A Most UnCosy Prison

Cozy Glow was bored.

Life at the School of Friendship in Ponyville, where she had lived up until a week ago, was always interesting – sometimes too interesting for some. Now one might think only a dedicated student and lover of knowledge might think of a school that way (and Cozy Glow was not one, although it was a role she could play as seamlessly as that of the back-of-the-class straggler), but the School of Friendship was no ordinary school.

The headmare was the Princess of Friendship herself, and the school only a stone’s throw from her castle. The teachers were all heroes of Equestria and standouts in their own fields as well, to the point where one wondered where they found the time for classes. The students had been gathered from all over Equestria and beyond, often at the personal recommendation of local leaders.

And while all that would be enough even if the school was in the middle of nowhere, it was actually in Ponyville – a town that had, in just the last decade, seen a parasprite invasion, a rampaging dragon (who also now worked at the school) and all the other things which came with being right on the edge of the notoriously dangerous Everfree Forest.

To sum it up, if the School of Friendship were to be graded on it’s potential for interesting activities and interactions, it would get an A (A+ including its surroundings). Conversely Cozy’s current residence, a cell deep in the Canterlot dungeons, would be lucky to scrape an F. Not that it would have cared, having obviously aimed for its A grade in being the most basic and archetypal example of its kind.

This bid for “platonic ideal of Dungeon” status began with the cell’s fundamental form, a cube of rough, gritty stone just barely long enough each way at ground level for an adult pony to lie down (and therefore a bit roomier for Cozy, who was small even for a filly). It might lose some marks for being too bare and stark, with no real damp or interesting moulds, but that just made every part of the floor equally uncomfortable to lie on – a far cry from the cloud beds of Cozy’s home in Stratusburg or the well-fluffed mattresses in the School of Friendship dorms.

And the lighting was perfect – by day, or at least the early part of it, a thin trickle of sunlight peeked through a barred window barely large enough to warrant the name, right at the top of what Cozy thought of as the “back” wall (it had been in front of her when she entered the cell and she usually slept facing away from it). When it passed - all too quickly for this time of year - the job of illumination was taken up by a pale orange glow from an irregular pattern of holes in the cell’s ceiling. Cozy suspected there was some crystal up there that stored and rationed out sunlight somehow (hence how it would each day start out relatively bright and then slowly dim to nothing) but she was currently in no position to investigate what was sadly likely to be the most interesting feature of the cell.

Not that there was much else which could be called a “feature” at all – just a heavy metal door set in in the “front” wall, a light metal bucket tucked in the back left (of the door) corner, and Cozy herself, who was not made of metal at all - though any metal detection spell cast on her right now might disagree - and was currently in the middle of the cell looking rather dishevelled.

This would be quite a surprise to anypony who had met the little pink filly, who always seemed to maintain a certain doll-like cuteness whether she was smiling or in tears; but just like most of those smiles and tears, that look was fabricated, and the necessary ingredients to do so were still on the shelves of the Friendship School’s bathroom.

So Cozy’s pale pink coat was now matted and greasy, her hide underneath bruised and scraped and as for her once elaborately curled baby blue mane and tail … well there was only so much one could do without product or tools, but Cozy didn’t think that they would be quite as bedraggled if the dungeon guards had seen fit to leave her her ribbons – they were only plain cloth, after all. To be fair, she had received plenty of new accessories in return, but this was one case where more was less – the heavy iron shackles linking her hooves in pairs wore at her fetlocks with every step, and the tight cork straps pinning her wings to her sides precluded even the most basic of preening.

All in all, given the contrast between her current state and the pretty face she had dedicated so much effort to maintaining, one might imagine Cozy would be glad not to have set eyes on a single pony (or any other creature, for that matter) in the week since the cell’s door had been slammed in her face (she’d turned around quickly). But this would not be true. Partly it was because she knew that not seeing was not the same as not being seen; there was one portion of the door, at about a grown pony’s eye level, which looked suspiciously different to the rest of it. But mostly it was the aforementioned boredom.

Oh, it was not that there was nothing to do within the cell, at least for an intelligent and resourceful young filly like Cozy. Naturally for the first day or two she had spent much of her time trying to rid herself of her new adornments, but none of her attempts had even been effective enough for anypony to try and stop her – nor did any guard come when she asked, begged, demanded or feigned sickness. (Perhaps the door was soundproofed? No – she could hear their hooves as they came and went. Or maybe just one way; it would be some irony if they could only see in and she could only hear out.)

She had eventually given up on indiscriminate attention-seeking in the hope that maybe her captors were waiting for her to become docile before approaching her on their own terms - which meant she then needed new, harmless-seeming ways to pass the time. But the cell was too cramped for even a small filly to get much pacing in (five steps for the front and right walls, three for left and back unless she moved the bucket) and the List of everycreature who had crossed her was too long for her to think about without working herself up into a frothing lather.

By now her attempts at diversion followed the shape of the day: during the light hours she looked for patterns in the walls and floor that reminded her of the ritual glyphs that she had no way of using, and at night she listened to the bugs that scuttled by unseen and imagined they were her former classmates; it made it more satisfying when she accidentally crushed one. And of course there was the more fixed twice-daily rituals of chewing at a plate of limp vegetables and gulping stale water from a dish as if she were a dog; and some more variable time afterwards, the ever-engaging challenge of perching on a bucket that stood nearly as tall as she did at the withers. (Like many pegasi, Cozy had never had any need to master the art of standing – or, more relevantly, sitting – bipedally without the use of her wings.)

