasn’t vibrant enough; he noticed with a trained eye - he’d need to consider dyeing his mane. Finished with little time to spare; a series of knocks on the doors and the Council started to file in.

His cold blue eyes drifted over the other Council members as they took their seats. They were especially disheartened today. Typically, that was a fact to be enjoyed; something to revel on deep inside and a fact to be exploited, but Blueblood discouragingly lacked the energy and the mood to do so. It felt strange to acknowledge another pony’s troubles, let alone that of the highest gathering in the land. The lethargic melancholy in the room was infectious. An outsider would seem astonished that such ponies - despite their ability and usual mannerisms - would act in such a way. When Twilight Sparkle ascended to the position of Princess, the angered and neglected aristocracy caustically named it 'an Oligarchy of All The Talents', a weak jab at one of the youngest, ablest and generally most optimistic Royal Councils ever. Celestia, old and wise, Princess of the Sun. Luna, authoritative yet kind and ever vigilant, Princess of the Night. Cadance, his sister, all-loving and wilful, Princess of Love. Twilight Sparkle, supremely intelligent and immensely skilled at magic, Princess of Magic. In its heyday mere weeks ago the other High Officers of the Realm were as equally brilliant. Shining Armor, Prince of the Crystal Empire and Captain of the Guard, peerless at barrier magic and who possessed near-fanatical devotion amongst some sections of the Guards with his personality. Serene Bloom, the Chancellor, quick and decisive, an excellent financier and legislator. The others who served in the Royal Council, arguably lesser members due to their lessened influence, were as equally capable. Argent Typhoon, smooth and calm, a jack of all trades capable of fulfilling any role. Thunderclap, laconic yet brilliant, second perhaps only to Twilight in organisation yet far more efficient at doing so, a stallion who planned for every eventuality and famous for thunderclap efficiency in suppressing problems. Even the Royal Secretary, Raven, had an utterly comprehensive knowledge of the legal code. Blueblood himself filled a post – the very last, he considered it to be - amongst these brilliant elite. A spectre at the feast was how he regarded himself.

Blueblood was always discontented, however. He had agreed to the jape the petty nobility had made, to an extent, and helped fuel the fires of dissent in the Stable, resentful of so many ascensions, of his repeated exclusions from the very highest table at the feast. Now, Blueblood observed, it would become - under his watch, and devoid of its most illustrious members - a Ministry of All The Damned. A fitting epitaph indeed. So had it started with Princess Platinum, and so should it end with one of her line.

Their dark faces were in stark contrast to their surroundings. Smooth, whitewashed walls rose up to an elegantly decorated night-blue ceiling. Silver specks representing stars scattered over the azure plaster stared down over a carved, mahogany table resting upon a gold-trimmed carpet. A graceful silver chandelier, the glass as clear as diamonds, subtly basked the room in mild, golden light. Unlit brass torches, shaped like leaning ponies, masked artificial lights sat affixed to red-veined marble columns flanking hoof-made stained-glass windows lining the left side of the chamber. Cream-dyed silk curtains embroidered with pink lace lay limply by the side of each. A cacophony of colours and warmth juxtaposing stolid and taciturn ponies.

Raven, the Royal Secretary, was first to enter. A bespectacled white coated unicorn mare, with a neat, dark brown mane done up in a bun, the Prince had an undecided opinion of her. Typically, he had very little to do with her despite her position as one of the highest-ranking bureaucrats in the realm; their working relationship was ambivalent. That was an improvement from the pony who had formerly held that post, at least. He'd vaguely remembered strangling her predecessor over some petty narcotic-induced spat, though not to death. The Royal Secretary's function was to serve the monarchs of Equestria - in practice, this meant the 'higher diarchs', Celestia in particular. It was also the task of the Royal Secretary to contribute to discussions on the Royal Council, with the actual secretarial functions at such meetings being devoted to a Royal Under-Secretary or one of the other Princesses' personal secretaries. Principled, formal and exceedingly loyal to Celestia, Raven was not considered a threat by the weary Prince. However, his memories warned, the Royal Secretary could prove to pose an irascibly effective obstruction to any radical actions he intended to take. There’s hidden steel behind that demure exterior.

Frayed Inkwell, messy mane and all, clumsily stumbled after her. The bureaucrat responsible for taking the minutes at such meetings was normally a personal secretary to the chair; thus in this case, Inkwell, as Blueblood’s personal secretary, was to attend too. Inkwell was a better choice than Golden Letter, his under-secretary, he confirmed. Less likely to make a fuss.

After him, a more welcome face at last: the de facto 'Prince' of the Pegasi and of Cloudsdale, Argent Typhoon. A dark blue Pegasus with a well-brushed silver mane, Argent Typhoon was perhaps Blueblood's only proper 'friend'. A fellow of Blueblood's at school, and claiming descent from Commander Hurricane, the blue pegasus had everything Blueblood didn't. Relatively happily married, Argent was free to flaunt his successes before the world, but did not; remarkably for his position, he had a realist - bordering optimist - attitude. An accomplished soldier, he had been rapidly promoted to high rank before leaving the active services to notably serve in both the War and Naval Offices. He was, Blueblood had reluctantly admitted, the ideal of nobility in the flesh. Driven by a strong sense of noblesse oblige and a resourceful statespony, Blueblood would have loathed his very existence were it not for their childhood ‘friendship’. Interestingly, the pegasus tended to defer to the unicorn on a number of matters - including leadership, arguing that the latter was a far more able pony than he, a fact that Blueblood saw as being endearing and yet utterly 'mind-boggling', as the lower classes would call it. An exemplary right-hoof-colt was how the Prince regarded his old pegasus friend in turn.

Behind the pegasus trotted the Chancellor, Serene Bloom. A gold-maned and lilac-coloured pony, she was the image of a social climber but one could not drift further from the case. Though a socialite at heart, Serene was an accomplished sportsmare and had quite a grasp of economic and administrative duties. Blueblood felt that he had always underestimated her abilities, to his detriment at court and on the social stage. Beautiful, witty and intelligent, the Lady High Chancellor of Equestria was a unicorn scion of old earth pony nobility and had that good quality which was a distinct rarity amongst the inbred Canterlotian nobility. Blueblood regarded her with respect, a fine and accomplished colleague. A firm friend to Cadance, but not necessarily to him; firm acquaintances with a rather healthy respect verging on fondness for each other. Ignorant of his musings, she trotted towards her seat, pulling it back and dropping her saddlebags onto the ground. She pulled ledgers – the burden of any Chancellor – out of them with her mouth, absent-mindedly poking at her hair with her left hoof. Her hair intricately done up, and dressed in a delicate, fern green dress, a drift in his concentration caused the Prince to discern some similarity between the Lady High Chancellor and that accursed stalker of a mare from that cataclysm of a Grand Galloping Gala a while past. The Prince quickly shook such thoughts out of his mind. Serene was a far more proper pony, and infinitely better company than that shrieking beast of a siren.

The line of miserable officials was finished with two robust unicorns, one in gilded grey steel plate, and the other in gilded purple. Chief of the Equestrian General Staff Augustus Thunderclap and Captain-General of the Royal Guard Shining Armor. Both illustrious; both gleaming examples of their office. Both displaying distressingly glum expressions. Together, they represented the Equestrian military, though the matter of hierarchy was never particularly clear; Celestia was probably to blame, Blueblood had commented in the past. The Captain-General of the Royal Earth, Unicorn and Pegasus Guard, simply known as the 'Captain of the Guard' historically oversaw the operation of both the Solar and Lunar Guards throughout the country. The Chief of the Equestrian General Staff, on the other hoof, oversaw the entire Equestrian military as a whole, and acted as the highest uniformed advisor to royalty. Historically, one led the ponies to battle in person, and the other sat at the back, organising troop movements and the logistical necessities of war. It was rare for both uniformed chiefs to attend Royal Council meetings – Blueblood always felt that the Princesses found the attendance of both uncomfortable – but with the expansion of the administration, the responsibilities of both officers and the Council had expanded as a necessity too.

Years of intrigue and defence cuts had greatly manipulated the military landscape from the original intended purposes. Whilst the Captain of the Guard still only had jurisdiction over the Solar and Lunar Guards, Shining Armor had a far greater presence than his de jure superior, not least because he was ruling Prince of the Crystal Empire contemporaneously. Favourite of Princesses Celestia and Cadance (naturally) and highly charismatic, he was the de facto head of the entire Equestrian Armed Forces due to the fact that the Royal Guard had become the entirety of the Equestrian Armed Forces. The position of CEGS had since deteriorated, with the militia forces given autonomy or disbanded altogether and the Navy hit by multiple cuts. In practice, Thunderclap now served only to coordinate the operations of Equestria's military. It was an uncomfortable state of affairs for the two - proud stallions both - but cooperation was a necessity, particularly for Shining Armor. The recent developments in the Crystal Empire had left the Captain of the Guard less able to guard Canterlot, thus delegating much of the duties - those he found boring, Blueblood had concluded - to Thunderclap.

Though the power of 'friendship' and the Princesses was renowned, even Shining Armor was perturbed by the nature of the Guard in current times. The two had a tepid, respectful working relationship; petty service rivalries, especially considering the threats Equestria faced, was exceedingly inappropriate and demeaning to both the uniform and country.

It was Armor whom Blueblood had confronted the most, in Council and elsewhere. Rivalries between the nobility were independent from service rivalries, and fate had set them up to be rivals from the very first. They had went to the same schools, and both attended the Royal Equestrian Academy. Both had excelled in their respective years and classes; both vied for the top accolades. Yet it was Shining Armor who rose to the very top of the military ladder; Blueblood always resented having to pull back his scholarly ambitions on account of having to take up his seat on the Royal Council at a young age. Shining Armor had therefore sped past him up the military hierarchy. Even at the Academy, their military philosophies differed quickly as the two colts grew and studied, a portent of greater rivalries to come: Armor, naturally skilled at barrier magics preferred defensive moves; Blueblood, quick to anger, preferred much more aggressive and blunt methods in war. Their personalities and backgrounds simply added to this enmity. Armor was low gentry, naturally charismatic, humble and generous yet impetuous. Blueblood, in comparison, clothed and shielded himself in the garb of the old nobility and in irritable frigidity, a cautious but efficient operator. Both were exceptionally stubborn, and both proud. Cadance's betrothal and marriage to the up-and-coming guardspony had merely added more tinder to the growing fire, a fact that was additionally aided by Armor’s initial failure to defend Canterlot and his would-be-wife against the Changeling Invasion.

The fact that Cadance’s brother was mysteriously absent from the initial guests list had been pushed to the bottom of perceived wrongs as a result of foreign disturbances on the initially-planned date. Neither did the low-key rumours that were spread amongst the Messes and Wardrooms about how the Princess of Love’s inebriated brother had fought and led better than the groom on his wedding day help the frigid relationship. Blueblood had not particularly encouraged the rumours, but hadn’t suppressed them either. Somepony had to deal with the repairs, damages and casualties after all, and it wasn’t going to be the newly-weds, not at all. Or the Princess of the Sun, who preferred to gorge on baked goods and confectionery, and thus suspiciously nowhere to be found, for that matter.

The months following the Wedding had not helped hostilities. The grant of the Crystal Empire to his sister and her husband had quenched and tempered and hammered the animosity to an unprecedented extent. In the months that followed Blueblood’s veins boiled with hatred towards any mention of his accursed brother-in-law.

I should have been granted the Crystal Empire – not he! I had charted those lands, I had overseen initial exploratory efforts. What manner of pony is rewarded for abject failure in the face of the Realm’s utter ruin?

While Armor became unwilling to continue the feud, Blueblood had not been, yet tensions gradually relaxed. Armor had encouraged this, but Blueblood had largely ceded unwillingly, forced by the necessities of political manoeuvring - namely the Princesses putting their hoof down on the issue and Armor's repeated absence from Canterlot. The Realm and its affairs always took precedent over petty feuds, but the staple of Canterlot manners did not dissuade the hatred significantly. Resentful animosity yet remained, and was largely one-sided.

Perhaps Cadance did do something on his part, Blueblood mused as he observed his brother-in-law. He had noticed a considerable lessening in enmity from Armor recently, though it may have been the consequence of other factors. He did not expect much conflict from the saddened unicorn today, however. His eyes red from long periods of weeping, the tear stains were evident on Shining’s despairing look. Heavy, black bags under an emotionally-crushed stare. The Captain of the Guard took his seat, quietly and slowly, every step weary and unwilling.

Quickly, but gently pushing past his colleague, Thunderclap quickly approached Blueblood. The two exchanged a few words notifying the former of difficulties concerning the mission to secure the Elements, especially with concerns to difficulties in planning. Blueblood nodded in confirmation.

This will muddle things, but no matter. There is nothing more for us to do with regards to the Elements now. Steel thyself, Blueblood. There are some things even you cannot move, his mind scolded in a voice suspiciously similar to Celestia’s.

He’d have to be diplomatic; one could not afford to lose allies at such a possible time. Although Blueblood did not consider any of them enemies – indeed, the Council largely tolerated his occasional uncouth mannerisms and typically blunt nature, and Armor was at worst, a useful rival – now, of all circumstances, was one in which a lack of vigilance could be paid back in blood and suffering. Be diplomatic, he scolded himself. Your worthless life depends upon it.

He bit his tongue as the disappearance of the Princesses again came to mind, and pushed such thoughts straight to the back of his mind immediately. Now was not the time to grieve; he could always find time to do it later, he reminded himself. He quickly closed his eyes for a moment, and let the persona of a solid, capable leader wash over himself, suppressing ‘malignant contemplations’ to the best of his ability. He pulled his eyelids open with effort and steeled himself. His mind’s door slammed shut, the bolt passed and the key turned. As hard and constant as the North Star; driven by wizened blood as old as the equine races themselves. Unreactive and unable to be tarnished, the noblest of metals. He willed himself to live up to his names.

The wicked and the great have no rest. I am the former, but the latter?

Blueblood waited for them all to be seated before speaking up in a strong, confident air.

"I thank you all for attending today. As I'm sure you've all been informed, all four Princesses have, without prior warning, suddenly disappeared. We have no knowledge as to whether this was to their intent or not, but considering the circumstances and the troubles which have plagued Equestria as of late I am prepared to take the stance that this was done by a malignant force hostile to all ponies."

This was met with a strangely muted response; perhaps they had all reached the same conclusions. It itched of a plot, but Blueblood felt sure that those reactions - and the emotions on show - were genuine. Such were the advantages, and perhaps the dismay, of life in Canterlot. It steadily became more uncomfortable; he was sure there was something…off about the current situation. No, he pacified, there were no traitors here; he was seeing shadows where there were none. Emotions threatened to rise, but he suppressed them further with an iron hoof. Just the stress. No matter. Continue.

"As a result, I propose that we declare a state of high readiness, with myself as Regent of Equestria until the Princesses return. If they do not, we must be prepared to consider other options, such as declaring a State of Emergency and other less… comfortable decisions." Blueblood cautiously added.

Not that I know of any other options with the exception of absolute anarchy. And Celestia, how inglorious and burdensome the designation of ‘King’ would be…

Serene spoke up, her golden curls swinging as she turned towards the unicorn at the head at the table. "Do we inform the ponies of this incident? We surely ought to, but the reaction would be unthinkable." The worry and concern was evident in her voice.

"It is my intention to," Blueblood smiled slyly as he continued. "To at least cover up the situation, at least for a week. We cannot, however, utterly prevent the ponies from finding out, so I suggest a strategy of obfuscation for this interim period. It may be plausible to spin that the Princesses are incapable, perhaps due to a mysterious and unknown miasma that has affected them only. Something to be highly worried about, but no risk as of yet of a major pandemic. As the rulers of Equestria are largely incapacitated, we must act accordingly."

And now I'm taking cues from Inkwell? ‘Must be rather desperate times indeed.

"Of course, if there is no problem whatsoever we can easily spin it in our favour. If the current situation is permanent, we could perhaps manipulate the story so that their disappearance was perhaps influenced by this... condition. We will, of course, need to regulate the flow of information out of the Castle and out of Court with great vigilance, in order to keep the upper hoof in such matters."

Of course, despite what the ethic-less new money would say, drawing attention to oneself is not always the good thing. Hopefully it’ll also give me some breathing time before the assassinations start…

Serene appeared to accept this answer, and nodded in agreement; the Council followed and nodded assent, with differing reluctance.

"We need to find them!" Shining Armor suddenly exclaimed. "We can't just sit around like this while the Princesses and Cadance and Twiley have gone missing!"

Not now, you jumped-up foal…

Blueblood attempted to maintain control of the chamber in spite of Armor’s outburst. "Finding the Princesses is high amongst my priorities, but I believe strongly that our first task should be to guarantee the security of the Principality of Equestria as a nation before finding the Princesses. Al-"

"Stop blabbering and do something, you twit! Your sister - my wife - has disappeared! So has my sister and your aunts! We should look for them at once, you prancing oaf!"

How dare he-! No, Blueblood! The Prince restrained himself with difficulty. Now is not the time for such vengeful triviality.

"Armor, if you'll allow me to continue? Prior experience has suggested, if you'll pardon my cynicism, that such situations which ultimately threaten the Principality of Equestria's continued existence are resolved for an average period of about a weekend. For the first few days of the Regency we should look to Equestria's defences and maintain stability, before dispatching concerted search efforts. Parties have already been sent to the major guard outposts to inform them of the occurrences, and they shall mount rudimentary efforts for the time being."

"And if they are not found?" Argent Typhoon was next to form a query as Armor slunk back into his seat, temporarily exhausted and dispirited.

"Then, my dear Argent, I believe it may be necessary to consider permanent measures to ensure the stability of the realm as a whole."

"You mean to take the throne for yourself?" interrupted Armor again in a surge of anger.

I deserve it more than anypony, you commoner! I would like the Throne, but not like this…

"I…"

"But Prince Blueblood, there is absolutely no precedent for this!" intervened a shocked Raven before Shining Armor could offer a passionate or hate-fuelled rebuttal.

Blueblood groaned mentally, but was quick to form a response. "As I recall, Raven, the Act of Supremacy and Succession of 1593 rules that upon the extinction of the Royal line or the otherwise absence of alicorn rulers, that the descendants of the ancient Unicorn monarchs - most specifically the direct line of the House of Platinum, should take the throne in such circumstances, does it not? Additionally, the Celestian Treaty includes the caveat, section four paragraph two, I recall, that the Platinum Line is regarded as an extension of the Celestian Line in matters of succession and is in place to inherit should there be, again, no alicorn monarch."

Celestia, I’ve realised I know as much about the Order of Succession as Armor’s book-eating sister, heavens forbid. Never thought it would ever be useful…

"Yes," the spectacled secretary asserted, "but the most recent Acts of Succession ignores this caveat completely, instead detailing the line of succession from Princess Celestia down to Princess Twilight."

Blueblood fidgeted in his place, and continued insistently with mounting displeasure. "The recent Acts are but amendments to the earlier Acts of Succession! It matters not that the recent amending acts do not discuss the succession beyond the alicorn princesses; such Acts are merely amendments to the existing, or the formerly existing, alicorn or Celestian Line. It is clear that in the eventuality of the extinction of the line that the Prince or Princess of Unicorns ascends the Throne to rule in place of the alicorn Princesses. Besides, the Platinum Line has always had a claim upon the Throne of Equestria, and Princess Celestia has always recognised our claim, even if she never put it to paper in recent years."

End it there, Raven; I’ve no time for such pointless trivialities now. Why is it that all I seek is so poisoned and thorned? Yesterday, I would have taken the Throne with gratitude. Today, I would only take it if given, and not from the gutter, for there is nothing more repugnant, nothing more I would not wish to bear. But if it were necess-

"And what of the Crystal Empire? The Platinums have no claim upon the Crystal Throne, my Prince. By all other administrative Equestrian precedent of cognatic inheritance the Crystal Empire should be regarded as an independent sovereign entity, with the title passing to the next in line to the Crystal Throne. With the original Crystal Line extinct presumably due to the machinations of Sombra, it should legally be passed to Princess Cadance, but in her absence and presumed death and lack of issue it should instead pass to her husband, should it not? The Crystal Empire shall become an independent sovereign state with Shining Armor as sole hereditary monarch after the disappearance and presumed death of his consort leaving the sole remaining diarch of that state as the sole ruler of those lands. His heirs should inherit after him. And as the heir presumptive to the Equestrian throne lacks any claim to the-"

Shining Armor looked up in shock in reaction to this statement, as did Blueblood. The latter was more capable in hiding his surprise visibly, but failed to reign in his vocal cords.

Shouldn’t the title be rendered extinct or given to the ruler of Equestria?! Anyway, I’d be damned if we lose that frozen wastehole! Never, and not to him! The Throne is mine!

"I'm Cadance's bloody brother! I should inherit!" Blueblood rapidly yelled, considerably agitated.

"Not in your case, Your Royal Highness, on account of her spouse being alive and your not being an alicorn; alicorn inheritance has historically been superior to any other equine inheriting the throne of any Equestrian or sovereign Equestrian-influenced state with noted exceptions based upon repeated precedent and the original Act of Supremacy attended by both Princesses Celestia and Luna, wherein the Platinum Line acknowledged its inferiority, inheritance in particular, to the Celestial Line. Thus the inheritance of the Crystal Empire passes through traditional Equestrian cognatic succession, though as the succession of both it or Equestria are not expressed in detail, the fact that the latter has only been ruled by female monarchs may mean that absolute enatic successi-"

Oh for-

"Enough!" Blueblood roared, kicking the throne back from under him and standing to his full height. His countenance shattered, a terribly frigid and iron gaze fixated firmly upon Celestia's secretary. "If it would not displease your honour, but I was under the impression that we were not attending a Markers’ Meeting for the Annual Civil Service Examinations,” he said with false, stony deference.

“I have not yet stated my intent to fully take the throne of Equestria, nor that of the Crystal Empire, and be instituted as ruling monarch. It is my current intention to lead a Regency Council with myself leading it as Prince Regent. The Crystal Empire shall remain within Equestrian hooves and be regarded as a territory with devolved autonomy for the time being, with my good brother, Shining Armor, overseeing Crystal affairs from Canterlot and the Equestrian Civil Service administering it until further action is taken to establish an independent Crystal Civil Service or wholesale integration.”

He paused briefly before continuing.

“Royal Secretary, the very nature of your argument exemplifies how well-suited you are for your office, and I greatly appreciate your knowledge in such matters,” Blueblood commented almost condescendingly. “Nevertheless, the security of Equestria and her dependencies is paramount in such troubling times. Internal integrity is thus of utmost importance; we cannot let ourselves become divided. As such, I have no intention whatsoever to allow it and its bounties to be separated from the Equestrian Throne; if it becomes necessary for me to take the latter, then we shall discuss the case of the Crystal Empire and the inheritance at such a date."

I would prefer to centralise power, and it would be better to integrate the Crystal Empire. I am not giving Armor sole rule of it. Besides, what is one additional crown when one is wearing one already? If the Platinum Prince is to carry, once again, the burdens of old, then let me carry them all.

Blueblood sat down and continued, more calmly. "My fellow councillors, may I suggest a period of about a month for us to properly gauge the situation before deciding on more permanent actions? If necessary, I will, of course," he took a deep breath, "take the Throne of Equestria, and perhaps the Crystal Throne if needed. I have no desire for it, but if Equestria demands it, then I shall ascend to it and accept this heaviest of burdens."

And they'll never know the truth behind that statement.

"We shall make every effort to find the Princesses before this tragic possibility occurs,” he stated with finality.

The Council seemed to grudgingly accept this resolution, for now. He regulated his breathing subtly, and loathed his break in concentration. Yet despite his indiscretions, he consoled himself, Equestria may yet survive another dawn. If it dawns again, Blueblood scolded himself in another stark realisation. Just because it dawned today did not mean it would dawn tomorrow. Is this how primitives think? It was greatly concerning that his reveries had moved to cover such areas, he mused, as it was troublingly approaching the thought process of a pony-sacrificing beast from the Mareyan tribes.

This was thankfully broken when Raven spoke up again, catching him utterly unawares. "And now, Prince Blueblood, how do we intend to deal with any threat upon Equestria whilst the Regency Council is in control?"

"Surrender?" Blueblood instinctively reacted, flippantly. A moment passed before he realised what came out of his mouth. Slack jaws and wide eyes all around.

Blueblood attempted to rapidly formulate a reply. "Well... if Chrysalis or Tirek or some other evil entity attempts to attack Equestria, that may indeed be our only option." he spoke with questionable sincerity.

Awful save there, you intolerable ponce. “’Surrender?’!” Even Princess Luna could be more restrained! Diplomacy, he reprimanded himself once again, and made a minor note to deal with his personal problems properly.

"Whilst I am loathe to demean our serviceponies, the reality is that the Guard is utterly incapable of mustering against such threats, and that they may only be of use in a conventional war." He took a breath and continued with increasing concern. "Yet even that may be doubtful considering the nature of military spending and the state of our defences."

A sobering silence filtered throughout the room as iridescent light cast long lines over the rich dark-brown table.

"We should hope for the better then," Argent negatively declared. "Nonetheless, we should be aware of the dangers of increasing military spending if we were to prepare for conventional war. Even if we were to sufficiently disguise the troubles of Canterlot to an extent that foreign or malignant powers are absolutely uninformed of our reduced operational and defensive abilities, such a mobilisation of either the military or the burgeoning military-industrial complex without sufficient justification would provoke intense investigation, to our detriment."

'Hear, hears' throughout the room. Blueblood turned to the Chancellor. “Serene, how is the state of the economy with relate to such matters?”

Flipping open a thick, heavily-bound ledger, the Chancellor rapidly glanced across the pages before formulating a reply.

“The economy is, for all intents and purposes, doing fine; however, we must be aware that once it is known that the Princesses are missing, confidence in the Government will fall. Additionally, it is possible that productivity may drop as a result of the lack of stability the Princesses ensured. I cannot advise a wholesale expansion of the Equestrian military at this time. I propose that we act with caution for now, and only expand the military – with the necessary financial measures – at a later date when the Regency seems secured for the long run.”

Blueblood swallowed. “Is it feasible if we mobilise part of the Reserve Fleet?” he posed the question to the room. “If we mobilise one of the older squadrons, on the pretence of military exercises, or perhaps as part of a delayed rotation schedule, the impact may not be as severe. We may even leave the unit on the reserve list but call up the crews, if the Staff and Intelligence are capable of dealing with such skulduggery.”

Nods of agreement. “Good. Then we shall do so as a minor precaution and hopefully, it’ll also be a temporary deterrent. We shall look towards long-term military spending should the current status quo continue at a later date.”

Argent spoke up, turning towards the targets of his question. “Shining, Thunderclap: is it possible to mobilise, or at least alert parts of the Guard without drawing undue attention? Whilst such a movement as to call up the reservists would generate undue attention, could we not at least place the Guard on a state of minor alert and move a few units towards the border with the appearance of intending to rotate out units at the borders?”

Shining Armor nodded in confirmation. “Yes, that is possible. We should also be considering the opening of the Guard as a whole to Crystal Ponies. It would greatly increase the pool of available recruits and may result in an initial increase in Guard strength, depending on the number of immediate enlistments.”

You don’t say, Armor. Increasing recruitment efforts resulting in increased Guard strength and reserve numbers?! What a novel concept! ‘Tis rather obvious why you didn’t join the Civil Service…

Thunderclap intruded, adding, “If it works well, it’ll provide an excuse for military exercises without causing undue tension. ‘Equestrian-Crystal cooperation’ or something.”

This was good, but somewhat uncomfortable. To gain such concessions from Serene – typically as peace-minded as the Princesses – was a dire indicator of their circumstances. It pained Blueblood to be unable to achieve more, but he grudgingly accepted the reality of their situation. Now was not the time for frivolous wasting on luxuries Equestria could not afford.

Though a couple of new warships could be useful, Blueblood. Then again, it might start an arms race…

A sudden thought intruded. The Equestrian monarchs rubber stamped every important action taken by the heaving bureaucracy. As the number of Princesses reached four, the bureaucracy could be easily expanded; it was not necessary for Celestia to supervise everything with three other alicorns on watch. Blueblood had been elevated to a position only slightly below the Princesses, resulting in him receiving what he perceived to be the fool’s lot of the paperwork; anything worthwhile that passed through his office would be checked by the Princesses; anything not seemed to go ignored. It was an astounding breach of security and an equally astonishing indictment of his character, he realised.

Either it was incompetence, trust or a treat in a crocodile’s open mouth. Neither is particularly desired.

Yet an impatient portion of his brain saw gold. He was now the sole Equestrian monarch. If he wanted, he could rule as a tyrant without any to question or dictate to him! Finally. The Platinum Line had regained absolute control over Equestria. Surely it would ease the inevitable pain and difficulty of rule if he were to have utter control… He glanced down at the itinerary which Inkwell had laid out. It would be a long meeting, and the backlog in paperwork would be massive. There was also that pile of plebeian reports waiting in his office…

What ill-starred oaths and fortune I must endure… But if I must bear the burden, I should bear them all. No. No, Blueblood, you cannot; honour, your life and your realm dictates you cannot. The Platinum that does not bend breaks. It is a metal, after all. Sort of. Bends to a point until it can’t return to its original shape; afterwards, may snap? Is it linear? Elastic limits and all that. What’s-his-face’s Modulus? Infuriating idioms.

If you are to serve Equestria, his mind spoke with surprising reason as it broke through the inanity, then your leadership will be measured in years and deeds. A dead pony has neither.

Fine. It was a disaster in the making, but one stallion could not keep Equestria together; he would have to delegate, a little. He’d bind the Council to his rule, if not will. It might even help expose plotters. Delegation of duties might be rather interesting. And while they were at it, they ought to change the equally accursed décor. Garishly optimistic. That would definitely not do. He should also get Golden Letter to invest in the wine industry, he also noted; a backhand deal or something. Whilst Prince Blueblood did not believe he was particularly skilled at foresight, with the exception of the paranoid conclusions one drew in his station, he was certain the vintners would have a very good year.

“Now, my friends,” he called out clearly, “I felt it best to clarify appointments in this Most Excellent Royal Council, and of the composition of the Regency Council for the time being…”

A thick, black cloak draped over his shoulders, the solitary figure lay hunched over a redwood table draped in charts and with ledgers and books filed high, illuminated only by a number of dimming candles.

Well-hued marble busts stared down from above the many bookshelves that lined the room.

A quiet knock on the door and a pink alicorn crept in. “Blueblood?” she ventured.

The unicorn in question, busily poring over a selection of thick tomes, lazily flickered his eyes towards the intruder. “Yes?” he questioned irritably.

“You shouldn’t do this to yourself, Blueblood. You shouldn’t act like this, and risk catching your death. Don’t even think about working yourself to death either, dear brother.”

“Somepony has to do it, Cadance. I must serve the realm and our House, even if you would not.”

“What?” exclaimed his sister in confused bewilderment.

“Armor is below you, sister. One of our House, especially one such as you, should not stoop so low as to consider a relationship with a lowly commoner.”

The alicorn’s eyes drooped in a mixture of disappointment, defensive outrage and pity.

“Don’t say that about Shining! He’s a fine stallion, and there’s nothing wrong with him! He’s an excellent Guardspony and very skilled with magic – he’s even been commended by Princess Celestia! He’s well educated, and his family traces descent from Star Swirl the Bearded! Blueblood, Celestia plans upon taking his little sister as her personal protégé!” The alicorn protested, but to no avail.

“Cadance, dear sister, it is the nature of our House and of our rank to suffer for the good of the nation. Such a relationship would be inevitably pointless in the long term. If you would propose to even consider a betrothal, imagine the consequences upon Equestria!”

The alicorn fumed, pink energies faintly glowing around her lithe form.

“You’re not father! You can’t and shouldn’t say anything on this matter!” She paused, calming down somewhat. “BB, if there were truly a problem with my relationship with Shining you’d know Auntie Celestia would do something about it. There’s nothing to be concerned about.”

She walked closer and stood in front of him, a mien of concerned worry evident. The magic softy dissipated; her brother found any use of her magical aptitude upon him exceedingly insulting. Regardless, the Princess pressed on, hoping that their familial love could persuade him to act otherwise.

“Blueblood, don’t be like father, please.” Cadence pleaded gently. “I’m worried about you. Don’t work yourself to death for nothing.” She tenderly placed a hoof upon a frigid shoulder.

He replied after a while, deliberately ignorant and abrasive. “I know that I am not like father,” he began with uneasy trepidation. “But with every living moment I wish that I were.”

His sister left without a word.

Unknown moments passed; the room dimmed. He took a lazy glance over his shoulder; to his distaste, the fire had cooled. He pushed out the seat from behind him, and walked out of the room, offhoofedly securing the cloak with telekinetic finesse. Pulling the door shut, he walked absentmindedly out, taking in the surroundings with every step and every breath.

The portraits and feats of his honoured ancestors adorned the grey walls. Great statesponies and generals in their prime, their forms heavy and accusatory. Every azure eye searing into his own, matching that Polaris gaze pound for pound. Cold and Bluest Blood of the finest sort frozen in the depths of the Windigo Winter, tempered by war, and quenched again by the Great Night. Blood aged over centuries of toil. Over fifty generations of his line had served in such revered capacities, he recalled distantly. Every one before him had served with distinction and courage, regardless of age or term of service. His father had served as Lord High Chancellor and Lord High Steward for over forty years. His grandfather was notorious for suppressing noble and pegasus revolts with an iron hoof. His namesake drove back the griffon. Amongst the Elite, Princess Platinum’s great-grandson was spoke of in dark, hushed tones, a grim pony infamous for rendering an upstart House utterly extinct. Others were renowned for monetary reform, foreign diplomacy or territorial expansion; all manner of successes were encompassed by the Platinums.

He remembered them all, knew of all the great unicorns that had led his House, and Equestria by extension, from the very first down to him. Though his father had initially drummed their names and deeds into him with the birch, he’d grown to seek them out of his own accord. Back then he would parrot how ‘one who did not know the past was destined to repeat it’. Now, he knew, one had to understand it, and whilst he felt as though he did, the weight of those aged actions grew steadily and steadily heavier. They had all earned their place there amongst those portraits and names. A gloried and heroic past resided within these ancient walls, he knew, and equally surged through his disturbed blood.

Glorious and heroic ancestors whose gaze and memory stonily judged the newest addition to their line, he knew, but with far greater certainty.

A cold wind whistled through the empty annexes and passageways, drifting through his coat and mane, chilling the colt to the bone.

He would leave this place once he had fully taken up his post. Yes, he would relocate to the Castle, where he could perform his duties to a much higher standard. He could not sell the home of his forefathers, but their ghosts gave him no peace here.

He glanced up. A map of Equestria and her provinces. To the north, a wide expanse of land, encircled by a thin line of Equestrian pink. In bold, black capitals the text scrawled across the uncharted wastes denoted it as being the ‘Unexplored Northern Territories’. He had always liked maps. It was perhaps megalomaniacal, perhaps insane, but he quietly adored the canvas charts. There was something in every one, but there was always an appreciation for the labelling and legend, he realised. There was definitely a hint of megalomania. How proud would one feel to see one’s own achievements writ in solid black, draped across plain, mount or river? Accomplishments set eternally in ink, for all one’s descendants to gaze upon.

He would have to go there, to those unfamiliar lands, the pale white unicorn assured himself. It would not be dereliction of duty, he assured himself; he was merely rendering services to Equestria, but in another form. He would deal with the backlog of reports in time; he was still young, he considered, and a little extra work would do him no harm, even if he hated some of the work he was settled with. Celestia was wrong, he assured himself. He could bear such burdens, and more. Cadance was wrong, too. He needed no respite, nor relief. It was not a matter of pride, just fact. He of all needed no assistance, especially that driven by degrading pity. His glacial eyes gazed longingly as he drank in the utter blankness scratched upon the vellum. Perhaps there was something worth finding; something valuable to take out of it. Mayhap even something to make his name there. He could not abide dying without a feat or fact to his name; the silent dishonour of his idle youth unbearable to his disquieted soul. What use was knowledge and learning if one did not act? Did Blueblood II Polaris truly deserve his name on the Platinum Roll?

Perhaps it would even clear his brain, that infinite pit clogged with pointlessness and ineffectual strife.

He would yet find out, to his detriment, that the ghosts and sins of the past would allow him no peace.

The Prince watched from Celestia's throne as the Royal Council filed out of the room. Now was as best a time as any. The politician in him told him to deal with this as soon as possible. Empathically it was probably the best choice too. There was no lost love between the two brothers-in-law. But now, Blueblood grudgingly accepted, now was as best a time to seal old wounds as any. He could not afford to lose the Guard now. If Armor would even go as far as to accept his rule, and perhaps help solidify it, well, he could call one of the most accomplished and skilled magic-users in the realm – amongst the top five after the Princesses’ disappearances – as an ally. If Blueblood were an optimist, he thought, then he would ignore the recent run of misfortune his brother-in-law had endured. Though if he were, he thought, he would have to take into account Armor’s stunning service record, in which, remarkably, there was little need for him to take to arms, and which caused Blueblood to recommend that his brother-in-law invest in some spectacles. After a series of near-disastrous and recent occurrences, the latter were sorely needed. Realistically he hoped that his faith in Celestia’s personal assessment of Armor was well founded. After all, despite whether he was an optimist, realist or pessimist, his life did, uncomfortably, rely upon Shining Armor. Blueblood was not an alicorn, and it was no surprise to him that efficient cooperation from the Guard would greatly expand his life expectancy.

And if Cadance was gone forever...

That was not worth thinking about, his mind warned, but Blueblood did regardless. Do it now, when his mind was yet in one place. Do it now, Blueblood, before you fall apart.

He exhaled, and the immaturity dissipated slightly. If she was gone, then he could not disdain her memory, nor her feats, with petty rivalries. He could not blame him for Cadance’s disappearance, as he had done earlier. Admittedly, he would rather not have Shining Armor as ruler of the Crystal Empire – Cadance was a far abler diplomat and administrator, even if she were as unwilling to take up the post as was her husband – but that mattered not at the current time. An unnecessary power shift at the top of the Equestrian political ladder was dangerous for the state. Perhaps it would even be better if he had somepony he could trust, yet had considerable independent thought and ability, on the Crystal Throne rather than any old lackey or ignoramus of a sycophantic noble. The facts were obviously placed before him. Internal dissent was a dire threat to the non-visibly quavering state of Equestria; no matter the reasoning, it had to be dealt with.

Princess Celestia had always told him to be optimistic, to see the good in everypony. It was sound advice, he supposed, but then again, Princess Celestia had also left him alone to deal with the political, social, economic and geopolitical feedback and fallout of four? Five, no, six. Three? Multiple. Yes, left him to deal with multiple crises that threatened the very existence of Equestria in her absence, including this one. Four, definitely; the others are debatable. It was belittling, now that it sprung to mind again. If Celestia wanted a parrot, she could at least have the common courtesy to not use His Royal Highness the Prince of Unicorns for this purpose, could she not? Heck, she didn’t even give me any advice on what sort of horseapples to spew! That was laziness, and highly disappointing, to be frank. If she wanted to test him – and he could not discern any reason for it whatsoever, as he was not Twilight Sparkle – then could not Celestia at least attempt to do so with some enthusiasm? The idleness in the implementation was grossly offensive.

And if she wasn’t, she had a pet phoenix, did she not? Surely she could have trained it to stupidly parrot the same stupid services from its stupid mouth?

Speaking of which, Blueblood remembered, he probably ought to check on i- Oh Tartarus take that blasted phoenix! Ugly, fickle beast! A stupid prankster like its mistress! Wretched phoenix! ‘Can’t even die properly!

Blueblood shook the thoughts out of his irritatingly fluid mind. Celestia always bewildered him, always befuddled him. He exhaled once more and went back to the matter at hand.

He lightly coughed and called out.

"Armor. A moment, if you please."

He paused for a moment before turning around and answering with an interrogating affirmative. Blueblood nodded off the other council members before replying.

Continuing this rivalry is utterly irrational; having it may have been irrational in the first place.

"Shining. I would like a word with you." Shining Armor seemed hesitant to move. "A few, perhaps. About my sister - your wife. About Cadance." The Captain moved from his spot and took his seat at the table. Blueblood stood and slunk back into his old seat, opposite from Shining Armor.

"I know we have not always seen eye-to-eye, and that bitter words have been exchanged on both sides. Yet, considering the situation, we cannot afford such profligacy."

Ah yes, “profligacy”, such a useful word in such a situation, you dolt.

