Narrative pieces that don't fit the style of the Main Piece.
Often, when considering history, it is easy to dissolve it into merely dry facts and dates. Sometimes, however, the actual events, never written down, have a weight all their own.
--A collection of side stories to A Brief History of Equestria that would not fit the scope of the in-universe book.--
In the dark of the night, a being consumed by a festering hatred began his work. Though anxious, he was also patient. Many things would need to happen before his revenge could come to pass. And among those things would be a weapon. The Everfree Rainbow he enslaved was more than willing, mindless though it was, to serve its master. And so, with metal either stolen or mined himself, the Hating Creature forged the steel into shape, putting the force of his own Hatred and Wrath and Anger into each blow of the hammer, the Rainbow being forced into the very metal, eager to devour anything it touched; anything but its creator and master.
By dawn, the work was done, and the blade, forged in the shape of a pronged leaf, was examined with a critical eye. The master of the blade deemed it worthy of serving him. All that was needed was a name. A name that spoke all there was to know of the weapon and the desire of its master and weilder. Naturally, there could be only one thing…
“Estelnehtar. The Hope-Slayer.”
98 years Before Nightmare
Clang! went the hammer upon steel. Fffshhh went the forge, the fire rising at the billow’s blow. The fire glowed bright in the dark, even as the smoke of coals and metal scales and steam filled the air. Joining this Smith’s Symphony was the occasional grunt of the master smith of this forge: The Lady of the Dark, Princess of the Night, Champion of the Shadowed Ones, Princess Luna of Equestria. Once more her efforts to connect with her subjects failed… And once more she sought solace, not in her sister’s embrace, but in her forge, working stiff metal into a beautiful fashioning. Tonight she had shared a piece of music of a genre she had created from whole cloth. And everypony hated it, and instead of quieting the jeers and heckles of the audience that disrupted her performance, Celestia, her dear sister, just sat there and let it happen.
Luna was interrupted from her reverie by the hissing of water on hot metal. Looking down she saw that the breastplate she was working, the glow fading to a dull orange, caught water that was slipping from her cheeks. Clearing off the tears soaking her face with a free hoof, Luna lifted the hot metal with her magic and set it on a rack to cool. She would harden and temper it later, after that she would polish it, color it and perhaps give it an etching.
The work for the evening was a set of ceremonial battle armor for herself. Her designs for a matching suit for Celestia drifted about her head as well, but at the moment she couldn’t bring herself to make it. For now the Princess of the Night just wanted to stew in her hurt feelings at the Princess of the Day’s hooves. With the shoes and breast plate complete, all that was left was a helm to complete the ensemble. And Luna had just the metal for it.
After she ran off from the stage, Luna ran blindly through the parliament building, just wanting to get away from everypony. When she finally halted, Luna realized that she was in the old mine deep within Friendship Cavern, among the Ancient Artifacts of Equestria. And there, there in front of her stood the blade of Talonhoof himself. The ebony shaft had long since rotted away, but the iconic three-bladed head of the lance, shining as the day Mimic herself laid it in these chambers, was unmistakable.
It was a stroke of symbolic genius. The weapon was intended as nothing more than a tool of destruction. Even its name bore ill-tidings. What better way to reaffirm herself of the good she wanted for Equestria, Luna thought, than to turn this tool of death into an instrument of defense? Granted it would take much work, but Luna had time, as well as the energy to burn.
As the blade heated to a white-hot glow (the Princess being careful not to overheat the tips), Luna gathered her tools and material. Even though the blade would be bent to a new shape, there was only so much reshaping she could do before the metal lost its strength. The gaps would need to be filled with extra metals, and those metals would need to be able to be chemically, structurally, and metallurgically seamless with the original material. Fortunately, Luna had just the material: Aptare. Before the sisters left for the mortal realms, their brother gifted Luna with ingots of the adaptable metal.
Checking on her subject and finding it ready, Luna secured the metal and set about forcing the weapon to become armor. The first step would be to hammer a hole into it to make room for her horn. Wordlessly the Night Princess set the first hammer, specially designed to be narrow for such a job, right where it needed to be. Picking up the larger and heavier hammer, Luna slammed it down, and did it again, repeating it until the narrow hammer pierced the other side, at which time she set it aside and got a slightly wider hammer and repeated.
As the Night Princess continued her work, slowly, she thought she could almost hear a voice in her mind. Normally she would have been unnerved by hearing anything without seeing who it came from. However, at the moment Luna cared not for anything beyond her work, and even though the words were ominous, they still brought something resembling comfort to her wounded heart.
Three Points for the Past, Present, and Future that Flies, One black Shaft that makes the feeble Quake, Seven Dark Colors that arc through the azure Skies, And One Hate the Master’s Weapon Make For the Master’s Desire, such where it Lies. One Hate to slay them all, One Hate to seek them. One Hate to hold them all, and in their despair, end them. For the Master’s Desire, such where it Lies.
5 years Before Nightmare
Celestia had finally managed to get some time to herself, after what felt like (and may as well have been) years. But for now all of their little ponies were busy with their own pursuits, leaving the alabaster Alicorn the freedom to see her sister, something she wasn’t able to do for…. Well, she couldn’t remember how long exactly, but far too long even for an immortal.
It had been a while since the Princess of the Day had walked the halls of her sister’s side of the palace, and the time showed, much to Celestia’s shock and indignation. The tapestries that hung from the walls were molding and rotting, the moon-like finish on the wall was fading and chipped away in places, and ivy and other plant growths poured in through the windows. Clearly Luna’s side of the palace was actively neglected by the maintenance staff. Heads were certainly going to roll for this. However, that brought to mind the question of how this could have escaped her notice. Surely Luna would have sent word.
Now the Princess of the Day was worried for the Princess of the Night. Luna, Celestia had been told, had been growing more detached from the world recently, rarely seen by her own hoofmaidens, except for when she exited her chambers to hold the Night Court and move the moon. Now that she thought of it, there were stories passing about of a dark beast that lurked the hallways late in the night, stalking anypony that wondered into this half of the palace. Some said that it was Luna herself, her mind lost to her darkness. Celestia had cast off the thought as more mean-spirited lies and treated it as such. However…
Turning the corner, Celestia was relieved to see the doors of her sister’s chambers were still there, and even more so when she saw the four Night Guards that flanked said door.
“Good,” she said aloud, “at least someponies are still maintaining their posts.”
The four stallions stood a little straighter at the Day Princess’ compliments as she entered the Royal Chambers of the Princess of the Night.
“Luna?” she said, looking about, squinting into the dark room, “Where art thou sister? ‘Tis I, thy sister Celestia, come to par take in merriment with thee.”
But the dark room was silent, save for the gentle whistling of the wind through the far window. Gingerly, the Princess of the Sun treaded into the room.
“Sister? I am not amused by these games.”
But only the silence replied.
Seeing that Luna wasn’t around, Celestia wondered deeper into the room, taking in the state of her sister’s bedchambers.
Fortunately, the room was much tidier than the hallways without, but the room still held an air of abandonment. Growing more concerned for her sister, Celestia looked around for some clue as to where her sister may be, and just what she had been up to. All around the Princess of the Day, the shadows seemed obstructive and all-encroaching, as though hiding something that was watching her every move. Granted that was the norm for Luna, whose tastes gravitated towards what most ponies found… Creepy. However, the sensation now no longer felt benign, as it had in years past.
There! In the corner of her eye stood a pony shape. With a start and a gasp, Celestia turned to see a mirror, and behind her in that mirror stood the shape. A jerk around and a the Princess faced the whatever-it-was, casting a minor illumination spell to see…
A mannequin. A dress-maker’s dummy donned in minor battle armor. It wasn’t much for a mortal pony, but for an immortal Alicorn, the armor was largely decorative anyway. In any case, Celestia was more than familiar with her sister’s work. When upset, some would eat, others would seek out a fight. But Luna? Luna crafted. And looking at the blue armor that the dummy wore, Luna must have been upset indeed, because it was some of the finest work of hers that Celestia had ever seen.
Giggling off the nerves built up, Celestia with cautious steps trotted up to the mannequin, examining the finer details Luna had lovingly laid into the metal. Eventually, irrevocably, her gaze rose, was pulled rather, to the head, and the helm that it wore, and the familiar magical energies that radiated out from the metal.
“Is that… Estelnehtar?”
With a touch of magic, the helm levitated into the air, bringing it closure for her to examine. The inherent magic was the same, but the tri-bladed lance head was unrecognizable: The blades had been expertly bend and buckled so to hug the curves of the wearer’s head, and a hole punched through to make way for the horn. The gaps had been covered by additional pieces of armor to both complete the protection and strengthen the piece. Finally, the metal had been tainted a nighttime blue, no doubt by some Smith’s Technique that Celestia could not fathom.
“Oh Luna, ‘tis lovely.” The Sun Princess said to nopony. Taking another look at the piece of armor, Celestia shrugged and placed it on her head.
“Such craftsmareship simply must be appreciated. Just once should not hur-” Celestia’s idle thoughts were interrupted by a presence, dark and malevolent, entering her mind. On the outside, her face took on a shocked and terrified appearance, her pupils and irises shrinking to pinpricks, wobbling about in fear. And in Celestia’s mind…
Came a voice.
Three Points for the Past, Present, and Future that Flies, One black Shaft that makes the feeble Quake, Seven Dark Colors that arc through the azure Skies, And One Hate the Master’s Weapon Make For the Master’s Desire, such where it Lies. One Hate to slay them all, One Hate to seek them. One Hate to hold them all, and in their despair, end them. For the Master’s Desire, such where it Lies.
Celestia, Princess of the Sun, Day Ruler of Equestria, most powerful pony alive, stood frozen in artificial fear.
“Wh-what… Who are…?”
Leave Me. Forget Me.
“Princess?”
With a start Celestia looked around, finding herself in the hallway in front of the door to Luna’s bedchambers, the guards looking up at her with concern. Why was she in front of Luna’s bedchambers?
Celestia shook her head, the knowledge slowly returning to her. Luna. She was looking for Luna, that was right, and she wasn’t in her room. So where was she?
“Tell me, do you know where the Princess of the Night is? I much desire to speak with her.”
The four bat-winged stallions looked amongst themselves before turning back to their liege, and shook their heads no. Celestia sighed before turning down the hallway.
“Very well. When next you see her, tell Luna that her sister wishist to spend time with her.”
With that, the Princess of the Day began her trek back to her half of the palace, to think on where else Luna might be hiding herself. However, Celestia stopped short, remembering something important.
“One last thing!” She said to the guards, “Seek out whomever doth maintain these halls, their neglect is criminal, and I am most offended at the state of mine Sister’s home pathways.”
All across Equestria, it is traditional to put on the Hearth’s Warming pageant on Hearth’s Warming Eve, the anniversary of Equestria’s founding. However, it is in Canterlot that the Pre-Equestrian tribes are also celebrated. Before the play itself, Princess Celestia, and now Luna, gives a small speech consisting of anecdotes from her time as ruler of Equestria. After that, the Royal Symphony Orchestra and Choir come on stage, all in period costume, and perform the national anthem for each of the three tribes. After a brief intermission, the play is performed.
Below are the lyrics of the pieces performed in question, written as sung.
Rule Celestine, written and arranged by order of Commander Cincinnatus in 1000 BW, and was performed during parade ceremonies and at major national events.
When Celestine fi-i-irst, from the ground depart, Aro-o-o-ose up to the a-a-a-zure main, Arose, arose, arose up to the a-azure main, This was the charter, the charter of our heart, And guardian spir-ir-irits sang this strain:
Rule Celestine! Celestine rule the skies You shall, never, ever, ever see your demise. Rule Celestine! Celestine rule the skies You shall, never, ever, ever see your demise.
The nations, no-o-o-o-ot so blest as thee, Must i-i-i-i-in their turn, to an-ar--chies fall, Must in their turn, to an-ar--chies fall, While thou shalt flourish, shalt flourish great and free, The dread and e-e-e-e-nvy of them all.
Rule Celestine! Celestine rule the skies You shall, never, ever, ever see your demise. Rule Celestine! Celestine rule the skies You shall, never, ever, ever see your demise.
Still more majestic shalt thou rise, More dreadful from each foreign strike; More dreadful, dreadful fro-om each foreign strike. As the loud blast, the blast that tears the skies Serves but to 'termine the native kite.
Rule Celestine! Celestine rule the skies You shall, never, ever, ever see your demise. Rule Celestine! Celestine rule the skies You shall, never, ever, ever see your demise.
When Celestine fi-i-irst, from the ground depart, Aro-o-o-ose up to the a-a-a-zure main, Arose, arose, arose up to the a-azure main, This was the charter, the charter of our heart, And guardian spir-ir-irits sang this strain:
Rule Celestine! Celestine rule the skies You shall, never, ever, ever see your demise. Rule Celestine! Celestine rule the skies You shall, never, ever, ever see your demise.
Spirits Save Rex Felid the King, originally written as an anthem for the funeral for King Rex Felid (3056-2989/3030-2989), the only king of the Kingdom of Unicorns to have both genuinely held the love of the nobility as well as been an effective leader. There had been attempts by his son and other kings further down the line to update the lyrics to have the name replaced with that of the current king, but none of the attempts stuck for more than a few years.
Spirits save Rex Felid the King, our good King Rex Felid! Long live Rex Felid the King like the brightest gems of bliss! May laurel branches bloom for him, wherever he goes, as a wreath of honor. Spirits save Rex Felid the King, our good King Rex Felid!
Let the Highest Spirits Know, a traditional hymn. The Hyracotherium never had an official anthem, but this piece proved to have been the most popular.
Let the highest Spirits know, Our livelihoods we yearly sow. Let the highest Sunshine deign, That our work be not in vain. That our work be not in vain.
From the Seas to the Mountains high, In the earth our strength does lie. Though the Horn and Wing commands, ‘Tis in us their strength stands. ‘Tis in us their strength stands.
With work and sweat and plow, We bear life future and now. With our bounty in glorious days, Let us not take undue praise. Let us not take undue praise.
All shall fear me, Justice is here at last. Fifteen years since my sister was cast from her throne.
No allegiance, you all broke thy oath You pompous fools, you all forgot that my power is divine.
You said Luna was not fit to rule the land. It seems that you fail to understand Born to rule Your time has come.
We were chosen by Father Say my name when you pray To the skies! Tyrannous Sol! With a wrath that is righteous You shall bow to my will To the skies Tyrannous Sol! To the skies Tyrannous Sol!
Proved in battle, No griffin shall know victory. No mare alive or dead commands me, My will is my own.
Hear my orders, Resist me and die! What I say is my desire, And so it shall be done.
Thanks to you I am destined to rule alone, Thanks to you I have claimed the throne, Born to rule! Do you like it now?