But all these things could only take up a few hours of a pony’s day at best, and Cozy had never been much of a sleeper. This would also surprise many of her past associates, because Cozy often seemed to doze off so quickly and turn in so early that the leading bet for her cutie mark had been a pillow; and then they might think on how often they had said private things in front of her gently snoring form, or how rarely they had checked that she was actually in bed after she turned in for the night.

But in truth Cozy was used to long days of plotting and scheming, and without anything to focus her talents on nor any ready means of physical exertion she could not tire herself out enough to sleep properly, not on that cold rough floor while the straps dug into her sides and the stink of both the bucket and her unwashed self hung in the stagnant summer air. Instead she napped in short bursts, waking and sleeping almost randomly - though never to the point where she missed a meal, and by that she could still keep track of the days. At least she thought she had … but how could she be sure when every day was the same anyway?

What Cozy was missing most was the raw materials of her talent; other ponies. The tall tower resembling a chess piece on her flank (currently hidden under a layer of dust) represented how she looked down on others from above and moved them around like toys; but this week was the first time since it appeared that she had no pieces left to play with. What satisfaction she could get out of scheming in private depended on her knowing things that others did not, and right now it would be hard to imagine a pony less informed of current events. Indeed the only thing which told Cozy that Equestria (or at least Canterlot) probably hadn’t been overrun by an outbreak of Swamp Fever or demolished by a horde of angry yaks was also the closest thing to equine contact she had each day.

Not long after the window brightened in the morning and not long before the holes went dark each night, a unicorn’s aura (she’d counted at least three distinct ones) opened a flap shorter than Cozy’s legs at the bottom of the door and floated a full food plate and water dish through. Then shortly afterward the same aura opened the flap again, took back its gifts empty or not (although it would leave food if she took it off the plate first), and then for a final trick lifted Cozy’s bucket up to the top of the cell and emptied any contents it had accumulated since the previous meal straight out of the window.

This feat stood out to Cozy not for the telekinetic dexterity it took to accomplish with almost no splashback (some auras leaned more into that almost than others) - no, Professor Rarity could do that with her back turned (as it would probably have to be for her to bear horndleing such an object in the first place). Nor was it the literal way in which magic was being used to remove the need for actual interaction between ponies (and they’d thought losing it all would have been bad for Friendship. As if.) No, what the use of such an awkward method here made clear was that someone didn’t want Cozy’s door open even for as long as it would take to switch in a fresh bucket.

They could be rightly cautious of even a chained Cozy, but even she had to admit that they were unlikely to fear her physically overpowering them. So what they wanted to prevent was either her seeing the guards or her talking to them. And since she had already seen at least most of them and marked them on her List (in the brief minutes of embarrassingly thorough search and redressing between the Cage and the cell) she didn’t see any point in them hiding now. No, what they were obviously trying to avoid was any chance at conversation – and while she had put up with this unsociability for a time, enough was enough. Today she had a plan.

The sun was just peeking through, so any minute now one the guards should be along with another mediocre excuse for a breakfast. When they passed it through, Cozy would do nothing unusual, lulling them into a false sense of security (and, a part of her mind whispered, ensuring that she wouldn’t go hungry even in the slight chance that the plan went wrong). Then, when the guard returned to collect the empties, she would simply refuse to relinquish them. If they tried to float the bucket, she would latch on and pull it back down as best as she could (just in case this part went humiliatingly wrong, she had held back from using it overnight).

Surely such blatant defiance would not be ignored, and the guard would have to open the door to do anything about it. (Unless they used magic somehow.) Even if they punished her, that would in of itself require them to show their faces. (Unless they punished her by not bringing her any more food – no, they wouldn’t have fed her in the first place unless they wanted her alive. A more worrying possibility was that they kept feeding her but stopped emptying the bucket, which would only take a couple of days for her to fill up – but just because she would deal with such recalcitrance that way didn’t mean that some hornbrained jailer would think to, right?)

However Cozy’s plan never quite got to the stage of (surely successful) action because of an unexpected event, one which disrupted the regular patterns she had become used to over the past week. Oh, the delivery was the same as always and the food as bland as ever - the first hint of irregularity was the strange sounds as the guard returned - the creak of wheels alongside their hoofsteps, a hard thump soon after they came to a halt, and a series of strange splashing noises which followed. But Cozy was too busy going over the plan one last time in her head to pay conscious attention to any of these signs – her outer awareness was limited to waiting for the flap to move.

So it was understandably quite a shock when not the flap, but the whole door opened, swinging outwards to the right to reveal a white unicorn mare who Cozy mentally matched to the lavender aura (medium splashback) which had delivered today’s food. She was just wondering if her plan was so perfect that the universe had decided to hand her success without actually having to go through the motions when said aura wrapped around Cozy and hauled her out into the corridor, chains and all.

So sudden and shocking was this turn of events that the pegasus was not only momentarily struck speechless, when she was then dropped in something hot and wet it took her several seconds to notice. Once she finally did realize, she had barely enough time to identify it as a tin bathtub bubbling with suds before the mare set about her with soap and loofah. And when she finally did manage to bring forth words, it was not any of the many scripts she had carefully prepared over the week, but rather the unplanned but sincere exclamation, “I’m fourteen! I can wash myself!”

Of course, said declaration availed her naught. Not only because the first part looked untrue (Cozy’s build was closer to a typical ten-year-old) or because the second was clearly false as long as Cozy remained shackled (she had a vague plan of playing on the one to change the other): but ultimately because, Cozy soon realised, this guard was obviously a mother in her off time. At least, she shared with Cozy’s own mother both a total obliviousness to such assertions of independence and so thorough a talent for finding all the least comfortable spots on Cozy’s body with her tools that the filly resolved to check the mare’s cutie mark as soon as there weren’t bubbles in her eyes. And mouth. And nose. (She wasn’t sure why a pony with that kind of talent would work as a jailer, but then she remembered the search she’d received on arrival – had that been this mare too?)