He lowered and softened his voice. "It would be to the dishonour of Cadance's memory if we continued as we did in the past. I know I spoke of the Princesses' disappearance somewhat lightly earlier, but that was not easy. It would demean all of them if we let their work go to waste on account of our past relations. It is high time to put aside our rivalries and put our full effort into maintaining, and perhaps better, Equestria for their sake."

Blueblood paused.

"I know it's hitting you hard; I still haven't fully become used to it. ‘Never was the best brother, but it's hard not noticing the void that Cadance left." His countenance broke again somewhat, and the despair revealed itself slightly.

Armor spoke up, quietly, seemingly crushed by the reality of the situation. "Yeah. I feel numb. I couldn't think how I could-" Armor looked down at the table in utter despair.

Blueblood stretched his hoof over in an attempt to comfort the other unicorn, in an act that surprised himself. It was what ponies did to comfort others, he recalled from distant impersonal observation and the odd soap he used to watch to bore himself to sleep. It strangely seemed genuine, a severe jolt to his cynical mind.

The Princesses wouldn’t be so cruel as to torment this poor idiot; it feels too genuine to be an act… Wait, what am I thinking? No, Keep the guard up.

"Don't think too hard. We'll find them." Blueblood attempted to grin mildly with feigned confidence. "If I were in your place I too would demand we do more to find them - and I want nothing more than to do that, but we simply cannot."

Armor looked up with an expression of inquisitiveness and betrayal; Blueblood was quick to correct his own choice of words whilst cursing internally.

"We have a responsibility to Equestria despite our personal misgivings, and we have to be clear-sighted about such matters." I can't believe I'm saying this. "Indeed, finding the Princesses is vital, but unless you have any better suggestions, the fact that there are absolutely no clues as to their disappearances is both deeply troubling and a serious block to any search efforts. Still, there are more serious connotations. With your sister here, we'd have a chance, but now? I'm starting to question whether we'd be able to last a week if we're going up against any powerful enemy unprepared."

Shining Armor raised a blue eyebrow.

"Armor, your sister has saved this country countless times. Without her, the Elements of Harmony are useless. Though I've disagreed with her repeatedly I've never doubted or unappreciated her ability.” To be frank, Celestia’s… treatment of her is in all likelihood more insulting than anything Twilight’s ever done or said to me… “Without the Elements united there may be no hope." He lay back in his seat. "Though I've questioned whether Equestria is under threat at all."

Armor raised another blue eyebrow at Blueblood’s remarks, curious and surprised at the sincerity.

Well, he isn’t attacking me at least; I suppose that would be a positive indicator…

"It's entirely possible that the Princesses are playing a..." Blueblood paused. "A prank upon us."

Armor stared at him as if he were mad. "The Princesses wouldn't do such a thing!" he cried. "Why would they risk the harmony and security of the whole of Equestria for such a mad jape? And at whom?!"

"They are doing it to make us panic!" Blueblood urgently insisted. "To make us terrified! Don't say they won't do it - Celestia and Cadance are known pranksters! This would be one to top them all!"

His voice lowered and he spoke in dark tones. "You know they hate me - all of them - and how better to get rid of me? How better than to find an excuse for the removal of myself and my line?" His eyes twitched disturbingly.

"Blueblood," his counterpart anxiously mollified in that irritating coltish voice of his, "you're being absolutely paranoid. The Princesses would never do such a thing, and to say they hate you is complete horseapples.” The sincerity and lucidity with which his counterpart spoke troubled yet somewhat warmed the Prince’s heart. “Cadance loves you, as does Princess Celestia; Luna's spoken of her respect for you on occasion and Twilight's got nothing bad to say about you. She probably considers you a friend, considering how you’ve had to often work with her when she’s in Canterlot."

Now that he mentions it, the fear does seem irrational, but one cannot let one’s guard down regardless.

The Prince batted an eyelid in a rictus of well-honed royal disinterest. Armor snapped.

“Tartarus, Blueblood! Cadance’s right! You need to stop wallowing in your own self-pity and your delusions of grandeur, or we’re doomed no matter what!”

The same old tune, all of them…

Blueblood indifferently shook this off. "It matters not. I have no intention of dying yet and, though it may surprise you, no intention of letting the ship sink, even with you aboard. If it spites somepony, the better."

And I’m sure you’ll find it a fun adventure too; besides, if it all turns out for the worse I’ll drag you down with me. It would be strangely amusing.

Shining Armor crooned sardonically in retort, sorrows temporarily forgotten as he re-joined the old feud, unable to resist the desire to jape at his foalhood rival. "Confident words whilst it's still afloat."

And, pray tell, what would you do, dear brother? Not too different, are we? Stubborn fools both doomed to keep this swaying boat together.

"I consider it to be listing somewhat, and in rough waters," Blueblood countered. “Though if you ever believe your life to be in danger, then I would recommend a stint at the bilge pumps.”

Armor gently guffawed at this, allowing himself a smirk at his brother-in-law. “You were rather reasonable in Council today,” he lightly probed. “Far more reasonable than I would have expected. Perhaps there’s something resembling a brain in that hollow Platinum skull?”

Blueblood recognised it as a minor jest; it was what plebs allegedly did to calm their nerves on occasion. “And what did you expect, Armor? The Nightmare come again?” he mocked. “I’m not named after an Actinide, you know.”

“What? Oh right. It’s nothing; it’s just that I expected you to declare an intent to wage war upon Griffonia, or something equally stupid.”

As much as I would like to, I’m not suicidal. Then again, going down in a hail of fire might have something going for it. Then again, a heroic death is overrated and I’ll not give anypony or anygriffon or anyone the satisfaction of killing ME! And if we are fighting, dear Captain, I’ll make sure you’ll not sit it out at all, unlike what has happened in the past.

“Awfully sorry I was unable to fulfil your expectations. You see, I possess a highly useful trait – perhaps genetic – which may be of great use to you yourself, Captain. I suppose it must be genetic; after all, the name of my house is Platinum… When controlled, this quality is a great boon to oneself. Alas, such a state is indeed a rarity amongst both the nobility and the lower folk.” Blueblood feigned despair, and slumped forwards in mock sorrow.

“And what, may I ask, is it?”

“Self-preservation,” articulated the Prince in a haughty air, faux-arrogantly waving a hoof around as if it helped emphasise the point.

“Cowardice?” Armor japed aggressively in reply.

Too far, Armor. At least he’s not crying or had utter loss of his senses yet? Blueblood scowled indignantly, but for a brief moment. “Feeling a bit better, Shining?” the Prince ventured in a somewhat amicable way.

Shining Armor nodded and offered a slight grin, and the two sat in reflective, almost companionable silence.

Perhaps Equestria will manage to stand for more than a week.

“You’re still a stuck-up aristocratic jerk though,” remarked Shining Armor.

“’Wouldn’t have it any other way, and you’re still a stubborn, over-enthusiastic ass,” answered Blueblood with a smirk. “You’re not the worst after all, though. It appears my sister isn’t entirely devoid of common sense in choosing a husband.”

Shining Armor smiled, though broke it as he continued. “About the Wedding…”

Blueblood waved it off. “Doesn’t really matter; I attended the real thing, did I not? Heck, I ought to be apologising about those rumours…”

What am I doing? Celestia… Feuds don’t end this easily. He could be quick to forgive though? That, or an idiot. I am absolutely befuddled, though…

“You encouraged them? It seemed rather petty, even for you. Though considering how I fought that day, even a display by yourself back then would have been much better.”

“Somewhat,” Blueblood reluctantly admitted. “I did somewhat contribute to the rumours, though I’d wager the Mess, despite the free food and drink, wasn’t the most impressed regardless. I’ve made no remarks on it publically though; can’t exactly recall what happened, besides.”

True, that.

“Then again,” the Prince continued, “it’s said the best-dressed soldiers lose the most wars, eh?”

A thought suddenly struck him again. “Armor, you have a rather… strong bond with Cadance, am I correct?” ‘Course I am; Cadance had been blabbering on about it for most of my wretched life. “… Outside of the one couples have? The thing that allowed you to purge Chrysalis and her ilk from the city?” In a massive fluke, I have to add.

“Mhm…” he cautiously affirmed in return.

“Could you… feel her across this bond?” Blueblood offered. “Wait, not in that-“

Your Royal Highness, about that ‘diplomacy’ thing you were harping on about… Perhaps one ought to work upon it, eh, Blueblood, you quarrelsome boulder? And opening your heart out to your oldest rival? Cadance might be right sometimes, but you do recall what happened the last time Equestrian royalty did that to their oldest rival, don't you?

The Captain of the Guard offered a chuckle at the Prince’s embarrassment before answering. “It’s not… severed, as such. If I were to concentrate really, really hard, I can feel her presence. I’ve no idea whether it’s just a false hope or anything. Wasn’t one to study such things, really. You?”

“Nothingness.”

“As to be expected, of course.”

That joke was old a minute ago. The Prince snarled internally. Not enough decent conversation, these days. I could discern it from the first few hours of my ‘reign’ alone.

“Armor,” Blueblood disapproved. “As for relating to our conversation, no, I can’t feel anything, not even a severed link. Apart from the japes you could make at my lack of empathy, it’s probably a good thing. A good sign that she’s not dead yet. Of course, I was never the best brother, so that would have an effect- wait, why am I telling you this?”

If this is one of those old foal-tales then it'll have a happy ending. But Blueblood, stop and reign yourself in before you do something even more stupid...

Shining Armor shrugged ambivalently. “Well, it’s hard to see how this can help us otherwise. As you said earlier, we’ve no clue whatsoever as to her or to the other Princesses’ circumstances.” He frowned.

A thought protruded Armor’s mind, and he attempted to change the subject on a rush of enthusiasm. "You sent for the other Elements of Harmony? I'm sure Spike would appreciate a few friendly faces around here, especially if Twiley's... gone...” He frowned again as he finished his sentence.

"Yes, I ordered Thunderclap to secure the Elements earlier."

"You did what?! You could just have sent a message, right, Blueblood?" Armor exclaimed in astonishment, blinking in disbelief at Blueblood’s actions.

Surprised at the energetic reaction, Blueblood attempted to provide flimsy justification for his actions. "I thought we were under impending danger at the time!” And I was drunk. “Besides, they wouldn't attend summons if I sent a letter to them - they hate me! Especially that golddigging mare! She put a face on at that ship-launching ceremony, you know that! You can’t say they don’t loathe me, can you?!"

Ah... I suppose a message from Shining Armor may have been more… persuasive than a number of Lunar Guard in the middle of the night… Then again, they may not grasp the urgency through such a message. It’ll be fine, Blueblood, nothing to worry about.

The Captain of the Guard placed a hoof against his forehead. After a while, he spoke up again, altering the tune of their conversation. “Have you spoken to Spike yet, and explained everything? I’m sure than considering how I feel he’d be in a much worse state, considering his age and past experiences.”

Blueblood shook his head. “No, I thought it best for you to speak to him; perhaps the Bearers could also talk to him once they’ve arrived? I can’t say that I’m any good with infants. Or dragons, for that matter.” His voice trailed off.

Not to mention that I can’t stand foals whatsoever. Then again, you’re not good with ponies in general, or any other sapient being either, Blueblood, you asocial receptacle.

The Prince huffed. “Hopefully the matter is quickly concluded. It is my hope that the Princesses return – and soon, preferably before Equestria collapses into a heap of firewood. As I said earlier search and rescue measures may have an unintended effect, though I’m sure you’ll get the Guard to start innocuous searches in the Everfree and other regions soon – call it ‘exploration’ or ‘surveying’ or some other excuse before the ‘cat is let out’, or whatever the idiom is. Before the public finds out and goes completely insane. Frankly, I was expecting you to do as such despite what I said to the Council.”

Of course, if the Guards can’t find any trace of them, it’ll be impossible for the Elements to do anything useful, if you’re going to be proposing that solution, Armor. Without your sister they truly are a headless bunch of insane mares.

He offered Shining Armor a small smile before continuing. “But you never know, perhaps the other Elements would be able to contribute-“

Sudden, loud knocks at the door. The two unicorns turned towards the great double doors and Blueblood called for the person to enter. An ominously drained Thunderclap walked in.

“Sirs,” he nodded at the two unicorns. “We’ve secured the five other Elements.”

He paused.

“Though not without incident.”

Wonderful.

Chapter 3

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The Prince suppressed a yawn, lying back into his thick, mahogany chair. He massaged a bandaged right shoulder with his left front hoof as he did so, his arrogant distaste plain for all to see.

The Royal Council Chambers had been damaged in the battle - the Solar Guards stationed there had managed to put up a rather decent fight in the surrounding passageways - and the signs were clearly evident. Fire, blood, flesh and ichor were thickly drawn across the room, the distinct smell of burnt and dead flesh diffusing through the curtains despite lacklustre attempts at fumigation. Splintered wood and chipped marble scattered across the carpet and marble flooring. The windows smashed, the lead frames popping out of their brackets.

Princess Luna, upon hearing of the recent happenings, was rightly furious. To the immense irritation of the occupants of the Castle, she had insisted upon holding Court regardless of the day's festivities. Some convincing on the part of her sister had tempered the Princess of the Night's emotions, and the latter resolved to holding Council only. The servants had hurried in and had removed most of the glass and splinters littering the floor, and had swept the rest to the corners. Luna had insisted upon holding Council in the traditional, proper fashion. That is, in the Council Chambers in spite of the obvious battle damage.

It was, therefore, to the distaste of the Prince of Unicorns that most of the Council members found themselves busy, on account of it not being regarded as being a 'priority' meeting. Luna, being rather out of her depth in the modern world, did not yet understand such a distinction - when she had last been a ruling Princess, all Council meetings were fully attended with the exception of those who were gravely ill. The Equestrian Diarchs were absolute monarchs in the day; in modern times, the absolutism had been lost, at least publically, with the emergence of the bureaucracy and Princess Celestia's cultivation of an image of as a benevolent mother to the nation.

But that night, Armor and Cadance were on their honeymoon, Typhoon was off with his wife somewhere, and Princess Celestia had simply disappeared, and the Royal Secretary had followed the Sun Princess' sterling example. The Changeling had been waved off and had, unbeknownst to Blueblood, agreed to an unspoken agreement in which it would not attack when everypony in Canterlot was either inebriated, incapable, tired or a combination of the above. Either that, hardly anypony gave a flank about security.

The honoured gathering of the Royal Council - at thirty minutes past midnight - had been reduced to the Princess of the Night, the Prince of Unicorns, the Lady High Chancellor, the Chief of the Equestrian General Staff and, unusually, the Director of Equestrian Intelligence, Moonstone Shield.

Of this group, Blueblood noted with a touch of apathy, only Thunderclap, Serene and he had bothered to show up on time. Of these noble three, Serene had fallen asleep, and was softly snoring in her seat whilst Blueblood and Thunderclap exchanged laconic comments on the state of affairs.

"... As I was saying," Blueblood started, "it would be awfully impractical and expensive if we were to force all Unicorn Guards to learn such spells." He paused. "I know that some know of them, and some can even use them, but it'll be a massive obstruction and would mean that the other branches would have to take over, as I'm sure you know."

"Concerned about the public reception?" said Thunderclap.

"Myself? No!" heatedly countered Blueblood, somewhat insulted. "But the Princesses might."

An unusually buff earth stallion servant bustled in, carefully balancing a plate between his teeth. On it were a decanter of wine and three glasses. "Sirs," he acknowledged the unicorns. He placed the silverware onto the table and began to walk away.

Blueblood instinctively reached for the decanter, his magic grasping around the neck of the glassware, before warnings hammered into his brain. There was definitely something that was off.

The wine was darker than usual, and it definitely wasn't the light or any other factor. He brought the decanter closer to his muzzle, and took a long sniff, and breathed in. Pulling a glass towards him, he poured the wine into it and brought it up to his muzzle. He repeated the sequence. Outwardly, it was not unusual at all; it was, after all, what some wine connoisseurs did, and for all intents and purposes, Prince Blueblood was expected to be one too.

It definitely wasn't the wine, but, as the bards said, in wine there was the truth.

A blue eye flickered towards the servant, who was definitely taking his steady time. Blueblood lowered the glass onto the table and let out a faintly purposeful sigh.

Thunderclap's eyes shot to attention, but his outward body language remained languid and tired. A minute nod of recognition. There was definitely something going on.

The Prince swung his head towards the servant. Much more muscle than to be expected. Attempting to project an air of confidence, but for what reason? Servants did not project an air of confidence, especially if they were around Thunderclap or himself. Unusually brief; certainly not enough grovelling. Definitely strange. Couldn't seem to place the name... Also, there was something... off about how he walk-

A sudden flash of movement, and the servant collapsed, a knife straight through his jugular.

Blueblood immediately knocked his chair back and stood to his full height, blue and gold magical energies surging around his horn as he prepared to unleash a magical assault. Thunderclap showed little emotion. A grey magic aura grasped around the hilt of his sword and pulled it out of the scabbard, but otherwise, the gaunt officer was simply unimpressed.

The servant's body suddenly changed as it choked and coughed, the equine coat morphing into a hard, black layer of chitin. A rotten horn and thin, insectoid wings appeared, and green ichor slid out of the wound, the ever-so recognisable stench of changeling filling the air.

The two unicorns remained at arms - one with a considerably higher heart rate than the other - until an earth pony - nay, a unicorn - walked into the Council Chambers calmly. The intruder unicorn paused in front of the dying changeling and pulled the knife by the hilt out of its gurgling body and finished it off.

The unicorn looked up at the two unicorns.

"Gentlecolts."

Perhaps, Blueblood thought, it was not at all unfeasible or stupid for the Unicorn Guard to undergo reform or reorganisation, especially if the naive and obstructive Shining Armor was away. He turned towards the trespasser.

"I believe it's polite to knock."

Blueblood slunk back into his seat again. Thunderclap had put his sword away and was looking around with no intent whatsoever. Blueblood, on the contrary, was not, sniffing at the wine in his glass before offering it to the dark blue unicorn newcomer. Pulling an engraved golden pocket watch out of a blazer pocket, the Prince flipped it open in a theatrical display, casting a disapproving glance at the unicorn who had joined them and killed a changeling infiltrator in the process.

Her coat midnight blue, and with short, black-brown hair tied back in a low bun, Moonstone Shield was the Director of Equestrian Intelligence. Were it not for Blueblood's repeated delving into the darker side of Equestrian Government, he would not have known that she was a unicorn, her petite horn subtly disguised amongst the dark colours of her mane, and her magical presence expertly disguised.

Moonstone took the Prince's glass and sniffed at it briefly, nodding back at the Prince before placing it back onto the table. "Probably, not entirely sure what it is yet. The techs'll probably know, but it doesn't matter now; we've weeded out the last of their holdouts," she affirmed. "And Blueblood, I'm not a changeling, so you could probably stop trying to scan me. It is rather obvious. Work on it."

Blueblood exhaled and rocked back on his chair. "You're late."

"As I said, I had to finish mopping up those infiltrators that were left. Rather hard considering the state of the Guards," she said with a subtle bite in her tone as she offhoofedly played with the knife.

Thunderclap shrugged nonchalantly. "You know what Princess Celestia and Armor thought. Buggered if I could have done anything about it."

Moonstone moved to retort. "W-"

"GREETINGS, LOYAL ADVISORS! ... Why is there a dead changeling over there?!"

The Director of Equestrian Intelligence proved to be an even more uncomfortable presence at the table than Thunderclap usually was.

"Would my good councillors kindly again repeat the day's occurrences to your Princess?" inquired Luna with an obviously unimpressed tone, a blue-black eyebrow in the air.

"The Changeling Queen kidnapped and pretended to be Princess Cadance and caused Armor to screw up. Canterlot was attacked and on the verge of being overrun, Princess Celestia was defeated by the Changeling Queen and then Armor and Cadance did some stupid magic thing and expelled the Changeling from the city," drily commented Thunderclap as he rapidly forced his eyes open and shut.

"What." The Princess of the Night did not know whether to be shocked or disgusted, and instead opted for an expression of being utterly dumbfounded.

"Yeah, that happened," offered Blueblood from his corner of the room, haphazardly dropping some tablets into a glass of water with his magic and drinking the concoction in one gulp. "Stupid, I know," he added with natural tedium, "but it happened nonetheless. Hopefully the festivities would make the dullard ponies forget about it."

"DOST THOU NOT CARE FOR THY PONIES, NEPHEW?!"

"Not particularly," replied the Prince. "Furthermore, I'm pretty sure the sentiment goes both ways."

"Nephew, must thou-"

"Uh-hm?" A voice silenced the Princess mid-sentence with a polite cough. "Might we get back onto the matter at hand? The Security of Canterlot and Equestria has been breached. Could I emphasise that Princess Celestia, yes, Princess Celestia, was defeated, if only for a while, by Chrysalis?"

All eyes turned to the Director. Having pulled a chair out from under the table and positioned it facing towards the door and thus at right angles to the foot of the table, the spy was idly playing with a knife.

"We saw this coming," she started, glancing over at the other attendees. "Don't say we didn't. We clearly did; why else order Shining Armor, on the very day of his wedding, to continue to erect a defensive shield over Canterlot? And one that was far stronger than usual? Why else increase security? And yet, despite our precautions, we were still pushed to the very brink of defeat."

"Equestria needs to change. It needs to change. That change has to come from the very top. The decadence, the constant distractions, the complacency, the fatalistic flippancy!" she fixed a glower at Blueblood. "We are not a corrupt state, far from it. We have much improved from how our ancestors carried out affairs, yet we are in a dire state regardless."

"Equestria is like... a whitewashed fence. Everypony keeps applying the whitewash in an attempt to hide the cracks, hide the rot, yet one strong push is all it takes and it'll all come crashing down. One cannot expect the Elements or the Princesses to be our lifeline today. The myth of the invincibility of the latter was questionable with the Discord incident and outright shattered today. And the former? The former?! When Blueblood calls them 'a bunch of insane mares' he isn't entirely wrong despite his intentionally inane impertinence. They have problems. Serious problems. And relying upon them to save Equestria at such a time - at such a time when it seems that every month, a new monster escapes from Tartarus - well, that might be an indicator of the Administration's ability. Did anypony really not expect that we'd be repeatedly come an centimetre from our doom if our first, and last line of ultimate defence were the unstable ponies Princess Celestia had cultivated to become the Elements of Harmony?"

"What's the worst that could happen if, the Elements were to be divided? I mean, that would never be expected whatsoever with such proud, obstinate mares, nor has it ever happened before..."

Bitter Strike held his breath, and glanced around him. He had five Lunar Guards under his command; two earth ponies, another pegasus like him, and two unicorns. Looking at his objective, Bitter Strike wondered how on Equestria he and his Guardsponies had been dispatched to do this.

After the Princesses' disappearance, General Thunderclap had launched Operation Clover Sparrow - the intended securing of the Elements of Harmony with little due fuss or visibility. This latter aim had been botched almost immediately.

It was to Thunderclap's massive frustration that he was informed that the plans for such an eventuality had been destroyed in the Changeling attack on Canterlot, and the dispatched Guards had been sent off without any briefing whatsoever, having been read the summary for the mission - the only surviving portion of the initial documentation. Thunderclap immediately ranted and raved, his laconic demeanour shattered as his inner fury emerged. Why was he not informed as such? Did the Staff no longer care about their country, or was their former competence a result of Changeling infiltration? Were they delighted when the Changelings smashed into Canterlot? Did nobody bother to rewrite them, or to check the contingency plans at all?

At face value, such an outburst would be unexpected. One might indeed see this result as being beneficial to the Guards, who had sufficient operational freedom to act as needed to secure the Elements. However, due to the secretive nature of the mission, the various groups were dispatched at different times without any sufficient ability to contact Headquarters or any other group with ease. By the time this was known to Thunderclap and the General Staff, it was too late to intervene, and impossible for any leader - whether the Actuals on the ground or the Staff back in Canterlot - to coordinate operations in a decent manner. The only other option available to them was to deploy the Guard en masse to Ponyville - a PR disaster in the making and an idea intolerable to the Prince Regent. The Equestrian General Staff sat in their map rooms and offices and prayed that the mission - one with so many glaring faults - would be completed without issue. If it failed, the panic and dissent that would ensue would be disastrous for the new administration. Also, there was a probability that the notably-unstable Prince Blueblood would be rather angry about their hideous mistake.

Despite knowing all this, Bitter Strike felt confident that his team would succeed in their objective at least. Though the Lunar Guard had been left out of many recent incidents in favour of their Solar Guard cousins, Strike and his stallions were relatively experienced and courageous (to a fault, even). They were tasked with the securing and extraction of the Bearer of the Element of Generosity, a unicorn who was noted to be fully capable of armed resistance if angered. Lacking any non-vague instructions from higher up, Strike had therefore decided that silent infiltration and negotiation would be the best course of action. From their briefings and the repeated need for discretion, it made enough sense to act in such a manner. He and the other pegasus in his team had quietly positioned grappling hooks onto the roof ledges that jutted out of Carousel Boutique - the building was rife with exploitable corners and crannies which they could hook into - and dropped ropes for the wingless members of his group to escalade up the building.

Strike would nave normally been overjoyed by the absolute freedom he had in carrying out of his task, but felt distinctly disturbed at what he was doing. Asides from breaking-and-entering into a civilian property, the mission seemed too simple to be true. It was said that no plan ever survived contact with the enemy, but what would happen if there was no overall plan in the first place? Contacting the other squad leaders would be extremely difficult, and if it were required to abort, extraction would be equally difficult too.

Strike glanced back at the target. An attractive white unicorn with a rich purple mane slept softy in a sizeable bed. The point of entrance was a large window looking into the primary bedroom, one chosen because it faced away from Ponyville town centre. Bitter Strike had no intention of walking up to Carousel Boutique and knocking on the door or trying to breach in the line of sight of the entire town in the middle of the night in his Lunar Guard uniform. It was agreed by all of the team leaders that they had to move and operate with exceptional care; Ponyville had a notorious reputation for having a population which was easily troubled. The appearance of the Princess of the Night and her Guards in the recent past had caused a significant tumult; their task would, no doubt, have been made more problematic by this fact. They would breach the upper floor of the Boutique, right into the Master Bedroom, and seize the target with thunderclap surprise. One of his earth ponies was had an uncomfortable skill at picking locks. This should not be too difficult a breach.

The lock was quickly picked from the outside and the windows gently levered open in the still air. The anxious breaths of the guardsponies could be quietly heard in the silence, but nothing stirred within the building. Strike quietly thanked his luck and the Princesses that visibility was still low; it was a rather cloudy morn, and the sun had not come up yet. Bitter Strike signalled with his hoof for the point pony to advance. It was going well so far; nobody had seen the Lunar Guards approach nor enter.

Bitter Strike briefly glanced behind him. Two Guards were hanging outside the window, still attached to the guide ropes which they had used to ascend. Suddenly, he heard a soft curse behind him. The unicorn on point had knocked a mannequin which had started to wobble. The unicorn used his magic to still the mannequin and continued towards the target.

Abruptly, Strike saw a flash of white and a feral cry as a ball of fur and claw hurled itself at the unicorn's face, who backed up, tripped and clattered into the mannequin, screaming his head off. Soon, all pretence of keeping the operation quiet was over. The target was alive, awake, and promptly screamed. Quickly noticing the intruders, she shrieked at them in a voice that made Strike's head ring.

"What are you doing?! What do you want?! Get out of here, you ruffians! OUT!"

Strike tried to reply, though was distracted by his subordinate's suffering.

"Miss... Miss Rarity, I presume?" Strike looked away from the mare, who was backed up on her bed grabbing the covers with a hoof and her sewing machine with her magic, in order to sneak a glance at the racket next to him. The pegasus desperately tore at a gap in his armour. "I have a Royal Warrant to request... FLARE, will you deal with him, now?"

The other unicorn in his team, loosely suspended on a grappling rope, attempted to deal with the escalating incident between the cat and its guardspony prey by firing bolts of energy out of his horn at his beleaguered comrade. Consistently missing, he drew long scorch marks across the room as concentrated energy met carpet, wallpaper or anything else stupid enough to be in its path. The cat, completely unscathed, was not letting off its victim, and merely intensified its attack upon noticing this.

Rarity screeched at Bitter Strike to explain his actions. Increasingly concerned and unnerved, the Guardspony apologetically attempted to explain. "Miss, Prince Blueblood..."

"BLUEBLOOD?! What does he want?! Why I'll..!"

The female unicorn was now in a wrathful frenzy and hurled the sewing machine at Strike, who narrowly dodged in time. It instead span through the air, and collided with the earth pony on watch. Stunned by the collision, he let go of the rope and toppled downwards; his unicorn partner attempted to catch him with his hoof, and then his magic, but failed. Wailing, the earth pony fell, slid off a lower roof and hit the ground, unconscious.

Strike cursed his oaths and jumped upon the pony in an attempt to restrain her, and was rewarded by a solid kick to the muzzle. He cursed again and spat, wheeling backwards.

Bringing a hoof to it, Strike felt blood. A cough, a splutter, a foul oath damning the mare to Tartarus. He could dimly hear what he perceived to be the town bell being rung and screams from the outside.

This would be a long day.

A deep, musty haze choked the wood-lined room. Ponies of all shapes and sizes, clothed in all manner of dress were clustered within the room, concerned faces and manic grimaces spread throughout. The putrid lighting, clouded gusts of breath and evaporating sweat added a putrid glamour to the faces of those gathered. A deafening discordance of rage and repulsion echoed off the varnished walls, the ponies yelling incoherently and desperately waving papers around in a terrible din.

The pony in his natural habitat, doing what he knew best.

“This is an outrage!”
“Capitulate? Never! Traitors! Traitors!”
“How far has the Royal House fallen?! This is all based upon wild speculation!”
“Favouritism, all of it! They’ve doomed us for some whorse!”
“Buck you, and buck your mother!”
“Silence, you peasant son of a whorse!”
“A whorse and an imaginary demon from ages past! Does Celestia take us for fools?!”
“Sheep grazing rights-“
“We should have killed them long ago!”
“You’re a flankhole!”
“…A motion to declare them incapable!”
“Tartarus take them all!”

The Prince sweated and ached, eyes shut whilst emanating the image of absolute serenity. They had been stupidly, nay idiotically indiscreet about it all. It was a stupid idea to use a hellish receptacle as a dumping ground for Equestria’s most terrible enemies, anyway; they should have killed them all years ago, should they had the chance to do so. As a result of their follies, Equestria was in a panic-ridden state, and nowhere was in such a kerfuffle as much as the Stable of Peers. He did not blame them, for he too, frankly, had gone through the same state of panic initially. He was still panicking, if one were to be accurate, but there was no time for such weak-mindedness, for the Members and for himself.

The Government - in the form of Serene Bloom and himself, working off some very brief notes Princess Celestia had left - had uneasily and weakly announced to the Stable that the Princesses would surrender themselves in return for Discord and Tirek's stopping. That they would sacrifice themselves for the good of the nation. It made some sense, Blueblood had thought, but was very, very flimsy. It would probably make more sense if one was off on opiate-loaded confectionary, but otherwise, it didn't. He was questioning the rationality of the statement which had jointly made with every second he spent sitting in the chamber.

Apparently the Stable of Peers was too full of idiots, sycophants and ponies with venereal diseases that not even Tirek had bothered to unleash his wrath upon them. If he were a magic-consuming beast, Blueblood thought, he'd probably have taken the politicians first; a foul starter before the sumptuous feast. But no, fate could not offer him a quick death or magic-leeching or whatever. It was rather stupid - and a terrible indicator of Equestria's fragility - that the ponies across the country (and the Equestrian Guard) collapsed without a proper fight.

They still had their hooves left, no? And their salivary glands? And fire, there was that too. Never mind. The populace was far too dumb or cowardly to resist to the cost of their own lives, and the day's company was even worse. After all, the Princesses or the Elements would solve it all, went the rationality of the peasant (or so Blueblood felt.)

He raised a solitary ear lackadaisically towards an ancient and grossly obese unicorn raspingly bellowing between frantic, heaving gulps for breath. One of the Prince's eyes drifted towards the junior member for Manehattan, a disturbingly silent riddle next to the obvious and portly unicorn.

“This is unprecedented!” the fat unicorn croaked above the clamour in a thick accent, “A stain on Equestria’s honour to allow such a despicable act to proceed! What manner of foal would le-”

The unicorn was cut off by an irritated and youthful pegasus whose visage and wings were smothered in a thick, black, oily layer. “Don’t you dare demean the Princesses, you inbred twerp!” the pegasus screamed at the top of his voice, his wings flashing in wrath, his hooves flailing about.

The Prince rose from his seat, furiously perspiring in the thick air. The commotion remained ignorant of his sudden motion.

The elderly unicorn immediately thrust barbed statements at the Prince. “What would Princess Celestia’s beloved nephew have to say on the matter, hm? Or has his mettle deserted him as the Princesses’ senses deserted them?!”

“I wish to make a statement on behalf of the Princesses,” calmly stated the Prince.

An official smashed a hammer repeatedly upon a gavel, and the ponies behind him hammered canes on the floor. The Prince inclined his head in grateful acknowledgement to both. The commotion stilled.

The other unicorn thrust the same barb at him again.

“Would the Most Honourable Member for Manehattan,” Blueblood enquired in reply, his voice dripping with obviously false sincerity, “kindly bar shut that uncooperative orifice from which such despicable filth is emitted?”

“What?!” yelled the unicorn from Manehattan.

“The Prince’s telling you to shut your mouth, Bags!” said the tar-stained pegasus.

The senior representative from Manehattan withdrew, sinking back into his seat in gross displeasure, huffing heavily in ire.

“Ladies and Gentlestallions,” began Blueblood, “I have sometimes questioned the very existence of this Most Honourable Stable.”

Murmurs of outrage and disbelief, but he continued nonetheless.

“Are we not all here to serve Equestria? Yes, we are. Are we here not also to serve the Princesses? Yes, we are. Conversely, Honoured Members and Peers, I ask of you this: what alternative do you offer? How else can we ultimately defeat the demon Tirek in any other way than what the Princesses offer? If any of you offers a feasible, reasonable and politically acceptable proposition, I would be exceedingly glad to hear it. Such a proposition, however, must be based upon reasonable fact; sensible research, even if one must comb the cobwebbed corridors of the Royal Archives.”

He paused, and spoke in a tone that allowed no contention.

“Honoured Members, I do not mean to demean you all, but remember that the lives of every pony in Equestria is at stake, even yours.” He waved a hoof across the benches in a grand gesture. “I ask you to consider this before doing anything utterly foolish.”

“But what the Princesses propose is suicidal – deranged madness! To surrender all their powers to the daemon!” cried a voice from amongst the backbenches.

Blueblood hated the proposition too. It was, indeed, madness. No advice, no consolations, as always.

But a blind stallion still had his tongue.

“Princess Celestia has ruled Equestria in the millennia that passed before your births. Princess Celestia will continue ruling Equestria in the millennia to come. I have iron faith in the Princesses to do the correct thing, and I know that Tirek will fall by the end of the month. I said the same of Discord, and the Nightmare Moon before him. Did they not fall too? Where is your faith?” he interrogated. “Where is your loyalty, once again?”

“The same old tune from a royal puppet!” heckled another voice.

Blueblood span towards the critic and spoke with heavy vitriol. “Then, my friend, I propose that you face the demon himself; I’m sure legions of Equestrians will eagerly follow behind you. What do you propose? Come, tell us all! What is your plan - if it helps you can have the despatch box - it's all yours! Go ahead, we'd all appreciate an alternate and reasonable proposal to the one laid before us, myself especially! Unless, of course, you do not know the meaning of the word 'reason'."

The heckler was silent.

“And what if, for whatever reason, Tirek agrees to take the Princesses, and yet pushes his assault?” inquired the junior member for Manehattan instead.

“Then Equestria will be maintained. Has not Equestria survived perils such as this in the past? Is that not what ultimately matters?” Blueblood enquired. He spoke rapidly, words tumbling out of his mouth as they formed in his mind.

The Wendigo Winds howled once more to the tune of a Platinum. If Tirek appeared now, Blueblood thought, then he needed not his magic to face him down. A critical mass was all that was needed, whether in words or muscle or artillery shells or in force of mind.

“Am I the only one willing to weather the storm amongst this gathering? Equestria will survive, and Equestria will prevail, even if it takes the combined energies of the Princesses, or this Stable, or the combined effort of all the equine races! Tirek will be defeated, mark my words. Whether in this Honoured Stable, in Canterlot, in Manehattan, in the provinces, or back to the Gates of Tartarus itself. Whether today, whether tomorrow, whether in a week or in a month; whether in a year or for the rest of our lives.”

"In the deep and distant past, the equine Guardspony was not known to be as ferocious as the griffon, not as conniving as the camelid. Nor was he as skilled in the potions and dark arts as the zebra, or as militant as the minotaur. But there was one thing he was known for, renowned across the world! He held. He held, and resisted the fell tide of foes that faced him no matter the terror, no matter the odds. It is our ambition, nay, obligation, to follow their hoof-steps. Look to the past, and the problems of today may be solved."

“Therefore: resist him. Resist him with every fibre of your very being. Even if he takes you, and makes to break you under his will, resist. Galvanize your hearts once more, and let the beast know that we ponies have warred and won. Let every piddling victory he takes be repaid four-fold in pain. Distract and obfuscate; strain and strike ‘till you can fight no more, with magic, with hoof, with teeth. Do not give him the joy of victory; spit in his every meal. For what is victory when acrid blood fills your mouth?"

"Every bit of will he takes, every quart of magical energies he extracts must take a toll on his being, for a part of the soul of each and every pony he drains is added to him. Each and every pony’s magics he takes shall tear him apart from inside, and each and every pony's flesh shall rend him apart from outside. I know I’ll not give the fiend quarter, not in the least, whether I am here today, or whether only my magics remain. Even in death shall I spite him; Even in death shall I curse him. Every inch of my being considers him anathema, and I intend to make every inch of his being shall consider me as such. Nothing shall bow to his will, NOTHING!"

"The shackles of duty are infinite, and they shall haul him down, for even he can, and will fall! I have spoken of my intent: will you all do the same?! Let ten thousand minds in concert cast the cur from his high throne, and back into the depths of hell!”

“This is not one last, desperate gambit, my friends. This is not the one, last roll of the dice for the Principality of Equestria, nor for the equine races. This is not the last play of The Game that sapients play. For remember, it is said that all things, bar the Princesses, must die. It is true: do all things not wither and die? Does Tirek not occupy a place amongst the Reaper’s Lists? I have seen nothing to state otherwise. Therefore, Tirek must be defeated! Tirek has been defeated, Tirek can be defeated, Tirek will be defeated, Tirek shall be defeated. Tirek must be defeated! Tirecus vincendus est!"

"Today, I ask of you all to recall but two little things when you leave this Stable, and that you recall them from here on after. Even if the base cur comes to take you, recall these words! Recall that Tirek WILL be defeated, and that Equestria WILL prevail!”

The Stable of Peers rose in a united clamour.

Shining Armor, Thunderclap and Blueblood were in a bit of a hurry. Not running, though, as that would cause (more) undue panic and thus cause unwanted consequences. Thunderclap had announced that all the Elements had been secured without any harm to them, which was a relief, but the Guard hadn't and had caused a massive ruckus in the process, which wasn't.

Just my luck, isn't it. Fate, could you kindly be consistent, for once?

The three unicorns were making their aggressive way to the War Rooms, where the strike team leaders were waiting for the inevitable 'debriefing'. Blueblood, in particular, was in quite a mood to interrogate the leaders of the vital strike operation which would be the first act of his de facto 'reign'. More properly, they ran there to chew out the incompetence that threatened to destabilise a realm that was standing on one hoof. Again. Technically it's two... After all, the inheritance of the Crystal Empire has nearly doubled the territory I now administer...

A problem for later, but a problem nonetheless.

As the three made their way across the massive marble-paved monstrosity known as Canterlot Castle, Blueblood's mind had drifted to other matters, in particular concepts which had come up during the Council meeting and during his conversation with Shining Armor.

It was relieving, highly, highly relieving, to have an inch of hope that the Princesses were not dead. That glimmer of good fortune had brightened his day before Thunderclap blitzed it back down again. There was, at last, a plausible end in sight.

When I was but a Prince I saw infinity before me, a never-ending waste that would be my life. Now I only see a plain, that while endless to the equine eye, would eventually rise up into the uplands of peace. To labour without thought or purpose fuelled my past hatred. There is a possible end, one where Equestria and I shall not fall into the infinite pit of damnation.