We were chosen by Father Say my name when you pray To the skies Tyrannous Sol With a wrath that is righteous You shall bow to my will To the skies Tyrannous Sol To the skies Tyrannous Sol
All those that hurt her shall burn there's no stopping me. All over Equestr’a my rule shall be questioned by none. All I see are guilty that is my decree! My will be done.
You thought Luna was not fit to rule the land, It seems you failed to understand Born to rule! Your time is now!
I was chosen by Father Say my name when you pray To the skies Tyrannous Sol To the skies With a wrath that is righteous You shall bow to my will To the skies Tyrannous Sol To the skies Tyrannous Sol
It has been stated many times that those in the most stressful professions have the darkest senses of humor, and that it is a necessity in the face of what would otherwise reduce a pony to a whimpering wreck. Given the martial nature of the Celestine Junta and the constant watch for enemies, it stands to reason that the Pegasi of Pre-Unification Equestria would have the darkest humor of the day, a fact that is shown in full in their marching songs, of which Blood Upon the Aerials is the most well known and most intact. We even know of its tune and the story of its creation. Such as how this song is not its original form. Rather, it is in fact a parody of another called Battle Hymn of the Junta, whose lyrics are sadly lost to history.
For another, it is strongly believed that Blood was written by none other than Private Pansy, written as an amusement for her fellow soldiers, and tells the story of a young trooper in training who suffers a wing cramp and dies while on a mission to manage a wild storm. The lyrics are of vital interest to historians due to the little details they reveal of everyday pegasi soldier life. Such details include the widespread usage of potassium consumption amongst soldiers, most likely in the form of bananas (potassium being an important mineral for muscle movement, and a deficiency can lead to muscle cramps) and suggests that death by falling may have been more common amongst pegasi than one would assume to a modern observer. This factor is likely due to the vastly improved diet of modern pegasi than their segregated ancestors.
While the song is quite distasteful to modern ears, it is still sung in good humor by such groups as the Extreme Weather teams of Stalliongrad and the Wonderbolts, especially the teams that deal with emergency situations. Furthermore, respect is due to this piece, as it is marching songs like it that help sparke the Winter War Armistace.
------
She was just a rookie trooper and she surely shook with fright She checked off her equipment and made sure her straps were tight She had to sit and listen to those awful storm clouds roar, You ain't gonna soar no more.
CHORUS: Gory, Gory, What a Helluva way to die Gory, Gory, What a Helluva way to die Gory, Gory, What a Helluva way to die She ain’t gonna soar no more.
"Is everypony happy?" cried the Sergeant, looking up. Our hero feebly answered "yes," and then they stood her up. She jumped right out into the blast, her ‘tassium unmunched. And she ain’t gonna jump no more.
CHORUS: Gory, Gory, What a Helluva way to die Gory, Gory, What a Helluva way to die Gory, Gory, What a Helluva way to die She ain’t gonna soar no more.
She flew out, she flew hard, the turb’lence was like a ramp; She felt the wind, she felt the cold, she felt her wing cramp; She jerked around, she pulled the limb, she went into a spir’l. And she ain’t gonna soar no more.
CHORUS: Gory, Gory, What a Helluva way to die Gory, Gory, What a Helluva way to die Gory, Gory, What a Helluva way to die She ain’t gonna soar no more.
The aerials wrapped around her neck, connectors cracked her dome; The armor creaked and pulled the knots, and crushed her skinny bones; Her other wing became her shroud, she hurtled to the ground. And she ain’t gonna soar no more.
CHORUS: Gory, Gory, What a Helluva way to die Gory, Gory, What a Helluva way to die Gory, Gory, What a Helluva way to die She ain’t gonna soar no more.
The days she’d lived and loved and laughed kept running through her mind; She thought about the stallion back home, the one she left behind; She thought about the medic-oes and wondered what they’d find. And she ain’t gonna soar no more.
CHORUS: Gory, Gory, What a Helluva way to die Gory, Gory, What a Helluva way to die Gory, Gory, What a Helluva way to die She ain’t gonna soar no more.
The ambulance was on the spot, the advisors running wild; The medics jumped and screamed with glee, they prepped their bags and smiled; For it had been a week or more since last a trooper fell. And she ain’t gonna soar no more.
CHORUS: Gory, Gory, What a Helluva way to die Gory, Gory, What a Helluva way to die Gory, Gory, What a Helluva way to die She ain’t gonna soar no more.
She hit the ground, the sound was splat, her blood went spurting high; Her comrades were then heard to say, "A helluva way to die"; She lay there rolling ‘round in the welter of her gore. And she ain’t gonna soar no more.
CHORUS: Gory, Gory, What a Helluva way to die Gory, Gory, What a Helluva way to die Gory, Gory, What a Helluva way to die She ain’t gonna soar no more.
There was blood upon the aerials, there were brains upon the helm; Intestines were a-dangling from her Lighteningtrooper suit; She was a mess, they picked her up and poured her from her boots. And she ain’t gonna soar no more.
CHORUS: Gory, Gory, What a Helluva way to die Gory, Gory, What a Helluva way to die Gory, Gory, What a Helluva way to die She ain’t gonna soar no more.
Commander Hurricane was not well known for his writing in life. However, many of his letters between family and friends show evidence of a keen mind that leant itself easily towards essay writing. One of the more entertaining and fascinating being this letter to his son Shadowed Glory where he laid out his three tenants to being a great lover.
The Duties of A Lover
My dear Shadowed Glory,
It pleases me greatly that you have been met with great success in your pursuit of Miss Medley. Did I not tell you of the effectiveness of The Smile? It is my fondest hope that you two enjoy each other’s company for years to come. As I have recently discovered the joys of grandparenthood, I look forward to the fruit of your loins coming for visits. Given the pleasantly fillyish nature of her face and form I dare say the foals will be especially handsome.
While you had mentioned other topics and inquired onto my well-being in your previous letter, I shall address them at another time, as I feel it is my duty as a father and as a more experienced stallion to pass onto you the knowledge gained from years of experience as to what is expected of a true stallion when he undertakes the enterprise of lovemaking, so that his lover be of the height of fondness of him. So that she will not stray or grow bored of him and seek the affections of another stallion, or heaven forbid grow jaded of stallions and seek affection amongst her own sex.
I start with imploring you to keep in mind that the drives of stallions and mares are very different, a mare takes more time to become aroused than a stallion. The analogy I like to use is that a stallion is like a bow and arrow: the weapon only needs a minimum of time to draw back the arrow, and once released it is over and done with in a moment.
Meanwhile, a mare is like a trebuchet: it takes much time and effort to prepare. First the arm must be pulled down and properly secured. The weapon must then be loaded with a multi-ton boulder. And finally, when the pin is pulled the full motion of the trebuchet takes much time to complete, especially when compared to the bow and arrow.
With this in mind, I trust you will understand why the First Duty of a Dutiful Lover is to be constantly affectionate. He must be affectionate so to constantly tend to his lady, to keep her coals constantly warmed so that a roaring fire can be more easily stoked within his lady’s heart. However, while he must be affectionate, he must also be careful to never be obnoxious. A tender embrace and gentle nuzzles on the whole are wonderful tools at maintaining that passionate fire, but are most unwelcome when the lady in question is upset. In such instances the Dutiful Lover must stand by with an attentive and listening ear, and giving his honest opinion only when asked for it. Notice that I said honest opinion. It is only a cad who lies with a smile, who speaks whatever would be required to calm down a lady so that he may more easily bed her. No, the Dutiful Lover, nay, a true Stallion, one who is worthy of holding that title, would be willing to be denied a night of pleasure and comfort for the well-being of his Love.
This brings up the Second Duty of the Dutiful Lover: His Love is the one who decides the time, place and nature for lovemaking. Oh certainly he may petition all he would like, but it must be her who dictates the final say so.
And now the Third and Final Duty: The Dutiful Lover is Patient. Do not be like the condescending unicorns who think only of their own pleasure, and leave their wives and lovers in great discomfort, if not in pain, and unsatisfied. This leads to great misery that the poor mare is unable to voice or rid herself of. No, a dutiful lover is willing to hold off his own pleasure until his Love is almost there herself. I already mentioned how the mare takes more effort and time to become aroused. Do not be intimidated by this my son. Instead, see it as a challenge, make a game of it. In a previous letter I have already explained to you in detail the regions of the female body that a mare will find the most pleasure is her lover were to attack with tender kisses and gentle touches. In the act of lovemaking, the Dutiful Lover will explore these areas, constantly ensuring that his Love finds the sensation pleasurable rather than odd.
A skilled Lover can discern this from the subtle motions and sounds of his Love, but for a beginner it would always be prudent to ask if she likes what he is doing. If course, should the Love be experienced as well, she would be more than happy to request the areas he would stimulate.
I mentioned earlier that the Dutiful Lover does not take his own pleasure until his Love is on the edge herself, so that they may have that great joy together. Of course, an inexperienced Lover may not know when the time is right, coming over either to early or too late. Do not be shamed if this happens my boy, for that is what experience is for, and a Love with a Dutiful Lover is always happy to try again if she knows that he will want her happiness.
Now, no doubt you have questions about other facets of the bedroom, such as certain tastes of activities and threesomes. Of the former it would be left to consideration between the Lover and his Love once a comfortable routine is established.
As to the latter, I will admit that I have bedded multiple mares at once. However, I will admit that by that time mares were more than willing to put aside their discomfort of sharing a bed with another mare if it meant gaining my attentions for one evening.
As not every stallion has the good fortune to be so popular, the Dutiful Lover must not bring the topic of taking a second lady into the room up, because then the Love may begin to question the loyalty of her Lover, leading to a very awkward strain on the relationship. No, it would be best to wait for her to bring the topic up herself. And even then, the Dutiful Lover must maintain the appearance, if not the truth, of hesitation. Oh the Dutiful Lover may be open to the idea certainly, but as the Second Duty clearly states, the Love must be the one to suggest it.
Now then, if all three of the Duties are carried out: Affectionate, Submissive, Patience, then pleasure, comfort and joy in the bedchamber are all guaranteed.
However, I will granted you that these are ideals, and nopony is perfect. But that doesn’t mean that you should not try to live up to them. And at the same time, do not feel crushed if you sometimes fail. For example, if your Love were to suggest bringing in another stallion, I would not begrudge the Lover if he were to bolt and head for the hills.
I trust that these pearls of wisdom will serve you well Shadowed Glory, as they have for me in my long years.
Your father,
Hurricane.
Even With an Injection of Estrogen, Calli Flower's Story Still Holds to Its Roots
Even With an Injection of Estrogen, Calli Flower’s Story Still Holds to Its Roots By Flimsy Critic, originally published in Equestria Daily Star, 6/30/996
The Fall of Calli Flower entertained theater goers once more with Daisy Studio’s latest animated feature adapting Speaks Clear’s classic play, brought to life with the voice work of critically acclaimed Aurora. Though this time with a new twist added, which is that the titular character is now a mare who is the love-struck judge. When asked if a statement was intended, the director simply stated that it was for nothing more than to make a new take on an old story.
And it is certainly an interesting take, albeit one that takes many liberties for the sake of today’s audience. After all, the idea of a mare holding a position of authority is a non-issue for us, but when the story first came about, it was seen as an insane concept, but more on that later. Another alteration being the ending, which is changed to a happier one, with Calli Flower and Emerald escaping into the mountains from persecution, the film fading out with falling snow, implying that the two got out just in time for the start of Hearth’s Warming. In the original play, Emerald and Flower are tied to the steak to burn together. Fun times.
Of course, this was Clear’s own attempt at a happier end for the duo. In the source story (because Speaks Clear is the only author allowed to plagiarize, as all of us academic types will gladly admit), Emerald was drawn, quartered and then burned, while Calli Flower was beheaded for high treason to the Kingdom. Lovely.
Of course, while Speaks Clear’s take on the story in his 595 AW play is undoubtedly the most famous version, which all versions since would in fact try to be adaptations of it, it is far from the only version, or even the original. In fact, the tragic love story of the Unicorn judge Calli Flower and the Earth Pony traveler Emerald preceded Speaks Clear in numerous novels, novellas, and a host of references in sonnets and ballads and, yes, even other plays.
Each version ranged in length and cast, but all held the same core tenants of the setting being the Kingdom of Unicorns, where stallion Judge (or Minister) Calli Flower, who falls in love with an Earth Pony nomad mare named Emerald. Calli Flower’s conflicted emotions for the mare come to a head in two iconic scenes, the first (and much more popular with audiences due to its dark themes) scene of him praying to his ancestors to save him from her ‘gypsy’s spell’ to save his soul (preferably via her death), or to grant him peace by allowing him to have her as his mistress, and the second where he resigns himself to his love for her and wishes to wed her. They are exposed by a member of the nobility (the rank varies, but he is always a rival) and are killed for their relationship. It is difficult to pinpoint when exactly these elements originated, but they became recognizable to modern scholars as early as 2093 BW, and versions that preceded the solidification of these elements most assuredly existed, making this story the Ur Example of the Tragic Love Story.
To modern audiences, the message of the story (as it was for Speaks Clear’s original audience), was to be unafraid to reach out to others in spite of who or what they were, the ultimate triumph of Love and Friendship over Hatred and Racism. But to the Pre-Equestrian Unicorns, it was in fact a cautionary tale against associating with the other pony races. In fact, Calli Flower was cast as what we would today call a “Villain Protagonist,” a character that is placed in the traditional role of the Hero, but whose actions, motivations and very nature are that of the villain. The noble that exposes him is likewise what is known as the “Heroic Antagonist,” who, naturally, fits the role of the Villain, but is otherwise matches the hero in deed and motivation. The same set up is present in Miller’s epic poem Paradise Saved with Chaos and Celestia.
Of course, this may not have been universally so. A few years ago, a small collection of documents was uncovered during the annual maintenance of the Ancient Documents Archive in the Royal Archives of Equestrian History amongst papers that belonged to both Clover the Clever and Mimic the Great and Powerful. Amongst them was a lengthy play version of the story written by none other than Princess Platinum, likely during the decade leading up to Hearth’s Warming.
However, the Princess presents a unique take on the themes and morality of the story, which are virtually unchanged from the contemporary consensus. It is not a racist diatribe against interbreeding, nor does it call for all ponies to love each other. In fact, Platinum is shockingly neutral on the topic. Rather, from both her detailed stage directions and the dialogue, it is a scathing and hateful critique of the deceptive and chronic backstabbing that had been rampant in the court for centuries.
When it was first found there was some discourse over whether or not the play was ever performed, and if so, when. However, given that there was never any record of the play’s existence before it was discovered, and the fact that there were never any fragments of the play found before, the current consensus is that Princess Platinum had written it either to vent her feelings, or as a Closet Drama for personal entertainment.