Still, for all her plans regarding the guards Cozy had never thought of them as individual ponies before, with their own talents, lives beyond their jobs, and even families, and the time she took to contemplate the new angles that brought to the game was long enough for the unicorn to finish – upon which she promptly plucked Cozy straight out of the bath, made one last full-body assault with a towel seemingly pulled from nowhere, and then dumped her right back into a cell and locked the door behind her.

It took the damp and dizzy filly the better part of a minute to realise that this cell was not the (now very familiar) one she had started in, but rather the one opposite. This realization came not from the lack of the usual stench (she was still sniffing soapsuds) nor the subtle differences of texture in the floor (though that would probably have been enough in time) but rather from the only substantial difference between the two rooms; the door.

While the same tapering shape (almost like a giant unicorn horn) as the solid slab that Cozy was all too familiar with, this door’s frame was hollow aside from a few sturdy bars, allowing Cozy to peer straight across into her former cell; it’s door was still open, with the mare standing half-inside. At first it seemed to Cozy that the guard had for some reason decided to this time empty her bucket (hadn’t it been empty?) all over the cell instead of out of the window, but then she lifted another one and Cozy realised that these buckets (looking around, she could count at least five) were filled with soapy water (from the bath? That was hardly cleaner, given the state she had been in.)

It seemed the mare had either already used the other buckets or wasn’t going to, however, as she then gave the one she was hovering a once-over with her trusty towel, floated it into the corner and the stepped back to shut the cell door. This should have given Cozy the glimpse of her flanks she had hoped for earlier, but she was wearing some kind of waterproof overcoat – sensible enough given what she came to do. But that wasn’t nearly as important as the fact that she was leaving - it was now or maybe never. So as the mare locked the door, Cozy decided to give talking another try. And the words this time – still fairly sincere, but carefully chosen – were-

“Thank you.”

The mare seemed a little surprised – at least, she stopped still for a moment, before turning around and looking Cozy straight in the eyes. Only briefly, though, just for the length of a “You’re welcome.” before she turned away, starting to place the empty buckets on the top of a cart that Cozy had only just now noticed but which retroactively explained a lot.

Emboldened – those were the first word’s she’d heard from anypony besides herself in a week – Cozy pressed ahead with the first thing on her mind. “You’re a mom, right? I mean, you have foals? At home?”

The mare definitely took her time to consider that one, before settling on, “That’s for me to know.” The second part, and prisoners not to find out, seemed to go without saying.

Cozy quickly changed tack. “Oh, I’m sorry! None of my business, right! You were just so good at this that I figured you did it a lot!” She paused briefly to let the apology settle, then added more hesitantly, “Um, but if I can’t know about that, can I at least maybe know how come…” The chain between her forehooves jangled as she waved one of them in the general direction of the bars. “I mean, that is my business, right?

This time the reply came with barely a pause. “You’ve got a visitor coming. Don’t get used to it.”

Cozy was ready to reply - perhaps asking who the visitor was, or what she wasn’t supposed to get used to – when the mare started loading the bathtub into the bottom part of the cart. With it as full as it was, this effort brought forth a second layer of aura around her horn, and Cozy became so occupied in wondering what would happen if you hit a unicorn there under those circumstances that by the time her attention returned to the corridor both mare and cart were gone.

Council for the Defence (Part 1)

View Online

Whoever the visitor was, they did not seem in any kind of hurry, nor did the mare return or any other guard pass by; and while a quick glance around revealed the barred-door cells to be the norm, none seemed to be occupied by any being interested in conversation. So Cozy was left just as alone in her new cell as her old, to slowly dry out and ponder who might want to see her.

Well if she thought of it in terms of wanting, then the answer was obvious: her parents. Unless what happened to Cozy had been kept secret, then the news would have reached Stratusburg days ago, and she had no doubt they would have dropped everything and rushed to their dear daughter’s side. But the fact that they had not appeared yet after a week meant that somepony (likely the Princesses) didn’t want them to see her, and Cozy didn’t see what leverage a pair of ordinary unconnected ponies could exert to change that even if they had the will to (her parents being sadly lacking in that department). So she set them aside and considered other possibilities.

Thinking of ponies who might both have the right connections and care about her, there were her erstwhile friends in the Cutie Mark Crusaders; they were the Professors’ sisters, so a week of mithering might have won them access. But the problem with that possibility was that she could imagine several different reasons why they might want to see her, and each would require a custom-tailored response.

If they had come to show sympathy for a pony they still thought of as a friend, she could put on her most pitiful face and play up her current circumstances - lots of broad gestures drawing attention to her chains and maybe even a look of utter mortification as she asked them to turn away while she used the bucket.

If they wanted to know her reasons then she would hit them with a revised version of her “Empress of Friendship” speech; they had missed the first one, after all, and she was pretty sure she’d figured out which parts she had gotten wrong that time.

And if they were just here to gloat (which wouldn’t be very friendly) she would ask them if they had come to pick out their own cells; after all she couldn’t have done it without them, and it wasn’t like they’d done anything to help stop her in the end.

That train of thought brought her to the ragtag bunch that had somehow stopped her; there were definitely gloaters (and perhaps a sympathizer or two) among their number. But it was at that point that she remembered that the guard had not said “visitors” but rather “a visitor”, which ruled out not only them but also all of her previous options. Unless one of the group members was coming alone…

No, a single pony most likely meant one thing: one of the Princesses, or their lackeys like Starlight Glimmer. They might be coming to find out about her plans, the ones she hadn’t shared with Tirek; that would be good if they asked questions (Cozy could work with questions), but bad if they just used their terrible magic to rip her thoughts out of her head. (Counsellor Starlight was supposed to be good at such spells, wasn’t she?)