I could not rule Equestria for ten years, let alone a lifetime. I was only eager to take the burden if somepony else nopony was there because I was swept away in foolish romanticism.

I may be prepared to keep the burden so long as those to who held it return.

Some would call it hope, I call it relief.

The crown I wear is a weight I carry not for myself, but for you, Princesses, you and Equestria.

It was interesting how he loathed her on occasion. It was hypocritical, he knew, but hypocrisy was de rigueur in Canterlot. Everpony exercised it, and everypony was a victim of it; why should Blueblood be any different, he had reasoned before. Princess Celestia gave him freedom to see to his own matters, and gave him a wide berth when it came to dull administrata, but there was little freedom outside of that. It were, effectively, the ability to walk about on a train which was stuck on a never-ending and fixed loop of track.

But it has to end, someday. All things must end, Blueblood, but never the Princesses. But how long?

They rounded the corner and barged into the War Rooms.

But with every second I tire. The incompetence of one's subordinates never fails to disappoint. Every failure is time lost, for me, for Equestria, for the Princesses...

Blueblood looked to his left. Shining Armor was uneasy, but Blueblood felt that there was an undercurrent of anger under that squeaky-clean uniform; a chance, but perhaps for the better. Blueblood had relaxed during his conversation with Shining Armor. Indeed, he was almost relieved that his opponent was as eager to end the petty feud, though for altogether different reasons. Granted, Blueblood had been rather indiscreet at times during the conversation, but it had very little impact in the grand scheme of things, thank the Princesses. The reign had not started with a chain of failures, at the very least.

Thunderclap informed both Blueblood and Armor that the operation to secure the Bearers of the Elements of Harmony had gone ahead with little in the way of coordination or planning due to unforeseen difficulties, but Blueblood felt confident that the Equestrian Royal Guard was competent enough to learn how to knock on a door. It was with this confidence that the Prince had the mettle to sit through the long Royal Council session. Two hours after this knowledge was made known to him, he found out that this confidence was misplaced.

Even if it were the Lunar Guard, knocking on someone's door in the middle of the night did not guarantee an unquestionable chance at starting a commotion, went his logic. The owner of the property might be rather angry, but could be talked down. After all, the Guard - even the Lunar Guard - were rather well respected in Equestria, even in Ponyville. Attempting to break-and-enter generally did have a high probability of causing a commotion unless one was a trained special operative or a highly skilled criminal, and even they were prone to failure or stupidity. Thunderclap assured Blueblood that the Guards were not stupid, a point to which Blueblood agreed.

Squeaky-clean Shining Armor wouldn't allow his Guardsponies to hone the art of breaking-and-entering. Negotiation training, yes, but not breaking-and-entering. For once, it isn't him.

Just... the Guard.

Blueblood had been sure but two hours ago that the exceedingly loose operational parameters of the mission did not require for such a stupid measure.

Apparently that hadn't dissuaded the dense leaders of three of the five strike teams, who were seemingly insistent on gaining a dishonourable discharge, a bollocking, or both.

Shining Armor seemed to share his indignation. Good. Perhaps I'll have some back-up in the future.

Blueblood glanced around at the bustling staff officers, all attempting to avoid the three most senior officials in the Equestrian military. With what may be called an experienced eye, it was obvious that they were doing nothing useful; merely faking competence or work whilst doing nothing of the sort, perhaps due to apprehension or fear. Rubbish.

Perhaps the Guard isn't the problem. Perhaps it's the Educational System...

When he was a foal, he had adored the Guard - like Shining Armor, his mind interjected - and he spent hours in the Archives and empty War Rooms, feasting upon the aroma of old papers and musty tomes, the occasional, scratched classical gramophone record playing softly in the background. It was lovingly carpentered traditionalist warmth. Warmth that was now wholly unsuited to facing down coldly-calculating evils.

He could still hear the tune - the crackles and the quavering, tinny voice and all - the tune he first heard on stumbling into these rooms.

I couldn't wait years, let alone forever.

Back then, Equestria had not fought a war with a foreign power for nearly a century.

Those romantic times are over.

Blueblood stared at the desk.

Clean up the mess again, Blueblood, but remember this, Blueblood's mind warned. You must finish this inanity once and for all. Your life matters not, only your duty.

"What is the meaning of this."

"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!" he loudly demanded an answer from those before him, holding up a paper file containing reports of the action. Rounding the desk, he stood in front of the hapless Guards, their heads down in shame, and fell upon them verbally. "Did you not know of my orders?"

Strike moved to counter, but Blueblood cut him off before the pegasus could utter a sound. "Look here, gentlecolts. I expect and demand the very best from Equestria's Royal Guard now that the Princesses are gone." He threw the file onto his desk for emphasis, the sheath of papers thumping onto the cherry wood furniture with a faint magically-enhanced echo. "This is not the very best. I have seen the Guard work wonders, but today, of all days, you have failed utterly. You have not just shamed Equestria, you have shamed its very existence!"

"With all due respect, sir..." Strike said. “The orders we were given were very loose, and the briefings-”

“Yes, Strike,” placated Shining Armor as Blueblood continued to seethe in silence. “We all know that the plans for such an operation were lost; they were outdated anyway. It isn't that you failed to carry out the mission that makes us disappointed. It's that, despite your success and operational freedom,” he paused, before raising his voice, “... that you totally failed in the departments of discretion and general competence!”

Blueblood took over for his brother-in-law, and spoke in a low tone, disgustedly. “You took casualties. Wounded, for Celestia’s sake! WOUNDED. The vaunted Night Guard suffered casualties whilst attempting to bring the Element Bearers back to Canterlot! A fetch-and-carry mission, without any hostile forces present, and you still managed to suffer injuries?! Oh, Tartarus, you couldn't even fail properly! You took casualties, but that wasn't enough, oh, no, you also had to raise such a clamour as was never heard before in the history of sapient beings!"

I could do a better job whilst off my head on laudanum and distilled alcoholic beverages after having slept with fifteen mares!

He took a deep breath before continuing. “Armor is correct," he said, "in that we are not here to criticise your success, rather, its nature."

I'd have never admitted that the upstart has moments of clarity before today, but by the Princesses is this worse than the Wedding.

"Your performance earlier is a serious indicator towards the new lows which the Guard has fallen. In the past years it has repeatedly suffered pyrrhic victory after pyrrhic victory. A pyrrhic victory for the nation, not the Guard; the Guard itself has suffered crushing defeats after crushing defeat and humiliating rout after humiliating rout. We cannot afford such performances in the future if the Guard is to fail in such a simple task as the one you were provided with. As I’m sure you know, the Princesses are missing." And by Celestia does it appear that I'm the only pony who does, you idle, incompetent layabouts!

They hate me already; don't you think they'll hate me more after this? Ignoring myself, what about state security?! The consequences, the conclusions, the problems of the future?

"How then, considering the fact you have sustained wounds whilst attempting to bring the Elements of Harmony to Canterlot devoid of any opposition, do you intend to oppose an attack by the griffons, or, dare I ask, Chrysalis? Or, may I posture another enquiry? Have you considered the possibility that, oh I don't know, something like Tirek escapes from Tartarus again?” He let the rhetorical question hang in the air, a sharp stake impaling into the hearts of every stallion in the room.

We have suppressed such thoughts for too long. I've suppressed it for too long, wallowing in self-pity and the daily regime when I ought to have done something. But that doesn't excuse your incompetence, never. I pull more weight in my own failures than you ever have.

“I, nay, Equestria, demands better from you, Guards. I need not repeat the odds; you are well aware of what will occur should you fail in your duty.” He paused, before continuing in a much calmer fashion. “You are stallions of quality, I know that. The Guard has proved its mettle and its worth countless times before. Know, then, that this must never, I repeat, never, happen again, for there will be no other opportunity.”

Because I've - we've - let it go for far too long.

Shining Armor finished, “I’ve seen all of you perform magnificently on the training grounds, but why is it that you’re unable of putting it into practice? You can do better than this – all of us here know this. You are good colts, and I know that you will never allow such a thing to happen ever again.”

And if you do, preferably fail to such an extent that nopony notices during the ensuing apocalypse. I'd like to die in peace.

The Guards saluted, and the three officers returned them with varying reluctance. The Guards marched away, leaving the three alone in the room.

Blueblood plopped onto a seat and instinctively reached for a carafe of wine only to be blocked by the hoof of Shining Armor. The latter simply shook his head in disappointment, and fixed him with a surprisingly firm stare.

“Blueblood. You are to speak with the Elements, and you are to do so in a state of utter sobriety.”

Blueblood moved to protest, but it ultimately came to nothing.

He has a point. You drink far, far too much. And though in wine, there is the truth, there is also misdirection. A constantly spinning compass does nothing bar infuriate.

The Prince pushed backwards, the chair scraping along the floor with a foul screech. Rolling his head and neck, he slowly walked out of the room, closing the doors behind him.

Princesses, how he wished how even one of them - any of them - were here. Have to do EVERYTHING myself. As always.

Ignorant of the terrified Staff around him - he wandered purposefully out of the War Rooms and into the adjoining corridors.

He would need to see the Castle doctors, he reminded himself as his shoulder itched frustratingly and his head swam. His coat felt cold and clammy. Wouldn't do to fall ill or die within a month of taking the throne. It was said that stress aged you; considering the stress one was going through, well...

Wouldn't do to die so early. Embarrassing.

... And I'd like to see Cadance again.

Blueblood rolled his eyes and relaxed his muscles. A thought struck him as he walked away from the War Rooms.

There are opportunities even in failure, remember that.

A slight smile itched to spread itself. He was provided with an opportunity, right there, and had been blind to it in his sorrows and self-loathing today. Princesses, he was blind. It was so obvious even a colt (albeit one well-versed in politics and history for his age) could see it. It almost pained him to use it - after all, it was so... simple. Almost. He wasn't one to waste opportunities when he could see them. It wasn't much, but it was something, as long as he had the time to use it. Nothing in the long run, and not something that could deal with the damned Crystal Empire problem, but something at the very least.

If his eyes were opened hours ago, he had found his bearings once again. Equestria hang by a thread, and there was no time to lose.

An opportunity despite, nay, because of what I've got. He chuckled under his breath. You haven't lost it yet, Blueblood, but hurry.

No.

No. No weakness, no waste. He forced misery upon himself. Merely false hopes. Nopony waits. No emotion, no weakness. Nopony waits. No reserves left; no relief in sight. Anything and everything. End of the line and the start of it. Years to go.

No, Blueblood.

Remember that your unquavering watch must and will last forever.

He quickly scrawled coded instructions on a scrap of paper, and flagged down a passing Guard. The shoulder stopped itching, the blood flowed freely again, but the heart still thumped to silent sorrow.

The two Guard officers were left alone in the room after Blueblood’s departure. As far as both were concerned, there was nothing much else to do for the day that diverted from the usual, boring routine. Nothing their subordinates could not do. The small talk quickly turned towards the new 'regime'.

Shining Armor gritted his teeth and stared at the floor. C-Cadance... Twiley... I know you're out there. You've got to come back to me... You've got to...

They would probably expect him to cry - after all, much of the staff was doing the same. But he couldn't. Just a lot of sand in my eyes. Can't let them down. We'll find them. We'll find them. Even if Blueblood doesn't, I WILL.

It was strange. Blueblood had never shown an inkling towards ending the feud, so that was unusual. Unusual, or Equestria really was crumbling before his eyes. There was definitely a hint at discomfort under that white coat. Not sorrow as much as desperation.

Cadance had always said Blueblood was good at heart. He could be reasonable, she had said, though very misguided. That was hard to see; Blueblood, though capable of reasoning with other members of the Council, had always presented a cold shoulder if not outright distaste towards the Captain of the Guard. He was cold, dry and angry, though there was always a suggestion at competence.

Cadance has to be right, right? The Princess of Love has to be right about such things, right? Especially when it concerns her own brother?

But the Princesses aren't infallible, Shiny, he remembered with a frown.

It brought Discord to mind. Discord had betrayed Twiley and her friends - and Princess Celestia, Princess Luna and Cadance too - for a chance at ultimate power. But Discord had apologised wholeheartedly, hadn't he, and shown there truly was good in him, right?

They were similar, Discord and Blueblood, but different.

He was never this bad when he was a foal - a really young foal - was he? There was never a truly foul, moping colt at the School for Gifted Unicorns...

Princess Celestia had said that Blueblood was never intentionally malicious. That wasn't necessarily true; even he admitted it earlier. She had corrected herself when Armor questioned this; Blueblood was apparently never fully malicious. He could be more malicious. That was hard to stomach. Confusing. When they had talked in the Council Chambers earlier, Blueblood had seemed sincere. But it looked as if there something growing underneath, or perhaps it was merely Blueblood's failure to be grounded in reality. He was the same pony as before, yet under distinct unease, using an almost-absurd combination of compliment and counter-attack. But when he was yelling at the Guards - as hard as it was to take for Armor himself - he was well-grounded. Blueblood could be an enigma, and sometimes it appeared to be... unintentional. Unrepentant yet apologetic.

I am dreaming, though? Cadence and Twiley gone, and Blueblood offering peace? Or does the Prince think he's going die?

It was good, desired even, but abnormal. I truly want it to end... Cadance, as distant as she was from her brother, found it most uncomfortable. And he was right; it would be wrong for them to keep jabbing at each other with her gone and Equestria on the brink. But it was too unexpected, an offer that came out of nowhere.

I want to believe he means it, just as I hope that they're still out there... But can I, and should I?

"Thunderclap," Shining Armor began uneasily, "what do you think of Blueblood?"

"An ass. Occasionally proficient, but an ass nonetheless."

Thanks for that.

"Aye..." softly acknowledged Armor. Thunderclap was blunt and unhelpful, as to be expected.

"B-But-- Why did the Princesses disappear, and is Blueblood ... right?" Come on Thunderclap, you old soldier. Thunderclap, winner of the Equestrian Star... Tell me you're not with Prince Stuck-up...

"We're not here to think about what ifs, Armor. There was nothing we could have done. And before you ask," replied Thunderclap as his eyes rose to meet Armor's, "No, I don't think Blueblood's the type to launch a coup. For once, he knows he can't pull it off. He's a lightweight compared to them. As for everything else, about whether we could do anything and whether he's right-"

I looked up to you once. You were always faithful, always loyal. The papers said you weren't afraid of saying what was needed, but you never gave up. You always stood by the Princess, and Equestria, even in the darkest night.

Don't say what I know you're going to say.

"You think we're all going to die." Armor's eyes narrowed at the Staff Officer.

Thunderclap glanced around and exhaled slowly, the aged bones shaking. "Look, Armor, it isn't good if this is permanent. For all intents and purposes we should consider it as being permanent; we're soldiers, Armor, we don't wait for miracles. Furthermore, the problem isn't entirely Blueblood. He's part of the problem, yes. I know he isn't the best. Frankly, he's got his head stuck up his flankhole, and until he pulls it out and starts properly dealing with what is happening - as opposed to snapping at everything that comes close - we're doomed to failure. But he's a blundering snarking colt leading a nation of the apathetic"

"There are other problems too. The Guard is too small, too restrained, too beset by failure. The Princesses were a force multiplier in the past - a massive one at that. But they're gone. You have to stop going easy on your Guards. For Celestia's sake, Sombra was defeated because you threw your wife at him, not because of the Guard! With the Princesses gone, the jerk's right. There's nothing to stop anyone from attacking, and the Guard is probably too small and inept to launch proper search efforts. It's a matter of time, really. It's running out, and we've got no idea how long we have left. He- we can only do so much, and it's questionable how much is futile."

Shining Armor looked up, still red-eyed. "What about Discord?"

Rarity fumed with rage. How dare he?! How dare he?! The horror! She loathed the thought that she ever bore affection for him, and thanked the Princesses that she'd eventually learned about his true nature. How could Princess Celestia have such a disgraceful villain of a stallion for a nephew, devoid of honour or manners?!

She had been brought against her will – kicking and screaming – from the Boutique to some secured chambers in Canterlot Castle. It was such a relief to see her friends, with the exception of Twilight, there too, and unharmed. Applejack even seemed bored about it all! Didn't they realise what an awful villain Celestia's nephew was?!

Why, if he placed even a pampered, spoiled hoof upon Twilight or Spike, she’d- !

“Uh, Rarity?” asked Pinkie Pie with concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Yeah, what’s with the fuss?” drawled Applejack from the corner of the chambers they had been ‘allocated’. Rarity glanced around; apparently she had been expressing her distress rather visibly.

“Oh, nothing, my dears,” Rarity said in an attempt to wave off her friends’ concerns.

“Um, Rarity? It’s just that you seem rather sad and unhappy, that’s all. If it’s alright for us to ask?” quietly ventured Fluttershy.

“It’s nothing, Fluttershy, only that terrible, terrible colt of a Prince they call BLUEBLOOD!” reacted the unicorn in an increasingly agitated and loud voice. “What on Equestria has happened that he’s allowed to act in such an ungentlecoltly way?!” she moaned.

“Uh, Rarity, I think it’s kinda wrong, even unhealthy to keep mullin’ over the Gala…” asserted Applejack in confusion.

“It’s not that, my dear! Do you not realise, Applejack that he sent GUARDS to kidnap us in the middle of the night?!”

“Um, I wasn’t kidnapped…” meekly offered Fluttershy from her corner. “The Guards knocked on the door and asked politely.”

“Yeah, I don’t see the problem here, Rarity,” added Applejack. "Perhaps the Princesses wanted to see us and were kinda busy or in a hurry?"

Groaning, the unicorn turned to the other pegasus and earth pony in the room. “Rainbow, Pinkie, please tell me you know what I’m talking about?!”

Rainbow Dash moved to answer, yet chose to shut her mouth before she could answer.

"GAH! ARGH." exhaled an annoyed Rarity, pouting. "Why can't you ladies see what he's done?! The gall! Don't you realise that Princess Celestia's 'beloved nephew' ripped us out of our beds and brought us here?! We need to do something! Why has he done this?!"

“You'll have to ask him, then,” lazily called a voice, one Rarity could recognise without a second thought, from behind her.

Author's Notes:

For the eagle-eyed of you, yes, I posted the first half of this earlier. The second half - in particular Shining Armor and Rarity - aren't the best, I know, so any future POV sections from their point of view will probably be much fewer than Blueblood's, and which is also why they're both rather short here. Regardless, I've added to the first half as well somewhat.

I'm also thinking about going ... darker. I know it's sort of dark already - this Chapter probably adds to it as well - but I'd like to go further in with the intrigue and politics. There will be action, eventually, but the first few Chapters are all talky. Actual violence and gore in the future? Not sure. Also, I know it may feel lethargic for some - it is still the first day, but I assure you that it'll pick up much faster in the later Chapters, if it goes the way I plan.

Again, any comments, advice, questions or suggestions are greatly appreciated, even if it's just to say that you've read it.

Also, I know the Latin's terrible. Sorry, I couldn't resist adding that stereotypical bit of Cato in, and I know I probably mangled it, but it fits the tone!

Chapter 4

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The Prince of Unicorns was most unimpressed. Indeed, it would not be an understatement to say that he was, in fact, totally livid.

The morning after the Grand Galloping Gala was most uncomfortable for the most highborn occupants of Canterlot Castle. Princess Celestia liked to break her fast with her relatives on the weekends, when the looser schedule allowed for more intimate and familial situations, offering a brief respite with her family and friends in an otherwise hectic routine.

This sentiment was not at all appreciated by those seated around the breakfast table the morning after that debacle. The Sun Princess herself was perhaps most aware of this fact.

It was relatively pleasant, truth be told, with one, minor exception. The exception, in this case, was the Prince of Unicorns, who was digging at his honey cereal with such vitriol that such a display would be less out of place were the bowl the face of an assailant who had spent the entire night attempting to throttle the Prince, and the circumstances being an engagement where the Unicorn Prince had just gained the upper hoof after hours of struggle – and was vigorously exploiting this joyful opportunity with the aid of an eating implement commonly utilised in the consumption of soups, stews, cereal with milk and other liquid-based dishes.

It would also be an understatement to say that Princesses Cadance and Luna were concerned at the state of their brother and newfound nephew, respectively. Even Cadance, well aware of her sibling's propensity to hate-fuelled charges even in public, felt rather disturbed at the sight. Those prone to stalking the Sun Princess and yet still retain the gift of eyesight may have also been able to discern unease on her face as well.

The rather visible concern and revulsion from the younger alicorns towards their unicorn companion was, unfortunately, entirely lost upon him.

It was not unexpected, then, that these two alicorns quickly found polite, though arguably petty, reasons for excusing themselves from this morning meal, nor was it unusual that the servants and the stationed Guards found similar pretexts for their sudden absences.

It was expected to go down in history; a clash in which the flankhole of a Prince of Unicorns would try his luck against a rather displeased Princess of the Sun.

Sadly for the historians and chroniclers of the future, nopony would be turned to stone in the ensuing encounter, and it would turn out to be a much duller affair for the two involved.

Prince Blueblood was rather angry, to say again.

It had all started with that blasted gold-digger of a mare. He had initially attempted to push her away with the commonly accepted move for a stallion to make in such a situation. Refuse to offer her a flower – preferably a rose – and all in the know in the surroundings would be immediately informed of the Prince’s displeasure. The gold-digger would then know not to try her luck, leave, and if she had any sense, go and find a productive travail with which to occupy herself for the rest of her meagre existence.

Unfortunately, the mare had both a lack of common sense and a stubborn streak as wide as the Principality of Equestria. Looking back at it, he ought to have snapped at her, rather than attempt to drive her off in a more polite – or rather, less polite – manner. It was questionable whether that would have worked, however, considering the aforementioned stubbornness. Nonetheless, his 'restraint' had gradually enraged his companion, who still inexplicably clung to him after a torrent of signals.

It had all gone to Tartarus after that.

It had come back immediately afterwards, too. Argent was left to deal with the mess, for the Prince of Unicorns was in no state to end the 'festivities'. Blueblood was in such a state – a mixture of fury, confusion and intoxication induced from the whopper of a confectionary crime against ponykind which he was covered in – that he immediately withdrew to his quarters. It would not do, of course, if the Prince of Unicorns started to laser the Royal Menagerie, or worse, the utterly worthless bunch known as Canterlot High Society. Beneficial, yes, but legal? Sadly not.

Princess Celestia had disappeared - allegedly to frolic with the Elements of Harmony - a guarded Golden Letter had informed him as the washed-up Prince mulled in his chambers. Frayed Inkwell, harbinger of doom, had then shown up.

It appeared that he had spent the entire evening off at a local confectionary establishment, or some other filth, and that he happened upon Princess Celestia herself and the Elements of Harmony.

He had taken it upon himself, with admirable loyalty, to eavesdrop and to relay the misinformation being spread against his superior to his superior. Thus was the Prince informed of strongly-worded and offensive conversation from his stalker – apparently the Element of Generosity – and from Princess Celestia herself being spread in public.

After requesting his two secretaries leave – Blueblood had a thing about treating those who served him directly ‘well’ and did not know why – he threw a bit of a fit.

At the break of day Golden Letter returned – with the morning’s papers.

The Papers - with a few minor exceptions - did not give sterling coverage to the Unicorn Prince.

Again, she wisely left before the Prince started to telekinetically pull a sword from the wall fittings where it normally lay.

Stewing from the recent memories, the Prince glanced up at the other figure in the room, an image of godlike tranquillity.

Now was the time to voice his concerns, his disquiets, to release the boiling resentment of a lifetime. But despite the anger, despite the hate, he could not. Despite the unending desire, he could not.

For what was one unicorn's life and opinion compared to the Sun Princess who had held Equestria together, alone, for over a thousand years? A thousand years doing double the work, mourning for her seemingly-lost sister? Blueblood was but a fickle bacterium to her unconquered sun.

And thus the Prince could only utter the lamest of polite disagreements.

"Princess Celestia..."

"I- I-" he continued. "I would appreciate it if Cadance and yourself were to restrict yourselves in meddling in my personal affairs. It should have occurred to you that I have..."

He glanced down at the pulped mess of cereal in his bowl.

"... that I had but five months without having mares chase me at social gatherings not unlike last night, and that those five months were amongst some of the most joyous of my life yet..."

He cursed his own cowardice and glanced up at his Aunt, but could only focus his puny eyes upon a point behind the infallible Sun Princess.

"I know you set her up to it, and do not appreciate your sentiment on this matter..."

"Oh nephew," she began. "Don't think of us too badly, Blueblood. Cadance and I - and Luna too - only want the very best for you."

She walked around the table, slowly, gently. Making her way behind him, she draped a soft wing over hard, rigid shoulders, soothing the contracted muscle. She continued. "Blueblood, you don't need to overexert yourself. If there's any problem, anything you'd like me to deal with, you know where I am."

Confused, glazed eyes glanced up at her, to which Princess Celestia replied with a slight smile. "My dear nephew, you hold yourself up to standards which are impossible. Cadance and I only wish you to be happy. I know the past few months have been distressing for you, and I regret all of it having to occur, but things are getting better. I know you've been overworked, and I know you've been having to attend more gatherings than usual, but I promise that it will get better. Once Luna gets used to everything and everypony, she'll be able to take some of the load."

"Blueblood," she continued, "I'm so sorry for what has happened recently. I admit that I've been blind to your troubles, and it was wrong of me to act like that. If there's anything you need, do know that I will always be available if you need me. If you'd like, we could arrange for some of your workload to be shifted, perhaps? I understand that public appearances are tough, and if you would wish to cancel them..."

The Prince swallowed, confusedly struggling to form a reply. The words calmed his heart, but there was one matter she had not addressed, a matter he knew she would not address without his pushing.

But that chain strained against his throat once more, and he could not address that issue. Address his displeasure for Princess Celestia's relative frivolity, of the damned, brainless golddigger who had hounded him - most likely on Celestia's encouragement, of the subjects that truly mattered.

Blueblood glanced down at the cleared table, where the images of the Princesses of the Sun and the Moon danced and circled around each other, their forms engraved and coloured into the varnished wood.

He thought of one of his own - his house's - seals: a unicorn rampant, on a field azure, beneath a star or et azure.

A unicorn rampant. A silver-coated unicorn, rearing.

It was incorrect.

The unicorn ought to have been chained, his grandfather had allegedly said. That was the tale his wet-nurse had regaled to him offhoofedly when he had began to understand these things. It would have gone ahead, too, were it not for surprising obstruction from the Herald's College...

Turning to the Sun Princess, the Prince offered a feeble response.

"But I-I- must! The realm demands it!- It is necessary! Honour- Can't-!" He exhaled deeply, encouraging himself to form a coherent sentence. "Auntie, it's just that... I couldn't - shouldn't - distract you or Aunt Luna from your vital work..." He trailed off.

"I never did understand you Platinums," she muttered under her breath. She glanced down at the waiting Prince. "Blueblood, you don't need this. Please. There's more to life than contempt and work. Let the stress out, dear nephew. I admire your duty and commitment, I do, but there's no need to chase your father's dreams. You have a whole life ahead of you, Blueblood, and please make the most of it?"

She paused as she waited for a response, but he could not offer any. So she continued.

"Blueblood. Blueblood... We only want you to be happy. Truly happy, my dear nephew. Take a short break, Blueblood, there'll be nothing to worry about. I'm sure there's something you enjoy that doesn't involve work? I know you're not particular to such things, but you needn't overexert yourself so soon..."

The Prince listened carefully, and noticed something about how his Aunt addressed him.

She had shown care and affection towards him before, and had also reprimanded him before, but he had not noticed this before.

He had witnessed her doing the same to Cadance and Twilight, but a part of him felt there was something unusual about how he spoke to him and how he spoke to his sister, he was sure of it.

There appeared to be...

Hesitancy; an abnormal frigidity beneath the warmth. Reluctance.

The sentiment seemed genuine, but some of it, part of it, was... off. It may have been paranoia, but it was definitely... something. The affection was genuine, but it came out wrong, he countered himself.

Princess Celestia was not cruel enough to make his entire life a lie, he knew that. For one, it would have affected Cadance, for whom her affection was far more public as the two siblings grew out of foalhood.

It was disappointment. Yes, that was it.

Father had successfully dealt with crisis after crisis by himself, but what had he done? His laxity had forced others to act in his stead. Frittering away his foalhood on pointless pursuits, failing to live up to the legacy of his forefathers despite his efforts, aimlessly spiting everypony he came across. Adhering at times to a ... nearly perverse sense of honour, the same outdated creed passed down from father to son over centuries of stagnation.

But that was what he did; he knew nothing else. The same could have been said of his forefathers, but at least they all excelled - even in periods of complacent decadence.

And because of that, he understood. Understood the sentiment that Princess Celestia was definitely projecting, even if she did not intend to.

He was a failure.

And in his head and heart, he was sure that the sentiment was correct.

He waited for the Sun Princess to leave before he could form a reply. He knew what was wrong: he feared her wrath, feared her reaction, and the petty trifles would not come forth: his mouth had been sewn shut that entire conversation.

He loathed himself further, yet knew that such loathing did naught, and thus he loathed himself more.

It was only until She had left, only until he was the only being left in that cold, heartless room that he could utter a retort.

His voice chords trembled, and the words diffused out between unmoving lips. A whisper on the wind. Self-pity, spite and scorn coalescing into five words:

"I never had a proper foalhood."

Blueblood slammed the doors shut with telekinetic laziness. Turning towards the Elements, he briefly tipped his head to the side in bored salutations. A vein in his forehead threatened to bulge as he perceived the most vocal of the group - a white unicorn mare with a purple mane - spin towards him.

Her.

Perhaps I ought to measure my blood pressure at the start and end of each day.

Moonstone was right, he reflected. The Elements really did have problems, at least from his point of view. Honestly, from his point of view, there was very little motivation behind bringing five insane mares onto his 'side' with the exception of the possible political and security benefits. And if the situation were as terrible as he initially thought, that did not matter whatsoever. Their value was exceptionally diminished by the loss of perhaps the most useful and influential member of this peculiar fellowship.

The missing Element of Magic was perhaps the only tolerable one of the bunch; the only one with intellectual parity with himself. Unfortunately, she was obsessive about keeping lists, adhering to administrative tedium, had a superiority-inferiority complex a mile wide, and had a poor choice of friends.

Much like yourself, with the exception of the lists, perhaps. Orders of Battle, on the other hoof...

The fact that Blueblood felt a tiny bit of resentment against Princess Twilight for hogging Princess Celestia's attention and accolades did not affect his opinion of her whatsoever. Not at all. No, sir!

The other Elements were not much better. At least one could have something that took the appearance of a proper conversation with her about the proper, intellectual things in life; there was mutual respect and acknowledgement of each other and each other's abilities, too. There was nothing of the sort in relation to the other mares, however. Fate, Celestia or whoever else could not have done a better job in picking ponies who were collectively better at causing him anguish and/or anger.

The Element of Honesty was... honest. That he at least could appreciate, even if he was rarely entirely honest himself. However, she was a simple earth pony farmer and thus displayed very little in the fields of higher learning or culture. Having spent little time - though enough to form a judgement - in her company, Blueblood did not particularly want to spend any more.

The Element of Laughter was the infuriatingly happy daughter of a rock farmer. I think. She also defied reality, was infuriatingly happy, and was the type of character who was consistently in-your-face. These were traits which Blueblood did not particularly appreciate. She was also responsible for hurling a cake in his general direction, a feat which in no way caused Blueblood to hold a massive grudge against this particular mare. Though in comparison to other ponies, she's probably lower down the list.

The Element of Loyalty was a Wonderbolt wannabe who spoke imperfect Equestrian, insisting on inserting 'radical' and other such infantile filth into every sentence. A cocky braggart. Skilled, true, but a braggart nonetheless. Then again, she had a talent for destruction. This particular trait was not highly appreciated outside of the armed forces by the Canterlotian Bureaucracy.

The Element of Kindness, well. He had seen very little of her to form a suitably jaded opinion, and the other Princesses had spoken well of her too. But the Element of Kindness also had a brief stint in modelling, was partly involved in the Tirek fiasco after convincing everyone that Discord was now their 'friend', and had caused a rampage and partly responsible for the millions of bits' worth of damage at the Gala.

This was not much to adequately form an opinion of a pony, but Blueblood didn't care. Quiet but dangerous.

Generosity?

...

There was nothing to say and too much to say. It would have been better, Blueblood deliberated, if he had missed the Gala by being committed to the Castle Infirmary. This plan of action would have involved accidently committing arson to his paperwork two hours before the dreaded event.

Should have done that. With any luck...

Granted, thinking that every other pony was an imbecile tended to sour both initial impressions and future interactions. It would be easily argued that such an attitude was ultimately detrimental to himself, but Blueblood enjoyed it and so decided to ignore this sane thought.

Arson seems enjoyable... Sort of. Flame spells were rather fun, anyway, especially against changelings...

After all, how could he relieve his stress without getting involved in an argument, scolding a dullard or otherwise being a jerk? And surely, being the most important pony in Equestria meant that he now took priority over every other worthless pony?

Not sure where I'm going with this...

His thoughts were thankfully - or not thankfully, as the other half of his consciousness intruded - by the most predictable source of friction in the room.

"YOU!"

Well, into the fray. Blueblood plainly shrugged in a lackadaisical reply.

… say something, you!” hollered Rarity.

Anything?

“The timberwolf is a quadruped, which lives…”

"AAAARGH!" Rarity, incomprehensibly enraged, launched herself at the Prince.

O-

The Prince's eyes shot up in alert. Realising that it were impossible to get out of the harridan's way, he dug in and braced for the inevitable contact.

The two white unicorns collided in a mass.

A pair of manicured hooves made ground, and thumped into the Prince's abdomen. Wincing and suppressing from the pain, Blueblood grunted as he exhaled. Cursing every deity he had heard of, the Prince spat a wad of phlegm out of the melee and gritted his teeth in concentration.

He could probably outfight the crazed mare - probably - but now was not the time to be seen as an aggressor, nor, indeed, have a fight. Wracking his brain as he mustered the magical energies required, the Prince paid only half of his attention towards the offending unicorn. A wild swing at his head was dodged, another parried.

Angered by the lack of progress, the screeching mare intensified her assault upon making contact, kicking and swinging and howling at the larger stallion. Her eyes lit up in rage, the Prince discerned that it would not be unreasonable to presume that this mare was partially intent to kill him.

Oh, screw it.

Blueblood head-butted her. Hard.

Both sides wheeled back in pain, though one was more capable in suppressing his emotions. Knocking back his opponent, Blueblood rolled to his right, out of the melee and scrambled to his feet, magical energies visibly surging around his horn.

To her credit, the mare stood up again and made another charge.

Utterly uninterested in continuing the fight, the Prince resolved on a course which involved considerably less valour, but more discretion. And a smaller chance of causing a future incident.

She neared, her purple mane now a frazzled mess; coat torn and roughened.

Come on, COME ON. Damn it, Blueblood, work on your- Blueblood disappeared in a brief flash, and appeared on other side of the room, bearing a few signs of the minor scuffle. ...teleport skills.

Alternatively one could stop placing one's head into the gaping jaws of a hungry crocodile. A familiarity with both would be optimal.

Rasping for breath, and with a number of obvious marks across his white coat, the Prince focused his eyes upon the five wide-eyed mares in the room. Brushing messy scraps of his mane out of vision, he spoke out.

"Ladies," he began, "You are here for your own security, and for the security of Equestria as a whole, so I would advise against attacking a Prince of the Realm."

Too smart for your own good, he scolded himself as he brushed imaginary dust off himself. Image, Blueblood.

"What, you brainless ruffian?! I demand to see the Princesses! I want to see Princess Celestia - or Twilight!" hurled Rarity from the other side of the room - tired, but evidently willing to carry on the fight.

"I'm afraid that isn't possible at the moment."

Rarity sprinted across the room and lunged at his form.

Again?!

Surprisingly quickly, he teleported once again to position himself in front of the doors, barring the Bearers' exit.

Getting better, but not good enough yet.

The Element of Generosity was less fortunate, and propelled by momentum, made a beeline for the wall where the Prince once stood until her rainbow-maned friend caught her.

"Well then," he said in a mocking tone as he observed this occurrence, "if you're so determined to see the Princesses, then I assure you my presence will be no barrier to your resolve in doing so."

"Huh?! Speak straight, you stuck-up jerk!" ordered Rainbow Dash as she sped right in front of his face having helped her friend up. The extroverted pegasus hovered menacingly in front of the Prince, whilst the other, yellow-coated pegasus trotted over to look over Rarity.

Unimpressed, Blueblood addressed the room. "If you would kindly allow myself to speak without interruption, I would be glad to inform you of the situation. Do sit down, ladies, this'll be quite something."

"Why should-"

"If you do have a complaint, then feel free to submit a letter detailing your grievances to the Office of Frayed Inkwell, Primary Private Secretary to Prince Blueblood, Canterlot Castle. I assure you the Castle takes great pride in reading every missive it gets."

It would be difficult to continue this... charade, the Prince thought. He was being too 'polite', barring the small scuffle, and being far too successful in suppressing in his emotions than he would have normally. He should have exploded into a rage by now, but he hadn't.

Then again, Blueblood, ordering the Lunar Guard to abduct them, acting like a smart-ass and deliberately being abrasive turns ponies against you. Who knew?

The blood still surged rampantly through his vessels, the war-drum beat of the cardiac valves still continued, but his wrath was so close yet so far from the tipping point.

Concerning.

It wouldn't do now to blow over in a fury, not now, not so early. He'd done it once today, he couldn't afford to do it twice.

Can't afford to alienate the Elements, not now. Calm, calm. Not now, leave it for later...

"I was speaking entirely truthfully when I mentioned that you were here for your own protection, and for the security of Equestria itself. The fact is that all of the Princesses have disappeared-"

"Where?!" burst Pinkie Pie in front of his face, causing him to flinch and adopt a guard stance. "Are they hiding? Isithideandseek? Ooo, this-"

"Let him speak, Pinkie," intervened a tired Rarity as she waved Fluttershy off.

"We have absolutely no idea. In all honesty, they have simply disappeared. Off the map. Gone."

"WHAT?!" cried all five mares in unison, eyes wide in shock.

Apparently honesty is the way to go. Who would have guessed?

"There are absolutely no clues, no traces whatsoever as to what happened to the Princesses, merely that they are... missing. Gone."

"How? How'd you lose the Princesses so easily, you... jerk!" nitpicked Rainbow Dash as she charged forwards again to hover menacingly, her nose but an inch away from his. "Are you," she started as a cringe sped across her face, "a ... spy?!"

No, that would be Moonstone.

"No, he's just a big big meany-meany-pants, isn't he, Rarity?" contributed Pinkie Pie in a tone which Blueblood could not decipher.

Helpful. Why do I even bother?

"Most probably he's brought us here to-"

"To do what? Still miffed about the Gala, ye wretched golddigger?"

Rarity walked closer, and slapped him.

Blueblood's eyes hardened in focus as the calm demeanour shattered in an instant, the sane fraction of his thoughts desperately attempting to suppress his natural instinct to reduce the Element of Generosity into a pile of fashionable ash.

"You're not lying are you?" intruded Applejack before Blueblood and Rarity could continue their spat.

"WHY WOULD I LIE?!" exhaled Blueblood angrily in her direction. "I can't raise the Sun! I can't raise the Moon! I can't defeat Ancient Evils! Why in Celestia's name would I want to become ruler of Equestria?!"

Cutting it close, cutting it close...

Rarity was naturally the first to retort. "Because-"

"Because what?" he snapped his head towards her again. "This isn't a bloody joke. Don't you think high society's just fun and games - after all, it's why you keep following Fancypants around, isn't it? Why on Equestria would I want to exchange that hypothetical state of gilded inertia for work? If your friend Twilight kept complaining about having nothing to do despite her status, then how much work did the other Princesses carry out? The ruler of Equestria has the most difficult travails of anypony, and I would not desire it were it offered to me on a silver platter."

"Now, look here," he continued through gritted teeth. "The Princesses are gone. Where? Nopony knows. Equestria, and the worthless lives of all who live within her borders, is at risk once again. I'd have thought that facing repeated evils in the forms of Nightmare Moon, Discord, Chrysalis, Sombra, Tirek and who-knows-else would have made you realise the state of Equestria! I will not sit here and let you scream at me whilst Equestria is keeling over!"

That put an end to it.

A pause.

"Long words do not make you intelligent... you inarticulate oaf!"