That said, there has been a call in certain circles in both the literary and dramatic worlds for the play to be performed for the better part of a decade. And if certain rumors are to be believed, funding for such a production on Broadway may be secured in the near future. Time will tell.
And with time, the excitement over a genderbent lesbian Calli Flower will fade. Though Aurora’s spittle-filled singing demand for Emerald to be burned by the fires of Hell will certainly remain with theater goers and Daisy fans for decades to come. True it’s different, but I’d think even the most puritan of academics can take this version of The Fall of Calli Flower for what it is: A new and unique twist on an old favorite that still manages to fulfill its purpose, to entertain, and caution against the evils of the world.
Fall Harvest Festival, 8 Years After the Great Warming. The Hideaway
The Hideaway was a simple estate. Consisting of some eighty acres, it housed some cows and pigs, a flock of chickens, and fields for a multitude of crops. All of this centered around the mansion. Of course, compared to the mansions of the Earth Pony Gentry or the Unicorn Nobility, it was a rather modest affair. It didn't even have a ballroom for spirits' sake! But, the owner and master of the house had no need for balls, let alone ballrooms. Should the necessity arise, the furniture would be moved out of the way in the living room thank you very much.
From the exterior, it was clear to any pony of an architectural persuasion that the design was pure Pegasi brought into existence by Earth Pony and Unicorn materials and artistry, with its noble columns and intricate capitols. The theme was continued with the decorations of the interiors, which is to say, a deficiency in said decorations. It wasn't that the master of the house disliked artwork. It's just that he disliked wasting the money on something if he didn't personally enjoy it. As a result, much of the house was left depressingly barren. Much, but not all. The main hallway for instance, was wallpapered with murals depicting the most important event in recent, no, in all pony history: The Great Warming. Monstrous Windigos laying frozen waste upon dozens of ponies, to dedicated to The Winter War to notice, all of this leading up to a massive, fiery, heart-shaped explosion above the entryway to the dining room. And of course the guest rooms were also adorned with whatever the ponies the master of the house trusted with decorating thought was appropriate. After all, the master had no intention on staying in those rooms, so what would he care if the paint or statues or artwork was horrid?
Not much, truth be told. And at the moment, the master of the house cared less than usual. At the moment, he cared more for the state his evening wear. Or rather, his missing War Helm.
"Dam-NATION!" He bellowed, voice long-trained for audibility in the midst of a mighty, pitched and chaotic battle, and thus understandable not just throughout the house, but a goodly distance out beyond the yard and into the near fields. "Where is that damned bleeding helmet!"
Pacing the Master's Study, the sixty-year old pegasus pony, whose once pitch-black coat had faded somewhat into a dark, smoky, thunderhead grey, and ice-blue mane long faded to silver, clad in metal and leather armor (sans helmet) polished and oiled to a mirror-esque shine, threw open drawers, slammed them shut, looked under furniture with an agility of a stallion a quarter his age, only to hunt the drawers again. And yet his quarry eluded him. Which raised his ire all the more, spawning more delightfully colorful and sophisticated profanity.
"BOLLOCKS!! Bloody bollocks! Where the Earth Filth-riddled Hellfire is that damned bloody bastard-spooged HELMET!?"
"'ere Commandah!"
Spinning around at the sound of the tiny voice, the old pony saw his helmet, polished to a shine, it's black Hawk feathers plumed to perfection, and in the hooves of a young colt, no more than five years old, with a muddy coat and silver mane, and eyes with the same shade of green as the older stallion's. Seeing the young one, the frustrated look on the master of the house's face vanished, replaced with an affectionate grin as he took the piece of headgear from the youth.
"Thank you lad." he said, barely more than a whisper.
Turning from him and to the mirror on the wall, Commander Hurricane addressed him as he secured his helmet.
"Did you do this Collard Green?"
The colt nodded with the eagerness of a child desiring to do a beloved authority figure proud.
"Yuh-huh! Jus' the way you like it!"
Hurricane chuckled to himself, turning his head the way and that to get a good and proper look at the colt's handiwork.
"I can see that laddie. You did a smack-up job." he turned to the colt, "I just might consider making you in charge of maintaining my armor."
The colt's grin, if possible, grew. The old commander returned the smile, giving the lad a noogie as a knock came to the door.
"Commander?"
Turning to the doorway, Hurricane saw a green-on-purple Earth Pony mare, no more than perhaps twenty-five, and dressed as befitting the Head Maid of the staff. Hurricane scored a major coup getting her away from Platinum's staff. The pegasus was just starting up the estate and moved in, only to find he had no idea how the hell one went about managing an agrarian estate such as the Hideaway. Fortunately, miss Fresh Clippings was more than familiar with the requisite comings and goings from years of observation and serving as staff. The coup element being that Hurricane didn't really know that at the time, and had hired her on out of a feeling of obligation (dammit how was he supposed to know that a single mother in the Kingdom of Unicorns faced destitution?! It was simple good fortune that Platinum had the presence of mind to realize the Junta had different views on the matter, and inform the Commander). Hurricane didn't know what he'd do without Fresh Clippings helping him acclimate to the terran-based life-style, and Collard Green was shaping up to be a fine young stallion, much to Hurricane's pride.
If only he could get her to dispense with the titles and just bloody call him Hurricane.
"Yes miss Clippings, what is it?"
"Idle Watch just told me to pass along the news of your daughter and her family are coming up the drive."
"Marvelous!"
Like a shot, the old pony bolted out of the room and down the stairs, making for the front door that was just starting to open. On the other side of that door, stood two ponies: An Earth Pony stallion and a pegasus mare. The stallion sported a creamy-yellow coat and a mane of brown hair, a hoe adorned on his flank.
"Trencher!" Hurricane bellowed with a smile, placing one hoof on his shoulder, the other held out for a shake, "How's the leg?"
The other pony returned the smile, and the shake. "Like it's been stabbed."
As the two stallions laughed, the mare walked in, rolling her eyes in good humor. She sported the same shade of blue mane and tail as her father once had (and her mother, coincidentally enough, had for a coat), though her coat was pink. Her cutie mark was hidden by armor that, even though it was freshly polished and clean, looked as though it had been neglected. The forty-year old mare looked up and down at Hurricane, giving her appraisal.
"I don't believe it. Eight years of peace and that hunk of scrap metal still fits, while I have to suck in just to tighten the belt."
"Oh don't be so glum Pansy," Hurricane replied, throwing his forelimbs around his favorite daughter in a strong embrace, "after all, I'm just the one who stats the process, not the one who bears the child. Eh, speaking of-"
"Grampa!!" Came a third voice, as a white blur plowed into the older stallion, who gave a somewhat pained 'oompf' as he was propelled back into his home.
"Hello Plow Blade," he weezed, though a smile adorned his face.
"Gramp-gramp!" came a smaller voice, though no less joyful, which originated from a pegasus filly with a green coat and a yellow mane who couldn't have been more than five or six years old. Looking down at her winded grandfather, she turned angrily at her brother sitting on his chest. "Plow! You hurt Gramp-Gramp!"
Stepping down from his grandfather's chest, the brown-maned, white coated eight-year old colt looked to his sister.
"Did not! Grampa's the strongest pony in the world!" he declared, finishing with a raspberry.
"Did too!" the filly replied, returning the raspberry.
"Did not!"
"Did too!"
"Did not!"
"Did too!"
"Enough."
At the steel that once brought soldiers to attention in a moment, Plow Blade and his sister Rake stopped their arguing and stood up straight.
"Yes mama." the foals chorused, eyes down to the floor. To the side, the foals' father and grandfather looked on with matching expressions, one spawned from paternal pride, the other from love.
"That's my baby girl."
"I love being married to a badass. I never have to raise my voice, and I never even have to tell the kids to do something twice 'cause they know Mama'll be on my side."
Ignoring the stallions, Pansy took the foals and hugged them tightly.
"Now I want you to be good for daddy and Miss Clippings all right? Grampa and mommy will be back latet tonight."
"But mama!" Plow Blade pleaded, "I wanna go with you to miss Platinum's party!"
"Yeah mama!" his sister agreed, "Let us come, can we? Please?"
Nuzzling the two, Pansy gave a small chuckle as she released them.
"Sorry kids, but I'm afraid not. 'Sides, this is a grown up party, you wouldn't have any fun at all."
------
Palace of Friendship (formerly the Palace of Prosperity)
"BOLLOCKS!"
The table that Hurricane sat at the head of, loaded with stallions and a few mares from all three races, erupted in laughter as the old stallion mimed moving his forelimb in some sort of container.
"And this continued for a good five or so minutes! With Thunderhead egging me on! Like I said I forget the thing he was trying to show us, that's what it involved. And then the Captain walked in."
The audience ooh'd at that piece of information, the sort of sound they make when the storyteller reaches the part where they know that the subject of the tale is in trouble for being caught in the act.
"So, imagine, if you will, what she saw: Me, with my leg up to my elbow in ice water, yelling 'bollocks' as loud as I can, surrounded by my fellows. Well, I got laid that night so I must have done something right."
As the small crowd howled with laughter, Pansy (who spent the entirety of the tale separated by a number of table places) slapped a hoof against her face as the burgundy, Premier-robe clad, green and purple form of Smart Cookie (who sat beside her during dinner) kept a straight face, sipping her tea.
"Why oh why can't father adhere to proper topics when in public."
Taking a moment to consider the question, Smart Cookie finished her cup as placed it aside to be filled by a servant.
"Well Dumpling, I think it is because he really doesn't care about such things, and wishes for ponies to be care-free around him, and if anypony disapproves they can, well... You know what his sentiments would be."
Indeed Pansy would, including the language used to articulate them.
"And while I can't say I approve of the methods... I must say that after a lifetime of dealing with politicians who care about the opinions of others, even if only to retain to power, such a common and breezy personality is... refreshing. No doubt that is what Platinum and Clover enjoy about his company. It's a coverless simplicity. Total Honesty."
Pansy looked to the older mare ruefully. "Aren't you married Premier?"
Cookie laughed.
"That I am Dumpling! But that doesn't mean I have lost my ability to appraise a fine cut of stallion. In fact, now that I'm off the market, it means my appraisal is worth even more!"
Rolling her eyes, Pansy scoped the room. An old habit, but a useful one even for peaceful purposes. The stone walls still had the plastered facade they always had, giving the room a sterile, white appearance, with the banners still in place, both the number of banners of the Equestrian Republic, and the few remaining banners showing the Insignia of the House of Æthelric, subtly reminding everypony just whose home they were in. Which reminded Pansy of something.
Or rather, someponies who had been absent for the evening.
"Say, have you seen Clover? Or Platinum? I've not seen her since soon after father and me got here, and Clover I haven't seen at all."
The former Secretary of the Interior of the Hyracotherium Republic, now leader of the Equestrian Republic, sighed.
"Yes, well, Platinum told me earlier that some sort of family tragedy befell Clover's relatives, and the news reached her just this evening. I doubt we'll see her tonight." taking amoment to rethink Pansy's question, the earth pony mare looked around.
"Hmmm... As to Platinum... Now that you mention it, yes, I'd say that our host is rather conspicuously absent. Oh well, I'm sure she's around."
And indeed she was 'around.'
Shivft
The White mare with the two-tone mane of blue and green sat in her 'Black Room,' which really wasn't a room at all. In fact, it was, to any unsuspecting pony, her wardrobe. At least, in its concealed position. But if one were to open its doors, and unfold its cabinets, one would find what many beings in the far future would recognize as a small post office, with little cubbies for letters entering or leaving, and small drawers and pockets holding inks and sealing waxes of every color across the spectrum, along with seals that were perfect recreations of those used by every family (and the individuals that made up said families) of the courts of the Kingdom of Unicorns and Unicornia. Even the dead ones. Especially the dead ones. In little notches were held bone-knives of every shape, sheets of paper and envelopes of every size, texture and type, and even a dictation machine that, when (in)appropriately used, could recreate a pony's writing-style perfectly, and in a side-shelf sat a collection of notebooks containing codes and their permutations used by everypony in the court.
This was the very brain of Platinum's not-as-little-as-assumed spy network. She built it from the ground up, starting just before the Lake Trot Crisis twenty-four years earlier. Now it contained a score of agents keeping tabs on hundreds of ponies from the highest lords and ladies of the courts to the lowest servants. Especially the servants, who were often used as, or used by, agents to carry out the little schemes and machinations of the court. Shame for them that none of them were able to avoid the all-seeing eyes of Princess (King, technically) Platinum, and not a single plot was allowed to continue beyond the first opening moves unless it doing so furthered Platinum's own goals. Not a single piece of correspondence moving through Equestria, let alone in or out of the palace, went without Platinum seeing it before its recipient. Decades training in the art of post interception taught her every possible trick to digging out a letter, deciphering its contents, repackaging it and sending it on its way with nopony being able to tell it had been tampered with.
Unfolding the letter she just opened, Platinum adjusted her reading spectacles, angling the paper to view it clearer in the candle light. Seeing nothing encoded in the message itself, she passed the paper over the flames for a few passes. Therein was the story told, as the dried citrus juice was burned, revealing a message for a meeting request to discuss a plot to assassinate a rival in order to make a move for his land. Had said rival been difficult in the past, Platinum would have gladly recreated the message and sent it on its merry way, keeping in mind to confound the land takeover in the aftermath. Platinum spent too many years breaking the back of the nobility, no sense in letting them gain that strength again before her planned demise.
However, Baron Argon, while not an asset, had never been bothersome either, and was easily manipulated enough to warrant him as more useful alive than dead. Fortunately, some arsenic in the sender's drink tomorrow night would fix the issue with no questions asked. The pony was a known glutton and a sudden death after a large meal would not be surprising to anypony.
Noting the name of the sender, the course of action needed, and the reasoning for it, Platinum burned the letter and picked up the next one, though she paused, leaving the letter floating in mid-air.
"Yes Velvet Hooves, what is it?"
From behind a tapestry behind the princess that for all intents and purposes hid nothing but a wall (that wasn't actually there; Platinum would know, she designed the network of passageways herself), a brown unicorn stallion dressed in an unassuming servant's attire entered the Princess' room before bowing.
"You Majesty, more correspondence."
The princess took the small stack of letters from her Spymaster, placing them in the IN cubby.
"Thank you. Is there anything else?"
"Yes. Premier Cookie and Private Pansy have both noticed your absence. Furthermore, Commander Hurricane has finished his ninth glass of wine, and the swearing story. If the current pattern continues, he will deny a tenth, tell the Defecation story, and given Court Mage Clover the Clever's absence for the evening, will go searching for her."