Or they might already know all they thought they needed to and were just coming to finally cast her into Tartarus. Some part of Cozy was still surprised that they hadn’t taken her there straight from the Friendship School, but then she had already subverted the place’s security once -perhaps they feared she would lead a mass breakout? Of course, beings too dangerous for Tartarus to hold rarely met better fates: Cozy was old enough to have seen the Mare in the Moon for most of her life, and she definitely remembered her lesson on Discord a few months ago - hadn’t Headmare Twilight been ready (and more relevantly, able) to visit the same fate on “Professor” Rockhoof?

But Cozy was ultimately a positive pony, and so she pushed the fearful thought of eternal imprisonment in stone aside and reminded herself that all of the above had come out on top in the end. And as for Tartarus, it could hardly be much worse than her current accommodations – perhaps even better, as at least Tirek had described a decent view. Oh, perhaps they would put her with him! – well not in with him, he was a stallion and still kind of creepy even if he couldn’t touch her magic as he was now, but maybe her own nice little cage next door, where they could have pleasant chats and come up with revenge plans together but still allow each other some privacy when needed. (The letters had been useful, but Cozy felt friendship was so much better shared in person.)

It was while she was thinking of the perfect words to greet her former pen pal turned neighbour that Cozy heard hooves approaching and turned to look as far up the corridor as her new view allowed. It took longer than she thought – she guessed she could hear them from further away through the bars – and when the hooves stopped she thought perhaps it wasn’t her long-awaited visitor after all. But the pause was just to open some kind of gate – Cozy heard it creaking – and not long after the hoofsteps resumed and a pony – no, two ponies – came into sight. Both of them were unicorn stallions, but besides that they were quite different in appearance and posture. The brown one bringing up the rear was clearly a guard, so between that and her poorer view of him Cozy set him aside to consider the one in front.

The most noticeable feature she could make out was an oversized moustache, though she could also see enough of his mane to determine that either it’s snow white colour was natural or he dyed both; together with his pine-tree coloured coat and crimson lounge jacket, he almost looked like he was trying to bring some out-of-season Hearth’s Warming cheer to the dreary dungeon. An unlikely-seeming interrogator, but perhaps he thought to get her guard down. Or knew mind magic…

Once again there was a flaw here in Cozy’s plan. She was so prepared for all the various things an interrogator might say that she was completely surprised by the newcomer’s actual opening line.

“Miss Cozy Glow? My name is Evergreen, professionally known as Paper Shield, and I have been nominated as your advocate and legal adviser conditional on your approval…” He trailed off and looked back at the guard, who was just standing there. “Aren’t you going to let me in?”

This guard’s voice was so to the point he could probably use it in place of a spear. “The prisoner isn’t supposed to have any more contact with ponies than necessary. You can talk through the bars.”

“With you standing there listening? That’s hardly standard…” Speaking of standing there listening, it was the tactic the surprised Cozy had fallen back on. With an unknown, it was always better to get a sense or their personality before choosing her own.

“Hardly a standard prisoner, is she? Unless you’ve forgotten already.” The guard’s horn suddenly lit up and Cozy saw Evergreen or Paper Shield or whoever he was flinch, but the glow slowly died down again without anything happening. “It’s for your own safety.”

The other pony was momentarily shaken, but channelled his discomfort into an aggressive response. “You really don’t think if she could take one of ours she could take both?” His composure returning, he continued, “Not that she’s been proven guilty of taking any, of course. And while I appreciate that you may feel I need a guard and bars to protect me from a fettered foal, I disagree, and I have a right to meet with my client directly and privately…” Cozy was a little impressed – this pony had backbone, or at least too much ego to be easily intimidated.

The guard seemed to either exhausted his patience or taken the implied warning to heart, because he didn’t bother with any more resistance, just pulling out his ring of keys. “Fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. And if you really want private time with her so much … well, keep it professional and knock when you’re finished.” And one hurried shuffle later, both Cozy and the moustachioed stallion found themselves locked in her original cell (which now met the highest standards for both dampness and dankness but lost points for, just like Cozy, smelling strongly of soap).

While Evergreen adjusted to his cramped surroundings, Cozy took her time to closer scrutinize him. She immediately confirmed that his professional name matched his cutie mark as well as his actual name matched his coat, and she casually noticed the logo of Hoity Toity’s Best of the Best Boutique on his jacket pocket – who’d have thought Professor Rarity’s classes could have real life application? So between his obvious means and how much offense he had taken at being contradicted by a mere guard, Cozy felt she had his measure as a pony – one of the surplus of unicorns with more money than sense that this city grew like mould on cheese, albeit one with perhaps with slightly more steel in him than most.

But she was also thinking about the profession he had claimed – an advocate. Now it wasn’t that Cozy was unfamiliar with the idea of lawyers and trials – she had played courtroom board games before, and occasionally been called as a witness in less formal classroom proceedings. But she had never thought of them as relevant to herself, because they were part of the adult world – and she had until recently been quite certain that by the time she entered that world, it would be as the one passing judgement on others.

This was one of Cozy Glow’s biggest blind spots. She had occasionally (before her talent fully bloomed) been punished as a naughty foal, and more commonly (especially later on) brought such punishments on others; they were a known risk of the games she played. And she had more or less resigned herself, over the last few days, to being remembered as a great villain in the company of Discord and Tirek and Nightmare Moon, none of whom had been dealt with by any process of law.