"Nor is opportunistic vanity an indicator of good character, you pretentious imbecile. Now are we going to continue this pointless tirade, or continue with the matter at hoof? Any grievances you may hold towards me as a result of our... interactions at the Gala are clearly trivial in comparison to the situation we find ourselves in. There are far more important matters at hand, and I would appreciate it if you grew up!"

"Uh, what?!" asked Rainbow Dash.

"We're screwed if we don't find the Princesses."

"Then we ought to find them!"

"Have you any ideas, then?" he spat in retort.

"Um, did the Princesses leave anything behind? A message or something?" meekly offered Fluttershy from the corner.

If only life was that easy, my dear.

"Not to my knowledge, no."

"So what do you plan on doing, hm?!" rounded Rarity once more.

Blueblood sighed and shook his head. Glancing back at the assembled mares, he continued, pacing around the room. "It is my intention to lead a Regency Council for the time being whilst we attempt to gather more leads. Despite the Princesses' disappearance, nothing major has gone wrong." Yet, his thoughts continued.

"Yeah, Rarity's right! You ought to be doing something!" insisted Rainbow Dash again.

Blueblood snarled and turned towards the rainbow-maned pegasus. "Unless you know where the Princesses are, then I suggest you shut up. When has rushing into a situation ever helped Equestria, huh? So what if we follow your idea and send the whole of the Royal Guard looking? What should we do if the Griffons invade, or if Tirek returns and attacks? You're not going to 'blast him with friendship', are you, not with Princess Twilight gone!"

He was met with deafening silence, a silence only broken by the hard, infuriated breaths of the sole male in the room.

"I demand a seat at the Royal Council!" cried Rarity after a few seconds.

Thank you for changing the subject, but no thanks for deciding upon that subject...

"Would you actually contribute something useful, or merely fantasise about the garden parties you aren't going to attend?"

Though there's nothing like a good argument to vent one's spleen every morning, I would rather not die of hypertension prematurely.

"Why, I should- You-"

"No."

"YES, you- you- you cretin!" Agitated, and seemingly motivated by something other than short-sighted hatred, the whining mare continued - to Blueblood's dismay. "Nopony believes you'll help Equestria, and we're not going to sit here taking it! If you're going to lecture us, Your Highness, then we deserve a say in the matter. It is imperative that we, as the most important individuals in Equestria, have a voice on the Royal Council," she sneered confidently. "If you don't, I'll just walk out of here with the girls and tell Fancypants about everything!"

"No you won't."

"Just watch me," she countered between gritted teeth.

The Prince let out a frustrated groan slowly.

Let's not have another spat now; deal with this later. Yes, deal with this later; hardly as if that's ever gone badly for this country.

On the other hoof, if the Princesses return, I'd very much like not to be charged for the spontaneous murder of the Element of Generosity. Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer, you idiot.

Cave in Blueblood, and she'll not expect it.

And you could always get it off your chest another time, nothing wrong with that. End it in private, not here.

She's right, ultimately. Without the Elements' cooperation, you do not stand a chance in Tartarus of finding the Princesses against.

You have to do this, Blueblood.

"Very well, if you insist," he mentioned without a care in the world.

"What?!"

"As a representative of the Bearers of the Elements of Harmony, you must attend all Royal Council meetings and contribute meaningfully," he continued. "And in return for that concession you all must stay within the castle, and preferably within these allocated chambers, indefinitely. Inform a guard if you intend on wandering around the castle, but do not leave its walls. This is for your own safety; I'm sure you can spend the rest of a day here without causing a mess. If you don't, well..."

If you don't (and you probably won't), then it's house arrest for you. And if you don't show up, I won't die of a myocardial infarction or an aneurysm brought upon by hypertension and stress. *Other ailments may also apply.*

But I might die of such conditions regardless.

They'd probably support you if they speak to Shining Armor or Spike, his thoughts reminded in a gifted spark.

"Furthermore, if you wish to speak to either Shining Armor, even if it is to verify my version of events, you are free to do so-"

"And what about Spike?! If you've touched even-" said Rarity.

"It would be better if you were to visit Armor first, though Princess Twilight's assistant is, I believe, in her quarters if you wish to visit him. Once again, Armor would be the better initial choice as he as a firmer grasp of the situation."

Offering no chance for the mares to question or otherwise intrude, he continued with finality.

"Now if you'll excuse me, ladies, I have a country to run. Oh and Miss Applejack?"

"Yeah?"

"Those apple..." What were they again? Greasy garnished commoner stuff, yes, but... "... comestibles were not my definition of 'scrumptious', but I believe that I was in the wrong in calling them 'common carnival fare' and in spitting them out. Do accept my apologies." They were edible, which can't exactly be said for everything else served upon my plate...

Could do with an apple pie though, I'm starving.

He brought his hoof up to his forehead in a pseudo-salute. "Ladies."

Come on Blueblood, you shouldn't have done that, his jaded mind offered. They'll either want to stick a knife in your back or stick themselves in your bed later. At least you didn't wink, old boy...

Shut up, brain... Farm reports are more interesting than chasing (these) cretinous mares, anyway.

Ignoring the mixed reactions of the Bearers, he walked straight out of the door and slammed it shut behind him.

Intolerable lot, but needs must...

A sudden stabbing feeling in his gut and the realisation that he'd been thwacked repeatedly by an insane seamstress fell upon the Prince as he took two paces away from the room. Waving off the attention of a surprisingly concerned Guard, he hissed in exasperation and contempt at the situation.

"Something the matter, sir? Are you alright, sir?"

"I'm fine, Barrel. Still alive, eh?" answered Blueblood.

"That you are, sir." The Guard paused. "Tough lot, the Elements. Especially that unicorn," he mentioned, nodding his head towards the closed doorway.

"Do me a favour, Corporal, and tell the Element of Generosity that if she wishes to do so, she may consult with me in private at a later date if she has any concerns. But not today."

"Very well, sir."

"Don't be an ass about it, Corporal Barrel. Oh, and you didn't hear anything."

Mental note: Visit the Infirmary. Alcohol, stress and now THIS. Won't be too bad, I hope...

Oh Princesses, I've got business later...

"Heard what, sir?"

"Carry on, Corporal."

Leaving the Guard behind, and limping into an empty corridor, the Prince cursed loudly.

Princesses, that hurts a lot more than I thought it would...

Mental note number two: Conscript seamstresses into the Guard when possible.

He wished he could take back his statement about captains not abandoning their ships. That was not entirely true; it was perfectly acceptable for captains to abandon their ships if they were valuable enough that their loss would be otherwise regarded as being unacceptable.

That train of argument was increasingly attractive with every second that passed.

Colonel Onyx Charge was, like so many other ponies on this day, rather displeased. And like many of those unfortunately 'in-the-know' in Canterlot, much of the problems he had to deal with involved the Princesses and incompetence. The idiots from the 6th Lunar Guard had messed up - though, fortunately, not to the state where the situation was irretrievable - but it was very close. Their Celestial Highnesses' Eighth Solar Regiment of Hoof, or more simply, the Eighth Solar Guard, had been assigned to control and defend the village of Ponyville by direct order from the Chief of the Equestrian General Staff. Well, direct order, but not actually directly.

The world would be much better if Thunderclap was omniscient and omnipresent (or the entire Royal Council for that matter), but Equestria had to resort to inserting an entire bloated hierarchy of brainless, ball-less Staff Officers between the well-regarded CEGS and the highly-admired Captain of the Guard and the dirt Guardsponies on the front line. An entire, bloated hierarchy which complicated matters far more often than not.

There was also the fact that in effect, half of the Regiment consisted of reserves. Of the three battalions on paper, only one was wholly professional and consistently at hoof; Second Battalion spent its time defending Canterlot and had to be mobilised and worked up before deployment, whilst Third Battalion was comprised almost entirely out of reserves.

Well then, I have six companies to deal with this rubbish.

Six companies was possibly enough to defend Equestria's most notorious village-in-which-national-heroes-and-a-Princess-reside-and-yet-was-on-the-edge-of-the-largest-area-of-feral-woodland-on-the-continent-whilst-also-lacking-a-permanent-guard-posting, but definitely not enough to fulfil all operational objectives. The additional operational objectives, stupidly, included rooting through the bloody Everfree in a headless, uninspired search for the Princesses, reconnoitring and surveying (of the bloody Everfree), pest extermination (of the bloody Everfree) and land reclamation (again, of the bloody irritating bloody sodding bloody blasted bloody thrice-cursed Everfree bloodyapplepiebloodyinfested Forest).

To help achieve his objectives, Colonel Charge was informed in no uncertain terms that nopony outside of the Guard was to know of the Princesses' disappearance without the express permission of Prince Blueblood, on pain of... something.

I've been promised a promotion after this. I'd have earned it.

Charge had called a meeting of all officers in his regiment at the Castle-thingy - whatever contraption or dwelling Princess Twilight called her new 'home'. Ugly crystalline thing; could do with some erosion. Yeah, some weathering would do. Make it more respectable or summat. An ugly building, but it was large and recognisable, so it had to be his headquarters.

And ol' Thunderclap wants the Staff 'round to look through any papers around here.

It really was an ugly piece of architecture, and would probably be the focal point of any attack, but the needs of the many et cetera. Blues, purples and lilacs smashing together in an utterly unsubtle cacophony of corpulent crystalline craftsmanship that made the Colonel cringe. If it were luminescent, he reflected, he would have admitted himself to a mental asylum or a rehabilitation facility for fear of his own sanity. It was foul, utterly foul and a scar on the landscape, he thought.

Must be post-modernist or summat. Thought the Elements were Ancient, but apparently not.

Word had spread in The Mess that it was "a final torment by Tirek". The joke was in rather poor taste, but there was some reasoning behind it, Charge reflected.

... Could do with some flying buttresses actually, that would immensely improve it... Should get the engies down here...

Perhaps we could put the magazine in here?

There was one thing to be thankful for, despite the utter horror that was the building. It was empty, so there was no need for backdoor entry as some of his Lunar Guard co-workers had attempted to do earlier that day. In retrospect, Onyx Charge was unsure as to whether this property had a back door, but was not inclined to find out himself for fear of going insane.

Damned lightweight eejits, the stupid Lunies...

They really were a bunch of absolute idiots, which made them an anomaly in the Guard. Most Guard regiments were comprised of know-it-alls, maniacs and oafs; idiots were also haphazardly spread amongst the units. Lunar Guard units tended to have more maniacs in general, but were as afflicted by idiots as their Solar brethren. The regiment that had been sent to secure the Elements, it seemed, consisted not of the typical mix but instead was completely filled with absolute idiots.

The Solar Guard, in general, had fewer maniacal idiots, but more know-it-all idiots and oafish idiots.

Could be worse, it could be Intelligence...

The Colonel suppressed a shudder at the thought. Now that was a group of knife-eating maniacal loonies as opposed to ordinary maniacal idiots. If you happened upon a fantastically moustachioed guardspony, more often than not they tended to be crazed Intelligence operatives who should be given a massive berth.

Instead I have this lot.

The Colonel looked to the task at hoof as his subordinates filed in.

Hooray.

He glanced at the assembled officers - a bedraggled lot, all of them - and spoke plainly.

"A and B companies will dig in around the town. C company will tell the locals to stay inside for the time being for their own safety. D company will start scouting the Everfree perimeter, with E company as reserve. The 64th Independent Pegasus Company will fly air patrol when the lazy arses get 'ere."

"And the artillery?" enquired a voice.

Oh yeah, those idiots.

It had been to Colonel Charge's annoyance that the artillery had been dragged along too. Though not one to pander to public opinion, pulling an entire battery of horse artillery along on what was supposed to be a low-visibility mission suggested that the planner was not particularly gifted in the mental department. Or blessed with sterling ocular facilities, for that matter. Then again, some light guns could probably kill an Ursa Major. Prob'ly.

It was horse artillery, alas. The name was a misnomer itself; all artillery, whether horse or regular, was pulled by ponies regardless of weight or designation. Horse artillery was merely the poor colt's artillery; lighter, crewed by arguably worse gunners using cheaper guns. Worse gunners who had deluded themselves into thinking they were 'cavalry'. Yes, they could do rapid hit-and-run and were fully capable of the idiotic pretensions of those noble sots, but 'cavalry' was never regarded by the average Guardspony as being a mark of quality. Horse Artillery may have been faster than their regular cousins, but when the mission objective included static defence this was not a particularly useful trait.

It was also stupidly named.

"Bunker down in the main square. Put your field guns down major streets and highways. Give the bears or hydras or whatever idiot monster decides to come out a breakfast of canister. Mortars down in the square too; we'll deal with more detailed positioning later."

Or, in other words, when I can give a flying flank about it.

Indefinite posting with six companies, an artillery battery and a village full of nudist idiots on the edge of the Everfree.

Apparently the settlement was also well-known for its conspiracy theorists prior to Princess Twilight's arrival/ascendancy/whatever.

Hooray.

At least it'll be a story to tell the kids, eh?

...

... Actually, on second thoughts, they'll probably find it as boring as Tartarus.

"Remember, all, we must exercise caution. The bloody Lunies have allegedly taken a hell of a bollocking from Prince Ponceblood, and if this situation lasts I'm sure you'd rather not be on his extremely long hate list. I won't say that it's simple, 'cos the loony Lunies had to do something simple and they royally screwed up. Don't touch anything, don't aggravate the locals, don't mess up unless you'd like to eat the barrel of a three-pound gun. Go out there and do your job, and keep the casualties to an utter minimum if we run into any, repeat, any, resistance. If Tirek shows up, tell him you fiddled his mother."

"Oh, and Brine? Don't chat up the local mares."

Argent Typhoon stretched his wings, and tugged at his shirt. A nice jog would be in order, but sadly one was preoccupied by duty. It was tedious, tiring work, but it was necessary, and for the good of the nation. Work which one would suppose as being wholly unsuited to the bearer of the title of "Lord Commander of Cloudsdale".

Lord Commander of Cloudsdale.

His Excellency Argent Typhoon exercised very little power in that particular city in truth, for the Cloudsdale pegasi had long since thrown out their nobility. Figuratively, through windows, after... removing their wings. But then again, that was centuries ago and there was no pointless animosity between the Lord Commander and his hometown today. Influence, however, was not a substance in which he was lacking, and a tool he wielded well, though not too often.

This was possible for Argent Typhoon, formerly of the Solar Guards and the Navy, formerly of the Naval Office and former Member of the Equestrian Stable of Peers for Cloudsdale, held the titular seat of official Pegasus representative on the Royal Council, just as Blueblood held the Unicorn seat and Serene - despite her being a unicorn - the Earth Pony seat. He was, more importantly, Lord High Constable of Equestria, the Royal Council member responsible for interior affairs.

A flick of the hoof behind the ear. Awfully stuffy; would rather be at home...

A warm smile crept across his cheeks as his eyes flicked to a well-worn picture of his family. Violet and the children were at their country estate, out for the summer holidays. He missed them. It had been years since he had went with them; Equestria had not been kind to its ponies, and the administrative foundations of society were not relieved of stress or work at any point in the past tumults. Shouldn't attempt to retrieve them, though. If any threat was to strike at Equestria, then it would go for the top, surely. Canterlot was the priority target, and he didn't want his loved ones anywhere near the Capital.

Couldn't stand it if... No. Not whilst I'm here.

Must be difficult for Blueblood, though. Sister and Aunts gone in a flash?

Flicking shut another report, the pegasus stood and paced slowly around his rooms. Ghastly weather. The stress was always a burden, but strenuous work was never aided by other ponies' weak-willed travails. Some days it would be incompetence - misplacing folders, misfiling missives and the like. Other days it was corruption and inefficiency, whether intentional or not. As of late, the problem of the day was merely idleness. The weather-ponies were being most lax as of late, the weather factories working at far from peak efficiency. It was most uncomfortable, but perhaps there was a need for something other than the 'softly-softly' approach. It was most unbecoming of him to act as old Blueblood did, but the Lord Commander had influence in Cloudsdale and was prepared to act upon it if this wastrel inactivity was to continue. Influence was pointless if one could not use it, as Blueblood had confided to him before, but then the Prince also said the same of 'hard power'. But he had not declined to seek re-election as Cloudsdale's Member of the Equestrian Stable of Peers - MESP - without reason. Intrigue tired him.

A knock at the door. Unusual. He never had anyone around during noon; more often than not he had a reservation amongst one of Canterlot's finest restaurants, and having to cancel it had tugged briefly at his heart. Most impolite to cancel a reservation at such short notice.

"Yes?" he asked with a hint of suspicion as he walked towards the door.

You're getting paranoid, Argent. Most unbecoming to be like old Blueblood on such matters.

"It's Serene, Argent," came the muffled voice of his fellow council member.

Serene?

"Ah, do come in," offered Argent as he opened the door. "Do take a seat, Serene. I did not expect your being here, my lady?" Argent placed a quick peck on her raised hoof. Raising her eyebrows, her eyes glinted mischievously in reaction to his gesture. Serene moved to sit.

Casually moving a chair in front of his desk, she caught sight of an odd object adorning his desk. "Interesting choice of calendar, Argent."

A peculiar choice indeed, but it was a gift. Now, my dear, I'm sure you did not visit me to enquire upon my selection of tabletop ornamentation.

"Hm? Oh, that. It was a Hearth's Warming gift from Blueblood," loosely commented Argent as he shut the door. He proceeded to his fireplace nonchalant of his colleague's mild confusion.

"'Their Celestial Highnesses' Prisons of Equestria?'"

Ah, yes...

"Yes, a rather peculiar subject matter, but his opinion was that it would properly correspond with my post as Lord High Constable. Rather disappointing, though." Argent frowned as he levered a log into his fire. "Considering the dearth of criminals in the country in general, there aren't even 12 major detention facilities. The creators had to resort to guard barracks with substantial incarceration complexes and juvenile correctional centres."

"False advertising of the highest order."

"Indeed, though dealing with that would be your area, hm, my lady?"

She swung her head towards Argent as he made his way towards her. "I understand Inkwell has sent out immediate and urgent summons for Fancypants?"

Abnormal...

"It's nothing, I ran into him and he was gracious enough to inform me of the situation," said Serene before Argent could formulate a reply. "Kind of him to inform us."

Fancypants, hm? I suppose the securing of the Elements did not go entirely to plan.

"Tea, Serene?"

"Oh, yes, thank you."

The pegasus poured out two cups of tea with practiced finesse, before spooning a tablespoon of sugar into each. Serene graciously took the proffered cup and saucer as Argent sat down behind his bureau, opposite from her.

"It is entirely unlike him to run to the Press so quickly," started Argent after the two had taken a sip of their beverages.

"Didn't think we were playing," lightly japed his companion.

Argent ignored the jape, choosing to continue. "I suppose he's running around trying to maintain the status quo, as he does. Peculiarly charming of him to do so, but most unlike a gentlecolt in action."

"Rather hard to do so, considering our current circumstances."

"Hasn't stopped him before, the stupid foal." Argent shifted in his seat. "Of course, I wouldn't particularly blame him if I were in his position. And you?"

"I don't particularly disagree, though the urgency and speed of pace with which our Regent has gone to the Press is concerning. You and I know can surmise what has probably happened, but I agree, it is entirely unlike him to rush to the Press so soon. Panic, I suppose; I wouldn't blame him either. It would have been polite to inform us, though." She paused, and leaned forwards. "Other news too. Reticent Uprush, this time."

The name set off a few alarms in the pegasus' mind. Though it had been several years since he had last sat as the (fairly, his mind interjected)-elected Senior Member for Cloudsdale, Argent Typhoon had been somewhat acquainted with Reticent Uprush - the less-than-fairly elected Junior Member for Manehattan at the time. A highly insubordinate representative chafing under the influence of the Senior Member for Manehattan, a ghastly fellow by the name of Soured Bags. Scrofula Bags, Blueblood had called him. It was most loutish of the Prince, but then again, the individual in question was not known for his cleanliness, in political dealings nor in personal hygiene.

He hated to think of it, but he could see himself returning to those rotten benches. With Blueblood's ascension to Regent, he could not sit in the Stable and represent the Government - he would be far too busy to do so, as the Princesses were before him. There needed to be a Leader of the Stable of Peers, and Argent could not see Serene being given the job, even if she knew far more of the current occurrences in that corrupt chamber than he did, and in spite of her perfectly adequate oratorical skills. Blueblood would have wanted a friend in that post - somepony he could trust to 'put a bit of stick about'.

"Uprush? The junior representative for Manehattan?" he started.

Serene nodded in confirmation as she took a light sip from her cup. "Senior Member," she corrected. "Bags lost out to him a month ago, and retired as a result."

Reticent Uprush. Earth pony; nouveau riche, making his money through unsavoury methods, and climbing the political ladder through similar means. Manehattanite, and proud of it.

"Not unexpected; after all, Uprush is a pony utterly lacking in principles. He climbed so high on account of the Manehattan Machine-"

"He won against the Machine candidate."

One does not defeat the Machine candidate, even if their candidate is a dullard.

"Bags? The Machine supported him over Uprush?"

"Apparently, yes, but there was a massive upset - for the bookmakers - at the polls nonetheless..."

You don't say. Uprush must either be suicidal, exceptionally skilled, exceptionally lucky or a combination of the above. He must have interesting times ahead of him now.

All the cities and regions of Equestria had a particular quality for which they were particularly famed. Canterlot was known as the centre of high society, a natural choice considering its importance as Capital, home of the Princesses and the traditional stomping grounds of the oldest of the old guard. Las Pegasus was known for its excess, in bits and everything else. Stalliongrad was known for its brutal efficiency standards, whilst Kracolt was renowned for its sterling heavy pegasus cavalry. Manehattan's greatest and most obvious quality was size; mass; being 'big'. Making it big, big consumerism, big industry, big corruption.

The 'Manehattan Machine' was, essentially, the where the Manehattan political system, the city's lowlifes and the city's industrial magnates came together; a system of graft, corruption and sleaze used to manipulate its favoured into high positions. It was not uncommon, therefore, for the Machine to influence the elections of new MESPs in the Borough of Manehattan.

Despite its notoriety, the Machine had been limited in its scope to Manehattan and its environs after a series of major defeats were inflicted upon it by a combination of local law enforcement, the upcoming breed of industrial philanthropist and heavy-hooved rulings and legislation orchestrated by Canterlot. It still had plenty of influence though, and the local law enforcement had suffered in the recent decades. Thrashing a 'Machine candidate' was thus extremely uncommon, and something to be very wary of.

"So as well as money laundering, graft, potential blackmail and being an ass, we can add electoral fraud to the list?"

Though the Machine uses all of these unsavoury methods, its existence serves as a shield for its own; having the gumption and ability to do all of them on your own... Well, that's either foolishness or insanity. Admirable to some, perhaps.

"Agitation against the Government may also apply." Serene softly lowered her cup and saucer onto the desk. "He's been pushing against the Government benches as of late, and Moonstone has informed me that he is, in all likelihood, behind some of the anti-Government literature recently that has been making the rounds recently. The material that originated from Manehattan?"

Perhaps we have misjudged him...

"A threat?"

"Not working with the griffons, as far as we know. Or anyone else. But perhaps in the future?" she shrugged. "There's been a lack of substantial and decent opposition recently, especially after the Granite Earl and Shine retired..."

Argent brushed at his silver mane. "It was a better time when they were around, and before the likes of Uprush and his ilk."

"Indeed. There was at least some competition in the Stable, and they were good ponies, the two of them."

"Among the best." Argent frowned. "I never could understand why Shine retired; he's still got a long career ahead of him."

"Curious indeed. Lack of support, I suppose, which was a pity. Now there was a pony of principle!"

Argent stood up and wrenched open a biscuit tin, taking one for himself and gesturing to the container in an offer. Smiling softly, Serene took a biscuit for herself and nibbled on it.

Finishing his own, the pegasus turned to his visitor, changing the subject. "And what of the Crystal situation?"

"The Crystal Situation?"

"Lady High Chancellor. Any opinions you'd kindly like to share on the matter?"

"Enquires His Excellency the Lord High Constable?"

Argent exhaled. I can see why Blueblood does it all the time. "Let me hazard a guess, my dear. You've got absolutely no idea about Crystal Law nor what is actually happening in that country as the Princesses have kept you out of the loop, intentionally or not. If you're in that situation, then I completely understand, as I've been suffering the same problems too."

"I... I could see the point in keeping the Equestrian Civil Service out of the Crystal Empire? It has not been two years since Sombra died; I would imagine it would take quite a while for them to adjust to the new 'world'. I would also hazard the guess that the Princesses were most happy in keeping the nobility and the bureaucracy out of it. The elites and the pinheads have been most uncooperative as of late."

"Is there even a census, or an anthology of Crystal Law? Princesses, but nobody remembered it existed until it re-emerged. Heck, there might not even have been a written legal code!"

"It's called the Crystal Empire? Empires tend to have a bureaucracy and a legal code?" Finishing her biscuit, Serene took a sip from her cup as she waited for Argent's response.

Thanks for that, Serene.

"If it is not incorrect for me to ask, is that based upon reasonable rationalisation or fact? It's just that I've spent the last two years dealing with a dragon migration, abnormal weather, intrusions from the Everfree, internal corruption and an excessive national sporting event. Not that the above were not thrilling, but I haven't had the time to learn more legalese."

"The Lord Commander of Cloudsdale did not attend the Equestria Games?"

Oh that terribly boring affair. I might as well enquire the same of you, Serene, Lady of Trottingham...

"Hadn't the time," said Argent with a roll of the eyes. "Also, I do not go around looking for census records in the little free time I have, nor do I consider reading the law code of an isolated newly-appeared province of the nation my idea of light entertainment. There is something else, though..."

"And might I enquire as to what?"

"Have you ever considered the possibility of the documents we need being destroyed? I'm sure Sombra was thorough in smashing the Crystal line, and there's always the possibility of Tirek having destroyed it in his rampage, intentionally or not. Even if it existed, my assumption would be that only two ponies know of its existence and location: Princesses Cadance and Twilight."

And we're not going on a jolly outing through the Everfree to ransack the archives of the Castle of the Two Sisters either. Nor are we going to consult Grumble of Maremouth's horseapple 'histories'...

"Ah." Serene put down her cup and saucer as this information was taken in. "If this were to end and resolve itself tomorrow, it would be absolutely fantastic."

"Completely overjoyed indeed, but I do not believe it shall finish to the satisfaction of everypony," he said with calm sincerity. "Equestria will be menaced, and harmonic intercourse the only barrier."

Cooperation has proved its worth in the past; may it prove its worth today and tomorrow.

"We have done what we can so far," he continued. "To the Princesses and tomorrow."

Argent raised his cup in the air in a toast which was both sincere and a mockery of their current situation. Serene mirrored his gesture, an amused smirk playing across her rose-accented cheeks.

"To the Princesses and tomorrow."

Golden Letter had differing opinions on her superior. It was true that Blueblood was an abrasive boss, and quite frankly, a jerk, but not wholly insane. Strange, yes, but not insane.

For one, Blueblood's rare occasions of staring at her flank tended to have him in a drunken heap on the floor, more often than not. This was a surprise, certainly, considering his reputation in Canterlot. It was... largely acceptable, though it would have been preferable were such a situation not to occur in the first place; neither the drunken heap nor the staring at her flank were particularly desirable. Tolerable, perhaps, but not desirable.

Secondly, his character was... difficult. He was, simply put, utterly confounding. It was impossible to tell whether he was acting or not, and whether his public image(s) were proper reflections of his actual personality. The nigh-perpetual state of high-functioning intoxication or sedation in which the Prince thrived did not help this at all. He had moments of serenity, moments of kindness, moments of unbridled rage, but typically rested in a state of frustrated, cynical smarminess.

The only matter which she could determine was that he did not honestly give a flank about what others thought about him on a personal level.

Inkwell had once said that Blueblood tended to give 'friends and close, immediate underlings a wider berth', which was a minor consolation.

Honestly, I'd rather not face him when he's wholly off the leash.

And despite these quirks she did not, however, expect in any way to be serving the de facto monarch of all Equestria.

Blueblood, de facto monarch of all Equestria.

Well, that'll be great, won't it?

She did not, either, expect to spend her first few hours in service to the de facto monarch of all Equestria stuck in her office churning out press releases. Then again, the contract which he had lazily thrown at her after a rather bizarre interview session did require her services being available at all times.

Initially Golden Letter had thought this was a euphemism, and had pleaded for time to consider the employment offer.

After her first day as the Prince's Under-Secretary the young unicorn mare had come to realise that the peculiar clause in her contract instead referred to being willing and ready to perform whatever insane and but generally average errand His Nibs required her to do. A quiet chat with her immediate superior - the hapless and bespectacled unicorn named Frayed Inkwell who was Blueblood's Primary Secretary - revealed that this would become a staple of her routine.

Earlier that morning a Guardspony had stormed into the Unicorn Passages - the wing of Castle where Blueblood resided and where his various secretaries and hangers-on made their residence and workstations much alike to their superior. She had been filing her hooves when the red-faced earth pony ran into the office and presented a missive to Inkwell upon which was splayed Blueblood's shorthoof scrawl.

Amongst the hurriedly-written yet detailed instructions, part of which had sent the Primary Private Secretary off in a rush, were a series of complicated commands ordering Golden Letter, as Blueblood's Under-Secretary, to draft a press release on the Princesses' disappearance. In long-windedly excruciating detail the Prince had thrown his line of thought upon the well-worn sheet of paper, ordering Golden Letter to write to her heart's content as many different drafts as possible.

By lunchtime, he promised, he would return and overlook the various drafts she had written and help her finish the press release, which he would issue by that afternoon.

As an incentive, he offered to bring along a bottle of old Grassgonhan red, which was rather thoughtful of him. Princesses curse him, but he had found a way to be both sincere and charming in shorthoof that looked like the dying paces of an ink-soaked spider.

It did not make the task particularly easier though, and the golden-coated Under-Secretary was up to her neck in discarded scrolls, staring vacantly at a blank sheaf of paper stuck into a well-worn typewriter.

The fact that the Prince had ordered her to complicate the facts as much as possible - using the type of obfuscating legalese and stuffy language that would make it unclear as to whether the Princesses were merely indisposed as opposed to being outright missing - did not help either.

She really hated her boss at times. He had even specified that she should do the writing, damn him.

She glanced over at Inkwell's empty seat, his desk cluttered and messy.

Then again, he's running around like a headless, ink-stained chicken. Could be worse for me...

The headless, ink-stained chicken was not wholly useless, and had succeeded, helpfully.

Amongst the scrawled notes which Blueblood had dispatched to his secretaries was an order to summon Fancypants to the Castle discreetly, a task which Inkwell had succeeded to some extent. The blue-maned gentlestallion was summoned, without any particular reason but under the impression that it was by no means a low-priority request, and informed that the Prince would be ready to meet him after lunch.

Fancypants had assured a somewhat-relieved Inkwell that he would attend later, and the Primary Secretary had returned to the Castle.

Having finished dealing with the Elements, Blueblood had invested in a minor diversion towards the Castle Infirmary. It was after this detour that he promptly spent the remainder of the morning finishing the press release.

The Prince skimmed over the scroll, the words carefully drawing across the sheet in Golden Letter's delicate script. Satisfied, he swung his head over towards his Under-Secretary.

"Good," he grunted. "It'll do."

He glanced over at a clock positioned above the mantelpiece. Two-thirty.

Nodding his approval, he telekinetically passed the scroll over to Golden Letter, who carefully bound a ribbon around it and sealed it with a wax stamp. Taking the sealed item, the Prince rose from his seat and made for the office door.

Before he could leave, though, he glanced back towards Golden Letter. Surrounded by disused paper, she merely gazed back in a combination of exhaustion and apathy.

"Letter," he started, "your service has been most commendable as of late. I do believe you're in time for an increase in your salary. Keep the wine."

Before she could muster a reply, the Prince had left.

Blueblood had arranged to meet Fancypants in one of the smaller state rooms. Blueblood, as always, was there first; he needed the time to compose himself. And now, of all times, he definitely needed to compose himself. He loathed socialisation, and detested damage control even more.

Carefully pulling a seat out from the table before him, the Prince sat down alone, and waited for Fancypants' arrival. Placing the scroll on the table in front of himself, he reflected upon the inevitable need to converse with Canterlot and its despicable upper classes.

Foul beasts, the lot of them. Canterlot High Society; nothing in Equestria could be worse.

The Canterlot Plumbers' Union was a far nobler and honourable lot compared to those leeches. At least the drains kept running; couldn't say the same for all their damned estates.

Can't see why that golddigging whorse of a mare who holds the post of the Bearer of the Element of Generosity would want to socialise with the Canterlotian bacteria. Though perhaps, like minds attract.

If the only popular press organ was the Royal paper of record, the task would be much easier. Unfortunately, that was not the case, and it was necessary to meet with industry magnates.

The Press, ah the Press. An overflowing side tunnel of an already brimming sewer. If Canterlot lacked principle, then the Press as a whole failed to keep up the pretence of principle in the first place. It took a certain type of pony to willingly kiss flanks as part of their social life; it took another type of pony to kiss flanks as part of their job.

As the designated "target" amongst the Royal Family, it would not suffice to say that Blueblood loathed the Press.

The distorted philosophy was that Blueblood would be more active in the public sphere, and thus publically carry out the more questionable decisions which the Princesses agreed with but could not be seen to do. This he had agreed with. He cared not about other ponies' opinion of him, and typically preferred more direct and efficient solutions.

The unintended side effects of taking up this "role", however, were not things he entirely agreed with. Repeated faux pas, public relations failures and mistakes on the part of the Princesses - though he was of mind to forgive them sometimes - required the development of an even more bloated personality. The media appearances went up, the need to attend social gatherings went up. He was all too willing to heap scorn upon those who considered themselves his equals, but heaping scorn upon others was not a course of action that removed all feedback.

To allow the Princesses minor dereliction of duty, Prince Blueblood allowed himself to be trashed in the Press.

Devour tons of confectionery that would be enough to support an entire village for a month? Attend Nightmare Night?

To live a normal life amongst friends in some puny village?

It jarred with him, to say the least.

Should have drunk the rest of that bottle, he considered as he stretched his slightly-painful and tired muscles. If it weren't for the fact that I only have to meet one pony today, then I'd have downed it all in one gulp.

It was a minor thing to be thankful for, but thank the Princesses it were merely necessary to treat with the only industry magnate that really mattered. A principled idealist, though one who could be used. No, not used; that would be treating him as a mere object. Fancypants adhered to his own moral code far too well to allow others to exploit him.

A very warm, honest character indeed. A bright light in a morass of mediocrity, though perhaps harder to play. Perhaps not; one can never tell with these... ponies.

Accursed country must be in a terrible state if honour and noblesse oblige are considered unpredictable elements...

He could prove a useful aid, perhaps, if he could be won over.

A Guard had informed him that Fancypants intended to arrive at three.

It's now a minute-

“Blueblood, dear boy! How are you?” cheerfully exclaimed Fancypants as he waltzed into the hall, breaking the Prince's scolding train of thought.

Not dead yet, Blueblood’s cynical mind reported. Though soon to be…

"Tolerable, my old friend. And yourself? Fleur?"

"Glad to know you remember her! I'm just wonderful, Blueblood, and she is too. 'Tis a shame you've missed a few of the recent gatherings, you'd have liked them. So," he said as he moved towards a seat, "what is it that you require my presence at such short notice? 'Wouldn't protest, not at all - anything for a friend, but rather peculiar for one such as yourself."

Blueblood waited for the other unicorn to be seated before formulating a reply. “As I said, I am well, though the same cannot be said of our Most Royal Princesses,” he mentioned in a tone of considerable and not entirely false distress. “That in fact is the very reason for your most urgent summoning, my old friend. I have need of your services for the release of such information to the good ponies of Equestria, though in a necessarily proper fashion.”

“Oh,” acknowledged Fancypants in a surprisingly genuine expression of concern. “How may I assist?”

Blueblood’s telekinetic energies surrounded a paper scroll bound with a red silk ribbon on the table and passed it over to the other unicorn, who grasped it in his own telekinetic field. Fancypants gently placed it on his side of the table, and looked inquisitively towards the Prince.

“A Press Release. I have provided you with a copy; the Royal Equestrian Times, our paper of record will publish it tomorrow,” the Prince replied. “Equestria Daily, the Canterlot Courier, the Manehattan Times and your other papers may now of course publish it too. Positive editorials and opinion are, of course, greatly appreciated and your confidence in such matters will, of course, be gratefully remembered by those in the highest.” Blueblood smiled.

Better than any of those throwaway rags you call your competitors, that's for sure.

“Surely, dear boy,” replied Fancypants, “it would be better to give a speech in Canterlot than to inform and rouse the entire nation if the subject is so serious?”

No, no I think not. Nopony would listen.

“That is exactly the point; the Council has decreed that the message ought to be spread throughout the country, to as wide an audience as possible.”

Fancypants seemed even more confused by this statement.

Blueblood offered to explain. “Fancypants, the Princesses have taken grossly ill; that is the reason for your summons. A foul miasma has befallen all four alicorns, a miasma of such dire magnitude that our four honoured monarchs have become so grossly incapable of ruling that a Regency Council has been formed. You’ll find the rest of the details in the scroll.”

Blueblood's cheek muscles softened and his gaze drooped somewhat, offering a slight image of weakness to the unicorn opposite him.

"The Princesses? Oh! But... how?" responded Fancypants.

That's the type of response I want... now to push it in further.

The Prince replied with a distinct softness in his tone. "We're trying to keep everything in order and we're searching through the archives to see if there's any cure. However, until the situation is resolved order must be maintained. Despite your low birth I consider yourself to be an exemplary, dependable and honourable stallion, which is why I have entrusted you with spreading this most important information."

And I expect favourable editorials too, went the sentiment.

Fancypants nodded his silent understanding, though Blueblood perceived the remnant of a suspicious spark in the other unicorn's eyes.

Damn it Blueblood, get in form!

“Oh, Blueblood, dear boy?” enquired Fancypants quietly. “What’s this I hear about disturbances in Ponyville earlier?”

Right. Can't let him suspect a thing. So who does he care about? Rarity?

“Hmm?” replied the Prince as he brushed off the comment. “A nasty job. Somepony – or someone – attempted to seize the remaining Bearers of the Elements of Harmony. We’d heard of it just before they could strike, and sent in the Lunar Guard to catch them off-guard.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Fancypants.

“Don’t worry, ol’ boy,” grinned Blueblood. “Your friend Rarity is fine; all of the Elements have been secured, thank the Princesses, though a few have suffered the odd scuffle. The Guard has been deployed en masse to secure and investigate, for security purposes, as I'm sure you'd understand. But it's nothing to worry about, of course; the village's dealt with worse before.”

He paused to take a breath.

"Honestly, Nightmare Moon? Discord? Tirek stomping across the place? We've had reports in from the piquets we sent earlier in the day, and it's nothing spectacular. Just a few rabble-rousers, but we've got some good lads looking after the Elements as they should be."

He leaned over towards the other unicorn.

"Between you and me, Fancypants, it was always my opinion that they ought to have a permanent guard on them all the time. It's hard to question the Princesses, I know, but the safety of the realm must always be of paramount importance. Whilst I'm at the helm, I suppose, I'll keep the ship nice and stable, and their wellbeing will be my highest priority."

Fancypants slowly breathed a sigh of relief.

Blueblood continued. “However, I’m not entirely pleased about the situation. You know me, Fancypants, an irritable perfectionist to the last. Now is not the time to let our guard down, especially with the Princesses at their very weakest. I’m telling you all this in absolute confidence, am I correct, Fancypants?” Blueblood fixed the socialite with a stare.

Fancypants nodded and spoke his sincere confirmation of this.

“I'm sure you won't, Fancypants, but I don’t want a word of this to anypony. I’d like you to, in a gesture of good gratitude and on account of our long-standing friendship, run a couple of nonsense stories for a month or so, if it wouldn't be a significant problem? Celebrity garbage and the usual lot; not like you'll get any competition and lose any significant market share. You’ll get a proper release on the Ponyville situation tomorrow or the day after, if you'd like such a thing, of course, as a token of our appreciation and in compensation for your future losses. Not that you'd probably lose out much on readership or in stock, though. Regardless, We in the Castle and the Administration would greatly appreciate your services, as you deserve.”

"This is a peculiar request, Blueblood..."

“What I’m saying, Fancypants, is run a load of guff for the next month whilst I mop the shop floor, as it were, for the good of Equestria. Opinion pieces, celebrity rubbish, you know the stuff. We need the limelight off us whilst the Princess recover and until we get back in shape again. Your loyalty, again, should be handsomely rewarded." The Prince finished smoothly.