Given the new information, Platinum released the letter she had been holding in her telekinetic grasp until now, steepleing her forehooves in thought. As she did so, the light from the candle reflected off of the glass in her spectacles, obscuring the look in her eyes.
"I see. Tell me Velvet, what are the chances of Hurricane spending the night here in light of recent events? More specifically in Clover's own room."
"Most likely you Majesty."
"Agreed. Everything continues apace then. Considering the subtle changes in their relationship since Hurricane's little... abduction, chances are probable that Clover would not be opposed to the former Commander... comforting her, let's say. I will say that, if Hurricane were to do so, it would be unexpected, but hardly unanticipated. I trust you are familiar with the various contingencies."
"Yes your Majesty."
"Good. I shall see to this last letter, and then I shall return to the main hall. Dismissed."
With a ruffle of cloth the top agent of Platinum's network was gone, not once had the Princess looked in the stallion's direction. Part of this was to maintain professionalism, the other part being due to how she disliked seeing the eager to please glint in his eye. No doubt Velvet Hooves was a fine stallion in form and a pleasant enough fellow in personality, but Platinum could not spare the effort on a romantic pursuit. Even without the potential shift in the delicate balance of power she maintained, her plans for Equestria's society required that the House of Æthelric die with her. And... Even without that political reality...
Well, Platinum's cutie mark wasn't a puppeteer's controller because she liked marionette shows.
------
In the dining hall, one table in particular was quite crowded at one end, and in the middle of this mod of ponies sat Hurricane, gleefully enduring the pleas and begs to 'tell it,' the 'it' in question clearly well known to those present. All the while, Pansy hovered over her father, frantically shaking her head 'no' and waving her forelegs in the same, trying her hardest to have her voice heard above the crowd that had been chanting its request for a good fifteen minutes now. Her father had noticed her moments ago, but only now deigned to 'notice,' placing a hoof to one ear. Allegedly so that he could hear her blatantly obvious request was.
"WHAT WAS THAT PANSY? WHAT? TELL IT? WELL ALL RIGHT!"
Even as the crowd cheered and quieted themselves for story time, Pansy slowly settled into her chair, face flush with mortification, tearing her hooves through her blue mane, dredging up great reserves of will power to meet the eyes of the Princess.
"I am so, so sorry Platinum. I swear he's worse than the foals! I can't take him anywhere without him telling this gross story."
Smart Cookie finished stirring the milk and sugar into her fresh cup of tea, the kettle Platinum so thoughtfully brewed and brought for them still steaming. Taking an experimental sip, the older mare sighed in satisfaction before rubbing Pansy's back, extolling her pearls of wisdom with the air of an eternally wise sage.
"He's old Dumpling. Old ponies are required by Nature's Law, as decreed by the Alicorns themselves, to be as rude, crass and disgusting as they very well wish and please to be. And us, as their children, are destined to endure it. And in their omniscient mercy, They allow us to in turn torment our own children in the same manner when the time comes."
"Here here love," Platinum agreed, gently tapping her hoof on the table, "besides, while the story is foul, I have always found the expressions of the nobles most entertaining."
Pansy was about to retort to that when Smart Cookie intervened.
"At least it isn't Puddinghead, Alicorn's rest her mad soul. That mare would probably try to tell the story of Hearth's Warming. As she remembered it at the time. Now shush, the Tin Pot Tyrant is starting."
At the other end of the table, Hurricane motioned that the audience was to come to order, just as eager to tell the story as they were to hear it.
"Now then, this was... Oh, I'd say somewhere in the neighborhood of some forty-four or so years ago. I was a Lieutenant serving with Lieutenant Lightning Bolt and Corporal Flash as sentries in Dead Diamond Dog Pass, which is the highest pathway through the Manehattan Range, and it's bloody cold and stormy and snows all the damned bloody time. And while you are stationed there you more or less spend most of the night in your little tent, because otherwise you die. And when I say 'tent,' I really mean 'Bollocks piece of shit,'" the audience laughed heartily, forcing Hurricane to pause. He took a moment to sip some water before continuing, "and I say that because it's still bloody cold in there. And what's worse about being stationed at that pass is that the winds and terrain are so awful all the time. So much so that, well, if you aren't close to your fellow officers you will be by the end of your tour because it's just not safe to go anywhere alone, not even to take a shit!"
He paused for effect.
"You can already see where this is going can't you?"
Pansy muttered something under her breath, from the sound of it, chances were good that it was in agreement.
"Well one night all three of us were sleeping, because anyone dumb enough to try that pass in the middle of bleeding winter in the middle of the bleeding night would be dead long before they got to us, when Lightning Bolt woke us up. Now, we were already upset because it was four o'clock in the morning. Otherwise known as Dark O'clock in the morning. Otherwise known as 'The World Does Not Exist Yet, Piss Off.'"
Again the audience laughed some, all familiar with the unpleasantness of being forcibly awoken before the sun was up.
"So we were understandably upset, when Lightning Bolt said 'I have got to take a shit.' And at first Flash and I were more than willing to let him soil himself for waking us up when we all heard a gurgling, bubbling sound, and Lightning Bolt folded over himself and groaned in noticeable pain, like 'ooohaghch', which lasted until the sounds went away. I looked Flash in the eye, and it was clear we both knew what that meant: This was going to be one of those messy ones, with flying bits and fluid and farts all coming at once and if it wasn't pointed somewhere else we were all going to get covered in it. And thus began an adventure the likes of which only happen in Epics: Three stallions, one a ticking time bomb, must brave the elements until they reach their destination, and none of them knows if they'll make it."
As the crowd laughed again, Hurricane began doing small-scale pantomime of being cold, gesturing with his forelimbs the much abridged portion of the less humorous part of the story.
"So we all went out of the tent, ooph it's bloody cold, get him across, watch him or he'll fall off the side of the mountain, it's four o'clock in the morning take a shit, get back, and well after as harrowing an ordeal as taking a shit there is no way that you are going back to sleep so you might as well have a brew."
At that Smart Cookie paused for a moment while moving her cup of tea to her lips. ...But only for a moment.
"So we kick up the fire a little and start brewing the tea, when suddenly Flash starts sniffing, and he turns to me as says 'there is an awful smell of shit.' And I was about to tell him he was being ridiculous when I smelled it too.
"So we're all looking around when I turn to Lightning Bolt and, on his left shoulder, there was a turd. Evidently, when the lad took his shit, a crosswind, blew it up," once again the laughter became so pronounced that Hurricane had to stop for a moment for it all to die down, "and it landed on his shoulder. And then we noticed that it was starting to melt. So we kicked him out of the tent to bury the damned thing in the snow. Fortunately I had the presence of mind to remind him not to bury it right outside the flap of the tent.
"And that was my tour at Dead Diamond Dog Pass." he finished, the punch line bringing laughs and cheers from his audience.
At the abandoned end of the table, Pansy buried her face in her hooves.
"Ugh thank goodness it's over. This is why I never bring the foals."
While the crowd dispersed, Hurricane backed away slowly and silently. After ensuring that nopony noticed where he was, he stepped out through a servant's passage and made for the residence wing of the palace.
Of course, Platinum knows many things, and sees many things, and no detail escapes her eye.
------
As opposed to the dining hall, the residence wing was as silent as a tomb, most of the chambers largely unoccupied due to the usual tenants or residence were down amongst the other guests, or back in their own estates, which was just perfect for Hurricane. After all, he had not seen Clover all night, and he was rather concerned for her and did not wish to be distracted. Furthermore, the unicorns were rather uppity about a stallion entering an unwedded mare's room for some daft reason or another, and while he didn't care, experience taught him that others would and the old pegasus would prefer to avoid the hassle of dealing with the noisy complaints.
Turning the corner and passing through the curtain, Hurricane passed into the corridor for the bedchambers of the Royal Family and their closest and most trusted advisors. Each door was identical, making it difficult for outsiders to know whose room was who. But then... Hurricane was already familiar with this hallway.
Down the hall, fourth door on the right. That was Clover's room, and with a few gentle knocks, the pegasus announced his presence.
"Who is it?"
"Clover, let me in. You've been unsociable all evening and I find it concerning."
Silence was his only answer for several long moments, and Hurricane was about to barge right in when Clover's tiny voice came through the door again.
"...You are right. I... I guess I could use some company right now."
Gently, Hurricane nudged open the door and stepped into the room. By the light of the single candle aglow, it was clear that the chambers looked much the same as it had the last time he was present: Walls covered with star charts and bookshelves, and a slate board covered with calculations and equations Hurricane had no hope, nor any desire, to understand, the bookshelves loaded down with books as thick as his neck and loose scrap sheets of parchment, to the point where, if it held sapience, it would be begging to be put out of its misery. Abacuses with varying numbers of beads and rails were neatly stacked underneath a window, and on the far wall was a small balcony with two telescopes of differing powers, along with varying models of quadrants and a large, table-mounted astrolabe.
However, Hurricane's attention was focused solely on the fair-sized bed, and the comparatively small figure that lay huddled on it, its back to him.
The tiny sounds of sniffles and whimpering shot Hurricane in the heart with more bite than any sword or lance or arrow could ever dream of accomplishing, and with silent hoof-falls the old commander gently trotted up to the brown-on-brown unicorn mare, softly nuzzling her behind one ear.
"Come now my little Sparkler Cloud, what has you all upset?"
The young mare rolled over enough to lift her head to look at Hurricane, her dark eyes distorted by overflowing tears, whites reddened by the exertion of producing said tears, and the inevitable rubbing that comes with it, her nose slightly crusty from the snot dribbling from it.
Heartbroken at the sight, Hurricane unbuckled his cuirass and let the metal armor slide to the floor. That done, donned in naught by the leather and mail under-armor, Hurricane crawled onto the bed, holding the mare's head to his chest, and began gently stroking her mane.
"Oh Clover, please. I want to help, but I can't unless you talk to me."
Taking in a shaky breath, Clover reached into her robe and pulled out a folded sheet of paper, handing it to Hurricane.
"I-it, it is my father, Hurricane. He has died. He has been sick for some time, but then he had a stroke quite suddenly earlier this week."
As she sniffed, Hurricane wrapped his wings around her in a feather-soft embrace, empathy clear on his face.
"Oh darling. I'm sorry to hear that. Clearly the two of you were close."
At that, Clover jerked out of her paramour's embrace, her expression an odd blend of frustration and the sorrow that plagued her lovely features since Hurricane entered her rooms.
"No, it is not that. In truth, I never truly had a fair acquaintance with my father. He was always cold and disinterested in me and my accomplishments, and he never truly spoke to or of me as a fellow thinking being. I was just some thing that came out of mother. And would be useless as anything other than a political tool I suppose. ...I suppose one could claim that he was not in truth a father at all."
"Oh! Well in that case he was a total dick."
"And yet I mourn! I am still sad and angry and hurt at his passing and I do not know why I feel this way Hurricane!"
At the look she gave him when she turned full to his face, Hurricane's heart hurt a little bit more at the obvious pain plaguing one of the few mares in his life he could well and truly claim to love.
"I know he was only thinking about my brothers and I as heirs, spares and political utinsils, and yet my heart breaks at the thought that he is no longer among the living." At the new waves of tears that flowed from her eyes, Clover's face blushed as she buried her face into her coltfriend's chest.
Said coltfriend gently stroked the top of the young twenty-four year old mare.
"Oh precious, bless your tender heart."
"I apologize" she mumbled, her voice muffled by Hurricane's chest, "for the scene I am causing. It would be unfair to ask you to understand, what with how found everypony no doubt was of you all your life."
Her ears twitched at attention at the bark of a laugh the old warpony belted out.
"Trust me love, I understand far more than you know."
Looking up, Clover turned her gaze to the pegasus, confusion clear as day.
"You see, I dare my mother was just like your father. Only she was all too happy with making sure I and everypony else knew about it."
With the confusion clearly growing, Hurricane gave a soft laugh that could be mistaken for a rueful sigh and he started parting his thin, but not balding, mane.
"What I am about to show you, is something not even my daughter knows. In fact, only three ponies ever knew about this event, and two of them are dead."
Hurricane leaned down, hooves parting his mane enough to expose the back of his head, just behind his right ear. With great curiosity, Clover straightened up for a better look at what the stallion wanted to show her.
A scar, about a hoof's breadth long. From what Clover could that tell the wound, when it was fresh, was far from lethal, but was no doubt bloody and quite painful, and was made either by a blunt club with a narrowed edge (if a pony could call a club having an edge), or by a quite dull bladed weapon.
"I was about... six I believe. Making that about fifty-four years ago now. Give or take a few months. Star Saber was much more drunk than usual that day when she came home from the office, and saw me taking a leak. Well, Star Saber was pissed off at that reminder, and next thing I remember I was waking up at a nearby clinic, the medic being the third pony knowing about this incident.
"That's why I control how much I drink, so that I don't ever get drunk."
"Why..." Clover breathed, stunned at the story as Hurricane once again hid the evidence.
"Oh! Well, for one thing I'd rather not find out if I'm an angry drunk, or a sad one, rather than a happy drunk. Plus in a warzone being inebriated tends to-"
"No, no, that is not what I meant. Why did she... Do such a thing?"
"Same reason your father dismissed you as less than worthy of his attention I suppose: I committed the inconceivable and unforgiveable sin of being the wrong sex in my society: For you it was being a filly, and for me being a colt. Especially given that having a filly, in my mother's eyes, was to be her last chance at accomplishing something worth bragging about in her life."
Clover looked down at her hooves for a moment to consider that. Seeing as she wasn't going to get it for a while, Hurricane continued.
" Whereas all her friends were becoming Generals or Majors, or serving out there in the wilds, or having birthed ten daughters, each accomplishing great feats of their own, Star Saber was nothing more than a Staff Sergeant, stuck in Celestine under one superior or another, never having a chance to even so much as stand watch at the perimeter. Not what one calls a stellar career."
Clover thought on that before nodding in comprehension. Many unicorns complained on how the society of the former Junta was ridiculous and impossible to understand. Clover had a hypothesis that it was chiefly due to the same unicorns never bothering to put consideration into just what the thought processes, and the influences on said thought processes, were.
"And so she tried to bear a foal, preferably a filly. After all, while in the Kingdom bearing foals was, and is, considered as a mare's purpose in life so that heirs could be produced for her husband, in the Junta it was seen as a divine process that not only created new soldiers, but future leaders as well."
Hurricane nodded, pleased as ever to see Clover catch on.
"Right. Trouble is, it turns out that Star Saber had fertility issues. Waiting until you hit the big forty tends to do that. Mare spent who knows how much money on gladiators that had even the slightest potency, and when that began to strain on her finances, she looked to the stallions under her. Trouble is, while Captains and higher up can afford to bed any random schmuck under her command, platoons have too few individuals to bed without-"
"Without personal issues beginning to form," Clover finished, "due to everypony knowing everypony else. In larger formations, commanded by higher-ranked ponies, there's enough distance so that there is no risk of authority getting undermined."