But though the world of such legends may seem closer to a foal’s life than the everyday reality their parents live in, even in such a magical land as Equestria it is usually farther away than it looks. Cozy had come closer than most to making the leap from playground games to higher matters, but she had been so focused on reaching the very peak in one move that she had completely overlooked the middle ground that she had now fallen to – had never even entertained the thought that she might be treated as a criminal.

On the one wing, it was embarrassing – criminals, especially those stupid enough to get caught, were a group that she like most ponies had looked down on with condescension. But on the other, at least this was no petty crime – given that great villains didn’t usually go to court, it was if not the worst crime in Equestrian history at least surely in the top ten. And on the tail, that meant that her existing experience with handling authority figures probably wouldn’t be much use here – a tearful apology wasn’t going to cut it and she couldn’t put together any good blackmail from inside a cell. At least, not without a friend on the outside… one with money and power all the better. And that brought her back to-

“Miss Glow? Sorry about that – allow me to introduce myself again…”

-the effete stallion who had finally managed to assume a reclining position against the opposite wall and was now repeating the pitch he had started with. This time, however, Cozy cut in at “advocate and legal advisor” with “So like, my lawyer?”

“Yes – a Princess’s Counsel in fact – that’s the highest grade of lawyer.” He gave a wry, self-effacing chuckle. “Well, to be honest there isn’t much which sets us apart from ordinary barristers, save in exceptional cases like this.”

“Exceptional? You mean it’s special? Or does that just mean I’m in really bad trouble?”

“Well, both.” The stallion assumed the “lecturing-in-one’s-field” posture and tone that any School of Friendship student knew well. “Ordinarily a filly like you would go before a Junior Court, which can only issue limited punishments – your parents would be the ones officially mounting your defence and any lawyer would be one they hired – likely a solicitor who specializes in foals.

“But since this case involves a treason charge - technically still a capital offence - that means it can only be tried in the Highest Court, before a Princess.” Cozy could just hear the capital letters. “And the rules for those kinds of trials haven’t been changed since the days when adulthood came with one’s Mark.” Evergreen gestured at the tower on her flank, clear and visible once more after her bath.

“And another one of those old rules is that only a Princess’s Counsel,” he waved at himself “can speak for another pony in the Highest Court. You can always choose to speak on your own behalf, of course, but I wouldn’t recommend it – if you demonstrate any legal aptitude you come off as having been expecting to get in, as you said, “really bad trouble” and if you don’t you look like you aren’t taking the whole thing seriously. No, it’s better for you to appear cooperative but naïve, and that means letting me – or, I suppose, some other Princess’s Counsel – do most of the talking.” He sounded quite assured of her agreement.

Cozy decided to challenge that assurance. “How many Princess Councils are there, and why should I use you?”

“There are about two dozen Counsels in all, but not all of them would be willing to represent you – I’d say about a quarter, if we don’t count the ones who would take the case just to lose it.

“As for why me in particular, besides being willing to give it my best shot I’m also not lacking in talent and experience if I do say so myself – I admit I’ve never handled a case of quite this scale before, but my record -“

“Is for arguing in front of normal judges, right? Not the Princesses?”

“Well, yes, but for one thing it isn’t only the Princesses we have to convince – and anyway, I graduated from the School For Gifted Unicorns, so while I may not know Her Majesty as well as, say, Princess Twilight does I-“

“I thought ponies from there went on to be mages? How come you’re a lawyer?”

“Shall a pony not follow his destiny? I earned my mark defending classmates against accusations of cheating, so it’s only natural I put that talent to use protecting ponies. Especially the innocent and falsely accused of course, but sometimes the guilty need a shield as well.”

“So which do you think I am?”

“It could be the biggest frame job in Equestrian history as well as the biggest crime, but not only is that a hard sell based on the evidence I’ve seen, I’m also an uncle.” The last bit seemed like a non sequitur, but he quickly clarified, “I pride myself being able to tell which of my nieces actually broke the rules when even their parents can’t; and that means being very good at telling when a filly really doesn’t know what you’re on about, when she didn’t do it but knows who did, and most relevantly, when she absolutely did it but would rather prefer to get away with it.

“Now if you want my professional advice – some ponies will tell you that the best lawyer is one who always believes in your innocence, but that’s generally only true when they’re right. A lawyer who tries to defend a client without knowing all the facts is like a pony trying to walk across a cluttered floor with his nose in the air – he’s going to trip up on something, maybe several somethings, and end up hurting. If he knows all the facts, however, it’s as if the ceiling was turned into a mirror – he can step around all the inconvenient truths without ever actually looking at them directly – that is, bringing them up in court.”

“But if I was guilty of everything they’re saying about me, why would you want to defend me?” Cozy couldn’t imagine herself being very popular among unicorns.

“I don’t think any pony could be guilty of everything they’re saying – I’m pretty sure you didn’t let Tirek out the first time, for instance – and as I said, I have nieces about your age. It doesn’t hurt that Highest Court cases don’t come along every day – just having argued in front of the Princess has a certain cachet in lawyer circles.”

A vaguely convincing answer, with just the right mix of sentiment and self-interest, but Cozy wasn’t sure that she bought it. Still, challenging it directly wouldn’t accomplish anything – she’d just have to keep asking questions and watch for signs of other possible motives.

“Are there any ponies speaking up for me?” She didn’t really expect any, but it would be a nice surprise.