"Handsomely rewarded?" interceded Fancypants in a slight tone of sardonic outrage. "Now, Blueblood, I consider myself a stallion of integrity!"

Nearly blew it, you fool!

"As anypony should!" exclaimed a shocked Blueblood. "One of the finest stallions in all Canterlot, and I say that with utter sincerity. The complete lack of honour and principle amongst the elite these days shocks me to my core. However, helping the Castle, you would be showing your brilliant qualities to the nation. This would not be a favour for myself, but for Equestria and the Princesses. Of course, if they decide to reward you in a particular manner, then it is entirely their decision, not mine."

"If it were my decision, then your considerable efforts should be rewarded, but alas, it is not. Even if I had a hoof in it, our long-standing relationship would oblige one to recuse one's self. A knighthood may be far-fetched; it may not. Wouldn't that be a sight though? The son of a poor bookkeeper rewarded and honoured for his services to the nation, fully able to stand with head raised at Court. You'd be much more deserving of a title than most of the nobles I know...”

Blueblood slammed the door shut. The clock on his mantelpiece ticked, steadily, regularly, the soft clicks gently reverberating around the room.

Not even twenty-four hours.

Not even twenty-four hours since the debacle began.

A positively pointless line of work.

Princesses, but he felt with certainty that he would learn to despise that timepiece in time.

Where was the thrill of power ponies spoke about? Where was the adrenaline from climbing to the highest rank? Was it lacking purely because he needed only to stand upon a stool to get there, or because it was literally gifted to him? Or did it even exist in the first place?

Not even a day, and he was exhausted already.

I suppose it's because one has to play both bureaucrat and politician...

Or perhaps it's merely the pointless ennui in which I am submerged, adrift in a sea of despair and devoid of self-confidence.

For all the boasts about decisive action, self-doubt aids not.

Gliding aimlessly along the well-worn carpet, the Prince found himself facing a peculiar ornament adorning the varnished walls. With ease and a soft click, the hex-bound locks opened. Reaching up, he pushed it gently with his front two hooves, pushing it out of its unlocked rack.

He caught it with his magic, the fluctuating gold and blue ripples of energy folding and enveloping. Gold and blue.

Gold and blue; an image, like everything else in his life. Merely wavelengths of light energy passing through the air. A mask and facade for the public, something to enhance the image of a charming, proper Prince. Pathetic, all of it, yet one of a million duties imposed upon him since birth.

But which was the true colour? He did not know. It was possible - of course it was possible - to mask the colour of one's aura, though hardly anypony did. What was the point? Spells required concentration and practice, and took a toll the longer it went on for - unless you happened to be Twilight bleeding Sparkle. Blueblood the Royal, Blueblood the Prince, danced in the smooth and delicate gold energies expected of one so high; the delicate harmonics worthy of any gilded harpsichord. Blueblood the soldier, Blueblood the Captain, roared with the hard, blue furies that were a necessity on the fields of battle and in the wilds; howling energies as raw and blunt as the oceans and skies. Together, more often than not, the two sides combined, and the resulting fallout terrible.

Blue and gold, like the cutie mark. The cutie mark which he'd never understood. They were all shapes, ultimately; but what force was so cruel as to stamp a permanent mark upon one's virtue and purpose from childhood and beyond?

That may have not been the intent, but just as foals judged those who lack them, so surely must adults judge whatever cutie mark one possessed, even if it were far removed from one's profession, or quality, or social status?

It was always a grievance, always confusing. A matter that he'd never finished, never forgot. What was a pony without their cutie mark, but what was a pony who could not live up to it by the very fact that they did not know what it was?

He looked back at the object hovering in front of him, the magic swirling around it, two old friends once rejoined. It had sat there since Cadance's wedding, untouched. Gathering dust despite its past glories.

Over two years of crisis, cold calculation had passed since that fateful day. Two years of unappreciated labour since it had last been used in anger. Years of neglect and isolation, the guilt and jealousy of a stallion so close yet so far. But by Celestia, had it been such a joy to use it then; it were as if an instrument in his hooves and magic as reflexes and intuition took over whilst Canterlot burned. Two years prior, he too was as unappreciated as he was today, but it was never as bad as this.

The blue eyes drifted across the legend, the harsh, incised forms of the Old Equestrian script cut into the blackened steel of the scabbard.

I am a son of Platinum; All owe me fealty.

On the reverse, more words were etched into the steel casing.

In ardour and reverence towards Her, I bear the burdens of Equestria.

In a single, well practiced movement blue energies grasped the hilt and unsheathed the weapon, a tiny rasp echoing as the blade slid along the throat as it left its home.

In the dimming light and the flickering flames of the fire behind him, Blueblood behold the spectacle before him.

A well-honed blade of Cloppenburg steel, forged in fire and magic by the finest swordsmiths in the world. Golds and reds glinted off the icy steel, discordant warmth diffusing into the cold and regular colours of the blade; an ethereal glow given off as the shades and substances combined. The stark lines of the fuller clashed with his melting reflection as marbled highlights surged through the ashen steel. Inlaid sapphires and diamonds sparkling in the light of volcanic fires; engraved silvers and golds wrapping around the hilt and scabbard.

Damnably peculiar things, swords. Of the three Equestrian races it was only the unicorn who had fully mastered its use; teeth were never suitable for such weapons. In the past the old Unicorn Kings had held it up as yet another symbol of their mastery; even today, it was both an honour and a protector, as Verdant Marathon would have put it. A tool to dignify and safeguard those deserving of it. A gentlestallion's weapon, nay, a Prince's weapon when the days shortened and Equestria felt the pangs of war.

A relic passed down the ages, but one which hadn't lost its taste for war in the centuries that passed. A better weapon than the standard-issue arming sword he kept in his bottom drawer, but the Princess would have complained if he had used it for practice. So it had laid there, most of the time, an ornament until Canterlot itself came under attack.

The motions came naturally to him as the weapon was swung around, arcing through the air in near-silent strokes, softly and sweetly singing as it sliced through the warm muskiness.

He swung it back up, angled vertically in salute.

I could end it all here. Easy; just a quick slash, and no more melancholy, no more Equestria.

The burden would be somepony else's.

No.

Honour was a thing which Blueblood had mixed feelings upon. It could be a barrier to efficiency and pragmatic action, yes, but honour was... honour. There was something romantic about it, irritatingly. And for some absurd reason, Blueblood had a romantic streak despite his attempts to purge himself of it late in his foalhood. Must be Cadance...

It was that romanticism that had helped spur him on as an explorer and a naval officer, was it not? For were not the tales of the explorer and the sailor fuelled by romanticism and optimistic idealism? The stories sung of brave, solitary ponies fearlessly walking into the unknown in order to chart a path for those to follow, or the life of iron ponies on iron ships freed from the morass of normal life. To many, both paths were seen as a route to freedom.

He had felt that way once. Perhaps I do still.

Reluctantly, yet with increasing firmness, he forced the silvery blade back into its dark sheath, and returned the weapon to its place. Equestria's purpose was to defend its ponies, not attack, and his pointless death would merely wreak more chaos upon the nation. It would sit there, pride of place, until Equestria truly needed it again.

With any luck, it would not be needed.

But the Fates hate me.

And yet Father was correct; equivocation and pointless contemplation helped nopony.

Leave not your own failings for others to correct.

The Prince made his way around his desk, and fell into the chair, the old wood supporting his weight as a shaky, tired sigh was drawn out of him, the air drily rattling out of his lungs.

A hoof glided along the honeyed oak desk. His eyes drifted as it moved, critically noticing the scratches and chips on the dusky keratin, the untrimmed fetlocks...

Equestria needs efficiency, needs cold, pragmatic utilitarianism. And what is a politician's image if not a tool?

The hoof continued to run over the smooth, sanded wood, passing over the rings and waves of the grain. It stopped before a small, well-worn frame of pink-hued rosewood. The Prince carefully pulled the ornament closer, his eyes now fixated upon the small, aged photograph enclosed within. Gently, the hoof caressed the soft edges, his forehead relaxing as his eyes softened.

The picture was a small thing, dating back quite a few years. All it showed was two young ponies - just out of foalhood - simply standing. A beaming pink alicorn stood next to a slightly larger white unicorn, whose attempts at restraining his emotions had evidently failed, leaving a small, but genuine smile, spread across his face.

If only I could return to such simpler times...

It had been taken before Father had died, before the duties of state had been hammered into the smiling unicorn in that photo, before the tutors and the never-ending cycle of work and politics. His sister had survived, and had prospered, but had failed to help her brother as he plunged over the edge. From that darkness emerged the pony he was today: a useless, cynical wreck.

Enough.

He wrenched open a drawer he knew was empty and shoved the picture frame in.

There is no time for emotions and senti-

In a rush, the lock gates burst open, a torrent of emotions ploughing through his brain. His head bowed, shoulders arched, a hoof brought up to massage a wet forehead, and Blueblood cracked.

Sentiments? Blueblood, her voice whispered as it echoed his head, what happened to you?

He pulled the drawer open again, and carefully pulled the portrait back out again. Not a scratch, thank heavens.

An hoof's edge stroked his sister's image, and he placed it back onto his desk, where it would take pride of place.

His wet eyes were irresistibly drawn to his right. Two portraits hanging together on the wall, both done in oils. The leftmost figure was bright, radiant, the oils spinning in an overture to its subject; a painting in the romantic style, her radiance encompassed and features glowing. On the right, dark, drab strokes bathing a dour, colourless stallion. Shrouded in greys and blacks, the only colour came from two, sharp, blue specks. As Princess Celestia smiled regally so did Father solemnly judge.

Blueblood blinked and automatically forced his head down and eyes shut.

Two towering pillars of the Canterlotian establishments in their prime, having since shed all but a few duties onto the wreck of a pony who could not even meet their gazes now.

No. A pony who could meet their gaze.

The Prince shuddered as shock ran through his system, running ice-cold through his veins. A pain, a hateful yet rejoicing stimulus. Uncomfortable contemplation and reflection brought its own boon... sometimes.

He was alone.

He wrenched his eyes open and flicked his head towards the two portraits, ignoring the scrap of hair which had fallen over his left eye.

No. I am still here, and you're not. I have regrets, yes; fears, yes.

I wish that I were not in your places, yet here I am.

I am here, and you are not. Equestria was not built upon empty words, nor shall it ever be.

There is nothing more to say.

No matter the odds, Equestria, and himself, would fight on.

Despite the pain, despite the threats to mind and body, he would have to continue.

He lay there.

And even in his exhausted, addled brain could still muster a barb against himself.

How did one expect to sleep well when Princess Luna was gone?

He stewed and burned and sweated and hated in those sheats, eyelids glued shut with tears and sweat, cooking in the windless air.

Lethargy consumed him, yet not wholly.

There was always that - that - part which would not let itself be consumed, that irritatingly perfect part of his mind! Irritatingly perfect so as to cause harm to oneself, irritatingly perfect so as to not let one do as one truly wished. There was no force in Equestria that could muster him from this, nor any capable of putting him in deep slumber. If he tried either, he knew, he would achieve naught. Fractured brain, fractured body, fractured soul, the scattered shards confounding and clouded.

Princesses, but they were right, and he hated them for it. Armor, the Elements? What was he doing if not sitting in his own ivory tower whilst Equestria burned? Not burning yet, but the wooden fence was drying out in the summer heat. The dust of strife kicking up as the weeds sucked the water out of it.

Despicable.

Part of him wanted to go. Into the Everfree, pointlessly, aimlessly, in the futile hope that something would be achieved; a fitting end for one as vainglorious as he. But, as he lay in the darkness, the thoughts burned in volcanic indignation, roasted to a crisp by as the scattered wits came to. He could never abandon it, no. Abandon what?

There was no love for Equestria's inhabitants; the only ones he cared about were either dead, going to be dead or simply "gone". The system was rotten too; the ideal just that: an ideal. The comfort of the common - of what remained - was never a comfort in the first place.

The Platinums had never really settled, had they? Few were those in his House who excelled in arts, or the higher things: for Unicorn Princes the line had been brusque and blunt. Ever suspicious, ever separated. Friends. The Platinums had spat on such sentiment; Father would never admit he ever had a friend. Friends. Not for the Platinums, who had failed to learn the tale that every foal knew.

Only the Princesses above and the subjects below.

And to such a pony, what would be the consequence of learning that the Princesses were willingly absent? Willingly... commit truancy?

To accuse one's monarchs of dereliction of duty was treason, treason to them, treason to the realm, treason to the damn code of honour which the oldest of the Old Guard held themselves to. It was not worth contemplating. But necessary?

It matters not.

He groaned and reached for a glass of water.

If he could not sleep again, then there was no point in waxing poetic. Damn his health, damn his tendencies, damn bloody everything.

No Cadance to stop me, no Princess Celestia to complain...

The damned agricultural report was looking attractive now.

Too tired, though...

Princesses, but he hated his job. Yet it was the mundane parts - the sheer monotony of routine reports and paperwork - that kept him sane. Ponies drove him mad, and whilst work infuriated on occasion it at least could be relied upon to do so.

At times work was a sedative; an intoxicant; the warm embrace of a lover. Its methodical nature - figures in a ledger, words on a report, diagrams and charts and statistics were abstractions and distractions. Numbers and words in and of themselves did not lie; it was the writer who did instead. Numbers and words needed no pacification, no cooperation, no collaboration. They existed, and told their plain truth, nothing more.

Time was a commodity as anything else: a resource to be used and consumed with care.

Exhaustion would be another fitting death, the pain in the cranium added.

As names and numbers filed through his thoughts an errant spark of Blueblood's bruised brain wept and hoped that the next day would bring good fortune.

There was work to be done, and duties to be upheld; damn his health.

What were a few cells, the odd simulated receptor, the occasional microcurrent to the terrifying wonder that was the mind?

For in the midst of the garb of the Old Guard, arrayed in their cynical glory in neurotransmitter, synapses and neurone, such inconsequential concepts were anathema.

He was here again.

It had become a custom of his ever since the old fart had died. Cadance had protested at first, but she learned to keep her lips shut; nothing could dissuade him from coming here, every year. Aunt Celestia had protested too, but to a much lesser degree; the objections had ended quickly. He couldn't understand why they protested. Of all days, why not this one - the day of his very birth? What other day could be more suitable for such an ordeal?

And so, here he was.

Deep in the Platinum Mausoleum, in full military dress, before the grave of his father, stood Blueblood as he had done every year since his father's death. Hooves presented, sword in salute, on his own birthday, awaiting the disapproving inspection of the late Prince's spectre.

Dark shadows cast themselves over the reclining effigy, draping over floating curves and sharp lines. The brooding fifty-first Prince on the Unicorn throne, as grey in death as he was in life. Eyes proud and head high, throbbing veins and tough sinews protruding from the cold coat. Tiny waves of darker pigments ran down his length, casting rivers amongst the veneered valleys of false, finished flesh. Cruel edges menacing in the deep, dark shadows, at home amongst the still air. Judgemental. Inert. Rigid.

If only the mettle with which he stared down the statue had exposed itself years earlier.

The... ritual... was part defiance, part consolation, part memento mori, part penance. But it was necessary.

Others would have pointlessly frittered away their days of birth with such petty things as parties and friends, but he would not. What better to do than to acknowledge one's own failures on the day of one's birth?

Twenty years since his own pointless birth, and twenty years of nothing. Nothing but the badge of failure, that was all.

As he tired, the Prince gazed past the sword held vertically before him and read the inscription on the tomb, words which he knew by heart already. Most of it was agreeable, all of it the truth, but there was one thing Blueblood disagreed with.

One unworthy error - a puny monosyllabic word - spoiling that honoured epitath.

Father.

"Father", went the description. "Father", it flattered. "Father"? To Cadance, perhaps, but not to him. Biologically, yes, but otherwise?

If there was one thing which Blueblood could confidently accuse the late Prince as being, to point out one thing which the late Prince did not excel at, it was fathering. He could not say it whilst he was alive, no, for he was too cowardly and too loyal and too honourable to do so. He could not do it now, not aloud, for those damned concepts mattered to him now. But he was, nonetheless: a terrible father to his firstborn.

Coddled his daughter though... an alicorn, an alicorn who lacked all the duties and requirements of the heir. So perfect, singled out as something resembling a paragon of love. But his son? Whipped into the same caustic mould as fifty other similar unicorns, all spirit and personality ground down into the same old qualities to be melted down and poured into a Platinum crucible.

What else did you expect, Blueblood?

Blueblood groaned and paced backwards. With a sigh, he slid down onto the ground, eyes still fixed on the alcove where his father's remains lay. Back to the wall.

But there was one thing, one thing which Blueblood knew his father was correct about, one facet of parenting which he drilled into his only son. One statement which Blueblood could not disagree with.

All, bar the Princesses, would return to the dust, equal at last.

Blueblood wrenched a small, silvered canteen from within his coat, and held it up in mock salute to the grey, unmoving statue before him.

He would not be inebriated: he had measured the amount in it before hand.

Matching his eyes with the cold, granite shapes that were his father's, the incumbent spoke at last.

"Here's to you, you old bastard," he said with a grin, "I'll see you in a couple without my perfect kin."

Chapter 5

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"Fifty Princes, and you have not yet learnt the lessons of the Wendigo Winter, have you, nephew?"

"We're still here, regardless," insisted Blueblood.

"'So we maintain'," deliberated Princess Luna. "'So we maintain', one of the old mottoes of the Unicorn Kings, and that of one of your extinct cadet branches... if I recall correctly."

"We have done so," insisted Blueblood again, iron pride flashing through a languid demeanour. “Our oaths are kept.”

"'Maintain'." Luna shook her head. "Celly was always too gentle with you,” she mumbled under her breath.

"Even the toughest bedrock moves. Even the tectonic plates move, Blueblood, to use an analogy you would understand. The Unicorn Line has maintained, but at what cost?"

To his absolute fury, he could not perceive absolutely no signs whatsoever as to help find out why the Princesses disappeared, nor any that would help the poor bastards who remained find out where they disappeared to. The Sun was perfectly normal. The skies utterly undisturbed in their placidity. The moon had shown no distress; the tides functioning as predicted. Everything was, by all accounts, normal.

In pensive gloominess I pass the night, nor feel contentment at the dawn of light…

The incapacity - the lameness of his situation - threatened to make his blood boil. Something - anything - rather than waiting for the world to end (if it were so kind as to do so) was infinitely more preferable. The Platinums had always been at least one step before their foes, and it was to Blueblood's shame and dishonour that the country had been outplayed so often in such a short span of time...

No, there were other things to do. Other things that could be done. Precautions and contingencies. If he could stay one step in front of his foes, whoever they were, then Equestria could have a chance of making it out of this alive - and himself by extension. Buying time was all very good and all, but masterly, or indeed, drunken, inactivity, would not do him or the country well. If anything, it would put his mind off other things. But caution...

I had sworn to stay here to the last, and it is about damn time my oaths started to mean something. If I must wait, then I shall, but I shall not do nothing.

Trust in the Princesses.

Well then, trust in the Princesses, but keep redundancies in place.

Minor administrative work could be pushed down the hierarchy, and anything incredibly important pushed up to the Council, or if necessary, Blueblood. He hated to take up more work, but it was perhaps the only way out of this hellhole. There was also the question of Ponyville and the Everfree. A crisis in the making, potentially, and a festering cancer of a monster's haven in the middle of Equestria. Colonel Charge's Regiment was good, but that was the only thing going for it. They had bitterly fought the Changeling in the ruined and burnt-out shell of their temporary barracks in the Lower City. They were a troubled lot, but steady fellows. Not enough to comb through the Everfree quickly enough for his liking. Blueblood hated to bring in 'civilian' influence into this, but the quasi-military Royal Exploratory Corps would have to be brought in to coordinate and accelerate efforts. The Eighth Solar Guard were good soldiers, and capable keepers of the peace, but not explorers, surveyors or cartographers whatsoever.

How about the marines, if we're lacking in numbers? Give them something to do whilst we work up the big girls...

He frowned at his reflection in the mirror before him. Throwing an entire brigade of troops into Ponyville was awfully suspicious, as was effectively encircling the Everfree Forest with several Divisions. It stunk of amateurishness.

Almost as if the Equestrian leadership decided to get off their lazy flanks and get rid of a horrid hazard which had repeatedly been nothing but trouble. Either way the market might plummet.

Agriculture, or indeed, land management, was not particularly his forte, but Blueblood could not fathom why the Princesses had not bothered to at least trim down the size of the Everfree. Granted, there was an argument to be made about "maintaining biodiversity" and "preventing extinction", which made sense, but so long as they weren't razing the place and opening up to public exploitation it would be fine, surely? It was technically Royal Land, after all. But he had long since learned not to rely upon such presumptions.

There was another opportunity though. The resurgent 'militarist' faction in the Council (what could be viewed as being 'militarist' in comparison to their opponents), consisting of Thunderclap, Shining and he had exploited the Princesses' recent ennui to push forwards the carrying out of what was called Operation Fumigating Ocelot. Long-due military exercises. The exercises that were to be carried out in Fumigating Ocelot could go ahead, Blueblood supposed, but that offered a way to solve - or at least attempt to - the second problem on a very long list of major problems which he had to deal with. The go-ahead for Fumigating Ocelot had yet to be fully provided by the Princesses, but as Regent Blueblood theoretically had the authority to do so; if not, a majority in the Royal Council could probably drive it ahead.

I could probably use the exercises to expand and reform the military, thanks to the stupid 6th Lunars’ attempt at securing the Elements…

Fumigating Ocelot could be repurposed into being an operation to look for the Princesses, whilst they kept up the air of it being a major military exercise. It would explain the sudden movement of troops across the country and the unusual focus upon the Everfree if it were spun and played properly.

Yes, that would work. However, who to author the reforms?

There were multiple threads of possibilities. The first option was to start an unbiased, impartial review done by a third party to give recommendations which would be carried out by the Government. This method would be largely carried out by Independent MESPs with the assistance of some Staff officers. The second option was using ex-military MESPs or high-ranking officers to lead an investigative committee.

Of course not. Takes too long and the 'third party' won't know horseapples about it.

Sole authorship - though not without contributions from other sources - given to one of the Council members who Blueblood could trust to do a decent job of it and relatively quickly was the other solution, but one which demanded a reshuffle.

Princesses, he cursed again as he wiped at his face with a cloth, but he loathed his life. Damned Fates could not even leave one Princess behind. Oh, that would have been great; one Princess alone could tip the balance, even if she did decide inexplicably to follow his lead. So who was there? Argent, Armor, Thunderclap and himself.

Could not do it myself; they'd say I was setting up a pet military. Not sure about the work, either...

No. He could contribute, yes, but that was all. So, it was down to Argent, Armor and Thunderclap. All three had served in the Solar Guards, with Argent having served the least and Thunderclap the most. All three were decorated, all three were exceptionally capable, and all three unquestionably loyal to Equestria. Hard choice.

Argent was too close to him, so he was out of the question regardless. Thunderclap was the natural choice of course; the longest serving General officer in the entire Equestrian establishment, a respected and gifted officer who had proved his worth whilst riding the desks and paperwork and upon the battlefield. Furthermore, the old statue was one of the few active officers who had seen battle against a 'proper' foreign power, rather than any old mismatched band that was foolish to raise arms against the Sun Princess' homeland. However, Thunderclap had been the most consistent voice in favour of such reform, verging upon open militarism at times. Not a warmonger by any means, but easily seen as being so. It was too risky, politically.

Armor was a necessity. A bright face for a new model army, an appointment that could deflect off the allegations of bias or warmongering. That would work. Armor would remain in Canterlot, and author the reforms. He'd deal with the Elements too. The Crystal Empire would have to be pushed aside. Regrettable, yes, but Armor's attention had to be in Canterlot. Keep him as Prince of the Crystal Empire, but force him to stay in the Capital and deal only with the most important issues coming out of that place.

But you can't leave it alone. Low priority, yes, but not now, you can't lose the Crystal Empire. Such would be treason of the highest order.

Blueblood rinsed his mouth with resentful vigour, before scrubbing at his cheek.

Serene. Yes, she could do it.

An investigation by the Lady High Chancellor into 'Equestrian-Crystal Cooperation and Integration'. Absolute nonsense, but perhaps something could be made of it. That would keep that frozen flankhole of a place in check, and open the possibility of integrating it further. There'd be fewer protests, too. It had to be done, eventually, and it would draw less attention than if he sent Argent there. The Empire would be in fine hooves, but it was hard to lose her over such matters for at least a month.

Might even get some of the Old Guard on side too, if I push out one of the 'modernisers'...

It would work, he reassured himself.

Blueblood rubbed at his head. His right eye could see the Sun out of the window, hanging there as it ought to be, the Lunar and Solar cycles seemingly performing perfectly blatant defiance of reality, innocently ignorant of the occurrences in Canterlot Castle. If there was nothing else to think about he would have perceived it as mocking him.

The Royal Exploratory Corps would have to go, Blueblood concluded with reluctance. He had spent some time at its head, though it had been largely and regrettably inactive with the constant turmoil across Equestria and the Crystal Empire.

Give it to Thunderclap then; it is part of the military, after all. No, not Thunderclap. Put it under him, but keep it independent.

That was a better decision. Thunderclap might take offence; he might not. Didn't think he was the sort to enjoy surveying, anyway. Maintain surveying efforts across the country but allow Thunderclap to use it in charting the Everfree with the Guard. Perhaps something might even come of that. Would have to deploy more troops to Ponyville, though, and that wouldn't be seen positively by the public...

He could bring Serene's brother into it, perhaps? Her younger brother, Lord Tidal Force; a contemporary and a survivor of wide-ranging budget cuts to remain as the only Full Admiral on the active service list, largely due to an admirable determination to be as immovable as a mountain and "competent competence", to quote a comment by the thankfully former and not-Permanent Deputy Secretary for the Navy.

And balance? Harmony?! What in Equestria is that? Haphazardly and experimentally reached, but with every day wasted...

He grunted and drew himself up. If anything, the excessive alcohol had to go. He couldn’t destroy a nation out of his own compulsions.

Damned mortality. Damned incompetence.

It is a surprisingly beautiful day, considered Fancypants as he strolled down the immaculately-clean pavement, but such a shame that nopony here cares to look at it.

The first meeting of the day had gone as well as he had expected, which was, he supposed, not particularly assuaging. Entirely expected, but such a chore to deal with at times. Sales were all very good, but it pained him to take liberties with the truth. Fancypants considered himself an honest pony, all things considered.

Blueblood was a rare mind in Canterlot, though few knew it. He could also be a most unsporting fellow at times, but one could not blame him for getting results.

Ah, here we are.

Stonegold Street, home of the Royal Equestrian Stock Exchange had exploded in mild panic. The Royal Exchange, that hefty, cream-coloured monument to the Equestrian economy, was in a rather uncouth tumult over what the papers had contained. It was rather disconcerting, Fancypants had to admit. He had thought that Canterlot had learned something from the past four years, but sadly not.

Blueblood old boy, I wish you had told me more.

He wished Blueblood had more confidence in him. Both he and the Prince knew he wasn’t like the other ponies in Canterlot. One of the most influential, indeed, but surely he’d shown his loyalty to the Princesses? There was something clearly wrong in the Palace, Blueblood’s most erratic behaviour had told him that, as had the odd rumours which had leaked out. As a leading newspaper publisher, owner of one of Equestria’s leading steel companies (second only to Stalliongrad Steel, owned by the Platinum estate) and with far too many hooves in financial institutions across Canterlot he could at least help.

Climbing the marble steps into the chequered floor main lobby, the blue-maned unicorn found himself beset by a most agitated bespectacled grey-coated unicorn.

“If you would excuse me, Fancypants, but I must ask what in Celestia’s name is going on,” asked Jet Set. “What in Equestria are we meant to do? There have been rumours of troop mov-”

“I say, Jet Set, you musn’t be so dire. We ponies are a most imperturbable lot, are we not, hmm? Fancypants offered him a smile. “I have the personal assurances of Prince Blueblood himself, fresh from his Aunts’ bedsides, that the situation is in able hooves,” he continued, sticking his head up. “Now, old boy, there’s nothing to concern yourself with.”

If there is, somehow I quite doubt you’ll be able to comprehend it.

Noticing that the unicorn had not been entirely convinced, Fancypants made his way towards the centre of the lobby. Coughing slightly, he soon had the notice of the entire crowd.

“I have absolute confidence in Their Celestial Highnesses’ Government, as should we all,” he proclaimed with proper elocution. “If we work together, then there is nothing that can truly threaten our beautiful homeland!”

"Right, to the first order of business," began Blueblood. A memorandum had been issued at noon the previous day to the members of the Royal Council, instructing them to compile full reports to the best of their ability regarding their particular fields of expertise and the departments and areas they administered. It was traditional procedure in time of crisis, after all. The Council had been expanded, bringing in Moonstone Shield, Director of Royal Equestrian Intelligence. Thankfully, it appeared that the Element of Generosity had not (yet) taken up his ‘invitation’ to sit on the Council.

Probably nursing some old wounds and vengeances…

Shield, on the other hoof, had her uses: she would run the investigations. Shining Armor would clearly be personally invested in any investigation with relation to the Princesses' disappearance, and whilst the enthusiasm would be appreciated, Blueblood was concerned that efficiency and thoroughness may be sacrificed in the process. Also, he might run off after a lead without telling anypony, and we'd be in a deeper hole if that happens...

"Moonstone, any new information with regards to the ongoing investigations?"

She shook her head in grudging admittance. "Nothing that could help searches, nor any indicators, physical or magical, offering hints as to how they disappeared."

There has to be bloody something.

"Anything amiss in general? Apart from the Princesses, of course."

Just my bloody luck.

"No."

"Nothing?"

Moonstone flicked through her papers, a pen resting on her dark blue foreleg. "Nothing out of the ordinary. The Griffons have carried on as they have been for the past few months - half-hearted militarisation, as I'm sure you know - and other countries have done very little. Our dragon in the Dragon Council is still likely to carry influence, and our minotaur will likely be elected archon. Domestic reaction towards the situation has been surprisingly muted where there has been one. I'm afraid it'll take a few days for proper reports to come in."

"Though, might I add, the markets have taken a slight drop," intruded Serene. "Nothing we did not expect considering the situation, admittedly."

"Yes," continued Moonstone. "We have not yet descended into panic yet, but I fear that such might occur in the far future.

"Better keep an eye on those Griffons then, Moonstone, Thunderclap," finished Blueblood hollowly. "Though I'm sure we would all appreciate it if threats from the interior were discovered in advance and our persons advised of the fact well before the blow is struck. I believe Argent's prisons are in need of filling. Hate to have that budget going to waste, eh?"

Shining Armor coughed lightly. “I think I ought to butt in, here. Considering what’s happened the past few days, I decided to shake things up a bit in the Guard. Increased anti-changeling checks – not too many to be obvious, obviously. I have also moved the Rapid Brigade from Windsoar and closer to Canterlot, in the event that some enemy attempts another alpha strike. We have the Royal Kracolt Hussars on standby in the north to replace them.”

Perhaps he’s made of sterner stuff than I initially thought. Princesses, we should never have kept the Rapids that far away from Canterlot. Might have come in useful the past few years…

“Hm, can’t believe I hadn’t thought of that. Nice job, Armor?”

“While we’re at it,” continued Shining Armor, “there are some other issues about that Guard which I’d like to talk about…”

“Whilst we're at it, perhaps we should embark upon a fundamental reorganisation of the provinces?” japed Argent during a break in the proceedings and eliciting a quiet snort from Serene. “It might speed up troop movement, if anything.”

Blueblood blinked and internally cringed. Equestria's subdivisions - at least a few of them - had exceptionally ugly borders that were frankly an insult to sapient species with ocular capability. Of course, as of late, a vastly more serious threat came in the form of Tirek. More correctly, in the form of the aftermath of Tirek's rather ineffectual rampage. Granted, there was some property damage, but that was it. Serious property damage, yes, but there was absolutely no need for the proposals Celestia and Cadance were throwing around. Disturbing, alarming proposals that had sent the establishment on fire. Proposals involving carving out a new Kingdom for the new Princess Twilight. Proposals involving elevating her to the same level as the other princesses. It had even got into the Stable, which was the only thing standing in its way. Twilight Sparkle. A Kingdom. It was unthinkable.

Well it wasn’t unthinkable, just very, very poorly timed.

Aside from the obvious issue of potentially fragmenting Equestria even more, the proposed lands carved out a chunk of central Equestria. Central Equestria, including lands part of the Duchy of Canterlot and which much belonged to the nobility. Doubtless there were also landholders, who found their lands bisected by this proposal, which meant that said bill had stalled in the Stable. Blueblood had whipped the Stable, but only enough to keep up appearances in front of the Princesses. The Duchy of Canterlot was his, and even if he did not get much in the way of rent compared to his ancestors the Unicorn Princes’ historical vassals would and were over him, trying to get the bill killed.

The main issue, and more important one, was the threat of Twilight being pushed into ruling. The purple unicorn – no, alicorn – was a relatively admirable sort. Extremely intelligent, very well-read, a magical prodigy, humble for her status, not a gold-digger, generally practical under pressure, pretty– she hadn’t really earned his enmity. It was not enmity, Blueblood reasoned, just mild resentment, which was par for the course, really. With sufficient effort he could resent everypony for some reason.

If anything, she had admirable qualities, especially compared to her elder brother. After all, her level of competence was relatively consistent. However, from a purely objective stance, Blueblood reasoned, she would not make a good ruler. A good leader, yes, a ruler, not yet. She lacked tact.

Who’s a hypocrite now, Blueblood?

Well, she lacked tact when it mattered, from what he had read. She’d get them in time, of course. She was always eager to learn. She’d also flown up the educational ladder while he had clambered up it with the assistance of heavy-hoofed nepotism and constant tutoring. But he had been forced into the chair of leadership too early, even for his tutors, with the death of his father, and became becalmed at sea for two, torturous years.

Frankly she lacked the experience he had, in his opinion.

The last thing we need is another ruler thrown in at the deep end. An actual ruler, not some figurehead. Power is no measure of political and administrative ability.

Then again, sitting on the Council at the age of ten, crowning at twelve, taking up duties at thirteen doesn’t leave the most stable of ponies.

Part of him felt that he was honour bound to do this. The Stewards of the main Platinum Line had bloodied their hooves to prevent anything from getting on the Princesses, and to spare them the indignity and shame of those… harder decisions.

Princesses, Blueblood, you’re starting to sound like a civil servant.

But isn’t that what I basically am?

The Crystal Empire thing he had to budge on, not least because Cadance had actually been competently groomed in the matter, and because the crystal ponies had more-or-less elected her as one of their monarchs, and because there was no real point in sending the divisions waiting on the border to deal with Sombra. Still, it had been hard enough to accept that.

With greater retrospect he became increasingly unsure on the matter. She wasn’t really the problem. If anything, the bureaucracy and the nobility was. With sufficient strong guidance she might actually get stuff done. Compared to Celestia, who preferred to wait and see, a policy brought into question in recent times. Compared to Luna, who preferred to run at it until it submitted. Compared to Cadance who… loved it to submission?

If anything she’d do better at a higher-level role instead of administering what would basically be a province with extra red tape…

Dammit, Blueblood, just trust your gut. Could just be the residual alcohol talking.

Either way, Blueblood was not prepared to budge. That proposal would have to be shelved. For the good of the realm. She would still be a Princess, but she wasn’t here right now. He was, and he needed political capital, and quick. Especially if he was in for the long haul. And that was what was important currently.

Forgive me, then, but I’m not entirely sure whether you’d mind…

"You wanted a word, Blueblood?"

"Yes, Princess."

Dismissing the rest of the Council, Princess Celestia gestured for her nephew to sit.

"I have a number of concerns relating to the current situation." started Blueblood as he took his seat.

"You don't trust Twilight?"

"On the contrary, I do very much trust her, her unprecedented magical talents, and her inevitable, unfailing ability to save the day. What I do not trust, however, is her ability to stop Tirek in time before Equestria reaches a state where it is irretrievable."

"Oh Blueblood," she despaired. "You give Luna and I far too much credit. We believed that Discord would not betray us, did we not? Despite the Council's warnings, despite your warnings, despite Twilight's warnings... We have a plan, though."

"What do you need of me?" came the unflappable reply.

"Give Twilight the time she needs."

"That's it? That's your plan?"

Princess Celestia nodded.

"Surely we could at least do something! If you refuse to combine against him, then at the very least rally the Guard and throw them against him! Evacuate as many ponies as possible from the Western Seaboard! The Griffons, the Zebras or the Camels! We can't just sit here and let Tirek stomp over Equestria!"

She looked him, and crept around the table, extending a soft, white wing over his tense body. "Blueblood, I'm sorry that I've neglected you for Twilight, but I require one more sacrifice from you. We'll give Twilight our magic, Luna, Cadance and I - and she'll be able to raise the Sun and Moon as a result."

"So she'll have control over Equestria? Equestria, ruled by one pony?"

Passed over, twice.

First to fail, hollered the screeching sounds in his head, first to watch the realm die, first undeserving of the honours of Prince. Screaming screeching accusations ringing and thumping through an already clouded mind.

"No, Blueblood. Twilight won't rule, she'll reign. She'll keep the Sun and Moon in motion, but she won't be here in Canterlot. But yes, one pony will rule over Equestria once Tirek has come for us."

She looked down at him in a gaze of sadness and... something else. Admiration? No, it could not be that.

She stated it simply. "You. You will have to rule over Equestria in our stead."

He was filled with fear and uncertainty. The dread spectre of failure looming over him again. He had kept the nobles in check when the Nightmare returned, whipped the upstart aristocrats into shape when the Celestial sisters withdrew to their private quarters when the festivities were over. The damage wrought by Discord had been his to resolve too… And the Changelings, the Changelings...

Nopony’s luck, even that as terrible as his, could hold forever.

There had to be a breaking point, sometime, some day, yet relentlessly, desperately, the facade continued. There would be a day, he told himself, there would be a day. Ruling over a crumbling state whilst millennia of tradition and culture collapsed around him.

"Blueblood, when Tirek comes for us… Twilight will defeat him, so long as she has the time she needs. Somepony has to give her that time, and yet keep Equestria so that all my little ponies might survive this. As for you."

She looked at her nephew with something close to pride in her damp eyes.

"You, Blueblood, have qualities even you do not realise. And there is no other pony else I would trust with the reins of power now."

Part of the unicorn's mind instead bubbled with sardonic snaps and sarcastic speeches.

The Office of the Lady High Chancellor was a sharp contrast to that of the Lord High Steward or that of the Lord High Constable. Compared to her pegasus and unicorn colleagues in the Council Serene Bloom, Lady of Trottingham, preferred the honey of Trottingham oak and wide, open windows to Blueblood’s cramped, wine-coloured nest or to Argent’s neoclassical punch. Flowers, of course, but also manuscripts on griffon oral poetry, a bronze statue of a pony and a dragon rampant in victory, books on agricultural output and the Equestria Games gold medal for unicorn ladies’ military sabre. It was in this environment that Blueblood found himself after the Council meeting, and in this environment where he found himself deflecting uncomfortable questions on the succession.

"I do not intend to marry in the near future, nor would I accept any pressuring in that direction. Unbeknownst to many, I intend to live for as long as possible, and there are many years before me where I may be further plagued by the chains of family."

Chains of family. Like Father, I suppose.

With a raised golden eyebrow, his companion looked back at him. “You’re certainly defensive about this, Blueblood, dear. I simply thought I might bring it up; after all, it has yet to be brought up in Council.”

“We’re still not sure whether the matter with the Princesses are permanent, or not. Now,” he sighed, "I... have some 'errands' for Shining Armor to run, with the end result being his prolonged staying here in Canterlot. As a consequence of these... 'errands', the Crystal Empire will be neglected. Undesirable, but tolerable. However, I have-"

"You request that I go instead."

Blueblood nodded. "Of course, you would not be there to rule. You would be merely performing a review of the Crystal Empire, in order to further its integration. However, as Lady High Chancellor, you are of course perfectly capable of contributing your formidable qualities to the day-to-day running of our newest territories."

Pausing to gauge her reaction, he was mildly disappointed to discern no particular emotion crossing his companion's face. He continued.

"In your absence, I intend to appoint Argent as the Leader of the Stable. I'll make him Lord President of the Council, too, just to give him some backup-"

"But not enough backup so as to outrank me in the order of precedence?"