"Exactly! And so Star Saber got in serious trouble, and was almost court marshaled before getting by with a warning and a transfer, as well as most likely losing whatever chance of promotion she still had. But she no doubt thought it was all worth it because..."
At the drifting off of the statement, Hurricane gestured to himself, face beaming with arrogant joy.
"Me, the spirits' gift to Mares everywhere. And thus the problem."
Clover nodded in comprehension at that. After all, the Celestine Junta was a strict Matriarchal society, whereas the Kingdom of Unicorns was a Patriarchy. In the latter, having a colt was desired. But in the Junta fillies and mares were the desired sex, and it was not alone. The Hyracotherium Republic was a Matriarchal society as well, socially at least, but ability was much more desired attribute than one's sex, due in large part to the nature of their agrarian society. So colts and stallions were at times seen in high positions of authority, if he so desired and worked for it. But in the Junta, a stallion reaching the rank of Major was a rarity, and one becoming a General was unheard of, unless he performed truly Epic-worthy feats on the battlefield as well as possessed the right personal and political connections. Connections that often could only be achieved by whoring himself out to enough mares to get a chance evening with a mare of sufficiently high rank. Hurricane reaching the rank of Commander was an opportunistic miracle due to Hurricane's natural charisma, his relationship with the Commander-Apparent, and a freak combination of many chance factors.
If Star Saber wanted some glory vicariously from her foal, her best chance would have been if that foal was a filly. A colt would never amount to the lofty goals she fantasized the foal meeting, in her own mind if not in fact. Nothing would be good enough otherwise.
The societies of the Celestine Junta and the Kingdom of Unicorns were an interesting dichotomy, if one desired to look at it from a sociological standpoint. In one, being born with a penis guaranteed you the chance of power, prestige, wealth and glory. In the other, the exact opposite was true, granting only a life as a second-class citizen, whose only chance to advance was to fight in almost suicidal battles and make oneself seen by those higher up in the hierarchy as how a gardener looks at a plant for healthy-looking seeds to plant for next year's crops.
"So you can understand why the second the clock struck midnight on my fourteenth birthday, I stormed out of the house of that old nag and camped outside of the nearest recruitment office.
"To be frank Clover," Hurricane said after a few moments of silence, "I think you are fortunate that your father chose to ignore you. Having that sort of animosity being expressed externally? Ponies have snapped over less offenses."
Hurricane draped a forelimb around Clover's shoulder, a wing blanketing her stomach, pulling her close in a tender embrace.
"Then why do I still I still feel this way?" She pleaded in a whisper-quiet voice, "Why do my innards burn with this regret?"
The old stallion nestled her head under his chin, softly taking in the incense-infused scent of her mane, taking the time to formulate his reply.
"I'd say," he offered at last, "it is because you still wished to have had a more favorable relationship with your father, and now you know you never will. Because you are far more forgiving than I am. But you know what? That's a good thing love. Being in the military means never forgiving a traitor, otherwise you won't see if he, or she, is prepping another knife for your back."
Clover considered the logic of the statement, and she could see the wisdom of what Hurricane was telling her. And truth be told, the fact that her coltfriend liked a part of her nature that ran counter to his thought processes and cultural conditioning... Well, simply put it was flattering.
"Still, running off was the best decision of my life, and I never saw her again except for twice. Both times I was surprised as hell she lived long enough to pull it off."
Clover looked up, trying to see the look on the pegasus' face. Of course, given the positioning that wasn't possible. And that burning need for knowledge rose up again.
"I think I shall regret asking this, but what were those two times?"
"Well, the first time was a couple days after the Crisis. There was a, and I quote, 'loyalist uprising' that pretty much amounted to about thirty of so survivors of Sullamander's perversion of the Academy who decided that, upon her death, the Lesbo-Nutjob became a god or some damn-fooled thing."
"Really? I didn't know that."
"Eh, few do, which was what the point was, as I'll show in a minute. Anyway, what they did was try to storm the armory, assuming that thirty foals with unsharpened weapons could overthrow the government of the Junta, even in the state it was in at the time. Sure Wind Whistler pulled it off, but her forces had the advantage of numbers of two-to-one over her enemy."
"Maybe they thought the citizenry would rise up with them?" Clover offered. Granted the notion was absurd and didn't help their position, but at least it wasn't as absurd as what happened. Hurricane just shrugged in response.
"Except they seemed to have forgotten that a war was just fought, and thus the building would be empty of weapons, and that the armory they chose was right next to a sizable mess hall. Plus, they pulled off the start of their little 'revolution,' their words, not mine, in the middle of the day, thus that mess hall was currently packed to standing room only, serving lunch to the soldiers on duty that day. You can imagine how well that went down."
Clover was desperate not to laugh, so she settled with a wince.
"And wouldn't you know it? At the lead was none other than Star Saber. Which was about her speed considering how much of an incompetent fuckwit she was. Turns out she was Corporal Star Saber now, so she must have done something retarded. Not surprising."
"What did you do?"
Hurricane took in a breath to reflect some on the incident.
"Well, like I said earlier I was surprised to old nag was still alive. And when I saw the insignia showing her rank, I refused to hold in my thoughts on her evident demotion and I laughed her to scorn. Still, they tried to pull off a coup on their legitimate governing superiors, punishable by death."
"Did you not just pull off such a coup?"
"Sullamander's little power grab for Lake Trot would have upset the balance of power in the River Valley, which would have threatened the Junta. Wind Whistler showed me herself the passage concerning how that qualified as treason for the Commander. The second she forced the Staff to invade she stopped being legit.
"Anyway, I still had to choose what to do. In the end, I had the whole lot killed, as per the laws of the Articles. They were clearly too far into the delusions Sullamander fed them to make it worth the effort to correct them, plus the way they defiantly spouted the 'glories of the Eternal Commander' and how my fall was 'inevitabl'e and how my death would be 'harsh beyond imagination upon the Eternal Commander's return' even as the executioner slit their throats to be as funny as hell. Killed 'em all, except for Star Saber, even if she spat in my eye as I considered her sentence."
"Because in spite of everything, she was still your mother and deep in your heart you still loved her?" Clover offered, a hopeful tone in her voice.
"Nnnope! Because it would piss her off! Because it meant that she was so pathetic and worthless that even the pony who she tried to overthrow didn't see her as worth the effort to kill and clean up her blood! Then I made sure that there were as few records as could be practical, and that any records of the incident were vague as legally could be managed, and then put them is as isolated a location in the archives as I could pull off. With any luck, a fire'll burn those records after we're all dead 'n' gone, so that nopony looking back will ever know that Star Saber the incompetent fuckwit had the ovaries to try to pull off a coup!"
Hurricane laughed at that, vicious and yet joyous at the thought that his mother's largest stab at attaining some form of eternal recognition was confounded. "Surely that second incident passed more favorably." she thought.
Shame for her.
"Anyway!" Hurricane announced suddenly, making the mare jump a little, "I wouldn't see her again for sixteen years, right after the Warming. I was walking around to clear my head of what had just happened when I found Star Saber's frozen dead arse in the snow. She had been guarding a crate that said it had... celery in it I think. snort Turns out it was empty! Even in the end, Star Saber couldn't do anything right! Still, she died for a purpose: Bringing me good humor in a time of self-loathing."
Clover let Hurricane have his fun for a few minutes, mostly for him to calm down enough for her to be heard.
"Hurricane, that is vicious and mean spirited."
In response, Hurricane lowered his head so that they could look into each others' eyes.
"Unlike you, who are so kind and willing to give mercy that even those that hurt her the most harshly are spared her wrath."
At the look of pure affection in his loving gaze, Clover couldn't help but blush and look away, smiling when she felt him give her a tender kiss on her cheek.
"Feel better?"
Taking a cleansing sigh, the mare took stock of her emotional turmoil. It was still there, the regret of missed chances was still there, but it didn't feel like it was eating her alive anymore, so there was that.
"Nay. But... Now I feel that I may be. Soon."
Hurricane nuzzled Clover's neck at that, spawning a little smile to her face in spite of herself.
"In that case," he said as he began undoing the ties to her under armor, "it would be the height of unchivalrous behavior to leave a mare in such a state alone. Make room, I'm staying the night.
"Wh-what?!"
But Hurricane ignored the outcry, and with an efficiency spawned only from a lifetime in the military, the mail and leather under armor was piled on the floor in moments, offering the young mare the first real chance to get a proper look at the stallion.
Other than the fading color of his coat and mane, there was very little in the way of signs pointing out the fact that the pegasus pony was sixty years old. The other sign being the host of scars that crisscrossed over his body. In the abstract, Clover was quite aware that Hurricane was a warrior, and thus injuries the likes of which would leave noticeable marks were inevitable. This, however, was the first time she could truly see for herself the obvious toll that would take on a pony's body.
It was only once the former Commander was under the blankets and looked upon her, expecting her to join him, that the court mage remembered the last thing Hurricane said.
'Make room, I'm spending the night.'
It would be laughable to suggest that Clover never thought about such things as relations. She was young, and had recently been through her teen years, and thus the hormones were coursing through her blood like a river at flood stage. And to suggest that she had never fantasized such an evening with Hurricane was... Well, even more ridiculous, especially after her impromptu date with the Commander, and her own interactions with the numerous pegasi that visited the palace now and again, and if they weren't former lovers themselves, they personally knew somepony who was. It was remarkable how shameless and frank the mares of the Junta were, and how... delightfully detailed they could be in the presence of a virgin.
Clover could not deny that she had desired such an encounter, and that with the torrent her emotions had been for the past few days, such a physical distraction would be more than welcome. And, Hurricane clearly knew what he was doing. She gulped, praying that she was ready for this as she shed her robe and crawled in the bed herself, and as Hurricane embraced her in his wings and forelimbs and...
Did nothing.
As in... nothing. Not even nibbling her ear like she had heard he often did with virgins.
"What does this mean? Am I not... desirable?"
"Um... Hurricane?"
"Mmm-hmm."
"Is... Is something... Is something wrong?"
"What do you mean love?"
"It is, well, that is uhhhmmm. It's just that, well you know I and You and night time and this and that and the other thing and-"
The more Clover tried to spit it out, the more flustered and embarrassed she became, her face heating up and her hooves rubbing together nervously, her words running together. And all the while Hurricane was looking on, his expression shifting from confusion, to comprehension, and finally to amusement. Letting Clover fumble for a few moments more, Hurricane finally took pity on the mare, placing a soothing hoof over her mouth to still her ramblings.
"Clover, were you thinking I was going to love on you tonight?"
Blushing so strong the fur on her face grew discolored, it was all she could do to simply nod her head.
Hurricane smiled a charming, tender smile at the young mare, one that both comforted, and... stimulated her in ways she was rather embarrassed to discuss.
And then his gaze turned positively lustful.
"Trust me my dear, I have most certainly thought on that, for a very long time, and would gladly walk you through the Lovers' Grove."
Oh how warm the room suddenly was.
Hurricane's expression then transitioned into that loving gaze it held earlier.
"However, given the situation, I'd say that would be most unwise."
Shifting a little to further close the gap between them, the pegasus nuzzled the mare before continuing, looking her square in the eyes.
"When you and I finally cross that bridge, together, the only stallion I want on your mind, before I blow it away, is me, not your deceased father. And when that wave starts, it will be uncluttered with the baggage of the world outside. I have seen the damage done when a mare in pain seeks solace in relations, and I promised myself to never start that process if I could help it.
"No Clover, you may think that you want relations. But what you need right now, is companionship, and somepony by your side, a rock, in a turbulent storm. Tonight, I will be that rock, and be by your side. Okay?"
Clover, eyes wide, and body... stimulated, nodded, humming an agreement, mouth drawn up in an appreciative smile, before throwing her forelimbs around Hurricane, nuzzling her head under his chin.
------
Hours later, Platinum lay in her bed, deep in her sleep. Or so it seemed. In reality, the Princess was awaiting news from Velvet Hooves concerning Hurricane and Clover. The Commander was last seen by herself leaving the dining hall, a fact corroborated by her agents. Pansy was rather difficult to convince to leave. Predictably she was rather skeptical that her father would deign to leave a party early due to being 'tired,' even at his age. However, and Platinum hated having to show any of her cards to anypony, Pansy was convinced that Hurricane was fine, and that he would be home tomorrow.
Now all there was to do was to wait for confirmation.
"What is the word Velvet Hooves." Platinum ordered, for all the world seeming to speak to nothing but air, when the whisper-soft voice of her spymaster came from... somewhere.
"Commander Hurricane will be spending the night with Court Mage Clover the Clever your majesty. He was seen entering her room two hours ago and has not left. Our agents outside claim that the light in Clover the Clever's room is extinguished."
"I see. I will admit this is sooner than I would wish, but this can still work. Inform the doctor to prepare for the probability of Clover's pregnancy."
There was silence for a few seconds longer than was usual for Velvet Hooves to confirm a direct order. It was most unusual, so much so that Platinum was concerned that things may be coming apart.
"Actually, your majesty... That's the thing. The Commander... Is not bedding Clover the Clever."
Platinum sat ramrod straight, glaring at a certain tapestry. Damn appearances to hell, that was unexpected.
"...I beg your pardon."
"Indeed your majesty, I have confirmed it with my own eyes: Hurricane and Clover had a discussion, and immediately after that they were to bed, but have not engaged in relations. Hurricane was most adamant that they not engage in relations in fact, even when Clover the Clever expressed the desire otherwise."
Platinum blinked. And then blinked again. And once more for good measure. That was... Unusual. Hurricane was not known to abstain from sexual conquests. Certainly he enjoyed the hunt, but when a mare was offering, he always dove right in. And here he was, with a perfect opportunity to have the one mare he had been pursuing for nigh on six years years come summer... and he didn't take it? Curious. Very curious indeed.
Platinum paced the length of her room, re-evaluating the facts and angles and possible ramifications of this instance, Velvet Hooves patiently giving his princess the time and room she needed to think.
Hurricane and Clover's relationship was vital to her own plans to transition the Nobility from being Unicorn centric to being 'of Equestria.' Her claiming Clover as 'like a sister' de facto made her family, and thus considered, in a fashion, in line to the throne. Hurricane was the last sovereign of the Celestine Junta. Politically, the nobility would see their relationship as a political one to bring the remnants of the Junta and the Kingdom into one rule, and forcing whomever was left with doubts about this new nation to accept that the Equestrian Republic was here to stay. Furthermore, their union would give Platinum, the true heir to the throne, an out of any attempt to marry anypony. After all, the line would be secured by the younger sister.