“Some – mostly the sort who can’t believe that when a cute filly faces down griffins and dragons and changelings she’s on the wrong side. Some who wouldn’t believe the palace if they said pegasi could walk on clouds, either – they think you’re some kind of scapegoat for a plot of the Princesses that went wrong. And of course, your parents are telling everypony who’ll listen that you’re a good filly and this must be some kind of mistake or trick, not that anypony believes them.” Evergreen sighed wistfully. “I’m almost envious – I'm half expecting mine to disown me for getting this involved in a "scandalous affair" .”

That was more than Cozy had expected from her parents, to be honest. But if that was the case… “How come they haven’t come to see me?”

“Ah, well, I’m afraid that as you heard before the Crown has ordered that you be kept in strict isolation outside of necessary visitors such as myself. Something to do with your, um, “unknown and potentially dangerous magical capabilities”.” Unlike when he had mocked the guard before, he said the last part with a forced casualness, as if he was very determined not to sound interested in it.

So that’s your angle. Cozy almost laughed out loud – she hadn’t expected to strike gems so quickly. But was it a personal bid for power, or an unconventional interrogation tactic? Best to lead him down that path carefully.

“Um, I don’t exactly have Meadowbrook’s Eight Enchanted Items here to work with. Do they think I can just cast spells? I’m not a unicorn.”

“Neither was Meadowbrook. There are ponies in every generation whose magic transcends the usual potential of their Kind, just as there are ponies who embody that potential.” Well Cozy couldn’t argue with that, not when most of the teachers at the School had been one or the other. But if he thought her a natural oddity like Professor Fluttershy or Professor Pinkie, what was he looking to gain?

(Actually, the thought that the Princesses knew as little about her capabilities as anypony did about Professor Pinkie’s made the previously extreme-seeming security suddenly look like an underreaction – Cozy herself had never been quite sure that the magic drain would weaken the party pony or Tartarus hold her, although in typical Cozy style she had dealt with this doubt by ignoring it and going ahead anyway.)

Evergreen wasn’t finished, however. He leaned in, close enough to almost whisper, “Confidentially - that means I’m not allowed to tell anyone – can you do any magic as you are?”

From a rational perspective – that of the calculating game player – it would make sense to lead him on and manipulate him with hollow promises of the forbidden magic he sought. But Cozy’s rationality had been rattled of late, and the implication that any magic a mere pegasus could cast a Gifted Unicorn could quickly copy pushed several of her buttons. (Also, neither the past week in the cell nor the fact that she hadn’t relieved herself in nearly a day made for calm rational thinking.) So Cozy went with a much shorter-term, petty manipulation instead; if it drove him off he would never have been useful anyway.

“The unknown and definitely dangerous magic I know quite well” - He couldn’t hide the signs of optimism on his face - “is based in redirecting flows of power. You don’t strictly need legendary artefacts or a harmonic nexus” - By now he looked like a griffin who’d spotted a lame, fat sheep - “but some kind of power source and amplifier is a must - bare stone and one barely-fed pony isn’t going to cut it.” His eagerness receded a little, but not much - after all, for his purposes it could be better if she couldn’t achieve results in here but he could outside. Time for the shock tactics.

“So no, the only magic I’ve been doing in this cell is transfiguration” - His face grew hopeful again - “turning week-old lettuce into fresh horseapples!”

He winced back from the sudden leap in volume, while Cozy doubled down, “So if you’re only here to pry out my magical secrets, I’d really rather you just left – I’m just about ready to start casting today’s smell – I mean spell.” She punctuated the word with a half-step towards the bucket, for once grateful for how the heavy chains added weight to even such a small movement. It was a win-win bluff - if he actually fled she could at least see to her quite genuine bodily needs, but more likely…

As she’d hoped, his face narrowed defensively. “Now I don’t think there’s any need for such rudeness. As I said, a lawyer needs to know the facts-”

“The facts are these; you saw a filly pegasus upstage you – upstage everypony – in magic. And that’s all you hornbrains care about, isn’t it? So you had to prove to yourself that you could do anything I could do. Am I not right?”

“About as wrong as can be, and rather tribalist to boot,” came the sardonic reply. “Though to be fair, its probably my fault for concealing one of my motives; I was rather foolish to think that such a cunning little filly wouldn’t notice the signs – or that a filly who could learn so little from the School of Friendship wouldn’t totally misinterpret them!”

In a slightly calmer voice, he continued “I want to know about your magic because it’s what’s got ponies so afraid of you – even Tirek could be fled or hidden from, but taking everypony’s magic no matter where they are? Between that, communicating with Tartarus, and hiding right under a Princess’s nose for months a lot of ponies have convinced themselves that you’re some kind of demon in foal form. Fighting that perception is key to any defence.”

“So it’s all for my sake?” Cozy didn’t even try to disguise her sarcasm.

“Okay, maybe I am interested in an unknown form of magic that allows such impressive effects – who but a fool wouldn’t be? If such spells could be worked regardless of the casters power, the benefits to Equestrian civilization-“ He reined himself in, for once noticing or perhaps guessing at Cozy’s lack of interest. “In any case, a little incentive is hardly a bad thing. Do you know how many of my learned colleagues would have taken this job meaning to lose? With how many ponies you’ve made your enemies without ever meeting, you can hardly afford to be picky about why your allies are on your side.”

A good point … but if she looked desperate then her “allies” would just use her anyway, like she’d used Tirek. And she doubted he’d quit now, not when he was already planning her defence. So a bit more pressure …

“Oh, I understand incentives. That’s why I want to see you actually helping me before I give you anything. So unless you’ve got some trick in your pockets- “She was already turning away.

“Your wings! I’m pretty sure that I can get your wings released!” That got Cozy looking at him again, at which point he sheepishly qualified “Well, seventy percent sure.”