"He'll need the support; after all, as Regent I cannot be seen as to meddle in Stable affairs too directly until the situation gets serious. And considering the glorious precedent established by Their Celestial Highnesses my predecessors, Tartarus would have to freeze over first."

Serene offered a slight, yet warm, chuckle at this.

"Don't worry, Blueblood, I wouldn't take offence over such a petty slight. I'd like to think that I was raised better than that. And I'd say that I'm not one to refuse requests from friends, either."

We're friends now, are we?

"I would consider you one, certainly," came the unexpected reply. "And not simply because of Cadance, as much as I miss her." Her expression softened. “If you ceased drinking, consuming analgesics and the self-loathing, you might become pleasant company, one day.”

Ignoring this, Blueblood pressed on with monotone professionalism. "Of course, you would have to discuss with Argent what duties you wish to pass over to him whilst you are in the Crystal Empire, and then inform me of what else needs to be accomplished in your absence." He paused to think about how he should articulate what was left to say, but shrugged this off, continuing his blunt approach. "To help him deal with the workload, I intend to appoint your brother Lord High Admiral."

"You mean that you'd take up the slack where Argent can't? I don't know whether that's misguided chivalry or whatever else. Thunderclap isn't half-wrong when he derides your 'perverted sense of honour'." She grinned playfully at him, though there was a flash of guilty patronisation. "Blueblood, Princess Celestia didn't help further the causes of ponies simply because she liked them. The rest of the Council can multitask too, you know, and I'd not be against keeping some Chancellery duties for myself whilst I'm away. I do believe ‘delegation’ is in your vocabulary?"

"It would be inefficient," came the lame reply.

"It would be more inefficient if you collapsed halfway through this quixotic charge. Those balance sheets and reports on your desk aren't everything you need to ride this out. We're not all nasty intriguers, Blueblood. What if the stocks drop a bit, what if the markets take a hit? Fancypants certainly doesn’t think there’ll be any long-lasting effects on the economy, from what I hear. Like you, the whole Royal Council intends to ride this out, and find the Princesses as we do it. We won't slide into Tartarus, not yet. And yes, I will ask Tidal about the appointment. If you play nice, perhaps I'll even convince him."

A pause settled between the two.

"Oh, where are my manners, Blueblood? Would you like a drink?"

"Huh?" answered Blueblood, surprised at the change in tone. "Oh, no thank you. I've got work to do, and I'm sure so do you, so I won't be here long. I have Weighted Pendulum over in an hour."

And drinking my wine cellars dry too, at that.

"Forgive me for sounding like Cadance," she replied with another glance, "but you must marry someday. Asides from the fact that you need a clear-headed mare in your life, Blueblood, it is an inevitability. Such affairs are a burden of our station."

Blueblood replied with dispassionate metre. "The Stable would not accept it if two of the three great bloodlines were to join, even if I were to cede a title to your brother. Especially if I were to continue in this post unto my death. The dignity of the realm, always."

She scuffled at the carpet before looking up and offering an impish smirk. "Now, is it not most improper for an unmarried lady to be alone with Equestria's most sought-after bachelor? Especially for an heiress to one of Equestria's most powerful Houses?"

Blueblood grunted. "Most mares in Canterlot don't even attempt to adhere to honour, tradition, propriety or even common moral decency. Neither do I, for that matter." he spat in disgust.

"But you do, Blueblood," Serene suggested with a sly smile. "But you do."

"Again, my Prince," she said as she turned away with a smirk, "I believe you were saying that there was work to do? It would be most improper for you to neglect your duties to the realm. Give my regards to Pendulum when you meet with him this afternoon. Or not, depending on his humour."

Blueblood grunted once again in reply and made his way to depart.

Princessess…

Weighted Pendulum, Marquess Watchearth. A firebrand orator in his youth, star of the old guard; now a grey, grumbling dissatisfied coal burdened by scandal and resentment. Whiskers and all, ashen frock coat and onyx eyes. Grey.

Distinctly grey.

Weighted Pendulum, Marquess Watchearth, leader of that agrarian aristocratic lot: the formerly-feudal farming families of the Equestrian Heartlands. That old, embittered bunch pushed aside by the growth of industry and the middle classes; the families that once propped the state up and still desired to do so, no matter the cost. One could not understate the importance of the Equestrian Heartlands. At the very least, it was the former breadbasket of the nation - and still a major food producer at that. But more importantly, it was the key. The key to the central trade routes, the key to those strong, stubborn farmers who made excellent soldiers, the key to solid tax revenue, the key to power in the Stable. The key to a stable Canterlot, and hopefully, the realm. But powerful neighbours did not make easy allies.

Unrepentant arse.

"An honour as always, Blueblood," squealed the Marquess in his high, harpsichordic voice, though there was no affability behind it.

Not deliberately antagonistic; arrived on time and without complaint. An old warhorse looking for one last chance of glory, one last chance to influence the affairs of the realm.

"As ever, my lord. A drink, if it please you?”

A tiny inclination of the head in reply. As unyielding and slow as ever. As granite, Blueblood considered, or the rate by which diamonds turned to coal. Nonetheless, Blueblood poured the old peer a glass, and one for himself.

“A fine vintage, Blueblood, I must say,” began the Marquess after taking a long, slurping sip.

“The ’97. From your family’s orchards, as I recall. Very fine.”

The Marquess gave a non-committal but vaguely approving noise. “Very fine, indeed.”

Taking a sip, Blueblood continued. “If we could, to business?"

Another tiny inclination.

"You will recall," continued Blueblood, shifting upwards with a slight contraction of the diaphragm, "that a certain bill of particular note to yourself and to your... colleagues is to be introduced - with quite interesting timing, I might add." A flick of the hoof across papers on the table to accentuate the point.

"Hmm... Indeed," came the choreographed reply, the old fool tapping a hoof to his chin in fakery. "What was it called again - could you kindly-"

You are well aware of what it’s called, you old goat. But I’ll play along, for now.

"I believe it would suffice to name it The Bill, sir. The Bill, sir, that would threaten to tear a gaping wound in this beloved country! It is, of course, a great sufferance to myself, and fine gentlestallions of similar calibre and lineage."

"Oh yes, oh yes, a stain on the country, oh yes… If only something could be done about it…"

If only you’d get to the point once in a full moon.

"The vote must come up soon, my lord. It has been in committee for too long, as you are well aware. I intend to call the Stable in a few days, so that we may converse on the matter of the Princesses. The vote may come up then."

"Well, well, Prince Regent," murmured the Marquess hungrily. “Ahead of schedule, eh?”

"My friend," replied Blueblood with a gleam in his eyes as he lifted his glass, "let us resolve some 'issues'".

For all the idle chatter with which Cadance had attempted to engage her brother about her "stallion of her dreams", Blueblood had never considered it. Not truly. All things being said, Blueblood was never entirely sure about Shining Armor. He had held suspicions that Armor had partly gotten where he was by nepotism, but that was in doubt now. Certainly, Armor had seen better days.

As a brother you should have done more, rasped a current of thought. For both Cadance and Equestria.

Blueblood grunted. "Afternoon, Armor."

"Blueblood," curtly acknowledged Shining Armor, focused upon the scene before him.

Hundreds of guardsponies drilled furiously in the parade ground below them, Sergeants hurling abuse with disturbing regularity. Shining Armor had been fully debriefed upon the "Ponyville Incident", as the affair became known within the Castle's grounds, and had insisted upon serious exercises and the implementation of a surprisingly harsh training regime universally across the Guard, starting with those in Canterlot. All dissent in The Mess had been literally shouted down after the Captain of the Guard had made an impromptu and unannounced appearance yesterday evening.

It surprised Blueblood, to say the least. Didn't think he had the heart to. It was commendable, even. For years the Captains of the Guard had done very little except maintain the military as it was.

"Armor," Blueblood repeated reluctantly.

"Yes, Blueblood?" came the somewhat-irritated reply.

"That was well done, in the Council, earlier."

Grudgingly turning around to face the Prince, Shining Armor's face was contorted in a mixture of impatience and heavy-set determination.

“It wasn’t for you,” he flatly stated. “Now, what is it?”

"It's about the Guard," started Blueblood.

"It needs changes, I know.”

Blueblood sighed and walked closer, silently judging whether the move he was going to take was a good one. "I concur. I intend on pushing considerable measures that reorganise the Equestrian Military as a whole. My first instinct was for you," he said as he pointed at Armor for emphasis, "-to author it."

Armor looked at him blankly. "Why me? You don't really like me - well, you get on with old Thunderclap more, and he's perfectly capable of doing it himself."

"Heh," breathed Blueblood. "Armor, I know without a doubt that you would never betray Equestria. Never, and with utmost uncertainty. Thunderclap I trust, yes, but he is still unsuitable. I couldn't do it myself, of course, it would reek of bias. Besides, somepony has to convince the Stable and other undesirables of its importance."

"Though… Twiley’s been better at politics than me, even I know that as Regent you're not allowed in the Stable."

"Yes, which is why Argent is going to become the Leader of the Stable. Knows more about military stuff than Serene, and not a bad orator by any stretch of the imagination."

"I thought you said he was too gentlecoltly to lead the Stable?"

"There's some steel in him, otherwise he wouldn't have joined the Guards. Perhaps a stint in the Stable again can draw it out of him. Unless you intend to return to the Crystal Empire - which I very much hope you do not - the job's all yours."

"Why should I not return to the Crystal Empire? Without Cadance it has no ruler!"

"Armor, surely you have underlings whom you can trust? Get all the important stuff sent to you here in Canterlot; it's not like it can't function by itself without your interference. Our countries of love and harmony don't even have crime rates. And if something attacks the C.E., well... Equestria wouldn't be any safer. You do double-time as Captain of the Guard, anyway, and somehow you always manage to be in the right place when Primeval Enemy #346 shows up."

"#346? Is that the Bewitching Sentient-Sandwich of Heresy? Or the Malignant Bee of Devastation?"

"Scourging Bucket of Evasiveness, I think."

"'Sounds like something from an RPG!"

Blueblood ignored him. "I need you in Canterlot. To be utterly frank, the Crystal Empire lacks the population or the resources for us to commit so heavily to it as to have a separate monarch there, especially in times such as this. It's large, yes, but the land hasn't been properly exploited, either. Don't take this as an insult, Shining Armor, but Equestria is far more valuable. It has the industrial capability, the reserve pool, the intellectual capacity that makes it a priority for us to defend."

Intellectual capacity? What are you on about, Blueblood?

Shining Armor sighed. "I guess you're right on that. I’ll get initial quick drafts drawn up by tomorrow. I’d like to get some stuff in place before Fumigating Ocelot goes ahead." Shining turned and looked Blueblood in the eye. “The Guard has always planned and always considered the possibility of shaking things up, especially after Princess Luna’s return,” he explained. “We just never got around to doing it, and the previous lot got too old and lazy to do anything about it. Only became Captain of the Guard before our wedding. Oh, and you need somepony to say that you’re not planning a coup.”

Hadn’t considered that.

Shining Armor narrowed his eyes at him before grinning. “You aren’t planning a coup, are you? Should I expect the Platinum Knights knocking down my door tonight?”

“Of course not.”

“Good, because I’ve always been able to beat you in a fight.”

“I do sometimes forget that you stood up to Sombra and lived…”

"You should speak with the Elements, Blueblood," ventured Shining Armor after a while. “Properly, I mean, not politician-speak.”

"Why? Those mares won't listen to me, and... We’re not on the best of terms, to put it plainly."

Shining Armor turned back around to look at him.

"I heard what happened, they came to visit me and Spike yesterday. They're not bad ponies, Blueblood, I know what you're going to say. Including Rarity. The Elements wouldn't have chosen them otherwise, Blueblood, and you damn well know this better than I do."

Armor took a step closer.

"Blueblood... what you said yesterday and earlier. I'd like to believe that you truly hope to do the best for Equestria, I really do. And whilst I disagree utterly with your decision to keep this under wraps for the time being and not doing more to find Cadance, Twiley and the other Princesses, I understand why you did it."

"But… ?"

Armor looked back towards the window. After a while, he started again. “Remember Blank Suzerain?”

“Blank Suzerain.”

Before Princess Luna’s return there had been rumours of Changelings in the Badlands. The Guard was expected to investigate, and so it had, with a member of the Royal Exploratory Corps in tow. As it happened, there was only one member of the Royal Exploratory Corps with the combat training and the willingness to go there, and there had been only decently high-ranking member of the Guard willing to lead said mission. Prince Blueblood and Shining Armor. The mission was given the codename "Blank Suzerain".

Soon enough the mission had gone flank-end over. Blueblood disagreed with Armor not attacking a Changeling hive once it was clear that they would win, out of the paranoid consideration that the Changelings would know that they were there, and that if they destroyed a hive, then the Changelings would be more cautious in the future. Armor disagreed, and went on to disagree with Blueblood’s choice of exfiltration route, which he felt was too long. Blueblood disagreed with Armor being engaged to Cadance; Armor disagreed with Blueblood’s insistence on taking “proper” samples of dead changelings whenever they ran across any. Two weeks later the party returned to Equestrian territory, having set half a small hive on fire, killed several patrols of Changelings and obtained a vague amount of intelligence concerning Changeling numbers and activity. There had been casualties, but no deaths or missing-in-actions. They had gained some intelligence that the Changelings were increasing in number, had patrols in large numbers, and that their armour was thicker than what the history books said. But they were unsure as to whether the Changelings would attack anytime soon, and unsure as to whether the Changelings would retaliate. So in the proper spirit of things, they allowed Armor’s appointment as Captain of the Guard with open hooves before retiring. The obvious implication was that the mission had gone wrong, and that any future issue was not theirs to deal with.

I thought we’d agreed not to talk of that, unless you wanted old wounds re-opened.

“Don’t kick the hornet’s nest? The hornet’s nest is already swarming, and we need to do something about it.”

“No, not that. Brass covered it up, remember? But because it went ahead, and because it was hushed up and thrown aside, we had no manoeuvrability. There were no other options, nothing else we could do.”

“I haven’t dug us into a hole, Armor, and I did mention that I would eventually inform the public of the actual situation.”

“You’ll be close to doing so. I know you’re trying to do your best, but perhaps a policy of honesty would be better? Fixing us here with a bunch of lies to be reinforced by more lies to be defended by more lies can’t be the best solution. As for whether you’ll actually reveal the matter to the ponies, I think I know you well enough that you’ll find some way to mangle the truth when you get around to it.”

“It could be good. With their backs to the wall the ponies might actually grow some mettle.”

"Good?!" exploded Shining Armor. "Have you considered feeling empathy sometime, Blueblood? Did you lose all of your emphatic abilities and give them to Cadance? And don't go around saying that a lack of empathy is a benefit, 'cos we well know it isn't! You should actually start listening to somepony, somepony who gets into that thick head of yours!"

“The first art of leaders is that to endure hate.”

“It is difficulties that show what ponies are; conscience gives power, not arms nor guards. Do you blame yourself for things that aren’t under your control? Does your father’s ‘dread spectre’ haunt you so? Is that why you loathe everyone and everything? Is that why you always assume the worst?”

What are you talking about, Armor?

“What in Celestia’s name are you talking about?”

“You do. Cadance told me.”

Of course she did.

“And what does that matter?”

Shining Armor leaned closer. “I share some similar burdens,” he said through gritted teeth.

“What would you know?”

“Do you think I like being the Captain of the Guard who nearly lost Canterlot?”

"Look, Blueblood," stated Shining Armor flatly. "You're not going to keep 'this boat' afloat without the things - the ideals - this country was built from. The ideals our people are built on. Look in a mirror, sir, and ask yourself where friendship and harmony and integrity left the main Platinum line."

"Sir? The Element of Generosity is here to see you," said Golden Letter as she peeked around her door as Blueblood returned to his quarters.

Well, it has to come eventually.

Blueblood thanked her, steeled himself, and made for his office. Opening the door, he found himself confronted by the Element of Generosity.

You have to go easy on her, Blueblood. She is an asset you cannot lose. Platinums are practical ponies. Ceasefire.

"Might I offer you refreshment, or indeed a seat?" questioned Blueblood with acid courtesy.

Rarity was silent.

"Let's get down to business, shall we? Like gentleponies, if that's alright?" started Blueblood, to which the unicorn mare offered a curt nod of agreement.

Blueblood swung his gaze around the room slowly to ease the tension in his neck, before returning his attention to her. He spoke. "Firstly, I shall solidify your already-formed assumptions. I shall not apologise for the affair at the Gala. That is something I shall not be moved upon. Other affairs are a different matter entirely."

Get it over with.

“Why not?! You- you mistreated a l-lady! You colt-handled me! You’re nothing but a disgrace to your station!”

Another one of those. I’d have thought the fashion industry to quench them faster.

“Don’t be so over it, nopony in Canterlot remembers-“

“Nopony remembers how much of a contemptible cad, you were?!”

Oh they do, they just don’t print that too often. Nopony reads it.

“No, nopony remembers how you were yet another in the line of golddiggers attempting to chase after the Platinum fortune. That is what you were doing, after all. Rather iron-”

“How dare you! I was there for nothing of the sort!”

“Then for what else, hm? The Gala, like all state functions, is the realm of slimy toads and sycophants. If you had bothered to do any research before the Gala, you would know. Proper research, not just those trash mags the yellow press throws out every day. I deal with golddigging whorses at every appearance I make in public, and I beat them back in the same way at every appearance I make in public.”

Rarity spluttered, boring into him with eyes of hatred. Ignoring her, Blueblood went over to the fireplace, where he kicked a log before setting it alight. Turning back to her, he continued.

“If you knew anything of social convention, my refusal to give you that rose ought to have been a sufficient warning. The doors and the puddle should have made it obvious. I do not care to raise my voice too often in public, but I shall not take fault for your being so blind to recognise my general disinterest in your company when you assumed the port of some vapid, greedy hanger-on.”

“Perhaps you ought to have stated it, then,” Rarity seethed between her teeth.

“Oh, they never listen. Nopony listens,” he finished with bile. “’For we are gentleponies, that neither in our hearts, nor outward eyes, envy the great, nor do the low despise.’ If only that were the case. If you want to find a gentlepony, some noble, dashing prince, you won’t find one here. For over a thousand years the stallions of my line have lived horrid lives and died horrid deaths. We are crass, we are crude, we are cynical, we are churlish. That is all I shall say on the matter.”

"Now, I do not condone what the Sixth Lunar Guard performed yesterday morning. Believe it or not, I do take responsibilities for my subordinates, especially when working in a Governmental capacity. I ordered it to be carried out, I accept, but I do not condone it nonetheless. It was not my intention for them to force themselves into your property and drag you here against your will, but that is how it occurred. I'm sure that upon conference with your friends you would have realised that not all of the strike teams acted in such a manner. Indeed, the way Lieutenant Strike and his ponies acted was reprehensible and not my intention. But I hold that it was necessary. Unfortunate, but necessary. Now, will you attend Council, or not?"

“You are a most reprehensible pony. But for Equestria and Twilight’s sake, I shall attend when I think it prudent. We shall require financial recompense for the damage done to our persons and our property.”

“Yes, yes,” grumbled Blueblood, waving a hoof in dismissal. “When Their Celestial Highnesses’ Treasury can afford it, we shall. You will be returned home in a fortnight, or a month, or so. Depends on many things, frankly. If you care, the Government may issue a public apology once all this blows over – if it blows over.”

“You mean never, don’t you, hmm? What ever happened to all that gold? The gold from Ponyville?”

“I’m sorry?!”

Chapter 6

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“Colt, what do you know of the Stable?”

HRH Princess Mi Amore Cadenza – Cadance – had disappeared off somewhere, no doubt to talk to HCH The Princess of Equestria – Princess Celestia –, so HRH Prince Blueblood Polaris, Marquess of Ostarrein, at the age of six, was the sole target of HRH The Prince of Unicorns’ frustration and attempts to educate his children on the detailed intricacies of Equestrian Government, including such noble, dignified matters as graft, sinecures, collusion and coercion.

“The Equestrian Legislature, established to give the provinces a greater say in Equestrian Government. Seats are allocated to noble peers, and to elected representatives of the cities and counties. The peerage seats are divided between those who earned a seat by lineage, such as those of the Great Houses, and those elected by their fellow peers. The Stable is divided into fluid groups, known as the Government, the Opposition and the Independents. In reality, the Stable is merely a rubber stamp for the Government, exploiting a fractured opposition and consistently pettifogging independents.”

“Incorrect. Correct literally, but not in practice. The Stable is the grandest theatre by which the Equestrian nobility plays their parts. Courts may be called and dismissed at will, for the Principal Dignity at the head has authority over all they survey. Yet in the Stable, where the voice of the country is heard, deeds are forever, and deeds cannot be stopped. Only the battlefield shares such dignity, yet it is an infinitely more reprehensible place. Now, why is it important?”

Blueblood had learnt that distinguishing between his father’s rhetorical and non-rhetorical questions to be beneficial to the state of his epidermal tissue. He supposed it was practice for future service as Prince of the Unicorns, as his elders would clearly have more practice in the matter than he. Either way, this was a rhetorical question, so Blueblood merely matched his father’s gaze, unblinking while cultivating a posture which could not be taken as bored or inattentive.

“Affairs of Court may not reach the provinces, but affairs in the Stable may. And the commoners pay more attention to the latter. Canterlot is the heart of Equestria, if not the world. What happens here will echo down the ages, ever since it was founded Princess Platinum, Chancellor Puddinghead and Commander Hurricane after the Treaty of Hearth’s Warming Eve, as we now call it. Therefore, never let your weaknesses be seen there. Exploit your emotions, if it can have results. Otherwise, the greatest failure you may achieve in the Stable is some breakdown of emotion.”

He paused, before continuing in measured, cool tones as if dictating to a child of even younger years.

“Remember this: they who rule Canterlot, rule Equestria.”

HRH The Prince of Unicorns paused. After a while, he drew himself up even further, paced forwards with lock step and stared down his son with the iron gaze of a senior officer – nay, a Prince of the Realm and of the Blood – upon an undeserving underling. “What do we say to that, colt?”

The reply was near-instantaneous. Not instantaneous, or that would have showed eagerness – emotion – which would have been contrary to instruction. A perfect image of princely nobility, a mask of cool, Platinum indifference, honed and tempered.

“So we maintain.”

Considering his state, Blueblood had decided not to call the Council for an emergency meeting immediately after the meeting with Rarity. For one, there was little he could do about it. Secondly, he was pretty sure that the unicorn would be as vague and deflective as possible on the matter unless it was discussed to a wider audience. Thirdly, the Stable would be meeting soon and there was no way he was going into it tired, emotional, ‘tired and emotional’ or actually tired and emotional. Fourthly, he had been in a relatively decent good mood after meeting with Armor earlier, and had hoped that this would return. Finally, the last thing he wanted to do was to go running for the blue-coated spook who ran Equestrian Intelligence and ask her why he hadn’t been informed of this development. He had the Platinum Knights there watching the spooks potter around investigating, but his Knights weren’t spooks by nature.

It might give her ideas above her station…

There was also the matter of a raging headache and various pains and aches that were starting to emerge throughout his body, and an increasing desire to get enough sleep before the Stable met. One duty still remained that day, though, and Blueblood had hoped to get a drink before he did it. Rarity had scrapped the chances of that.

"A very good evening, Lord Withers!"

"Get on with it, Blueblood, I haven't the time for this crass procrastination," came the brusque reply.

Dignified Mark, Lord Withers. Dignified enough in the Stable, desperately trying to make a mark and failing to do so. Short-tempered and impatient when caught unprepared. A delicate case, a unicorn he could afford to isolate, but Blueblood had long learnt not to rely on best-case scenarios. Besides, what he was going to tell him had aligned with his own interests and it wasn’t as if there was any major harm in doing so. If anything, it was better to send the rumour mill going by his own input before anyone else did. The more support in the Stable coming up, then the better. That meant more initial momentum, and momentum ran both politics and the bureaucracy. An optimal case scenario required the most experienced of the Council to deal with Withers, which meant him.

The jumpy, slightly inebriated conservative will do for Withers, I think.

"Shining Armor's being jumpy. Need to take him down a notch."

"Oh?"

Before he spoke his next words Blueblood had a certain feeling in his gut that talking with Withers on this day may not have been the most prudent of choices. However, there was no going back, nor was there any reason why he should have cancelled it beforehand. Three days ago he could not have even anticipated the day occurring as it had.

"You know what I'm like, my lord. Celestia doesn't have any respect for the old ways, not anymore. Thought Princess Luna would do something about it, but no. No dignity, no common respect for tradition, for the thousands who have laid their lives down so that Equestria may persevere and live? Council's stacked, damnably stacked, and they want big change, as you've guessed. Sparkle was the worst straw - the most gifted and noted unicorn of our generation turned into an alicorn!"

The moment he had finished rambling Blueblood kicked himself mentally.

Princesses, Blueblood, restrain yourself. All that alcohol you’ve drunk in the past few days and stress is getting to you. You’re losing your touch. Cut the emotion, cut the exaggeration, or he’ll get scared.

"Hmm."

"However, Withers, the Princesses are temporarily indisposed for now," loosely commented Blueblood as he gave the illusion of chugging down a glass of wine. The sniff of the alcohol almost unbridled the Prince, but reflexes kicked in and he succeeded in only feigning the motion.

"And?"

"I can knock Armor for six if you'd give me the support I want."

"And how would you do that?"

"You're an intelligent stallion, Withers. Surely you don't need me to tell you?"

A slight bit of slurring to push it in further.

"Humour me, Blueblood, and perhaps I'll give you those MESPs. Be quick about it, and perhaps you'll get something else on the side."

"I'll kick Armor down to some dull committee job, Bloom up to the C. E., Argent to the Stable and we'd have it. Armor can then be cut off and Bloom won't be able to do shit in some flank-end province. As for Argent, well, you don’t need me to tell you how he’d do without support."

It was all true, technically, with a liberal use of words Blueblood did not find entirely too concerned to employ. It would all be in public by now as well, so the more squabbling and uncertainty the political classes engaged themselves in, the better.

"You think the Princesses would let the Old Boys have a stranglehold over the Council and the Stable?" sceptically questioned Withers. "Heck, even Armor's not that dumb. Bloom definitely isn't: that bloody mare will realise what you're doing and chafe every inch of the way."

Now, time to give him some vigour, time to strike.

"Can't do bugger all about it!" triumphantly announced Blueblood. "Even if those lowborn peons get it, there's nothing they can do! The Princesses are out of it: Now's our chance, and we have to take it! They can just about move the Sun and Moon when working together, so what can they do to stop us?" He leaned over and whispered conspiratorially. "Between you and me, they can't even comprehend the day of the week sometimes, let alone employ any of the higher functions. But we'll have to work fast, and quietly. It'll just be a game of... what is it the peasants play? 'Musical Chairs.'"

The easy confidence and blasé charisma seemed to wear off on the other unicorn.

"Very well. With you for now, Blueblood, but you had better not waste this."

Finally got you, Withers. Always let your emotions get ahead of you, don’t you? Now, now, old boy, I’m sure we’ll get some work done, don’t you worry.

"Don't intend to, Withers. Don't intend to."

Blueblood made a mental note to revert to excessive tea consumption. He was losing touch, and it was disconcerting.

Rarity’s matter was brought up the next morning, predictably enough, by that blue-coated spook, Moonstone Shield.

Blueblood’s first realisation that the spook had been caught off-guard by the development as when she addressed the Council on the daily report regarding the Princesses’ circumstances. She paused on finishing her initial spiel, her face twisting, her dark blue eyes inching slightly from side to side in mild confusion. "We have found... something important amongst Princess Cadance's effects - something perhaps important to Equestria, but not a significant help with regards to finding the Princesses again; the magic seal is rather recent." With some reluctance. She pulled a note from within her uniform jacket and passed it to Blueblood.

Oh great…

Blueblood took the note, examining the wax seal which he recognised as being a combination of Celestia's and Cadance's. Opened but resealed again with wax. There was something off about the magic seal, too. Cadance's was the first layer, but the second... It had been sealed by magic before his sister had added to it - definitely Celestia's magic, I could recognise it anywhere. Breaking the seal, he skimmed over the text.

What. So that’s what Rarity was talking about… Well, that’s my day ruined.

He looked up from the paper, back at Moonstone, back at the paper and straight at Shining Armor. The note was passed again, from Blueblood to Shining Armor wordlessly.

"Uhh. Yeah. I was in the Crystal Empire during that time…? Well Cadance might have mentioned it to me once, I think...? It's... somewhere? I imagine it'll be in one of the most secure vaults, or something. Surprised you didn't know, honestly."

The note was passed back.

Blueblood wasn’t entirely sure why he was panicking somewhat. Economic hiccups were infuriatingly frequent; the major concern was the hiccup developing into a full-blown infection. After all, the economy had taken a bit of a hit after the Crystal Empire situation was resolved, due to uncertainty over how the Government would resolve the situation and the fear that the precious gem market would become flooded. Perhaps it was because this situation was in his backyard. Literally, in fact. Technically, Ponyville was within the Duchy of Canterlot.

Princesses-know how many tons of GOLD?! Gold that was made in the fallout of some crazed mare employing dark magic?

Damage to the environment, roads need to be redone? A particular phrase stood out amongst the elegant calligraphy.

"Please don't tell BB, or he’ll go mad."

Oh, thank you, sister dearest. I love you, you know. Just not as a Governmental colleague. Mad? Where’d you get that from? It isn’t as if you and the other Princesses have oft-conspired to leave me in the dark until you need me to take the fall for something.

"Argent. As I recall, you complained to me about having to repave some roads a few months ago?"

The pegasus in question jumped slightly, confounded by a question that came out of nowhere.

"I’m sorry, Blueblood? Complain? Oh, I do recall approaching you about two months ago on a matter. Princess Luna asked me to supervise the repaving of the Royal Highway to Ponyville. Utterly confounding request, damnable timing too, considering it had been done but two months prior..."

“According to this note,” Blueblood announced to the Council, lifting the offending article into the air while attempting to suppress a smirk, “a certain mare used dark magic in Ponyville, with the effect of transmuting many things, including the roads, into gold. It also mentions a large number of gems, as well. It turns out that this solution was resolved by use of alicorn magic, and said offending articles now populate two of our vaults.”

From a purely political perspective, it allows me to get rid of the Element of Generosity and replace her with a pony more suitable… or with Princess Twilight, and leave it vacant.

However, that much gold - if any word of it gets out - well...

There goes the value of gold, and inflation beckons…

Knowing my luck, the Griffons would probably demand the rights to build a railway across the Northern Colonies for whatever use that would be.

As the Council devolved into chatter over whose department’s fault it was, Blueblood grasped the mug of tea positioned before him and made an effort to inconspicuously drink as much of the lukewarm but extremely strong liquid as he could. Out of the corner of his eye he could see a grin begin to develop across the face of the Captain of the Guard, and Shining Armor soon visibly attempted to suppress a laugh.

Thanks, Cadance's husband. But remember, Armor: you're in this pan fire with me.

The Equestrian economy was a fragile beast. It had to be, as earth ponies and unicorns were fully capable of wrecking the value of goods in a single day's outing. The Honourable and Celestial Bank of Equestria, therefore, had a rather strenuous job in keeping exchange rates at a suitable level and at regulating the monetary supply. That, at least, was what his tutors had told him when he was young. The House of Platinum was never short of money, and Blueblood had promptly given it little thought. There were subordinates for that, and if they didn't do the job, Celestia would. Economics was never his strong point, but he damn well knew he would have to binge cram in the following days. To be frank, hardly anypony gave second thoughts about money, and only a few were really involved in trade with foreign nations.

Equestria had plenty of gold. An excess, now, to be frank. And it wouldn't do if the public or if foreign powers found out about it. Despite Equestria being largely self-reliant, it would not do to isolate or irritate foreign powers. After all, she couldn't really defend itself militarily now. It was convenient that the Princesses had decided to do something about it. It was less convenient that they had not deigned to tell him, or, for that matter, anypony else in the Council. It was even less convenient that they had not used their alicorn magic or general magical talents to get rid of the bloody gold or at least turn it into something which was perishable or less likely to make an impact, since if they’d broken international treaties once, they might as well break it twice or three times in the same day. Then again, Blueblood reflected as he stared into his now-empty mug of tea, he wasn’t in that much of a position to complain, considering how little he let on to both his subordinates and his superiors.

Of course, had this eventually come to light, in say, a year, and if the Princesses were still here, this would have been Princess Twilight’s business and my not being informed would not matter as I could sit in Canterlot dealing with- oh wait.

That accursed bill was being brought up again by his traitorous mental processes and threatening to make his impending headache worse.

Why on Equestria didn’t you tell me, Cadance?! If I’m going to have to clean it up eventually, then you could at least have told me!

Well, I guess I have a target for my bile.

Blueblood slowly turned towards Rarity. The other councillors followed suit. The unicorn in question had wisely chosen to sit in her seat without protest, resolving to pout with her front legs folded in resentment.

"What?"

"Tell me, my lady,” Blueblood asked with as much force he could muster, “have you ever experimented with dark magic?"

Rarity’s blue eyes darted around before offering a vaguely committal noise.

If you want to get out of this vaguely intact, then you’ll follow me, or I’ll throw you out for the Press to deal with…

“Apparently, Right Honourable Members of the Royal Council, the Element of Generosity was involved in an incident with dark magic, resulting in large sums of gold and gemstones finding their way into the Royal Treasury by way of alicorn magic. Said incident was in full sight of the population of Ponyville and said precious metals and stones are not recorded on Governmental records.” Blueblood spoke with clinical tones, the false propriety of a Canterlot prosecutor.

At the very least, the unicorn in the dock had the common decency to look embarrassed and regretful at the issue.

You couldn't turn it into brass, could you?! It had to be gold, oh yes! Gold!

One more day, one more disaster. Clean-up for Prince Blueblood.

“So what do we do,” he sighed, giving up the pretence as the increased weight of his burden dawned further on him. Normally he would allow one of the other councillors to bring this up, but with an empty mug of tea and a brain awash with confusion he wasn’t exactly prepared to wait for longer than he needed to. “If any word of this gets out, we may-“

Serene interrupted, golden curls swinging as she took up the mantle of Lady High Chancellor and turned to the head of the table. “It will only become a major problem if it enters general circulation.”

“Like poison!” offered Argent. “A sudden influx of this magnitude is not fundamentally beneficial, even if it covers the expenses we spent on dealing with the situation initially.”

“It’s only a problem if any of it gets out, Blueblood,” Serene continued, both front legs on the table to portray an image of perfect confidence in an effort to calm him down. “It has been sitting there for months, and apparently nopony knows better. It will only cause inflation if it enters circulation, and will only result in hyperinflation if we use all of it at once. And so long as nopony knows about it, it’ll be fine.”

Blueblood paused, before pushing himself off his chair and started to pace. That helped. It always helped, and the councillors learnt to shut up when he did so. “If we started acting like we had more gold than which we actually ‘had’, without increasing borrowing, it would look suspicious. And somehow, I’m not prepared to hedge Equestria’s economic future on assuming that ‘nopony knows better’.” He paused by the window, glancing out of it in no particular direction whatsoever, and stayed there.

To whom does the fault lie? An exercise in blaming. An exercise in politics, perhaps? Yet without recognition of fault, then there shall be no improvement, no betterment of oneself for the sake of all ponykind.

Was it Rarity, whose greed created the gold in the first place? Was it whoever gave her the book, who enabled her to do so? Was it whoever who wrote that book in the first place, who allowed all of this to happen in the first place? Was it Princess Twilight, who failed to rein in her friend? Was it the other Princesses, who failed to foresee this in time? Was it I? And if it was, by what way? Failure to gain their confidence, such that this could be stopped before it occurred? Failure to cut down on the sources of illicit literature? Or was it failure to move around their orders, and act as Equestria needed in the first place, for whatever purpose that was?

No, it is none of those things.

I am an officer, a bureaucrat, a politician. I would be a proper officer, a civil servant, a statespony. Interesting how these at their very worst are unfailing in their opposition of change.

But change of what? Change in Equestria, or in myself? Which do I fear most?

After a minute, the silence was broken before Blueblood managed to compose his thoughts.

“We should move a brigade to Ponyville immediately,” said Thunderclap and Moonstone in unison. Thunderclap glanced at the Director, ground his teeth, and ceded the field. Glancing at the General warily, Moonstone continued. “Despite it aligning with our initial intentions, it should also be worth mentioning that as a noted crossroads the firmer the grasp we have upon communications in and out of Ponyville, the better.”

“Wasn’t this illegal, anyway?” intruded Raven, nervously looking over the rims of her glasses with one hoof on the table and one on her hip. “Under the Dark Magic Act of 1203, Currency Act of 1592 and the Precious-”

“Precious Metals Act of 1601, clause II, as I recall correctly, and all successive Acts of the above,” stated Blueblood, almost out of reflex. “‘It is an offence to transmute base metals into precious metals, regardless of quality or method or purpose. This offence shall be considered of similar severity to that of forgery or counterfeit, and shall be enforced as such.’ It is, in great likelihood, additionally an offense under a number of multilateral treaties, including the Treaty of Boreas, applicable to all Griffon states, and the Writs of Dromedor, applicable to the Camels. It is an offense of significant magnitude that if the International Community learns of such an event, they will almost certainly demand action. Either way, the event in question involves the debasing of the national precious metal and precious stone supplies, and by extension, the International Market. Yes, Raven, I do believe you are correct in stating that. It is illegal on multiple charges.”

Encyclopaedic knowledge of mercantile law. The Princesses couldn’t have picked a better pony to teach – no, refresh – Princess Twilight on the finer aspects of governance. Not so different than when we were younger, I suppose…

Transmuting materials into gold was illegal. It was, after all, introducing 'impure' noble metals into the market, reduced confidence, and had the possibility of diluting the monetary supply akin to forgery, as well as giving magic-using populations an allegedly 'unfair' advantage. Equestria, being a land where magic may be used at will to affect the price of commodities, became one where the economy must be maintained by understandings between Their Celestial Highnesses’ Government, financial leaders and the heads of industry. The price of gems was largely set due to their quality, and certain gems given more value due to their degree of impurity (or lack of). The gold supply was maintained at a suitable level. As home to some of the largest gold mines in the world Equestria’s Bits, the ‘Golden Cavalry of Celestia’, became the most influential currency in the world. The tacit understanding was that the value of the Bit was maintained at a level such that Equestria could remain in a place where it could influence the economies of other nations (and their governments) with relative ease. The tactic understanding with other nations was that Equestria would do nothing to disrupt their economy and currency to have a knock-on effect on them or to elevate Equestria to an even higher position of influence over them. Blueblood couldn't quite recall the threatened international punishment for such a violation of international agreements, but it probably involved embargoes.

Out of his eye, Blueblood saw Rarity turn a slightly green colour, but he ignored it.

Deserves it really. Had to make perfect gems, at that.

“We cannot ignore this. Increased spending ability, especially in a crisis like this, is a massive boon,” Blueblood spoke, mostly to himself. “Either way, ponies will eventually ask where the money came from, and the last thing we should do is admit that the Element of Generosity used dark magic. That’s the last thing we should do.”

“We could fudge the books?” offered Argent.

“Rather hard to fudge the books when there’s so much gold sitting around. We’d have to fudge a lot of books, and that could arouse suspicion as well.”

“Due to the way this was previously handled, we may be living on borrowed time concerning this. All it takes is a slip of the tongue for this to get out. Moonstone, how far can you trust our dragons in the Dragon Council?”

“As far as I can spit, really, but I trust my operatives absolutely.”

“Pay a few Dragons off a bit more than usual. We’ll send a brigade to Ponyville to lock it down, but also go rooting around in the Everfree for any bandit dragon nests. The Dragon Council won’t care about them, especially if we grease them a bit, so we’ll deal with them and take their hauls. I should not need to mention that we do not specify how much we managed to recover, the Guard isn’t the most literate of organizations and if anypony asks where we’d been getting all the money to finance everything from, we shall direct them towards our efforts to reclaim Equestrian bullion from vagrant dragon bandits in the Everfree. We haven’t made any money, we have merely regained it. While we’re at it, we’ll get the banks – well, Fancypants - to pull more Bits in whilst selling some more bonds and call some debts in. In any case, make sure the new Minotaur Archon meets with me ASAP once he’s been confirmed."

There were two reasons why Equestrian Bits were called the ‘Golden Cavalry of Celestia’. The first was that there was a rampant pony on each coin. The second was that their liberal application and the correct words in the correct ears were a far better guarantor of Equestrian foreign relations than any amount of hoofs in the Guard. With a Princess around, those coins were backed by much more than Equestria’s economic, industrial and questionable conventional military might.