However, Platinum had seen plenty of purely political marriages in her life, and many of them... Well, to say that 'unpleasantness' was common was like saying water was moist. Such unpleasantness was known but unthought-of by the nobility. However, if similar dissatisfaction were to come in the mixed marriage of a unicorn and pegasus, then the problem would be blamed on the nature of the couple, causing the whole enterprise to backfire. No, in order for Clover and Hurricane's marriage to work, it would have to be a happy one. Hmmm.... There was a thought.
Smart Cookie sometimes discussed on how pre-marital relations were more likely to hurt a post-marriage relationship than help, and that it was the anticipation of the act that made that first time more precious, and a mutual respect for the partner's choice to wait was better than being lovers that rushed into it.
With that in mind... Perhaps there was more to the Commander than she was willing to give credit for. After all, does one not wait until the soufflé is done before enjoying? Does one not wait for the gold to cool before cracking open the ring mold?
Does respect not grow... When a knight stays his hoof when his foe is downed?
Yes... Yes, this would do perfectly far better than what she originally planned.
"Fret not Velvet Hooves," Platinum said suddenly, a small, conspiratorial smile on her face, "this is perfect. However, while Hurricane may be able to abstain from sexual conquest, the nobility cannot from spreading rumors to the contrary. The contingencies for the morrow are still on. Who have you arranged for serving Clover her morning tea?"
"Facet your majesty."
"Perfect."
Indeed, Platinum could not choose a better pawn herself. Facet was a young unicorn mare, nervous as a leaf, and feared the throne more than she did the nobility. She was bendable without being able to bow out to whoever was currently ordering her about.
"A dramatic enough 'presentation' should cement her as one of our patsies. See to it that she is awake enough to comprehend what she finds, and that her trip to the briefing chamber is... Impressionable."
"As you command my princess."
------
It was morning in Equestria. Well, almost. The sun was not due up for another hour, casting all of the land in the dim twilight of the pre-dawn. And in the halls of the Palace of Friendship, a young unicorn mare with a blue mane and grey-blue coat, dressed in the uniform of the maid staff walked from the kitchens, carrying a tray of tea and lightly toasted bread for her majesty's much beloved Clover. It was odd really. After all, Facet was usually not one of the ponies scheduled to work the mornings, and when she was she was never put on the awakening detail for the Royal family. But, evidently someponies got sick and a last minute reorganization of the schedules was needed. At least the compensation would be good. Of course, the niggling conspiracy theorist in the back of her mind fretted that something ill was afoot.
Even as she thought on the odd turn of events, she reached the door to her charge's chambers. A turn of the knob with her magic and a gentle shove with her shoulder, and the door swung open revealing the room of Clover the Clever and Commander Hurricane in the same bed and-
Oh... OH! Well, this was awkward, and oh dear the tray was no longer in her magic. Thankfully quick reflexes saved the maid from enduring a very awkward situation. By putting her in a more dangerous one.
Because the magic now surrounding the tray, tea set and plate of bread was not her familiar indigo, but somepony else's lime-green.
Without a moment's extra tick to consider that, a set of reins slipped over her mouth, dragging her into the hall, that lime-green magic quietly easing the door shut. Facet quickly became aware of a dozen or so ponies surrounding her, all of them dressed in all-concealing hooded robes of black.
'A-HA!' the conspiratorially-inclined part of her mind rejoiced, 'I was RIGHT! The Princess DOES have a secret cabal of Death Ponies!'
As she was dragged to the floor as one pony pulled out a blindfold and another pulled out a vaguely chemically-smelling cloth, that same part of her mind realized, much belatedly, just what that meant for her.
'AW SHIT! I was RIGHT! The Princess DOES have a secret cabal of Death Ponies!'
As darkness overcame her, Facet was vaguely aware, through her sleepy, chemical-induced fatigue, of going up and down stairs, though she went down more than up, and the sounds of doors opening and closing confused her sense of place, meaning that she was utterly utterly lost by the time the Death Ponies dumped her on the cold, hard, moist stones of a chamber she was certain did not exist in the floor plans of the palace. She would know, her father was one of the stone masons, and she saw the plans herself.
The blindfold was removed, exposing the chamber. There were no windows, the only light provided by two or three torches and right in from of her was a chair, and in that chair was the Princess of Unicorns herself, Platinum. But this was not the ever smiling and slightly air-headed Princess Facet saw and served every day. Her face was a wooden mask, bearing no sign of warmth or anger or happiness, just an icy-cold calculating glint in her eyes. Assuming one could see her eyes. With the torchlight gleaming off of her spectacles in was difficult to tell, and her hooves steepled in front of her mouth did not help at all either.
No, this was the Princess Platinum the servants whispered to each other about when nopony else seemed to be watching, the one who plotted out the execution of two-thirds of her court for years since she was twelve. The pony who had the power to read minds, and could cause and end a blood feud in her court in the same day for her own amusement. This, was the true Princess Platinum.
'And now she has me all alone in a room that doesn't exist, with a herd of Death Ponies, and nopony will know what horrors became of me!'
Facet tried not to shiver with fear. Honestly, she did. However, she was much more concerned with maintaining her dignity enough that she wouldn't wet herself thank-you-very-much. It was fortunate that she exercised that skill, because when Platinum spoke, Facet listened.
"Miss Facet. I take it you... Saw something. Concerning Clover the Clever's choice in... Company."
Facet shivered and shook in reply. Platinum was about to repeat the question, or nod to the disguised Velvet Hooves to 'encourage' her to reply, when the mare did so herself with an unsteady nod.
"I see. Miss Facet, I am certain you are aware of the... eagerness, that the court likes to discuss certain events, yes?"
Another nod.
"Good. You have eyes, ears and a brain to use them all. Marvelous. Now, as I adore Clover as a sister, I desire to protect her from such animosity as much as can be managed. I am certain you can understand that."
Another nod, but less nervous. Clearly the thought of an unspeakable end was not on the Princess' mind after all.
"Good. Since you are in on the little... secret, concerning Clover and the Commander, you shall now be the confidante. No matter what, come sleet or hail or plague, it shall be you that tends to Clover in the mornings Miss Facet. This is regardless of whether or not the Commander spends the evening with her. I am certain that request is not unreasonable, yes?"
Facet visibly swallowed, speaking in a tiny voice.
"Yes, yes your majesty."
"Lovely. And, to ensure your silence, one of my agents shall keep an eye on you at all times, along with... Concrete compensation."
The comment about the agents was a lie of course. But the young mare bought into the idea of Platinum's network being a world controlling cabal so much that there was no need to actually assign the filly a care taker except for when 'assignments' were required of her. However, the compensation was no lie. Platinum was actually quite miserly with her vast wealth, so that she could afford to splurge as needed. As the sack of gems and coin tossed at Facet's hooves showed.
"I trust we have an understanding Miss Facet."
From the look in her eye, it was clear that Facet convinced herself that she was now the newest recruit into the Cabal. Platinum thought it was ridiculous. However, rewards were given for a reason, and if Miss Facet were to perform admirably...
"I look forward to what you bring to our little society. Miss Facet."
At the gleam in the mare's eyes, it was clear that she relished at the thought of being a part of a major conspiracy, bringing to bear loyalty no amount of coin or gems or threat of pain could hope to forge.
In the years immediately following The Great Warming, there was little in the way of an actual, central government. It was decided that that particular issue would come later, with a congress agreed to meet in five years time, to see if the three races could even live side-by-side, and forge a society. In the meantime the three tribes still needed to finish settling in to the land, and more importantly get used to the idea that the three races were now to live together. To do this, the three leaders acted in their own ways to help the situation along.
Chancellor Puddinghead stepped down from power, and helped organize get-togethers that would encourage inter-ration friendships, whose tones ranged, depending on how lucid she was while arranging them, from calm, dignified banquets that many of the Earth Pony Gentry and Unicorn Nobility found most enjoyable, to rowdy fracases that no sane parent would want their children attending.
In fact, the three common synonyms of such celebratory gatherings all come from the same Ancient Equestrian root word, each one from the connotation meant by the three types of celebration Puddinghead arranged: the kind that was calm, social, and acted as more of an especially large gossip event with the occasional Ball turned the root word into 'Soirée,' the more rambunctious, energetic gathering with cheap but tasty foods that focused on games, dancing to common music and having a good time descended from the root into 'party,' and the final type changed the word into the Modern Equestrian word the word 'orgy,' which had alcohol aplenty, and tended to result in either foals, or an epidemic of venereal disease, depending on who showed up. Given the population boom the records show in these three years, Puddinghead's last, in proportion to the cumulative population growth in the years previous, it can be reasonably speculated which type might have been the more popular.
And her parties were totally motherbucking RAD! With lasers and fog machines and LSD and Estacy flowing like motherbucking water!
Here's one of Pud's better parties.
See, the harvest just came in and the farmhands needed some fun and the bitches sum bangin'. Trouble is, they were all prudes and didn't have the guts to get down and jiggy. And then he walked in.
There he was, just maxin' and chillaxin', giving mares orgasms just by winkin' at them, turning lesbos straight, making the barren preggers just by sayin' hi. Makin' Clover hot 'n' bothered 'n' wet and getting prepped for angy!sex but never getting it 'cause Hurricane respects mares oto much to be anger at 'er when they're sexing it up.
The really tall guy, he was up to no good. Started makin' trouble in the neighborhood. But Hurricane's momma was a total bitch so she didn't get scared 'cause her bitch ass was dead.
Hurricane and Slendy stood, eye to eye, glaring at each other, his swag-ification field clashing against Slendy's Antiswagification field. Clearly, the only way to settle this was with a Swag Off.
By DANCING!
It cannot be described with words, but I think the best way to give you an idea was the effect, which was that Slendermane became Slendermare.
They then made sweet sweet sex.
And then Celestia, in her bitchy, PMS Phase in life came, and Mimic and Talonhoof were totally making out they were so drunk.
And then they all fucked.
------
With a choke and a snort, Twilight Sparkle sputtered into wakefulness. Looking to her left, then her right, the ascended unicorn looked down at her desk at the unfinished manuscript before her. Rubbing her eyes, the mare grumbled under her breath.
"I've been working too hard on this." she thought.
She looked to the corner of the desk with all her secondary and copies of primary sources, loading down on the wood so much that it groaned and creaked in tortured protest.
Palace of Friendship, Private Chambers of Princess Platinum
"I simply do not understand it Princess! That-that-! That stallion single-hoofedly brought the whole convention to a halt! And for what purpose? None other than to impose upon the other ponies the tyrannies of the nobility!"
Platinum cocked an eyebrow at the younger mare's... impassioned expression of agitation over the events of the meeting of the convention that morning.
Granted, the Princess of the former Kingdom of Unicorns and Unicornia was Not Amused by Grand-Duke Benzatine's ability to induce... cohesion in the Unicorn faction into a much more united front than it had any right to be. However, she also knew the importance of keeping one's thoughts to themselves. Many were the ponies who were either framed for an incident or outright killed because they were well known for being... particularly vocal in their opinions, and being most obnoxious about it. So much so that few was the number of ponies who would so much as bat an eye at the individual in question's misfortune. As much as the brown mare's honesty and transparency was seen as a plus by the bespectacled mare, there were many times when the white unicorn quietly feared for her safety.
"Come now sister mine," Platinum soothed, levitating a brush through Clover's mane. "What have I said about growing so agitated over setbacks? It isn't healthy after all."
In the emotional, mental, or physical sense of the term.
Clover took in and released a small sigh, though the gentle words, soft rebuke and continuous tender brushing did their job in calming the mare down.
"There. Now then Clover, we must simply take measure of the situation, look at our options, and react accordingly."
"I understand that Princess. Which is why this speech I am writing for when the convention opens again Monday is so important! Benzatine may think power should only be held by a few with great amounts of funds, but our own history has shown time and again that such a system is easy to corrupt! But I have confidence that Reason will win the day."
Platinum nuzzled the mare as she returned the brush to its proper place on the vanity.
"Of course it will sister dear," she cooed with a smile, "now be off. No doubt you have much to do. I have the utmost confidence in your talents Clover..."
The young Court Mage returned the smile and trotted out of the room, closing the door behind her as Platinum, still smiling, waved her off. After the door shut, however, the waving hoof was lowered, and the smile vanished in favor of Platinum's wooden mask of blank emotions.
"It is the other Unicorns whom I have no confidence in..."
------
Benzatine was known for being very generous with his balls, especially when there was something political he was aiming for, and this instance was no different, with a ball being thrown every night for the past week. Platinum had not deigned to come to any of them. After all, with so many chefs working at once in the kitchen, it would be quite simple for somepony to 'accidentally' slip in 'spoiled' food in with what was being served. However, as Benzatine was directly upsetting her plans (purposefully or not), the Princess could ill-afford to not address the stallion head on.
The carriage was barely a mile away from the Grand-Duke's new estate in Equestria, but already Platinum could make out the mansion lit up by an assortment of candles, bonfires and enchanted gems for the evening's festivities, and she could have from time to time made out the occasional faint cheer of the more exuberant of the party-goers, had the carriage not been in motion.
While the princess' face was a blank wooden mask, totally void of expression, inside she was a mild tempest of worrying over the details of her plans for the evening, the contingencies that came with the territory of interacting with the Unicorn court, and the niggling concern over whether or not her various agents, trusted though they were, had indeed managed to set up all of the necessary elements. Her stallions and mares were all more than capable and their loyalty beyond even idle doubt. But still, all it would take would be a single agent flubbing a fib or stumbling at the wrong moment and weeks, or even years, of plans would be up in smoke and enemies would be made that otherwise would have never been aware.
'"Such is the path of the schemer." Is that not what Star-Swirl said all those years ago?'
With little warning, the door to the carriage was opened and a shadow hopped into the darkened vehicle. In an instant Platinum's magic gripped the hilt of the dagger she carried on her at all times. She knew who the pony was and why they were barging in like this (and had in fact been expecting him), but it always paid to be prepared in the event currency proved to indeed be the currency of the Realm.
"Report Velvet Hooves."
"Of course Your Majesty. All of our agents are in place as either staff or via paying off staff working this evening to ignore us. All of the elements are in place for all contingencies planned for this evening."
"Good. What of the servants? What do you feel are their emotions for the Grand-Duke."
"Quite well, actually." her Spymaster reported. "Compared to the rest of the nobility, he is highly regarded."
"So in other words he is merely loathed rather than despised."
"Indeed You Majesty. This made sneaking in and out of the mansion and in amongst the servants tricky, but so long as we play our cards right nopony will report anything for some time."