“I’m pretty sure the only way they’ll take off these straps is if they decide it’s safer to just cut …” She trailed off – there were some fates no pegasus would speak of lightly. “Or are they saving that for after the trial?”

“Permanent deflighting is employed only when strictly necessary, even on convicts, and I believe they only take the pinions anyway,” said Evergreen, in as dry a voice as if he was talking about the weather. “Now if you had a horn it might be a different story – given what you’re accused of, some might find cutting it off fair exchange – but your spell never quite reached the point of raining ponies from the sky, and it’s not as if you used pegasus magic to commit any crimes, did you?”

“Well I was flying for some of it…” mused Cozy, before realizing she was still missing some pretty relevant information. “What are the charges anyway? You haven’t told me yet?”

Evergreen slipped straight back into lecture mode, his near dismissal quickly forgotten. “Well, the main charge is what we call a trunk offense – that is, most of the other charges are hung on it like branches, and you’ll usually be convicted on either all or none of them. The trunk here is “Inducement of Disaster”, to wit, mass magical depletion, and then they’ve piled on everything from High Treason – since the Princesses were drained too – on down.”

He floated a thick scroll out his jacket pocket. “The full list would take all day to read-” he unfurled the scroll all the way to the cell’s ceiling to demonstrate, then rolled all but the top part back up “-so I’ll just go through the most important ones.” He skimmed over several line before beginning to read, “Disrupting the Celestial Cycle – that’s an old one, Making False Act of War, several counts of Ponyslaughter-“

“Ponyslaughter?”

Evergreen seemed to interpret Cozy’s surprised response as a challenge. “I’m sure I can argue them down to Negligent Equicide in pre-trial. Which still isn’t a good thing, but- “

“I mean – ponies died? And they’re saying it’s because of me?”

Evergreen’s face took on one of those annoying looks of pity Cozy hated, the ones that grown-ups got when they thought you were too young to understand why they were angry. “Draining all magic from a nation which relies utterly on it for day-to-day living on both the national and personal scales – yes, Cozy, ponies died.” He sighed. “Well, at least any compunctions I had about adopting a defence strategy based on your foalish naivete are gone. Speaking of which, we should probably get around to talking about defences – I can’t stay all day.”

“First, are there any more important charges?”

“Not on the trunk I don’t think – just an endless parade of middling to minor ones I suspect are largely meant to tire us out challenging them – but there are a few standalones, largely related to your actions after casting the spell.

“Now you’ll be pleased to know that there’s nothing regarding your little rebellion against Chancellor Neighsay – he wasn’t acting on any legitimate authority in the first place and I don’t think they want to charge all your schoolmates as co-conspirators.”

“Figures.”

“Unfortunately, that still leaves Unauthorized Communication with Tartarus, Conspiracy With an Enemy of the Realm, Incitement to Riot and several counts of Attempted Murder for Princess Twilight and her friends, as well as Starlight Glimmer.” He paused and looked up. “Not going to make a fuss about that one?”

For a moment Cozy thought to contest this charge too, but on reflection… “I was just trying to get them out of the way … but I suppose I didn’t actually expect all of them to survive. I probably shouldn’t say that in court though, right?”

“Ah, defence strategies. Now we’re talking.” Evergreen seemed much more enthusiastic about this part. “Now the first possibility to consider is an insanity plea - it’s a surprisingly old form of defence-“

“I’m not crazy. I’m Cozy.” And then, after a moment’s thought, “But if I made them think I was mad, what would happen?”

“Well, it really depends on the timing. If we can convince them that you were never sane, or at least not recently, then the charges would all be dropped and you would be sent to a special hospital for treatment. If, however, we only manage to convince them that your mind broke upon your arrest, then you would get the same treatment without any reduction in charges – they’d just throw you back in here the moment the doctors cleared you.”

“What kind of treatment?” A hospital sounded a lot more comfortable than the other likely options, and she was sure she could string a few doctors and nurses along.

“Well it depends on quite what you’re diagnosed with, but usually some mix of medicines and reformation spells – unlike normal criminals, the criminally insane can’t refuse them. Oh, I should probably check your feelings on them too- “

“Nope. And no to insanity too, if it means I can’t say no to them.” Cozy wasn’t quite sure what a reformation spell did, but while this “treatment” might be good for madponies it would likely have the opposite effect on a sane one like herself.

“Are you sure? If it’s your … issues with unicorn magic that’s the problem, then given the scale of the case I could probably appeal for a use of the Elements of Harm-“

“Definitely no to those.” Cozy never wanted to go near that cursed tree or it’s fruits again, and she suspected the feeling was mutual. “Look, it’s my defence, right? Nothing that ends in drugs or spells. I’d rather be turned to stone.”

“Well, without the Elements involved that’s not a particularly likely result, but it’s still not good.” Evergreen looked a lot less confident now. “You must understand, while every sane pony has a legal right to refuse reformation, few actually do – it makes you look unrepentant, which can in turn lead to a harsher sentence.”

“Harsher than what? What kind of punishment does all that- “She gestured at the scroll with her muzzle “-add up to anyway?

“Well as I mentioned, some of the treason laws still refer to the death penalty- “

“You did?” Now Cozy was a little worried.

“Yes, I said it was technically a capital offence.”

“I just thought that meant it had to be tried in the capital, because that’s where the Princess is.” Now Cozy was a lot worried, and also uncomfortable; her wings were trying to stand up under the straps.

“It means both – for the last two hundred years or so before she ended the practice, only Princess Celestia could sentence a pony to death. Many believe that that was why she did away with it, in fact – because she had to make enough life-and-death decisions in the rest of her job.”