“Will he not take offence? I’m sure he’d expect to meet with a Princess, instead.”

I don’t know, perhaps the Princesses would ruin his day like mine’s…

“Let’s hope he doesn’t,” breathed Blueblood.

“Inkwell.”

“Oh, morning, sir. Tea will be ready in a minute. How was the Council meeting?”

Aside from the revelation about Equestria’s gold supplies on account of the Element of Generosity’s greed, it hadn’t been too bad otherwise. An ancient terror had yet to appear, which had perplexed Blueblood, but he hadn’t seen fit to mention it to anyone. The last time he had tried to express such opinions – mere days earlier, while under the influence, to Shining Armor – had not gone so well. But at least the Princesses had done something, as little as it was, to deal with the situation and Blueblood had an inkling in how to deal with it. Twilight – well, recollections of Princess Twilight – had been partially responsible putting the idea in his head, which had been furthered when he had, almost unconsciously, fished out an old picture which Cadance had insisted on being taken for some insipid reason or another.

One of Celestia’s private drawing rooms, a beaming pink alicorn, horn glowing with magic, a smiling purple unicorn and a weakly-discomfited white unicorn. Books everywhere, many of them opened or bookmarked. That had been years ago, back when they were nei- back when they lived in convenient proximity to each other resulting in some degree of familiarity. With some emotion – Blueblood couldn’t entirely tell what it was – he carefully returned the picture to its place in a sealed box, protective cover on, placed the box in a compartment under his bed and firmly pushed the compartment shut and locked it with some severity. He’d composed himself by the time Inkwell had shown up.

“Fine, fine, and thank you. Inkwell, I have a stack of mail I need sent as soon as possible. See that it is done today.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Today, Inkwell,” Blueblood firmly stressed. “The Stable is coming up soon, and I need to be ready. Make sure that tea is ready. I have several hours until I next have an occupied slot in my schedule, and I shall require a cup of tea on the hour until then.”

He had some time, Blueblood reflected. It may be prudent to engage in some productive behaviour, even if other ponies elsewhere were not.

Among Blueblood’s stack of letters there was one, inordinately heavy, aged and rather abused scroll, sealed with Blueblood’s seal, which was destined by the way Blueblood had arranged it, to be lost in the Canterlotian bureaucracy. Another, relatively inconspicuous letter was addressed to the secretary of what was a dummy company in San Franciscolt, in the hooves of which it eventually arrived having spent about a week and a half lost in transit in the Equestrian Civil Service’s morass due to incorrect labelling and stampings. It would then be forwarded to a holding company in Buckingham before making its slow way to the wife of the Assistant Secretary of the Equestrian Ambassador to the Dragon Council. From there it would find its way into the claws of a leading magnate in the Dragon Council, who had once met a certain blonde-maned, white-coated colt in Canterlot over ten years ago.

"If the Colonel says you're mad, never mind,
If the Colonel says you're mad, never mind;
As the Ursas eat your legs
He still can't find his own head -
If the Colonel says you're mad, never mind!"

"SHUT UP! I heard that!"

Despicable lot.

Colonel Charge scowled at the awkwardly shuffling squad of Guardsponies before him and silently ordered them to piss off. Without further encouragement, the Guardsponies mumbled apologies and then marched perfectly away towards the mass of tents and ramshackle fortifications erected beside the new - and missing - Princess' new - and garish - home.

Their rather red-faced Lieutenant - a young, headstrong arse - came up to the Colonel.

"Sorry about the lads, sir," greeted the Lieutenant.

"Well, enough of that. Anything to report, Lieutenant?"

"Nothing, sir," breathed the younger officer. "Did run into a cockatrice or two, though."

"And?"

"We lazored them, sir. No casualties, sir."

"Oh?"

P'rhaps the colts aren't that awful after all.

"I ordered two of my unicorn Guardsponies to terminate the cockatrices with extreme prejudice through the employment of high-energy magical beam attacks, sir," the Lieutenant immediately deadpanned derisorily.

Alright, they’re young and head-strong.

"DON'T GET SMART WITH ME, LIEUTENANT! I made you a Lieutenant, and I can break you back down to Ensign if I feel like it!"

"Sorry, sir. Nothing else to report, sir. Here's the charts we made, though." The Lieutenant pulled a number of large paper scrolls from his saddlebags and offered them to his commanding officer.

"Right. Report to me in full later, Lieutenant," acknowledged the Colonel.

The Lieutenant snapped a smart salute.

"Go away, Lieutenant."

Returning to the gemstone-encrusted blemish on the countryside that was his Headquarters, Colonel Charge cautiously made his way towards his personal quarters, passing through corridors and chambers which he had concluded were the product of a particularly drug-infested low-scoring university student who had gotten his place through nepotism. Not that he would say it to anypony's face - well, anypony of importance - anytime soon, not at all. Working conditions, eh, Onyx? Should have become a stockbroker or something... Or a demolition pony. "Transferrable skills" and all that.

Pushing the rather heavy-set door open, he placed the charts on a side table. Moving to sit down behind a hastily-erected and flimsy desk, the Colonel reflected upon the past twenty-four hours as he sipped from a steaming steel mug of tea which had been placed upon his desk.

It could have been worse, truth be told.

If there was one thing to be grateful for, Colonel Charge remised, it was that nopony had yet decided to take legal action against his troops. He'd forced his way into Mayor Mare's office with his variously-intoxicated command staff and curtly given her the crudely-written Royal Warrant-thing which he had been provided with before pissing off to his incandescent Headquarters, only to be informed by a different red-faced Lieutenant as he left the town hall that the 64th Independent Pegasus Company was "stuck in transit" and thus could not arrive in time to provide air support or reconnaissance for two days.

'Stuck in transit', scoffed Charge silently. Stuck in transit in Cloudsdale, more like.

And yet, there were no casualties. On my part... Solars 2, Everfree 0! Solars 2, Lunies, 1057.

Then there was the fact that his morning, aside from the irresponsible marching-songs of his troops, was going rather well. He had slept surprisingly comfortably, and before him sat a nice, hot mug of tea. Small things, but they added up.

The Colonel was broken from his musings by the sudden and loud entry of a Guard officer.

"Sorry, sir!" yelled the russet-maned Guard as he tumbled through the doorway, his insignia denoting him as a Major. He snapped a solid salute before continuing. "'Still not used to these blasted crystal doors, sir."

"What is it, Major?" dully questioned Charge.

"Sir, we've received a complaint."

Oh Princesses...

Colonel Charge looked up at the Major before him, who was fussing over the straps on his rather heavy armour. Unimpressed, the Colonel addressed his subordinate. "Major Drumbeat. I have slept surprisingly well last night, and my bat-pony has seemingly achieved enlightenment this morning. It is ten o' clock, and he has managed, with arcane sorceries, to fabricate this mug of hot beverage." He gestured to the tea-containing vessel before him. "I found earlier, to my immense surprise, that the beverage in this receptacle is indeed tea, and is not only hot, but is also completely devoid of sand, dirt, gunpowder or indeed, contaminated water"

He fixed an unimpressed, yet stern stare upon the Major.

"Major Drumbeat, you're gonna walk straight out of that door," he said as he pointed at the gaudy entrance to his quarters, "and close it behind you. You are then going to wait and consider your options for two seconds, before turning about and re-entering."

"Yes, sir. Of course, sir."

Major Drumbeat followed his orders, and was soon back in the same spot.

"Well, Major?"

"Sir, we've received a complaint," repeated Drumbeat, though with a fake grin plastered across his face that could only be described as being 'shit-eating'.

Bloody Guard, don't know what it's coming to.

The Major thankfully relaxed his cheek muscles and pulled a sheaf of papers out of his saddlebags and squinted at the text on them. "Fellow by the name of Heartstrings. Iyra Heartstrings."

Iyra? Stupid name, but I've heard worse. Stupid people who soared to the top of the career ladder and marked their territory by giving their foals stupid names. Amazing how people with nonexistent IQs and venereal diseases can make it up to the top of the 'greasy pole'. Greasy pole up their own flanks, to be frank.

"So-"

"Hang on-. Sorry, sir, Lyra Heartstrings. Miss. Female."

"Major, what has... 'it'... said to cause your being here?"

"Nothing of note, really. Offended that we're here, property damage, wanted to know why, et cetera."

So what are you doing here, you flankhole? Celestia's Sacred Cake...

"So why did you-"

"If you'd excuse me, sir, I was about to get onto that," interrupted Major Drumbeat. "I've had the lads combing through the local archives for maps, charts or records of the Everfree Forest, as you ordered me to do, sir. It appears that there are very few resources in this department. Apparently, most of the more detailed and useful maps of the Forest were stored in Golden Oak Library, sir."

"In other words, Major, you're saying that the maps were incinerated by Tirek."

"That would be a correct assumption, sir.”

“Is that all, Havoc?”

“Oh, sir, the Second Regiment of Marines is on the way from Foalpoint. Brass just telegraphed in, wants us to go looking for dragon nests in the Everfree. Second Marines will be under your command when they get here."

Colonel Charge rubbed at his forehead. There was definitely something he could do with, but he couldn't place his hoof on the word...

"...Hallucinogens..."

"What was that, sir?"

Retire and be damned, Onyx. Find a job as an executive of a nail company or something, and let some other idiot take this job.

"Inform High Command of this development on our side. And go away, Major."

"Very well, sir," came the inevitable response, accompanied by a smart, precise salute.

"Go. Away."

A day later, Blueblood contemplated the earth pony before him. As to be expected, the pony wore the uniform of the Royal Equestrian Navy with the necessary lace and gilt that denoted a Full Admiral, whilst boasting the diffident yet bored half-sneer which the vast majority of the portraits lining the walls of the Admiralty possessed. Confused about his position and the position of his ponies, like the rest of the Navy. The other half was, as to expected, comprised of urgency and exasperation; two qualities which perhaps defined the Navy in its current state.

Lord Tidal Force was unimpressive. Decently built but not bulging with muscle, taller than average but slightly so. On a normal distribution graph Tidal Force would occupy the portion slightly to the right of the bell, just after the curve started to form the edges of the bell. Taking error into account, Tidal Force was therefore nothing to raise eyebrows at. Not compared to the glorious Princesses, not to the vaunted Shining Armor, the ordinary pony who stood up to King Sombra and lived, not to the vaunted Augustus Thunderclap, winner of the Equestrian Star.

Nonetheless, Tidal Force was the highest-ranking actively-serving Naval Officer in the realm. A pony more suited to convoy charts and timetables than a great throw of the dice in decisive battle. Blueblood did not particularly blame him. Tidal Force was in a situation that some would consider to be highly uncomfortable. His ascent had been largely out of his control, being a pony who had achieved high status through curious fortune. Tidal Force had made it to Admiral due to a complete lack of competition, partially due to said competition being forced to drop out. Acutely aware of his fortune, Tidal Force's mannerisms did indicate awkwardness and embarrassment on his own part. That was not awkwardness brought about by the recognition that one’s sibling was one’s superior, however.

With his coat a shade of muted buff that could only be described as being rather tired, and a closely-cut yet slightly ragged mane of gunmetal grey, the Admiral did not stand out. Dressed in a badly-fitting and faded navy officer's tunic and a black covered bicorne on his head, the uniform he wore did not significantly amplify his image either. Taking a sip of tea out of a beaten old Guard tin mug, Blueblood matched eyes with the Admiral.

Force was an average pony. "Determined and competent. Steadfast. Micromanager and obsessive to a fault; paranoid about the state of his ponies - questionable judgement on the offensive," some retired fossil had written in Force's files. It reminded Blueblood of a few ponies he knew, but it was not a recipe for naval genius. Aggression and technological expertise were, and Force was not too well-endowed in those departments. He’d come up through Personnel, for crying out loud. Not Navigation, not Engineering, not Gunnery, not Torpedoes, but Personnel.

I suppose it would have been expected for the second child of a Great House, after all…

There were rumours that he had been up for a viscountcy for smashing a surprisingly large and cohesive bunch of pirates and smugglers, but that had gone nowhere. The Navy hardly saw any proper action at all, so Force's questionable successes in the various war games may have been overemphasised considering this. It was better to be safe than sorry. He was an earth pony, at least, which was beneficial to the unicorn-dominated Royal Council. But most importantly, by giving the Navy an independent seat once more, whether or not Force sat on the Council, he could shift its workload from Argent and Thunderclap, who could concentrate upon their new responsibilities.

"Let's get to business, shall we, Admiral?"

"That would be appreciated, sir."

"Good, good. Take a seat, then."

Taking the seat on the other side of the desk, the Admiral awkwardly shuffled himself onto the seat and removed his bicorne, placing the hat on his lap.

"I presume you were informed of our current circumstances by a suitable authority?"

"Yes, sir. Augustus Thunderclap was kind enough apprise me of the situation on my arrival here, though I was fortunate enough to have my sister briefly notify myself last night. I have my concerns, but am confident that your strong and capable leadership will carry us through this turbulence."

"Yes, yes. I regret not informing yourself at an earlier date, but unfortunately I have been most pressed for time as of late. What I am about to say will, in all happenstance, not alleviate your concerns. Put it simply, Force, I will require a new Lord High Admiral. With the Royal Council taking up increased responsibilities in consideration of the state of the Princesses, it is my opinion that the Navy receive its own seat at the Council. As the most senior officer of that branch I therefore offer you the title and position of Lord High Admiral and the duties and responsibilities of said office."

"A suggestion, if I may, sir?"

"What?"

"I... I would be uncomfortable taking up the post of Lord High Admiral, sir."

Well this is news...

"Why?"

Force shuffled nervously before steeling himself and looking Blueblood in the eye.

"I… I’m not entirely sure the Navy, as it is now, is not worthy of such an honour."

Well that was completely unexpected.

A momentary look of mild shock combined with confusion passed across Blueblood’s face, to be met with a more permanent look of cautious unease across Force’s face "That is not a proper argument, Admiral Force," replied Blueblood in hard tones as he recovered, pushing a golden lock out of the way. "The state of the Navy should not affect its role in the Equestrian Government whilst it remains a vital arm of the state."

"I disagree, sir. But there are other considerations. It would place the Guards and the Navy on a par."

Before Blueblood had been forced to fully take up the mantle of the Prince of the Unicorns at the tender age of thirteen, he had aspirations for military service. This he did indeed do, serving in the Platinum Knights (and still holding a commission in that regiment). However, like his father, he had interest in the Navy and had contested the largely-administrative rank of Admiral (in an attempt, however misguided, to get the chair of Lord High Admiral so he could contest Shining Armor on military matters), which by some loophole did not require actual naval service, only a theoretical examination. Which was good, because aside from that pirate action the Navy hardly did anything and the number of actively-serving officers involved could not fill a sheet of paper in the largest fonts the Civil Service’s bureaucracy used. A strong affection for the Navy still remained in Blueblood’s heart – for what reasons, he could not properly articulate, but they probably involved some measure of romanticism, megalomania and technical curiosity – but a placid Navy under a placid head was not what he needed nor desired.

"The office of Lord High Admiral is below that of Lord High Marshal. Shining Armor would still be your superior."

"I must disagree again, sir. Staff would take it as a slight regardless; as it is, the Navy must remain a branch of the Guards as the regulars and the militia are too. A separate department, perhaps, but Staff would never tolerate it, and you know this, sir.”

Oh great… Frankly, I’m going to stick a poker up the flanks of the Staff anyway, so we might as well make the Navy more independent. A Navy subordinate to the Guards hasn’t really done anything for the country, after all.

Despite promising efforts to further Navy-Guard cooperation, these had never gotten anywhere. Partly out of the elitism of the Guard, partly out of the lack of money to support naval operations.

"So what do you propose, Admiral Force? I never took you one to argue about the meaning of words."

"First Sea Lord, or First Lord of the Admiralty perhaps?"

"There's only one Admiral, Force, and that's you, if you haven't forgotten."

"I can't believe we're doing this," muttered Blueblood under his breath. He had expected resistance, but not this. Then again, Force was notorious for being an incessant nitpicker at times. "It's clunky. The other, traditional offices start with 'Lord'," protested Blueblood ineffectively.

"'Lady High Chancellor' is clunky, sir," replied Force rather pointlessly.

She’s also your sister, have you taken that up with her yet?

"This is pointless, anyway," finalised Blueblood. "I intend to beat the Guard Staff into line, regardless of branch, and I have the full support of Armor and Thunderclap. We'll clarify seniority at a later date, or perhaps not. It might even be better if we didn't."

"Uh, suit yourself, sir."

Oh thank you, Your Royal Highness...

"Now, Force, are you going to answer my original question and take up the post?"

"In spirit, that I will, sir."

"Good. Now I need First Battle Squadron and the Canterlot Escort Squadrons ready in two days. I need First Reserves working up, too. Go."

"My good fellow, I'm glad that you were able to meet me here at such short notice."

It was to Blueblood’s relative distaste that he was meeting with an earth pony, an MESP at that, in a booth in a small café in a quiet corner of Canterlot’s middle town. It had been four days since the Princesses had disappeared, three since the meeting of the Stable had been announced and two days until the Stable actually met. The meeting with Force had left him in an ill humour, which would have been relieved by a meeting with Charter Winthrop, Viscount Winthrop, a civil servant who also happened to hold a seat in the Stable and who was actually vaguely decent company, to take place after this. Unfortunately, Armor had insisted on yet another meeting over “logistical issues” despite requiring Blueblood’s attention for the remainder of the previous day, meaning that the meetings with Mill and Winthrop had to be delayed slightly. Blueblood had made an effort to connect further with Armor, but still held that the Captain of the Guard wasn’t the brightest sock in the drawer on distressingly many matters. Winthrop would probably not take offence, but Mill would.

Princesses, Twilight – Princess Twilight – would make a better Captain of the Guard than him at times… She has more combat experience, too. Heck, Cadance would do a better job sometimes.

"Well, I’m here."

Steel Mill and his two brothers were the heirs to one of Equestria's largest industrial fortunes. Unfortunately, Steel Mill was not as capable as his ailing father, and had fallen in league with Reticent Uprush's group of independent ethically-questionable Manehattanite robber barons along with the rest of the Fillydelphia region MESPs. His brothers were back in Fillydelphia, doing Celestia-knows what with their father’s business. Mill was unreliable, therefore, and it was never a good thing to allow resistance to agglomerate in the Stable. It was never a good thing to have a decent steel company go bust or upside down, either. None of these things helped alleviate his increasingly-foul mood.

"As you know, the Stable will meet tomorrow, and I'd like a favourable reception, to say the least. With the Princesses sadly out of it, now's not the time for petty disputes. It'll be a special seating, so some of the more undesirable elements may find themselves administratively displaced. As it is, cooperation on your part would be greatly appreciated when the Stable meets again."

"And why would I do that?"

"I would be more personally inclined towards your opinion in the future, Mill. From my recollections of the Council I also believe that the Prince of the Crystal Empire is intent on laying more track. The contraction of such a matter would not be too difficult to procure.”

"What are you suggesting, my Prince?"

Come on, I don’t have time for this.

"You know damn well what I'm suggesting."

"And why should we agree?"

"I believe..." said Blueblood as he pulled out his notebook and started flicking through it, "that I have a scheduled meeting with your father very soon, when the Equestrian Steel Conference comes up. Perhaps I ought to apprise him of your nocturnal encounters, hmm? Awfully risqué, even by my own low, low standards."

"What is this?"

It’s me putting the stick about. And Celestia, has it been too long…

"Mill," stated Blueblood as he stood. Placing his notebook back inside his jacket, he continued. "Consider it a warning; it would be better if you followed those with your best interests in mind. Uprush, after all, has backstabbed his way up the greasy pole, and would do it to you three without a second thought. I have not, unlike him and his ilk. But I'll leave it up to you and your fine gentlecolts. A little introverted self-contemplation is useful in such turbulent times. After all, Equestria needs to defeat its enemies, and, well, I’m sure you agree that any enemy of Equestria needs to be defeated immediately. Now I, Mill, consider myself a relatively reasonable fellow. As honourable as any in Canterlot. I am asking nicely, here. Whatever you do is entirely your prerogative. What I do is also entirely my prerogative."

Glancing around, he indifferently addressed the silent stallion sitting before him. "So, tomorrow, then?"

Blueblood finished his glass and made to leave. But before he left the booth, he glanced back at Mill.

"Oh, and if you'd be so kind, Their Celestial Highnesses' Revenue and Customs would appreciate it if you did not indulge in a little tax avoidance. It is..." He paused and scratched at his chin. "Problematic. Good day to you."

When Applejack was woken up in the middle of the night by the hammering of a Lunar Guard upon the gate, told to pack basic amenities and to follow them, not in a year did she expect to meet Prince Blueblood again. She certainly hadn’t expected him apologise for the Gala all that way back. Then Shining Armor had taken her aside and mentioned that Prince Blueblood might be interested in signing a few contracts with Sweet Apple Acres and Applejack couldn’t help but agree to treat with the Government over this. He’d also warned her about Blueblood’s tendency to take a measure of influential ponies with which he had never interacted with before, which was generally insulting, confusing or a trap of some kind. She wasn’t stupid enough to draw the infamous ire of Prince Blueblood and reject a chance at a healthy amount of money.

Which was why she was in his fancy office watching him examine her with the eyes of a hunter while simultaneously nursing a battered old tin mug of what smelt to be tea while Shining Armor stood behind him and to the left slightly.

From what Applejack recalled of her training (and Rarity’s lectures) in ‘propriety’, it was an offence to wear your hat in non-public spaces. Still, she hadn’t taken it off for the Princesses and wasn’t taking it off for this allegedly stuck-up ponce. She still wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing, but it was probably that taking measure thing that Shining Armor had mentioned. Then the Prince, to her surprise, magically pulled an expensive-looking bottle of cider out of nowhere and thumped it down in front of her.

“A drink, Miss Applejack?” he asked with lazy nonchalance, dismissive blue eyes meeting with her agrarian green.

Applejack looked down at the bottle, up at the Prince, then back up at the bottle again. The Prince had forbade the Elements of Harmony from consuming alcohol during their ‘stay’ in the Castle, and it actually looked decent. Real alcohol, not that fancy, weak stuff they served at Fancypants’ parties. It looked darker than what it ought to have been according to the label.

“Uhh, no thank you, Your Royal Highness. Not that I wouldn’t, of course. Jus’ prefer to keep my mind on things when talking business.”

Blueblood nodded with the slightest of cracks in his countenance, magically throwing the bottle over to Shining Armor, who, after recovering from his initial surprise, knocked it open and starting drinking from the bottle with as much dignity as he could muster once Blueblood had lifted his mug to his lips. Applejack’s eyes narrowed at this, but she made no comment.

“Miss Applejack, I and Their Celestial Highnesses’ Government extend our thanks for agreeing to meet with us so quickly. Shining Armor here-“ he gestured to the pony behind him with an errant wave of a hoof, “says you may be of assistance.”

“From my experience, Applejack, you’re extremely dependable, and we’ll need steady hooves in the coming future. Cadance and Twiley,” faltered Shining Armor slightly, “would certainly agree with me on that if they were here.”

“Well, when duty calls, I’ve gotta come runnin’.”

“An admirable sentiment,” continued Blueblood smoothly. “Now, since you’re probably wondering why we summoned you, we have a number of… problems you could help us with.”

Shining Armor nudged his shoulder in Blueblood’s direction. Blueblood remained unaware – or appeared to. If Shining Armor was going to stand there, what on Equestria were they doing?

“So, I figure Rarity’s been a bit rotten and short-sighted again, eh?”

“You could say that,” answered Blueblood. Behind him, Shining Armor slumped slightly.

“Well, she may have a big mouth, but she ain’t so bad when ya get to know her. A bit stuck up, but ah’m not sure whether you’d mind that in a pony, beggin’ yer pardon. Her heart’s in the right place, though, and that’s what matters, really. Sure, she does go off a bit, but she tries to fix it in the end, do the right thing, and that’s what really matters.”

Blueblood paused, then grunted.

He then launched, of all things, into an aggressive, long-winded inquiry about agricultural matters containing many long words which Applejack felt some degree of certainty in taking it as being partly an exercise to confuse and one to insult. He asked about the Everfree, about how dangerous it was, about “the viability of high-intensity yet sustainable methods in proximity to hazardous territory”, “how feasible land reclamation [was]”, and about “the degree of Government agricultural subsidisation”, before proceeding to talk about agriculture-related matters, including apple consumption, mass apple preservation, average prices, the Market, various regulations on naming and production, taking a massive pile of notes in doing so before he’d finally gotten onto the reason why she’d been summoned to his fancy office and offered her some decent-looking cider which Shining Armor was consuming at an interesting rate, having procured some additional bottles out of somewhere and had partially dropped out of the conversation apart from the odd insight here or there.

“Their Celestial Highness’ Government has a proposal for Sweet Apple Acres which is of great benefits to both parties. We are willing to offer, in light of recent events, a legally-abiding written bipartisan contract concerning an exchange of goods between our two parties, with yourself as representative of the latter. Namely, in return for a constant, reliable source of apples and apple-based products, we are prepared to provide a constant, reliable source of Bits.”

He pushed a piece of paper over at her. Shining Armor, standing behind the sitting Prince and wobbling very slightly, nodded in encouragement and spoke. “We’ve been concerned about how the Government is feeding its ponies, Applejack, and we thought we’d… shake things up a bit.”

Applejack raised an eyebrow. Blueblood wasn’t the only one smudging things up in this room, but she hadn’t been brought here to judge him, so she got down to reading. She didn’t think of herself as the most well-read of ponies, nor the most well-read of the Elements, but she didn’t consider herself to be illiterate. After all, she had practically run Sweet Apple Acres for several years, and government paperwork was not something she was unaccustomed with. The tougher stuff needed help from Mayor Mare or Twilight, but this was something entirely unusual.

A Government Contract written in relatively plain Equestrian. Still very long, though, but she gave it a skim-read.

“What’s this bit about canned food,” she questioned pointing at a clause in the contract. “And ah don’t quite like how much yer askin’ for at once. We over at Sweet Apple Acres take pride ‘n our work, and truth be told ah’m not sure about whether we can keep this up.” She frowned. “Especially if ya’ll keep me here.”

“We can deal with the canneries, if necessary. And you needn’t worry about your reputation, we can keep this on the hush if you desire it. Once we’ve addressed the Stable we intend to return the Elements to Ponyville, with some Guards in the case Ponyville gets attacked, so you may look through the ‘Castle of Friendship’ and see if there are any clues as there are to the Princesses’ disappearance.”

“Somethin’ you ain’t letting on, Your Royal Highness? You ‘n Shining Armor over there seem awful keen on getting me to accept this contract.”

Blueblood inclined his head somewhat.

“Uh-huh, guessed so. Let me guess: Ya tried running it off your own farms, or the Government’s farms, but it didn’t work out. Now ya don’t trust your fancy, poncy so-called friends to keep a steady flow, but you think I can do a good enough job.”

“You are the Element of Harmony after all, Miss Applejack, and come highly recommended from Shining Armor here – “ he gestured to the unicorn next to him, “and the Princesses as well. Ponyville is also closer to Canterlot than some of your competition.”

Blueblood was clearly ignoring the question. But Shining Armor was here, and so was Blueblood, so it was clearly something to do with the Guards and their efforts to find Twilight and the Princesses. She’d heard that the Guards had been sent into the Everfree on extended service.

“Well, if you just asked me straight up, then I’d be all for it. From what I’ve learned, hiding stuff you’re eventually goin’ to need to tell somepony doesn’t really work out that well. Now I’d be glad to help find Twilight and the other Princesses in any way ah can, and if Sweet Apple Acres can help too, well that’s just fine and dandy. However, considerin’ how you… two folks… have been acting, ’mind if I take a look over this in mah own time? I understand you’re a busy pony and I don’t want to take up your time sittin’ here…”

She looked over at Shining Armor, who was nodding relatively vigorously.

Blueblood considered this for a moment, before conceding.

“Very well. I would appreciate an answer within three days.”

Applejack hadn’t been in Canterlot for too long, but both Blueblood and Shining Armor were clearly planning something, and their plans weren’t exactly going the same way. Shining Armor had seemed alright at his job, and if Blueblood’s questions about agriculture and the economy and stuff which went a bit over Applejack’s head was an indicator of his competence, perhaps it wasn’t all too bad. A bit brusque, who lied with ease, but vaguely competent. If they got and worked together without going behind each other’s back, Applejack reflected, they might actually find the Princesses this century.

If they weren’t at each other’s necks in an hour. Canterlot folk perplexed her sometimes.

Chapter 7

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“Hi, Blueblood. Been a while, hasn’t it? Sorry I missed you at the Gala. And Cadance’s Wedding, too,” Princess Twilight Sparkle frowned.

Princess Twilight Sparkle. Yes, it had been a while, thought Blueblood Polaris, Lord High Steward of Equestria. Back when you were Twilight Sparkle. Back before the Summer Sun Celebration that changed Equestria. Back when we were practically neighbours. Back when I knew you. Back when you didn’t have wings.

Wings.

Wings were a peculiar thing. With two simple appendages a unicorn was elevated to a position above any other pony. Wings. Wings had melted his father’s cool exterior whenever he looked at Cadance when he only had nothing but the frigid north for his only son and heir. Wings and a horn concurrently possessed by the same pony set them apart, his father had taught him. His father had also told him the realm always came before emotions, and he’d tried his damnedest to be an obedient son.

“It has been, hasn’t it? Now, the other Princesses have asked me to brief you on Canterlot and give you a quick run-down on the details of Equestrian Government.”

“Sure!”

“Now, to save time, would you mind telling me what you know of the Stable?”

“It’s the Equestrian Legislature, established to give the provinces a greater say in Equestrian Government. Seats are allocated to noble peers, and to elected representatives of the cities and counties. Some of the peerage seats are given to certain lines, while some are elected by their fellow peers. The Stable is divided into fluid groups, known as the Government, the Opposition and the Independents. The independents are the largest group, while the Government and the Opposition are smaller.”

It was as much knowledge as he had expected the Princess to know. Twilight Sparkle had always liked reading, he remembered, he knew. He had liked watching her read, partly because nopony else ever did. He’d once caught her reading a political encyclopaedia with difficulty, and helped her out then, back when he sat on the Council but before his father’s death. Back before things went flank-end over.

It wasn’t enough, however, not if Princess Twilight were to become Princess in more than name. She was clever, and she wasn’t Cadance who spent half her time in the Crystal Empire. She would make things difficult.

“Good. You should also be aware that the strength of any group within the Stable depends highly upon how charismatic and convincing the leader of a group there is.”

Wings. He supposed it was fitting. Princess Twilight had saved the country, what, four times already? Her destiny undoubtedly involved becoming an alicorn, while his was undoubtedly to be filled with nothing but mediocrity. Two alicorns in a century, what were his chances? Nothing but mediocrity, chained to a thankless job in a country that hated him. He should have seen it coming, really. Princess Celestia had always lavished attention on her.

“Right, got that down,” she said after scribbling a few things down on a list. “You’re the Lord High Steward, aren’t you, Blueblood?”

“Indeed I am. As Lord High Steward, I have the authority to hold Court and pass judgement, but with four Princesses that won’t come up too much, hopefully. I also generally run the country on a day-to-day business – policy is dealt with by the Princesses, as are major foreign affairs issues – so the daily minutiae and stuff are dealt with by yours truly. I have authority, second only to the Princesses, over tax collection, distribution of titles and the state of land, and a hoof in a various number of other things. I also run the Stable as the Leader of the Stable. It’s my job to make sure that the Stable doesn’t do anything too stupid, calm them down when they panic, and that it passes bills we want passed. By extension, I also run the Civil Service, for all intents and purposes.”

I keep the troops in line. I keep the country running. I keep the country running when there’s a crisis. I keep the country running when you’re off saving the world, I keep it running after that fact.

“I thought Raven did that?”

“She’s the official head of the Civil Service, yes. However, I sort of act as an intermediary between the Civil Service and the Princesses. I make sure nothing too stupid happens so it doesn’t filter up the chain, make sure policy is actually carried out, deal with the more monotonous stuff, and act a bit forceful in the Princesses’ place so they don’t have to.”

So they don’t need to, was the sentiment. I clean up for them. It’ll be the same for you.

“That’s a lot of work, Blueblood. Are you sure you’re holding up alright?”

The reply was by reflex.

“I make do and I have to, Princess.”

With some effort, Blueblood looked at the figure behind him. Shining Armor was slightly tipsy, to put it lightly. He hadn’t really meant to get Shining Armor drunk, but apparently in the process of offering Applejack a bottle of cider he’d left the case open, and Shining Armor had taken the opportunity to consume three bottles of alcohol over the course of the meeting. He hadn’t heard of Shining Armor drinking in the past few days, so perhaps it wasn’t the wisest thing to do. Nonetheless, Shining Armor was a tough fellow, Blueblood had to give him that, and he still had his mental faculties about him, just about.

Talking with Applejack was Armor’s idea, anyway, and Blueblood felt he had no reason to expect Armor to get drunk in the first place, prevailing circumstances besides. For some reason it reminded him of himself, five days earlier. Tired, blue eyes, matted white coat, untrimmed fetlocks. It reminded him too much of himself.

Years ago, in the flank-end of nowhere, Blueblood had resolved never to become like Shining Armor. Too good with the troops, too familiar, too much lacking in propriety. Improper and brash, intractable, lacking in subtlety. Part of him probably hoped that Shining Armor would never become like him. That Cadance would never marry someone like her wretched brother. He had objected to the betrothal, because he had to. He didn’t think Armor to be worthy of her, because it was politically adroit and because it was expected of him.

Blueblood knew he’d been a shit brother who ignored his sister’s dalliances because they were the only way she could find joy. That was probably why he resorted only to shouting at Armor, and never resorted to anything else. Anything else Father would have done. Nonetheless, he had felt that Shining Armor had earned his enmity in some ways, with the failures to defend Canterlot and the Crystal Empire contributing greatly.

Let’s not commit the several divisions waiting on the border. Let’s instead go in on hoof, with your sister and her friends, with the end result of throwing my sister to deal with King Sombra?

There were conflicts in military doctrine too, along with some things which were largely petty in nature. But now, as Blueblood stared back into the empty grey shell of a Guard-issue tin mug which had served with him on Blank Suzerain, Blueblood supposed that he’d only lain into Shining Armor that much because he was an easy target, one who’d limit his blows by virtue of being his brother-in-law and an entry into the Royal Household. An easy target because of factors out of his own control and because of the constant stress that came on and on again with every, unfailing crisis.

All things considered, not the most accomplished stallion in trying not to be an easy target.

“Come on Shining,” he said softly, rising from his seat. “Let’s not talk logistics and get you back to your quarters.”

Shining Armor mumbled a response. “Yeah, I s’pose…”

That was where they were different. Shining Armor, despite being a perfect soldier, was one to wear his emotions, and to an extent his weaknesses, on his sleeve, and Blueblood tried very much not to.

Lifting a white hoof over his shoulder, Blueblood tugged at Armor and starting pulling him towards the door. It wouldn’t do if the Prince of the Crystal Empire were drunk the day the Stable met. It wouldn’t do if Shining Armor were to break five days after the Princesses went missing. It wouldn’t do. Despite Armor’s mild protests, Blueblood assisted him to his quarters, taking the back corridors where he knew no-one would see, and timing it so that no servants would do so either. Eventually Armor had regained enough of his wits to shake off Blueblood’s hoof and move without swaying. Blueblood had accompanied him, nonetheless.

The last thing he needed was the servants gossiping about Armor failing to hold it together.

By the time they reached the Cadance and Shining Armor’s departments, Royal Intelligence having since cleared out two days earlier, the only ones who saw them were a few staff who Blueblood would know would keep quiet, for whatever reason it did not matter, and a few Guards who would do the same. Two of those were standing guard outside the Royal Apartments.

Lance corporal Flash Sentry and Corporal Worn Barrel, both of the First Regiment of Solar Guards.

Reliable enough to keep quiet.

The two Princes filed into the greatest and most secure set of rooms in the Castle, the heart of Equestrian power. Blueblood made an effort not to look around. It was empty, and completely, utterly devoid of noise. The last time it was this quiet, Nightmare Moon had shown up, delivered an ultimatum and sent Canterlot into a panic. He hadn’t been in here when Tirek had shown up. There’d been far too much work back then. Like now. If anything, by being here he was wasting time which could be spent on other matters.

“What are you doing?” came Shining Armor’s voice out of nowhere.

Blueblood caught himself. What was he doing? He had followed Shining Armor into the quarters Armor shared with Cadance, and had subconsciously began to look for bugs.

I suppose there’s a time for honesty sometimes.

“Checking for bugs. You know, just in case REI did something they’d regret.”

“Why do you care?”

Blueblood shrugged. He hadn’t quite thought of a reason why when he started doing it, and chose not to reply. He continued doing so; Armor hadn’t really protested, and besides, there was something vaguely satisfying and easy about doing it. The decorations, too gaudy for his own tastes, were less so. The pictures were not.

“Comes down to tomorrow, does it?” asked Armor again. Blueblood turned and looked the other unicorn in the eye. The Captain of the Guard was sitting, cradling a picture of him and his wife between his hooves.

Damn soft for a soldier. Then again, who am I to judge?

There was it again, his pride meddling when it would be more prudent to suppress it.

“Quite. Confidence in the Government, and all that. We’ve never had a crisis that has lasted longer than four days in the past decade. Still blind and adrift, as usual.”

Like you, Blueblood.

“Are you sure we can’t… ask Discord?”

Blueblood intercepted him before Armor could continue. “Of course we can’t. The last time we entrusted him with security of the Equestrian state, he threw it away. No, this is something I have to do. No, something we must do.”

Discord probably knows what’s going on too, perhaps more than we do. If he hasn’t done anything, we’ll have to hope it’s for the best, then. Besides, Captain-General, you yourself know the lack of merits in trusting Discord. You should know the lack of merit in taking the easy way out. The lack of sense, the lack of honour, the lack of worth.

“The long game? Those chairs empty, for whoever knows how long?”

If this is our course, then let us see it finished.

“I’m… afraid so, Shining.” He paused. “We ponies are a tough bunch. We’ve survived for so long, haven’t we? Before the Princesses came, we’ve stood as a state, for however long that was.”

It was pseudo-inspirational guff, really. Stuff thought up on the spot, as his brain ran through possibilities and necessities and past precedent.

“Do you really believe that?”

Blueblood’s reply caught in his throat. Did he? He let out a long, tired sigh. He didn’t know what so say. It was historically true, so yes, or at least he believed it was true. As for whether the current leadership, he didn’t know. Equestria had changed since the three races had come together. The three lines were nothing but glorified bureaucrat-politicians with greater influence than most. Nothing that could hold to the alicorns, who brought together the aspects of all three races. If he were worthy, then he wouldn’t be here, would he? If he were worthy, then he could have been born with them like Cadance. If he had become worthy, then he would have gained them like Twilight.

Wings. Why had he hated them so? Had he hated them? It couldn’t be because he wanted to escape, surely not. Blueblood was duty, it was in the implication of the bloody name. It was duty that kept him here, though to be honest, he wouldn’t go anyway. It wasn’t as if he was good at anything else, and there was always a grim kind of satisfaction in doing his duty.

It was the fear, yes it had to be fear, the fear that they would end up like him, with an unshielded view of power at its darkest, with a hoof in every dark deal and an eye in every corner and a mind which had seen every dark act in Canterlot and beyond. The slow corruption of a mind into a suspicious, jealous wreck that saw threats at every corner and whose first instinct was to lie and throw stupidly complex plans or brutally efficient solutions at them until they no longer cast a shadow. A bitterness hidden behind plain disagreeability in public, a paranoia hidden by jumpiness. Perhaps that was Father had allowed Cadance to do as she did, while forbidding his son from doing so. Perhaps he would have told him, had he not died of complications from the wounds he had sustained in battle so many years ago.

Perhaps Armor was similar? A career soldier, that was certain. Yet one overshadowed by both his wife and his younger sister. Massively so, in fact. Even if Armor hadn’t borne any resentment, which may have been true enough, he must have felt something after those occasions. Especially with his position persistently frustrated by rumours of inadequacy.

“We’ll be fine, Armor.”

“Guess I expected that… You never learn, do you?” Shining Armor slurred. “For all that intellect, for all that ‘competence’, you never learn.”

He turned to leave. “Good evening, Shining Armor.”