Platinum considered this new piece of information. Or rather, new confirmation for an old hypothesis. Ultimately it mattered little so long as everything went according to plan. But still, a servant that hated a master was easier to deal with than a loyal minion. A noble that was despised would be betrayed gleefully provided that they knew that somepony else was doing the deed. However a more well regarded master would result in a demand for compensation. Given Platinum's position and income and her frugal and even miserly lifestyle, bribes were a simple matter to dispense. However, there was always the risk that the bribed would take the money, and still blow the whistle regardless of how much was given.
"I want you to keep in the kitchen Velvet Hooves. Keep a hoof close to the pulse of the heads of the staff and servants for any sign of treachery or waffling. There is too much at stake here to risk losing their support."
The dark shape of the stallion's head bobbed as he nodded.
"Of course Your Majesty."
"And have our agents briefed the waiters on the cues they are to look for?"
"And have memorized them to memory Your Majesty."
Platinum was interrupted by the sturdy sound of one of the pullers knocking on the carriage wall. They were in sight of the gates of the estate. If Velvet Hooves was to sneak away unnoticed into the mansion, now was the time for it.
"Excellent. Wait for my signal if the Grand-Duke proves to be too difficult. Dismissed."
Without another word, the Spymaster exited the carriage through the door opposite the one he entered, blending in with the shadows as he made the long way around to the back of the mansion. Platinum spared not a single glance in his direction, the lights of the Grand-Duke's estate illuminating the interior of her carriage. With distressing swiftness, the Princess' expressionless face was twisted into the gayest of cheerful smiles, with eyes aglow with slightly air-headed glassiness, giving off inane 'oohs' and 'ahs' at the sights around her as the carriage wound its way up the drive until it came to a stop of the stairs leading to the large front door. To anyone witnessing the transformation, they would have been utterly horrified.
Within moments Platinum was through the main entry way and the Hailer was announcing her arrival, his voice echoing throughout the chambers. The effect was likened to a Great Spirit announcing his favor to the newly arrived guest while simultaneously announcing to the host just who had arrived. The fact that the acoustics also made it difficult for assassinations anywhere in the mansion to be quiet was but a plus. Really. Honestly.
Truthfully.
As was customary, all present bowed with the appropriate minimum of deference to their more highly honored fellow guest. The minimum, and no more. Naturally. And Platinum, naturally, welcomed the welcome, totally unoffended by the well-concealed slight, assuming she noticed it at all. After all, everypony knew that Platinum was simply the childishly stupid figurehead to the mysterious General Ununoctium, the reclusive Commander-in-Chief of the Royal Army who managed to kill off a large swath of the Nobility after the Warming; and who then mysteriously died (allegedly) and had long since been replaced with his adjunct Major Ununseptium in pulling Platinum's strings. No one discussed it out loud of course, but it was obvious that only a stallion could plot out such a successful purge.
Clearly.
After the bows were exchanged, Platinum trotted up to the crowd and began the usual idiocy of court politics, which consisted of exchanging pleasantries and catching up with fellows over recent events. Buried amongst the discussion, as was tradition one could say, would be a host of scathing insults and soul-crushing depreciation of one another's worth with the end goal of manipulating the other into moving on to the next stage of some personal plot large or small. However, everypony by now had accepted the fact that Platinum was simply too dim to realize when she was being slighted or manipulated, being too much of a literal-minded fool to even notice slights hidden in the conversation, let alone try and fail to return in kind. So everypony at court had long since learned to try and use the literalness to their advantage as best they could without being obvious to everypony else. It was a bore but she was their sovereign, official or no. And should Benzatine's scheming work out she would once again be on the throne, they could finally convince her to carry a foal, and after the hiccup that was these past five years the long-game plan of the Unicorn Nobility would once again commence as it had for centuries.
If nothing else, it was amusing how the Princess said the cutest things during conversation. Why, if she had any intelligence behind her dull eyes, one would think she was the most skilled, soul-crushing and caustic at the game of insults of them all!
After the idle chatter came the dancing. The stallions on one side, the mares on the other, the two lines would send a couple through the corridor, the couple would dance, the two sides would bow two each other and another couple would trot through. Lather, rinse, repeat. And through it all the Princess was grinning and laughing like a silly filly, so easily distracted by the servants for whatever reason. It wasn't like servants were important after all. An half-hour of this and the guests broke off into clusters to begin their chats once more. A quarter-hour of this and their host, at last, made himself available.
"Welcome one and all!" the pink on beige stallion greeted, his booming voice catching everypony's attention. Powerfully built and with strong and noble features, Benzatine cut an impressive figure. At the age of forty-five, he was young compared to some of his fellow nobles who wielded similar clout in society, but his personable personality, and his obscenely deep vaults of personal wealth, bridged that disparity to the point of invisibility. His youth also meant that the widower was still amongst the prime bachelors to the unattached mares of Unicorn nobility, especially in light of his only son, the young Duke Chlorine's unfortunate passing while hunting earlier that month. Of course, if Benzatine cared about that little fact, he was wearing the most impressive cloak over his grief.
"Thank you for coming this evening. Please! feel free to enjoy each other's company tonight, and ignore the silly talk of anarchy at the convention. With your help, we will bring sanity back to government, and let the natural order guide the Kingdom of Equestria."
Benzatine gave a magnanimous smile at the applause he received from his guests. After a few moments accepting the glowing approval of his fellow nobles, Benzatine looked over the faces in the crowd, his smile growing to show teeth once he laid eyes on Platinum.
"And as I'm certain some of you have noticed, our own Princess has come in support of my motion. With her on our side, how can her little friends oppose us?"
Another round of applause, and this time it was focused on Platinum, who pounding her hooves on the floor for several moments before noticing that she was the center of attention, after which she gaily waved at the nobles surrounding her. With time this celebratory display ended as well, allowing the Grand-Duke to speak again.
"But, let us not discuss politics any more this evening, as I have always found it disagreeable to the digestion." He allowed a momentary pause for the gentle laughter his comment produced. "Now, please my friends, let us be to supper. As with the ball earlier this week, no expense was spared, and you may eat to your heart's content. I trust you came hungry."
------
And they had, indeed, come hungry. For as anypony could testify: Benzatine always provided a spread that in future eras would be described with vulgar colloquialisms such as "Ballin'," "Bitching," and "Swell."
Rolls covered in melted Honey Butter sat in baskets from one end of the table to the other, steam raising from the golden-brown balls. Entire trays dedicated to over two dozen varieties of Hors d'oeuvres. No less than ten different kinds of salads in their own bowls, waiting to be served, with sixteen different dressings and vinaigrettes to choose from. Sandwiches of every conceivable combination of wet and dry spreads and breads to go with them. Seasonal fruits and vegetables adorned each plate.
And awaiting for dessert at the back wall was a separate table, laden with cakes, puddings, parfaits, pies and sorbet. It was all laid upon tableware of silver, gold and aluminum, with fresh water and wine served in crystal goblets. It was well known that Benzatine took care to avoid drinking wine out of a justifiable fear of poison, and thus refused to drink at even his own parties. At least, until near the end of dinner, after everypony else had had their fill; even then, he never drank from a bottle he did not own, nor did he drink any wine which had already been opened, nor any he did not witness leaving its bottle. Paranoid yes, but when so many other nobles with his wealth and prospects found themselves dying of convulsions and foaming at the mouth during dinner at the hidden hooves of their adversaries, Benzatine had managed to avoid death via Unicorn Politics.
With dinner underway, the real power-brokering began. As it was considered rude to leave the table one was a guest at without first asking, anypony one found themselves sitting next to was in effect a captured audience, giving one ample time to talk politics, business deals, and secure alliances. And for a competent host of a dinner, that knowledge went into assigning seating arrangements. Known or suspected enemies were to be placed as far apart as practical, with strongly allied family members and trusted allies in the middle, while close and prospective allies were placed around the host. It was an unspoken agreement that the guest sitting directly next to the host was to be watched closely, as they were the ones that were either an ally whose loyalty the host felt needed to be re-secured, or a loose end being seduced into the host's web of connections.
Of course, with Benzatine's well known and highly popular goals for Equestria, nopony would begrudge him of wooing Platinum into their scheme. If only she wasn't such a flake. Clearly after the party they would all need to assist the Grand-Duke in maintaining his hold of her, less that boorish Pegasus and his unladylike daughter, that upstart Dirt-Mare or the princess' over-educated sister turn her away from the light. Again.
But from an ignorant outside observer, it would seem as though no such intrigue was taking place at all, nothing more than a simple (if populous) dinner with pleasant conversation.
And so, after nearly an hour of reveling in one culinary masterpiece after another, and discussing non-important things, the conversation drifted to the Constitutional Convention, and Platinum's stance regarding the governance debate.
"Benzatine, Darling, why do you have to be so mean to my friends?"
"Oh? And how is that your highness?"
"Well, it's just that Clovie and Cookie have put so much effort into this, and from the way they talk about democracy it seems like the best way to make sure everyone's happy."
The Grand-Duke smiled, humoring the ignorant princess.
"Oh Princess, you are simply a gem. But you need not worry about the happiness of the peasantry."
Platinum tilted her head, eyes looking at him curiously. "I shouldn't?"
"Oh course not! They are but simple-minded folk, easily entertained and hardly able to handle the task of maintaining their own lives, let alone the affairs of state. No, only a properly enlightened pony can rule a nation, and only a unicorn, whose mind from birth was designed by the spirits to ponder the stars themselves, can bear the weight of a crown. The anarchy of the Dirt Ponies is a very flawed concept, if that madmare Puddinghead is their ideal of a sovereign. I don't expect a mare such as you to properly understand, but trust me, letting a mob dictate policy is nothing more than ludicrous. The Cloud-Hoppers are slightly more enlightened, due to their proximity to the aethers of the stars their home allows. This is shown by their 'stratocracy,' but sadly they are still too ignorant of the ways of the world, what with allowing mares to rule over stallions and letting merit dictate position rather than status.
"Sadly my dear, but our fellow ponies are like tiny foals, who must be taught the ways of the world. And our noble blood obliges us to teach them the way of things, of who is superior and who is inferior, it is simply the way of the world. your highness."
Platinum pouted at that. It was a cute face, however it was cuter (and more effective) when she was six.
"So nothing can convince you to give Clovie and Cookie a chance?"
Benzatine's smile was unmoved. He took the princess' face in his hooves and looked her in the eye.
"Don't you fret your highness, I'll fix this mess for you, don't you fret your pretty little head over it. Now, forget such talk, and let us enjoy the evening."
"Here here!" came the cry from further down the table, followed by a number of similar cries, consisting of 'Down with Anarchy's, 'Mud With Mud's and similar remarks before the rest of the table was engulfed with applause that seemed to last for hours.
Behind Benzatine, the butler stood, awaiting for his lord's attention to be free.
"Would Your Grace like another bottle of wine?"
"Hmm? Oh yes, please do! And what of you your highness? I would be happy to share a bottle or two with you. It's perfectly safe I assure you."
Platinum smiled at the Grand-Duke and, oddly enough, addressed the butler.
"No thank you sir, I fear I have a teeny-tiny tummy ache. Though I would take water or better yet milk if you have it!"
The butler blinked, but after a half-beat he bowed to the Princess.
"As you command Your Highness. As it happens, we have fresh milk in the ice-cellar, gathered this morning. I shall be but a moment."
Platinum, Benzatine and the rest returned to their more pleasant topics of conversations, ignoring the butler as he walked back to the kitchens. Once there, he made his way down the stairs to the wine cellar, and through the near labyrinth of wine racks in the cool chambers. At the very back, in the deepest parts of the cellar, a trio of stallions lounged around a collection of barrels and empty wine bottles, one of their number slouched against a table directly under a lantern, an empty bottle and two barrels on top of it. One of the barrels had the image of a cluster of grapes, the other the image of a tree log.
"Her majesty requests milk, my friends. Not wine."
At that, the one stallion standing turned to his compatriots and nodded. The other two silently stood up and got to work. One grabbed the barrel with grapes on it, the other stallion levitated the other barrel, and the leader placed a funnel in the first empty wine bottle. From the first barrel came grape juice, and from the other came a clear fluid that, by all accounts, ought to have been simple alcohol. Their work done, the lead stallion corked the bottle, wrapped the wire mesh around the cork, and passed it to the butler, indistinguishable from any other bottle. As he walked back up to the dinner, the trio went back to work, filling up more wine bottles.
------
For the whole night, Velvet Hooves kept an eye on Benzatine, hidden amongst the alcoves of the dining hall. When he saw Platinum receive a stein of milk, he knew what the verdict was, and what his orders were.
From the stories told, Benzatine was 'taste deaf' when it came to wine. And considering that the stallion had just polished off a bottle of wine that was more or less fifty/fifty grape juice and wood alcohol, those weren't stories either. Granted normal alcohol and wood alcohol was indistinguishable from each other taste-wise, a lot more went into the taste of wine than the alcohol content. Not that Velvet Hooves was complaining, especially when the stallion was half-way through bottle two, and already requested that number three be brought out.
There had been concern that the Grand-Duke would drink the regular wine before his usual time. After all, alcohol denatured wood alcohol, but his grace acted precisely as predicted. Not long after bottle three was nearly dead, Platinum feigned fatigue and departed from the festivities. As though on cue, one, then two, and more guests declared that they too would retire, promising the Grand-Duke their intentions to side with him come Monday morning. Benzatine had always been known to being able to handle his alcohol, and tonight was no different. He escorted Platinum to her carriage, and saw the rest of the guests off before making the trek of the stairs to his bedchambers himself. And that was where the signs began showing. Oh certainly he showed signs no different from ingesting regular alcohol, but the effects were much more noticeable than in previous bouts of drunkenness. Many of the servants and staff noticed, and given the oddity of seeing their lord so noticeably drunk, it would only be natural for another servant to help His Grace to his chambers, and thus the guards at his door the two into the room unmolested.
As soon as the door clicked closed however, the charade dropped. Velvet Hooves hobbled the Grand-Duke to the rug before the fireplace and let him slump to the floor. That was when Benzatine let out his first moan.
"Wh-what's happening...?"
"Simply put your grace, you are dying. Of alcohol poisoning."
Benzatine looked to the other stallion, confusion on his face.
"Wh-what? No. Impossible. I-I-I only had... my usual amount."
Velvet Hooves leaned down into the Grand-Duke's face. Not a hint of emotion on his face.
"Yes well, you haven't had a drop of fruit alcohol this evening your grace. But wood alcohol. And Wood Alcohol is lethal after about mmmm... One-hundred twenty milliliters I believe. And believe me when I say that you have had far more than that much your grace. Right now, your liver is trying to metabolize the poison in your blood, just like it would with alcohol. However, wood alcohol doesn't convert into water like grain and fruit alcohol does. No. Formaldehyde is what is being produced. It's kind of funny in an ironic way. In trying to save your body from one poison, your liver simply produces another. As we speak, your internal organs are being soaked with the stuff, ceasing all internal functions, suspending them in time. I dare say you won't last the night. "
Benzatine's face became enraged, attempting to stand up only to fall back down groaning.