“So ponies can’t be put to death anymore? Even for treason and stuff?” Cozy’s body relaxed – a bit.

“Well technically it’s at the Princess’s discretion – most laws for lesser crimes have been rewritten since, but not the treason ones. And so these sorts of trials do tend to bring the ponies who want to turn back the clock of justice out of the woodwork.” Cozy wasn’t reassured.

“But you must remember that Princess Celestia is the one who banned executions in the first place, and even in all the centuries of her reign before that I don’t believe she ever condemned a foal. “ The lawyer finished confidently.

I thought that for this trial I was a mare, was what Cozy didn’t say; Evergreen seemed quite sure about this and she would only get more uncomfortable dwelling on it. Instead she went with an option she had already prepared herself for. “So if she won’t kill me what will she do? Send me to Tartarus?”

“While there is certainly quite the vociferous faction agitating for that, their cause is based in a misunderstanding, or perhaps just blind fear of your “unknown powers”. Tartarus is not part of the legal system, but rather a place for the containment of monsters too dangerous to imprison conventionally.”

“Really? Like bugbears and chimeras?”

“Well I hear there may have been some recent issues with overly broad categorisations of “monster”, but certainly no pony can be declared one without the Princesses revoking their Equestrian citizenship, and if they were going to do that then there wouldn’t be a trial in the first place; monsters can’t commit crimes, per se.”

“You're sure?” Cozy was actually curious about this – was that why no previous great villains had been tried?

“There’s established precedent – the Princess did it quite a bit in the first century after she stopped signing death warrants. Never since, though.”

“So not death, not Tartarus … Any other good news?”

“I’m afraid that’s the last of it.” The stallion seemed to have lost a lot of his earlier optimism. “Given the severity and number of your crimes as well as your refusal of reformation, any conviction without a remarkable amount of mitigation would mean a sentence of life in prison without parole. Most probably to be served in Tartarus’s mortal cousin - Grayvale Permanent Isolation Center.”

“So I’d just sit in a box like this until … I die?” Cozy was great at thinking in the medium term, but she had never really considered beyond that, certainly not to the extent that the words “life in prison” suggested.

“Well a bit of a step up from this in some ways – the cells in Grayvale definitely have beds, and if I recall correctly they’re bringing in flush toilets next year – but worse in others – most of the prisoners are kept permanently dosed up on bindweed, and they still see more wing clippings and horn cuttings than anywhere else in Equestria. Are you sure you wouldn’t be willing to reconsider reformation spells?”

Cozy weighed up the apparent options – a spell twisting her thoughts to some warped ideal of Harmony, or spending every day in a box, flightless and without magic, until she simply lost the will to go on – and rejected both. She was Cozy Glow, her story was not going to end like that. She just needed – it would be helpful to convince Evergreen of that, too. Perhaps if she played on his pride…

“I’m sure any old lawyer could get their client off with a reformation plea. But you’re a Princess’s Counsel, right? Defending ponies is your special talent. So surely you don’t need a crutch like that?”

He thought about it for a moment. “Hmm… Well, if playing ponies subtly is your talent then you’ve lost your touch – but I do have some ideas, and to be blunt I don’t get a worse sentence for trying and failing. So as long as you feel like taking the risk, I’ll give it a shot.”

I play ponies whatever way works – sometimes obvious is best. “For me it’s being reformed that’s the risk, given that death and Tartarus are off the table. But this Grayvale seems pretty bad too, so what kind of ideas?”

“Well obviously our foremost advantage is your youth, especially since you look even younger than you are. You can play that up too right – come off as less mature than you have here?”

In her sleep. “Yes mister lawyer sir – I’m good at playing pretend. Now am I in grounding trouble, or-” she gulped “-spanking trouble?

He nodded approvingly. “Yes, just like that. If ponies see you as a naughty filly who got in over her head, then it’ll be harder for them to imagine sending you to prison at all, let alone Grayvale.”

That answer seemed a little odd – what did it matter what ponies thought, besides the Princesses. But Evergreen was already continuing, “And there’s more to youth than just innocence – by its very nature it means you have most of your life ahead of you, and that should be an advantage when it comes to sentencing.”

“How? Is there a limit on how long a pony can spend in prison or something?”

“Not exactly … but how long you’re staying affects where you stay. Ponies get thrown in Grayvale so that everyone can forget about them; forget the terrible things they did, forget that for the most part they refused reformation, or worse, committed more crimes despite it, and ignore the things done to them that would make most ponies sick. They can do that because even the very few that aren’t lifers will only ever be moving out into a retirement home.”

“But if we can knock out some of the charges, blow the Princess away with mitigation, or preferably both – well to show any leniency at all they’d have to drop below life. And even something like a thirty or forty-year sentence would see you free before you’re an old mare, so they’d have to send you to one of the normal prisons that help prepare ponies to eventually rejoin society. There are one or two which specialise in reformation refusers, and have a decent success rate with them too.”

“Your most optimistic guess is thirty years?” For the fourteen-year-old filly, it was hardly easier to imagine than “life”.

“Well prisoners with good behaviour – which I know you can at least fake – can usually apply for parole after serving half of their sentence. So the actual best I can imagine, presuming conviction, is fifteen years or so – I know, still longer than you’ve been alive, but you’d be out by my age, and I assure you that I hardly see my best days as behind me.”

So things might not be as bad as Cozy thought – but she wasn’t ready to give up so easily, even if her bladder would prefer she brought the meeting to a close sooner rather than later.

“You said “presuming conviction” – is there any hope of me getting off?”

The Trial of Cozy Glow

by Latecomer

A Most UnCosy Prison

Council for the Defence (Part 1)