Once outside, Blueblood let out a rasping sigh, controlled as best he could to deaden it. Blankly, he made for his quarters, departing with a whispered command to the Guards on duty.

“A slight excess of alcohol, gentlestallions. Have the doctors check over him, if you can. See that he doesn’t do anything stupid before tomorrow.”

Blueblood threw himself down into his chair again, eyes rolling listlessly, eyes consistently blinking in a vain effort to maintain some effort of conscious thought. The caffeine would wear off soon, but he had a few precious minutes left before he would turn in.

Unrest boiling up, he tore off his tie as quickly as he could and threw it into his wardrobe. Armor was bloody right. They’d all said it to his face one way or another, and despite what he sought Celestia’s hoof-picked couldn’t be wrong together.

In the past few days he’d gone back to who he’d been. Who his father had been. A pony who saw graft and sinecures and corruption and lying as mere tools. Long ago part of him hated it, but he had suppressed it since.

That suppression was starting to wear on his strength, it was obvious now.

He hadn’t been so damnably conservative once. He’d once been sure of who he was. He couldn’t quite remember when exactly he last did that, and it irked him somehow. There was some reason why he had brought all of this on himself, all of the responsibilities and all of the pain, and he couldn’t quite understand here and now.

Did you all set this up so that I could fail? I questioned that once, but now I can only throw it up again, for I know not what else. What have I done to offend you all so?

Was he so horribly unfit for command? He hoped not. Or had it been the apathy of the past few years who had heaped it on time and time again that had drowned him so?

It couldn’t have been simply the graft, the sinecures, the corruption, the lying. Those were only tools. Illegal in the spirit of the law but not illegal by the law. Everypony else used them, so the Government was obliged to do the same in order to maintain itself. The Princesses hadn’t really raised an eyebrow at it, either. Mild disapproval, but Celestia knew what sometimes had to be done. Equestrian dominance wasn’t cleanly obtained and she had more than a hoof in it.

Or is it simply that I have erred and failed of my own accord, without Your machinations and schemes? Is that it? For what reason? Surely I have not lacked in effort or vigour. In heart, perhaps, but surely not in outcome? If not in heart, then perhaps in method? If not in method, then perhaps in action?

There were so many damned questions.

But then, while you listened, you never asked, either. But would you have done anything about it, either?

Princesses, it was true. When was the last time he had actually sought advice and carried it out? He’d grown complacent out of apathy, out of self-loathing. That had sunk in between the gaps like molten metal, burning and searing their way through, then the icy winds of dread of each crisis had frozen them shut, clogging arteries and clogging thought.

But had there been time in the first place? There were plans after plans after plans, redundancies, back-ups, back-ups of back-ups, with every crisis every lie to be remembered and to be kept going. Part of him had once enjoyed the thrill of manipulation but it had long since lost its lustre. Duty kept him going. Duty would keep him going. Still, a ship could keep going so long the wind was constant, or while its propulsion functioned, but there would be no direction.

I’m a soldier of Equestria, a soldier of Equestria, a line on the rolls, a figure in the tables, a branch on the tree…

That wasn’t true. His responsibilities, his duties set him apart.

No, I’m Blueblood, chained and sworn from birth to carry the duties and responsibilities of a noble. No, I’m Polaris, bright as the damned North Star, a guide to those below me, unfailing in any tempest. No, I’m a Platinum, that old dogged line which has never failed to do what was necessary, never failed to act.

I’m Head of the Royal Exploratory Corps, plotter of distant and foreign lands so that subsequent generations may know less peril. I’m an officer of the Guard, Colonel-in-Chief of the Platinum Knights, sworn in service to the Princesses, to Equestria and to my men. I am Duke of Canterlot, Duke of Rearingsburg, Marquess of Ostarrein, Count of Vladimare, Lord of Stalliongrad, sworn liege, protector and defender of thousands across the country. I am the Prince of Unicorns, sworn to protect the dignity and persons of all unicorns, no matter their condition.

Princesses, if it were only so easy.

The words came so bloody easily, learned by rote once he could understand basic speech. He had thought himself becalmed at sea once.

So we maintain. Our oaths are kept. Sworn to serve.

To whom? Ourselves?

I am a Prince of the Realm whose one and only dedication should be the preservation of Equestria and the preservations of all ponies and others who dwell peacefully in it. A sword, a shield, a judge, a guide.

Had the family been so blind? To condemn its first sons in such a way consistently, unfailingly, for centuries? Princess Celestia hadn’t objected. Or had she, and had she merely given up after centuries of failure too? Or had she persevered, and was the main line so blindingly stupid to miss it?

It would make an amusing irony, had he the humour for it. The Princess of Love, born to the most heartless family in Equestria. Had his House not been crucial in the unification of the equine races?

But then, it had been Star Swirl the Bearded who did that initially, not Princess Platinum.

Noblesse oblige. The responsibility of command. His family had carried the burden without public complaint, and he had done so too, but, he realised, what worth was that responsibility if one were dead. Death was dereliction of duty in its own way, too, if he died before his time. He felt something prick at his eyes, he wasn’t sure what, he wasn’t sure why. Yet he asked himself, over and over again, had his family, the most cynical of Equestrians, been so distressingly naïve? So damned absolute in their self-teaching that they were throwing their lives away for no reason, throwing themselves away in some haze of self-satisfactory glory? He couldn’t countenance that, no, no…

Over fifty-two of the Princes were known. Hundreds of other siblings had done the same. They’d all served Equestria as best as they could, they couldn’t have been so flawed in their outlook? They’d all been Lord High Steward, the last pony before the gate, the last barrier before the Princesses. They’d all paid for it on their own way. Custodians and Defenders of Equestria unto death and beyond.

He buried his head in his hooves.

Our doubts are traitors, and make us lose the good we oft might win, by fearing to attempt.

Oh Princesses, if only…

He couldn’t fail, not unless he wanted the efforts of thousands before to go to waste. He couldn’t fail, because over fifty generations of his predecessors watched down on him. He couldn’t fail, because of the millions living and the millions to come depended on him.

Those duties he could be willing to carry. Damn his… damn his unicorn pride, damn his Platinum pride. So very long ago Father had told him that the Platinums had been prepared to kneel to do their duty, and they had, so the Platinums were forever in servitude to the Celestial Sisters, as he was. What was his pride compared to that, in retrospect? Comparatively, he had no Kingdom, no vassals to watch over, no freeholders to protect, no family to ransom…

But you do, don’t you Blueblood? Except that State is at its largest and most prosperous.

Equestria was far older than he was, and his line’s value lay predominantly during its length of existence. Yet even Equestria, even the Platinum Line shifted and moved, so what was he to resist, to chafe, to question necessity?

But that isn’t all, is it?

He’d been too proud to let people in. He’d been too paranoid to do anything but control. He’d been too politically pragmatic to let potential rivals develop. He’d been too perplexed by his own nature that he had only ruined it further by excess of alcohol and shortage of sleep. He’d been too perturbed at the signs of failure that he had only acted to cover it up rather than seek assistance.

Politically it was unfailingly obvious. Pragmatically it was correct. Practically he had no choice.

He couldn’t change. Not massively. He was too set in his ways, and he had a reputation to uphold. Bitterness could not be resolved in a night, nor could old hatreds. Equestria couldn’t afford self-doubt, but it couldn’t afford wilful neglect, either. But perhaps, perhaps he could make an effort to do so in other ways. He didn’t know whether he could keep it, but he would make an effort to do so.

No. He had to.

“If the Honourable Gentlestallion were as in favour of defence expenditure as he is now but a year ago, this may very well not have happened, now would it?! And would the Honourable Gentlestallion here allow me to correct him in stating that Equestrian forces not only formed a perimeter around Canterlot within two hours of the start of the attack, preventing an attack elsewhere, but that a counterattack was already well underway by forces within the city by the time the Changeling Queen was defeated. If you weren’t listening earlier: that is the truth, sir, because I am no coward, because I was there, in the frontlines, unlike you! Equestria’s defence is our foremost priority, despite your kind’s bids to cut its funding!”

The Prince slunk back into his seat with practiced, lackadaisical ease as the Government benches and a number of independents jeered, cheered, laughed and applauded his opponent into submission. Despite the uneven jubilation on his ‘side’, it wasn’t exactly what the Princesses wanted of him – admittedly, Princesses Celestia and Luna were at loggerheads, so he was running off the latest set of instructions – but withstanding that he was running DC and any victory in the Stable was a good thing.

It was exhausting. It was exhausting, not that he would deign to tell anypony. The Stable had demanded an Inquiry, and it had every right to. Canterlot had practically fallen, most of the Stable was present in the city when it happened, and now everypony was screaming their heads off in godawful ways about defence expenditure when it were a taboo subject mere days before The Wedding. The Prince’s role was to hold the gate while the Captain of the Guard was honeymooning with Cadance, the real one, and beat off every attempt to undermine the Government and confidence in it, both in and outside the Stable of Peers. It was an interesting function, being sniped at by every opportunistic guttersnipe and forgetful gambler in lieu of his new brother-in-law defending a position which was ‘sticky’ at best. Naturally the inevitable Committee would have to be filled with MESPs who didn’t know anything about the subject who would release a report which was a waste of money and cause only the minutest of changes.

There was support for the Government, but not nearly enough of the requisite kind, the pliable kind that could be relied upon to pass the bills the Government wanted. An agitated Stable that didn’t know better would pass committee-approved bills of questionable use. Part of his job was to make sure that was the case, and it wasn’t, to put it lightly. A few of the Government’s own – serving Peers and ex-serviceponies like Lord Havoc Drumbeat and Butyraceous Hammer – were getting their knives in, and they sank deep with razor-sharp arguments and an eye for detail most in the Stable lacked, going right for the top instead of the ‘easy’ targets that were Blueblood and Shining Armor. Unlike the rest, they would not necessarily forget in a hurry, and Blueblood would have to take them aside and actually placate them.

There was no other possible course of action. Actions like burying Princess Luna’s initial gut instinct to ban The Magic Flute while surreptitiously whistling the signature aria in one’s free time were relatively easy. Going around the Princesses’ back and allowing wide-ranging treasury-draining internationally-alarming military reforms to go ahead, especially when the year’s budget, one riding off policies aimed at soothing the doves, had already been approved, was not. The Guard would have to tighten its belt for the time being, what with the economy starting to show signs of distress.

That was not something he agreed with, something he had questioned in Council, like so many things in the past week. He hoped that his superiors knew better than he, he who was so short-sighted and so wrong at times. There was a point in not charging off into the Badlands in an attempt at revenge, admittedly.

With sufficient fortune, perhaps the Guard could get its own house in order; the blight could not be irreparable, for Equestria still remained at the end of the day. Half a year of peace might allow for intensive manoeuvres and commissions that might actually go somewhere. By then, Blueblood hoped, the Government would have the ball back in its court and capable of dictating reform on its own terms. By then, Blueblood hoped, there’d still be enough support for it.

“Sir?”

Blueblood glanced up from his desk as he finished taking a sip of tea. The night had come and gone, and with the dawn came an unusual but not unwelcome sense of certainty. A sense of impetus and tenacity that was long missing. That was good, even if it were to be short-lived. In one of his rare moments of civility Father had called it “being in the slot”. It had been easier to get into stride back when crises didn’t occur on such a frequent basis, back when there was breathing time and some knowledge of what was occurring. The lack of information had troubled him, and now it galled him how the recent events could drive him so far off the path of solid administration.

The past few days had given enough material for Blueblood to doubt the competence of his subordinates, but the previous night’s introspections had brought issues up. Blueblood had always attempted to keep a hoof in everything because, in truth, he only really trusted himself to do something properly. With reflection, perhaps this had resulted in stunted development of his subordinates, resulting in less-than-desired levels of competence? One of his tutors had stressed that there was a difference between talking to someone and talking with someone. In hindsight Blueblood had done too much of the former and too little of the latter. Being dumped in at the deep end hadn’t turned out perfectly for him.

Now, perhaps that wasn’t the optimal arrangement. It could lead to talks of a coup. Armor had brought that up, and Blueblood hadn’t initially paid much heed to it. He kicked himself inwardly. He’d spent slightly too much time dealing with the conservatives and reactionaries, and hoped the momentum of Princess Twilight’s victory over Tirek would keep the moderates and modernisers happy. Moving Serene over to the Crystal Empire for a month or two was now a certainty, given the fact that Fumigating Ocelot was preparing to go ahead, and given that the Yaks had to be kept in line.

“What is it, Letter?”

“General Thunderclap’s waiting outside, sir. Should I send him in?” Her large eyes showing the effect of exhaustion, Golden Letter looked as tired as Blueblood felt. Then again, she was probably also working the night shift as well. The Civil Service had finally gotten its act together and the paperwork was slowly making its way to Blueblood’s offices.

Blueblood frowned. “Give me a minute, Letter. And thank you.”

Part of Blueblood dreaded what Thunderclap was going to say. After all, it had not been a week since Thunderclap had forced his way into the Prince’s office and informed him of the Princesses’ disappearance. Yet the grey old soldier saw fit to wait, so perhaps there was little to be thought of it.

"You wanted a word, Thunderclap?"

"Aye, sir," declared the taciturn officer as he approached the Prince. "Hate to have to point it out to you, sir, but we're all on your side. All of us, sir. Even Raven, even Shining Armor."

Their loyalty to Equestria was certain, that he did not need Augustus Thunderclap to point out. But loyalty to him? That he did not particularly believe with a great deal of certainty. Still, as the old warhorse spoke another manoeuvre started to form in the Prince’s mind.

"All that matters is Equestria, sir, and we're prepared to follow you."

"Why?"

"Ain't no bugger else. Argent's too weak - too much of a gentlecolt to rule properly - and Serene's got enough problems in Trottingham as it is. Armor would never gain the support of the old unicorn houses, even if the military would follow him. You haven't broken yet, and that's a good sign, if I might add, sir."

Haven’t I, Thunderclap? Haven’t I?

Blueblood looked up at the scarred unicorn before him, and let out a rasping sigh. "You haven't properly answered my question, CEGS. Your statement merely implies that you follow me out of necessity rather than choice."

“I’m here out of my own choice, aren’t I? General or not, I still hate mornings.” Thunderclap grunted. "Your father was a blunt bugger. First time I met him, I was a Colonel. Eastlock Campaign. Griffon mercenaries and the diamond dogs raiding up and down the Eastern Mountains."

"I thought you were a General back then?"

"Naa," Thunderclap said dismissively. "'Was far too young. But before the last battle, your father came to me. 'Thunderclap,' he called. Threw the epaulettes at me. 'Brevet General, Thunderclap. Hold the right.' That was all he said."

"'Hold the right", repeated Thunderclap. "Those three words was all that was needed. So, the next day, I took the right flank and held whilst he smashed the brigands into the dirt. When your father spoke, everypony took heed, even if you did not understand. And you're just like him."

Thunderclap's words were met with blank silence from the Prince.

"You know, he always insisted upon sparring every morning. Every morning, he would go and thrash those stupid enough to take him up on the challenge; when nopony took it up, he ordered them to. Every morning until he died, the old bastard. But they followed him, did as he demanded, and Equestria never faced such an attack ever again. But they didn't follow him because he was Lord High Steward, or because of his voice, or because he was the Unicorn Prince. They followed him not only because they respected him, but because he was a leader, even if he was crap with ponies."

"Now, Colonel! Look here, Colonel. Yes, Colonel, that was your rank in the Guards, wasn't it?! Your family has served Equestria since its very founding. You don't need wings! Now get your head out of your backside, screw your brain together properly and do what your House does best - LEAD. The sooner, the better, for both yourself and Equestria. You’re still young. You’ve seen through the return of Princess Luna, the defeats of Discord, Sombra and Tirek. Regardless, Equestria needs a stable hoof at the tiller, but that hoof won’t do if it’s dead or a wastrel. The Council counsels. It can rule, too."

“I will wear the charcoal suit,” Blueblood stated with finality as he looked over the rest of the Council as they stood in the Council Waiting Room. It was the day of the first meeting of the Stable since the Princess’ disappearance, after all, and the Council meeting had to be kept short. To Blueblood’s immense relief, there was, as of yet, no disaster in the making.

Blueblood himself, an overworked princely custodian of Equestrian dignity, the ill-fated firefighting factotum of Canterlot Castle. Shining Armor, a barrier magic prodigy presiding over Equestria’s greatest humiliations in at least a century. Serene Bloom, a sportsmare-turned-beancounter and occasional diplomat. Argent Typhoon, a country gentlestallion, career in the Guards and all. Augustus Thunderclap and Tidal Force, weary bandit and pirate hunters. Moonstone Shield, head spook from a line of prospectors. Raven, a proficient secretary periodically at daggers with the rest of the Civil Service for her lack of full Canterlot education. Frayed Inkwell, soldier-servant-secretary and universally jaded about it all. And Rarity, small-town seamstress who had a habit of butting into Canterlot and high society at every inopportune moment. Then there was Fancypants, not a part of the Council but influential enough; the son of a nearly-bankrupt bookkeeper.

Not Equestria’s finest, but it’ll have to do.

“Will you not at least wear the crown, this time, sir?” insisted Raven. “It’s traditional.” Celestia’s dark brown-maned Royal Secretary was not holding it well, with the nerves finally getting to her on the most important day of the week. It was unusual, Blueblood thought, but considering the things he had asked her to do earlier, which were technically stretching the law, it wasn’t entirely unreasonable. He could count on her loyalty to the realm, at the very least. Thankfully, as an untitled Civil Servant she would not have to attend the Stable, but Blueblood rather hoped that she would get over it. Inkwell was busy running through the Archives, after all, and Letter was already starting to take over some of his duties. Replacing Celestia’s Royal Secretary was not only politically disadvantageous but also left him in a quandary over who to replace her with.

Always one for procedure, weren’t you? Then again, Tirek never stopped you…

“No crown. I’d have enough things weighing me down already. Besides, it worked well enough with Tirek, didn’t it? And Nightmare Moon, and Sombra for that matter? Now, Armor, could I have a word? Privately?”

With a nod of acknowledgement, Armor followed Blueblood into the Council Chambers. There was some business to be had which did not require the knowledge or the involvement of the rest of the Council.

“Armor, you’ll be entering with me,” stated Blueblood as he pulled the door shut. “Two Princes alike in dignity, and all that. A united front. We will be using some of the First Solars and Lunars for this, no talk of a coup or anything stupid.”

There were other things which ought to be discussed, considering the day’s developments, considering the things Blueblood had done and was going to do before the Stable met, but there was no point agitating Armor even more. There was no need to make him even more concerned than he already was.

“Understood,” came Shining’s curt reply. The silence dragged on.

This is the bit where you offer sympathies, Blueblood. Can’t be much harder than hashing out a treaty or convincing a peer. Easier even, for despite what you tell yourself, you miss them too.

“Still miss them, don’t you?”

“… Yeah. Just doesn’t feel right.”

“I know what you mean.” He sighed. “Cadance, Aunt Celestia… Aunt Luna and Twilight…”

From a purely pragmatic point of view, their presences immensely improved Equestria’s standing and survivability. From a less pragmatic point of view, status quo was better than a crisis. From an even less pragmatic view, well…

Cadance and Aunt Celestia were family. Irritatingly optimistic and idealistic was the former, unfailingly calm was the latter, both endearing in their own way. He was beholden to them through blood. So he was to Princess Luna, and he’d eventually spent enough time with her to appreciate the Princess of the Night as a counterbalance to Princess Celestia, and quite good company whenever she chose to seek him out on non-business matters. That she deigned to acclimatise herself to the world a thousand years after her exile indicated that he was being stubborn about being overly paranoid and power-hungry, too. That was worthy of respect, no matter the initial uncivilities.

I suppose not getting the Royal Opera House to run The Magic Flute over the course of the Summer Sun Celebration, continuing to run it despite Nightmare Moon’s return, and attending every showing was perhaps not the best start.

As for Twilight, he’d tried not to resent her as much as he initially did. If anything, she was as a victim of circumstance as he was.

They’d been friends once, an extremely long time ago, before his father had put an end to any illusion of choice by dying. He’d tried to stay in contact before the Nightmare Moon incident and had been neck-deep in work and responsibilities and appearances to even keep in contact. He’d hoped, but had learned not to. Now he was going to kill a bill that would give her a Kingdom, so that put an end to that, and would probably garner quite a bit of animosity from the other Princesses too. But it was for the good of the realm, it was politically necessary, and he couldn’t see any way out of it. Not unless he worked some magic today and in the upcoming days.

But perhaps, my blood hath been too cold and temperate…

He turned and took a measure of his unicorn companion.

Strained cheeks, slightly grey coat. Just about keeping composure. Throwing himself into work to keep his mind off things. Sounds like somepony I know.

“They’ll be back, Armor, don’t you worry. They are Equestria’s finest, and you know as much as I do that they’ve been through stuff that has knocked us for six. If anything, they might be having an easier time at it than us.”

“I know… Just can’t help but… worry, I suppose.”

“Yeah.”

Out of his depth at the top table.

“I know you don’t like politics, I know you don’t like this, but I’ve got your back on this.”

“And I’ve got yours.”

Blueblood offered him his hoof. After a while, Armor shook it.

“It’ll be good when this is all over. When this is all over, Armor, you can go back to hating me for being an entitled jerk, I can go back to hating you for being too nice, and we can go back to fighting each other over departmental conflicts.”

“That isn’t how it works, Blueblood,” sighed Armor.

Most things are in equilibrium, Armor. They are not always driven to completion despite our intentions.

“Well, that’s for the future. When we get out of this, if we get out of this. Perhaps Cadance wasn’t entirely wrong… Anyway, Shining, we have work to do today, so grab your armour and let’s do some work.” Nods of agreement.

Well, at least we agree on something, this time. And let it never be said that Shining Armor lacks in effort, even if his results are found wanting. Let us resolve to ameliorate the latter.

“Is he always like this?” questioned Rarity in the background. “So… volatile? Mercurial?”

Argent was the only one to reply, with the other Council members fussing over some matter or another. Evidently, Rarity had attempted to pick on him on account of his severe, short-cut silver mane with faint blueberry secondary coloration and equally severe morning dress, which probably clashed with his blue coat or some such awful nonsense. He did so quietly, in hushed, strained tones which Blueblood had to strain to overhear. “Whenever there’s a crisis, yes.”

“What about the seating arrangements,” he heard Raven panic in the background. “He’s not an alicorn, so he can’t sit alongside the Princesses’ seats!”

“He needs to be in a position of authority, Raven,” objected Argent. “Once he’s confirmed as Regent, he can’t sit on the normal benches as he’ll have a legal position separate from the rest of the Stable.”

“But he doesn’t have wings! He can’t possibly sit on any of the Princesses’ thrones!”

Well, she had a few hours to calm down before the opening of the Stable. A quick glance at the other Council members, and Blueblood saw Force and Thunderclap engaging in awkward conversation using the absolute minimum number of words. In stark contrast, Serene and Moonstone verbosely discussed the state of the Crystal Empire and Equestria-Yakyakistan relations, with the former occasionally throwing coquettish looks of mild amusement over at the Prince of Unicorns.

Business as usual, then.

Head high, Prince Blueblood made his way out of the Council Chambers, tailed by Shining Armor.

There is a tide in the affairs of ponies, which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; omitted, all the voyage of their life is bound in shallows and in miseries .

Time to wield the arithmetic of power. Confidence, old boy. You’ve done this before. We’ve done it before.

I’ve no need of wings to puff me, by Celestia.

The Stable of Peers, though largely powerless, was a nonetheless important facet of the Royal Court and the Canterlot Establishment. For one, it allowed its elected members and the appointed nobility to speak relatively freely on the day's matters. This was different from petitioning the Princesses whenever they held court, as this relied heavily upon whichever Princess was holding court at the time, whether the supplicant had enough influence at court to get their petition to the Princesses, time constraints, and came with the inevitable, choking weight of court procedure and ritual. Additionally, the Stable theoretically held the power of regulating Government taxation, though in practice it only exercised its authority when it came to significant increases in taxation or extraordinary grants to be drawn at short notice. Even so, it exercised very little independence in these cases when it actually and rarely mattered. The relative 'freedom' of the Stable came at a cost: formal, organised bodies within it were discouraged, forcing the members to huddle together in fluid cliques that more often than not tended to buckle under pressure. The Leader of the Stable - typically a Prince of the Realm hailing from the Unicorn ('Platinum'), Hurricane ('Hurricane') or Puddinghead ('Ardent') lines - could thus exert inordinate power over the chamber.

Still, the Stable was that great organ of Equestrian discourse, and it was completely packed. No Peer or Member would miss this. Even a hospital bed in the chamber, Blueblood noted. The Count of Reinland, Equestrian Civil Servant, who had recently underwent gastric surgery. That loyalty was commendable, but Blueblood would be lying if he hadn’t privately been somewhat shocked at seeing him in the Chamber. He couldn’t ask him to leave, not even for his own health. He hoped they’d wheel him out as soon as possible. Knowing Reinland, however, he’d probably make as much of a scene of it as possible. Considering this, Blueblood wasn’t sure if there was anypony more dedicated to the Equestrian state who wasn’t a career soldier as Reinland, and it unnerved him slightly.

If I were any more careless, I would end up like him.

The Press would probably note it regardless. They were here too, in their great number, though thankfully the yellow press were at the back of the pack with the biggest papers in Equestria moving to the front of the gallery, along with every influential magnate of note. Glancing around the gallery Blueblood matched eyes with a tall, light-blue maned unicorn with a monocle who offered a slight nod. Hopefully nopony had caught ear of the problems with the Treasury, or indeed the problems with Ponyville. It would ruin the occasion. Easily deflected normally, but in front of the Press and every economic and industrial bigwig in the country it could prove problematic.

A quick glance outside. The Canterlot Fleet’s airborne heavy elements were out of their moorings, fully stocked and alert. Half of First Battle Squadron was technically on patrol, the other half was there for the salute, Second Cruiser Squadron was technically returning from patrols, First Reserves was technically moving off to work up elsewhere. Combat air patrols had been doubled. He’d spent enough time lurking about in the Naval Department to muddle up patrols and routes for this to conveniently occur. Force had been surprisingly pliant in the matter, too. Either that, or he hadn’t realised what Blueblood was doing. The more alert and knowledgeable ponies might notice the increased naval presence, but playing it off as extra security would be easy enough.

Good. There’ll be no repeat of the Changeling Invasion again.

Armor had done a good job with the Guards, a strengthened presence but not anything too alarming. Two Regiments of Solars and some sappers were down searching the cellars and caves under Canterlot, Armor had quietly mentioned. Blueblood also had the Platinum Knights on alert, just in case.

He hadn’t actually written a speech. If anything, it was supposed to be a normal meeting of the Stable, but everypony knew it wasn’t. It was half State Opening, half usual business. The mood of the Stable had to largely decide itself; there hadn’t been enough time to account for all eventualities. Not even earlier, when there’d been just enough time to shift a few words around on the bills being prepared and have the odd quick word with the occasional MESP. He’d hoped it was all worth it.

A suitably, appropriately confident, yet dismayed smile for the cameras, then on to it. The vigour and strength and the might of fifty-two generations.

“Noble Peers, Honourable Members of this Stable, my fellow ponies. I am here, with a heavy heart, to address you as not a Prince of the Realm, but a saddened brother and nephew. Four days ago, a most terrible event befell the Castle. Since then, the Princesses have fallen ill of a most troubling and saddening affliction, one which seems only to take alicorns in their grasp, and nothing else. To defeat this, Their Celestial Highness’ Government, the Canterlot Society of Magic and the Elements of Harmony have done and are doing their utmost to return our beloved Princess to full vigour. However, while we should have thoughts for them, the princesses who keep Equestria safe, we should also pay heed to ourselves. Far too often has Equestria fallen into despair.”

“I hear some of you muttering: what has Equestria done to deserve this? I cannot answer that. I hear you mutter: why have so many crises fallen upon Equestria in so short a time? I cannot answer that. But I say to you this: despite so many crises, have we not prevailed? Despite so many crises, have we not prospered? Despite the efforts of ancient foes, industrial growth continues. Despite the efforts of ancient foes, the spending power of the bit increases day by day. Despite the efforts of ancient foes, ponykind prospers unlike any time before.”

“Let us not give into the abyss of sadness. Let us resolve to maintain and improve an Equestria which the Princesses may be proud of when they rise from their beds once more. Let us resolve to build an Equestria which can stand tall again as it could in the past. The Princesses themselves have lain the solution for our troubles before us time and time again. Even Her Royal Highness Princess Twilight, youngest of the Princesses and younger than many of us here in this Honoured Stable, has shown to us that despair, not matter how overwhelming, cannot daunt any bold Equestrian. A mild affliction is nothing for Equestria to be troubled over. We owe the Princesses a great deal: we should see that their efforts are not squandered. Even now, in their sickbeds, they think nothing but of Equestria, of the safety, security and happiness of each of every one of you. Despair cannot destroy any bold Equestrian. Shall we act as undisciplined foals, panic-stricken before every obstacle that holds in our way? Shall we act as undisciplined foals, who uncontrollably quake in fear at imagined monsters in the dark? Or should we act as Equestrians we are, the heirs of Puddinghead, Hurricane and Platinum, honest stallions and mares all, worthy of our Princesses’ love?”

“My fellows, any state is better than despair. It is not wrong to worry for those you care for, for those whom you love, for those who have shielded you from every terror in the darkness. It is only wrong to let it overcome you, to overwhelm you. Look to the ponies beside you. Look to your friends, your family. Together, we have seen and endured much worse. Together, we have seen and endured the troubles of the past ten millennia in the span of a decade. Together, there is nought that can bring both us and the Princesses low, if we are nought but true to ourselves and to Equestria.”

Argent Typhoon shifted in his seat. To be honest, it wasn’t his seat. It was the seat he normally sat on, but it was where Blueblood normally sat. He’d sat here when dealing with Nightmare Moon, with Discord, with Sombra, with Tirek…

Now, confirmed by the Stable unanimously as Prince Regent, Blueblood sat with regal placidity in his usual seat below the dais where the Princesses’ thrones were. Shining Armor was next to him, with seldom-seen military coolness and all, in a simple wooden chair, also having been unanimously confirmed as Prince of the Realm but also as Vice-Regent. Enough for both to be elevated above the Stable, but not enough to be elevated above the Princesses. A typical move of Blueblood’s, but Argent hadn’t caught the bit of paper which had made Shining Armor joint diarch in name. He’d briefly matched eyes with Serene once the matter had come up for debate, and by his estimate he wasn’t the only one caught off-guard, though he’d had enough experience not to reveal this to anypony else.

The Pegasi had never had a good relationship with their politicians, and the history spoke for itself. When there was a hurricane on the way, or a griffon warband, or a collapsing cloud mine, the pegasi acted. Seized power, if necessary, but they acted. Personal feelings were left until later, where the Pegasi Assemblies inevitably devolved into petty squabbling, vetoing, filibustering and public resumption of blood feuds. That was how the office of vice-Regent was born: subordinate to the Regent, but capable of leading armies. More importantly, capable of vetoing, but only in person, the decisions of the Regent for the good of the realm.

A potentially cutthroat job, and one which Commander Hurricane had used to climb to the very top. It hadn’t existed in Equestria, but thanks to the legalese there was probably something in the Hearth’s Warming Treaty that allowed Blueblood to bring it up again.

Argent felt some relief at not being chosen as Vice-Regent, at least. Leader of the Stable could be troublesome enough as it was. The House of Hurricane had largely lost their domain over Cloudsdale, unlike the other two Great Houses. Trottingham, largest duchy of them all, was solely in the hooves of the Earth Line, which had quietly dropped ‘Puddinghead’ out of an attempt to be more socially respectable. Canterlot was the traditional capital of the Platinums, but they had ceded that to the Royal Demesne in return for the retention of their holdings in the Northern Territories, including the cities of Rearingsburg and Stalliongrad and the post of Lord High Steward. Simply put the Hurricanes didn’t have the money or the obvious clout to whip the Stable. Despite having sat as MESP for Cloudsdale and sitting as the incumbent Lord Commander of Cloudsdale Argent Typhoon didn’t like doing it.

And I don’t want Violet or the kids dealing with all of the backlash, either.

“Princes Regent, Lord High Steward, might I enquire as to what extent will the Regency Council determine long-term policy, and what this means for Equestria in the long term?” inquired Butyraceous Hammer, the fiery pegasus Senior MESP for Stalliongrad, his blackened hoof waving above the heads of his fellows. Argent started to rise to reply, but Blueblood waved him off with a minute glance he’d seen many times before back when Blueblood was sitting on the same bench as he, and the Prince Regent replied instead.

“We thank the Honourable Gentlestallion for his concern, and indeed his dedication to Equestria, and would be pleased to answer his inquiry, a most detailed and important one once again as This Stable would expect nothing less from him. The Regency Council is merely a continuation of Their Celestial Highnesses’ Government, and intends to carry out the policies as set forth in the most recent of the Princesses’ Addresses to their fullest. Their Celestial Highnesses’ Government does not see why the daily affairs of Equestrians near and far should be impacted in any way. Their Celestial Highnesses’ Government wishes to give the fullest assurance to This House and to Equestria that we shall do our utmost to ensure that the stability and harmony of the nation is maintained.”

A politician’s answer, but said with enough vim that it may have even been true. Argent had suspected that Blueblood was machinating behind his back. He had agreed to take up the post of Leader of the Stable, for Blueblood’s sake if anything, rather than his own. Yet he’d spent enough time with the Prince of Unicorns to know that the latter would not give up anything with ease, a trait which was admirable in some cases and absolutely infuriating in others. He was pretty sure Blueblood knew he knew Blueblood was machinating behind his back, and wished Blueblood would make his mind up about work and priorities. It was rather oafish and unbecoming of him.

The Bill to give Princess Twilight a new Kingdom been shelved by a backbench-proposed motion to postpone it indefinitely, with the mood of the Stable being that it wouldn’t do to give Princess Twilight more duties when she was fighting off some magical disease. Enough to give it a chance in the future, but no time soon. After all, a motion to reconsider the proposal in a year’s time had passed unanimously. It wasn’t dead, by any means. Blueblood had basically put it on ice, which was surprising, as Argent had expected him to do the easy (and arguably more politically prudent) thing and kill it by having it fail to pass. Nobody liked a motion to postpone indefinitely, as such motions left both sides unsatisfied, and it was rare enough to have them pass disregarding the two-thirds majority requirement. Then again, Argent supposed, Blueblood was Leader of the Stable for a reason when the Princesses were around. There was probably some long-term reasoning behind his methods.

A motion of support, by some newly-elected backbencher whose name Argent couldn’t quite place, to encourage solidarity in Equestria and offering full support for the armed forces and the Government despite the recent debacles, passed well over the two-thirds majority mark, as had various bills on Government spending.

Yes, this clearly had Blueblood’s hooves over it. Despite being the new Leader of the Stable, Argent didn’t expect Blueblood to keep his word on this matter. Then again, Blueblood hadn’t given his word that he wouldn’t interfere, ever.

Shining Armor didn’t like politics, and liked it even less with a headache rumbling through his head. That was Cadance’s job when it came to the Crystal Empire, as she was the Regnal Princess, not that there was particularly much of it to do over there. After a moment of utter, bewildered puzzlement which had stretched out to an age, Shining Armor resigned himself to having been confirmed by the Stable of Peers of Equestria as Vice-Regent of Equestria, and after Blueblood in the succession on account of his status as Prince Consort to Princess Cadance.

Princess, but I miss them. I wish they were here and not me. I wish that they were here, dealing with things I know little about, dealing with a unicorn whose possession of common sense is questionable. I wish that I didn't have to rely upon you to save the world over and over again.

Shining considered himself loyal to the Princesses, familial relations aside, so there was some concern about climbing that high. There was also a question of responsibility, of Equestria’s image on the global stage. Of the three ponies Blueblood could have chosen as a Vice-Regent – itself considered extremely unlikely, and Shining wasn’t entirely sure about what it all entitled – Shining thought himself as dead last, after Serene and Argent. There was probably some sense behind it all, but Shining couldn’t place why on Equestria Blueblood had decided to make him Vice-Regent. He was a career soldier, and despite his credentials knew nothing of politics, governance, diplomacy or trade. It had to be Blueblood, because nopony else would even consider it or have the ability to shift the paperwork so that it was even up for consideration. Either way, even as Vice-Regent Shining didn’t expect to wield nearly as much power as Blueblood. He didn’t have the influence, the political capital or the experience in ruling compared to the Prince of Unicorns, and the terms of the bills were convoluted enough for Shining to suspect that Blueblood had written a lot of power into his own position but not into Shining’s.

I’m not Blueblood, after all, nor Twiley neither. I’d need a few nights to read over that to get something approaching an understanding of the terms.

From a certain point of view, it gave him the time and authority to work on the military reforms as he wished, and without the Princesses looking over his shoulder he had more freedom in putting anything in. Princess Celestia ran a tight ship and there was rarely any room for wide-ranging military expenditure. There were reasons behind that, some which he didn’t entirely understand, and always a matter of time, or a lack of it. First there was rehabilitating Princess Luna, then there was Discord. Only after this had he made Captain of the Guard, then there were the Changelings, Sombra, Tirek… He sympathised in that while there was seemingly no time for it, it couldn’t be left alone in the hope that it could help itself. The Guard was partially limited by funding. He didn’t have to be Captain of the Guard to know that. Despite his best efforts he couldn’t work miracles.

On the other hoof, Blueblood had been rather keen on military reform since he’d known him, and he seemed competent enough to pass meaningful judgement on it. If he wasn’t then Thunderclap was there, and Blueblood seemed to give more attention to military matters, and Thunderclap by extension, than the Princesses. It was probably something to do with lacking alicorn magic.

Shining Armor glanced over at Blueblood, who appeared to be repressing the instinct to answer yet another question regarding defence of the realm over his new Leader of the Stable. It was probably ill-advised to do that, but Blueblood knew his stuff, or so it seemed. Shining himself hadn’t said much apart from the expected platitudes, partly because of the headache, and partly because he was afraid he’d open his mouth just to stick his hoof in it and give Blueblood a bigger reason to hang him out to dry. He had hoped Applejack would knock some sense into him, aside from the logistical stuff, but all that had happened yesterday was that Shining had gotten lightly drunk and Blueblood was unusually upbeat today.

Then again, Blueblood changes at the rate and visibility of paint drying. Cadance, honey, I know you’d tried your best on him, but…

His faith in the Princesses was rock-solid. Bottomless. But his faith in an outdated, underequipped, undertrained military was sorely tested repeatedly to his disgust, and if Blueblood was going to allow him to carry out the long-needed reorganisations, well then that was a point in his favour. It was humiliating, for while Twiley and the Elements could potentially bring any enemy of Equestria’s down, his job was to lead Equestria’s Armed Forces, and he’d be doing a bad job by just letting his little sister best friend forever deal with everything. Among the things Shining Armor hated the most were letting his sister down; letting Cadance down; and failing to do his job to his utmost.

I’d be a bad big brother if I didn’t feel something at letting them go off like that all the time, with no support.

Shining knew that even a pony with the most basic understanding of Equestrian politics would expect him to follow Blueblood despite the literature at first glance. For all his paranoia and attempts at rebuffing help Blueblood had, at the very least, shown his dedication to the country in the past and in recent times. Anyways, he had to rely on him. Blueblood paid the Guard now that the Princesses were gone. Shining’s duties now included (to an even greater extent) stopping Blueblood from doing anything extremely stupid. Whether that would be often or not he did not quite know.

Cadance, Twiley, I’ll do my best to make you both proud.

Vice-Regent of Equestria. That was something he never saw coming. He had to make it count.

Author's Notes:

So I got this out; this is the remainder of the stuff from the last chapter which I wrote a long time ago and which was cut in half. Sorry for mangling Parliamentary procedure for those in the know.

For those interested, the role of Vice-Regent of Equestria is basically a Consul of the Roman Republic without imperium but can lead armies/a tribune of the plebs who can lead armies. The Stable of Peers is basically pre-reform British Parliament, but with a more powerful monarchy. There weren't any civil wars, and the Treasury Bench is the Government Bench, with the Privy Council being ministers, and there are no political parties and two MESPs per constituency (senior/junior). Like Parliament there are hereditary seats; Blueblood, Argent and Serene hold three of these. The elected peer seats idea comes from the Holy Roman Empire.

Blueblood does a lot day-to-day, but that wasn't really uncommon back to his equivalents in the British Government, especially pre-reform. It takes a toll, clearly.

Monarchic Melancholy

by Cympforz

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7