"Y-you bastard! Ununseptium sent you didn't he! Tr-trying to, to keep his control on the throne!"
Benzatine expected many things from this assassin in response, but chortled laughter wasn't among them.
"Oh my! I know that she maintains that ruse, but I never thought that a stallion of your intelligence would buy into that! The more ignorant of the Royal Army sure, but you? You're almost an officer in your own right your grace!"
Benzatine lay in silence, waiting for this assassin to continue.
"Your grace, there is no Ununseptium. Nor any Ununoctium. And there never was. And anypony with a mage as brilliant as Star-Swirl the Bearded would never be what one would call a dummy."
Benzatine's mind was growing foggy, but there was something in what the stallion said that clicked.
"...P-Platinum? She's...?"
"The one that initiated the Hearth's Warming Purge five years ago? And has called for your death? Yes."
"...Wh-whuh.....why?"
"Because the Heir of Æthelric has long since grown tired of dealing with the nobility, in terms of the first. And you, however unwittingly, have gotten in the way of her plans for Equestria, and you are far too dangerous to allow you to continue to be a bother. Her Majesty is sorry that your value as an asset has become outweighed by your liability... But then again, that's not her doing, is it your grace?"
Benzatine tried to respond. Tried to articulate a response in his mind. But his brain was growing all the more foggy, his head and eyelids to heavy to keep up. Sleepy... So very.... very..... sleepy......
Velvet Hooves waited a few minutes to see if the Grand-Duke was truly asleep. Once satisfied, his green magic lifted the massive body to its bed, pulling the blankets over it. That accomplished, he reached into his robes and pulled out three items: A funnel, a long rubber tube, and a bottle of wood alcohol. Even when dealing with the perfect murder weapon, overkill was only an academic word in the world of assassination.
------
Minutes later, the servant quietly walked out of the Grand-Duke's bedchambers, nodding to the guards on either side of the door before making his way down the hallway. The servant's quarters were the other way, but after a large ball, it was hardly unusual for servants to be out and about the estate long past the usual call for lights out, and assisting His Grace to bed most likely interrupted this servant's usual duties that needed fulfilling.
As he made his way before them, the stallion murmured under his breath to the guards.
"Do try to be quiet come morning. His grace had a little bit much, in case you couldn't tell."
The guards nodded. After all, they were paid to guard His Grace, and upsetting him in the midst of a hangover would affect their pay.
Sharing the nod, the servant made his way back to his duties.
------
The crickets chirped, a wolf howled, and the road was empty, morning dew slowly accumulating on every available surface. The perfect time to perform a crime, or to wait out an accomplice. But not out in the open, certainly. To do otherwise would be foolish. Which was why the pullers had driven off the road a ways and hid themselves and their carriage deeper in the woods. Backing up to get back on the road would be a pain, but the measures were necessary. After all, the Princess was supposed to have left for the Palace hours ago, she couldn't have been waiting in the dark woods, windows covered with thick curtains and all external lanterns extinguished. That would imply that she, the simple, silly filly, was up to something. And that was just ridiculous.
By the angle of the moon, it was about two in the morning. And still Velvet Hooves had not come. Granted it had only been two and a half hours or so since the Grand-Duke went to bed and the ball-goers left to their own estates, and to sneak into the Lord's Chambers, kill him, and sneak back out would naturally take some time. At least, to do it intelligently and get away with it. However, by Platinum's standards, this plan was rather tossed together. Even though she had six or seven plans to kill the nobles each sitting in her library. Her real library that is, which was more accurately a collection of documents scattered about her various estates and hidden in places only she knew about. Still, given his support of the Monarchy, she never actually thought she'd be using any of her plots to kill Benzatine. And really, that was the true tragedy of the situation, that a useful ally would turn into a big enough liability to necessitate assassination.
knock knock knock
"Enter."
The door opposite from the road opened, and Velvet Hooves hopped into the carriage, closing it behind him.
"Report."
"I have done the deed."
"The body?"
"I had him drink some more wood alcohol to be sure, but nopony would think to check the gut. All symptoms show alcohol poisoning, and there were hundreds of witnesses to seeing the Grand-Duke drinking much wine tonight."
"Were you stymied?"
"No Your Majesty, the bribes paid off, and the other agents kept those ignorant out of my escape path, which utilized corridors empty at night."
"Were there any unexpected developments?" The Princess asked. After all, every plan had unforeseen obstacles. And judging by the way the stallion swallowed and suddenly found the forest outside, obscured by the curtains, to be especially interesting, it would seem that, yes, something did come up.
"One of the servants Your Majesty. Specifically, one of the kitchen staff. Early in the evening the Chief Kitchen Maid took me aside under the guise of checking the milk stores in the ice-cellar. A young mare, no more than fifteen. She is... With foal."
Platinum's face was stoic, the only sign of her inner thoughts was a single, tiny tick of her lips.
"Benzatine's."
"Actually Your Majesty, it isn't the Grand-Duke's, but the late Duke's. That is, his son that fortuitously died on or about the second of this month."
Platinum steepled her hooves before her face, the light of the candles reflecting off the lenses of her glasses as she contemplated this.
"What else."
"Well, judging by the way the mare shied away from most of the other stallions in the kitchen, along with the veiled and roundabout conversation I had with the Maid, I highly doubt it was a voluntary, nor a singular, incident. And given the striking similarity I noticed between the Chief Maid and the young mare in question have to each other, and a certain resemblance between the young mare and the Grand-Duke and the late Duke..."
Velvet Hooves left the report to hang there, letting Platinum's brilliant mind fill in the blanks. The Princess blinked once, then twice, before giving a colorful vulgarity under her breath involving intimate relations with the male offspring of a female canine, and moving her hooves to massage her temples. Clearly the poor light was giving her a migraine.
Clearly.
"It is a sad commentary on our society how I have to actually remind myself that it's the rape of the female staff by their masters and the known or unknown incest that are the real abominable actions here... And not the discovery of a foal-to-be that, if born, will mean Benzatine having an heir again and all of the legal issues regarding succession and inheritance it will involve. Not to mention adding an unwanted wrinkle to the scenario."
For a few moments, the carriage was silent, Velvet Hooves allowing his liege a moment to process this new element. A less skilled strategist would let this lie, but given how, in fiction and in history, offspring of killed nobles tended to seek vengeance upon those who murdered their parents, Platinum would be a fool to do so. The agent mulled over the situation himself for a moment, before offering a thought.
"Would you like me to... Arrange something? Your Majesty?"
The Princess opened her eyes and, still faced downward, looked up to the stallion, her eyes boring into his own over the rims of her glasses and under her brows. A beat of silence, and Platinum sat up and turned to the curtain covering her window.
"Tell me Velvet... What is the mood of the staff regarding this situation?"
"The mare has their sympathy, and judging by the bonds of camaraderie they share, they would be easily be mistaken for an extended family of Earth Ponies if it weren't for the horns on their heads."
'So they would be greatly displeased if she were killed or the unborn foal cut out of her. Which means they would feel free to reveal tonight's events and the aftermath, damn the consequences.' she surmised. 'Bother'
The foal was a problem. If discovered that she carried the heir to Benzatine's estate, that mare would become the target of every enemy and ally he had. Control the foal and you control everything that foal is taught. The perfect way to instill a lasting alliance, and thus cause her great deals of trouble down the line, especially when the lawyers came around to acquire the newly discovered heir's inheritance. And with Benzatine's line (seemingly) now extinct, the estate would be dissolved in the coming days and weeks: the land, titles and physical and liquid assets defaulting to Platinum, and the staff free to be picked over by any noble that wanted to... To... Hullo hullo...
"...Assassination, like any useful tool, must be selected and used with care, and used only when it would be the most effective. Used too often or too improperly and the tool becomes dull and less useful. Kill too many of one's political opponents too often and a pattern becomes clear to anypony of intelligence."
Velvet Hooves bowed his head.
"I understand Your Majesty. I apologize, that was unwise of me."
Platinum waved the apology off.
"Leave it be. Now, as I recall... My own staff heads are always requesting fresh blood, am I correct?"
Velvet Hooves jerked his head up at the sudden turn of the conversation. Yes, the kitchen staff and janitorial staff was always shorthanded for a palace the size of Platinum's, but Velvet Hooves couldn't see how that was relevant... At first. But it was best to be certain.
"Yes Your Majesty, that is true."
"And, as the legal executer of the estate of any noble family that dies out, I also get first call to the servants and staff of that estate, indeed?"
Velvet tapped a hoof to his chin at that. There was no explicit wording in the law outlining that... But then again, somepony had to see to the grounds of the Princess' newly acquired properties. 'So that's your angle. Clever.'
"Not in so many words, but at the same time nopony would argue with your logic Your Majesty."
Platinum nodded, her face still icy-cold and unexpressive.
"Indeed not. See that this mare, her mother, and those of the staff and servants most grateful for this evening's events are the ones taken in. The rest can be taken in by the nobles if we are unable to hire them first. As to her foal... How far along is she?"
"She isn't showing yet, so somewhere around three or four months Your Majesty."
"Well Velvet Hooves, the truth is that we can never be sure about the foal. The spirits may favor us and have it miscarry or be stillborn, or have complications with the umbilical cord and make it unfit to inherit if it survives. Or this young mare may have an accident in the kitchen, or as it grows the foal could get sick or fall in a river or wander into the woods and get eaten or something, and relieve us of the problem all together." She looked to her agent with a cocked eyebrow, "And no: That wasn't an invitation."
"Of course not Your Majesty."
"But if it should live... If it's a filly the nobles might not try as hard as they otherwise would to push the issue. Though if she birth's sons, or one of her daughter's do, then they would have no issue. But regardless, we must insure the foal is on our side should the truth come out.
"Don't try too hard to suppress it, last thing we need is to get some busypony curious. But don't ever simply announce it. A rumor that happens to be true is better than a rumor confirmed. Also, give it the education you would give to my own foal, the kind Star-Swirl would give. That way, should they suddenly find themselves in wealth, they will know how to combat the nobility and, most importantly, be our ally."
Velvet Hooves nodded. "It will be done Your Majesty. And I trust you want this to be under the table?"
Platinum, for the first time since Velvet Hooves hopped into the carriage, gave a small, crooked, grin. And it was both beautiful and terrifying.
"Don't be so foalish Velvet Hooves. I want this under the floorboards. If it can be managed, nopony finds out until your great-grandchildren are dead and dust. If ever at all.
Velvet Hooves nodded as he put a hoof on the latch of the door he entered through.
"Yes Your Majesty, as you command, it shall be done."
And like that he was gone. Platinum gave the stallion a few minutes to get himself some distance from the carriage before she knocked three times on the front wall of the vehicle. Moments later the carriage, slowly, began to work its way back down the blind path and back to the main road. As the carriage wobbled upon the exposed roots and rocks of the path, Platinum removed her glasses and levitated them back into their case. She placed the case back in the travel sack sitting beside her, extinguished the lantern inside the carriage, took in a deep breath, and let out a long, stress-filled, shuddering sob-sigh. Mission Accomplished. More blood on her hooves.
And as Princess Platinum curled up on the padded bench, the specter of her mentor hovered in the back of her mind, shamefully glaring at her. After all, Star-Swirl the Bearded could find a way to change the Nobility's thinking about Democracy without bloodshed, why couldn't the worthless daughter of his friend and sister of his apprentice do the same?
And with that image in her head, Platinum was slowly rocked into an uneasy sleep, weeping the whole way. She forcefully stopped her tears and sobs when the carriage came to a stop, slipping back on the old wooden mask like a comforting blanket before exiting, back home once more. Come Monday, the Grand-Duke's death would be formally announced. Platinum still had much to do to prepare for the eventual collapse of Benzatine's bloc of allies. And as the sun rose once more into the sky, Platinum entered her palace, a solitary figure, dissolving into the shadows of her own design.
"Drink no longer water, but use a little wine for thy stomach's sake and thine often infirmities."
...At the sight of an army that outnumbered of all of theirs together a hundred to one, the nobles on the whole despaired and surrendered, swearing to plead fealty to the Grand Archduke. True a few tried to field battle against him, but all were slain by the sword and the horn. And thus Grand Archduke Æthelric the Stern was able to cow the nobility.
But, being of Nobility himself, Æthelric knew of the fickleness and treachery his fellow nobles and how it would cause all he had worked for to be for naught at the slightest hint of trouble. Thus the King in all but title actually delayed his own coronation and the proclamation of the Unicorn State, so that the bureaucracy needed to run a truly national government flawlessly could be established, and any kinks and trouble could be ironed out first, less the nobles deem the Kingdom 'unnatural by the spirits' due to hiccups in tax returns. One year, one month, one week and three days after the Great Standoff, on the twenty-third day in the second month of summer, Æthelric's birthday, the unicorn was crowned King of his race, and the Kingdom of Unicorns, born of treachery and bullying and threat of war, was forged.
--The House of Æthelric, A Burning House of Schemes and Treachery, Vol. One of Ten, Chapter Two by Musty Tomes, 1st edition published 397 AW
39 AW
Count Pyrite had always been a nostalgic colt, absorbing stories of the Kingdom of Unicorns of old like a desert hermit would water. At the time of the warming he was but a young noble, unwed with no heir and desperate to see his coffers grow. Thus he kept a low profile and kept his mouth closed when the Princess said that Unicornia would be no more, and as the Royal Army without warning stormed the estates of nobles known for their willfulness to be cut down, Pyrite hunkered down and stayed out of sight.
The knowledge that the Kingdom Blessed by the Spirits was no more horrified the Count. The Kingdom had ruled for thousands of years without a sight of weakness that the Count could see, and the mere thought that they were to, of all things, merge and, indeed live alongside the brutal barbarians the Pegasi and the filthy, mud stained anarchists the Earth Ponies was too much to bear. Even before he made his announcement at the Convention, Grand-Duke Benzatine had Pyrite's loyalty, for as the Kingdom was forged by a visionary of good standing, excellent breeding, and a deep pocketbook, the Kingdom would be reborn by the same. Platinum was a silly girl to be wooed by that presumptuous peasant Clover the Clueless, but that would easily be rectified with a good husband to rule in her name, which Benzatine, the fortuitously widowed, would be the perfect stallion for the job.
Then he died. Quite suddenly at that. And to Pyrite's horror, not one of the other nobles thought to carry on the plan to reforge the Kingdom of Unicorns in Benzatine's memory. Instead they bickered about meaningless things and actually siding with the Muddies to have total anarchy rule the land! It was enough to drive one to drink hemlock. But alas and alack, such completely understandable measures would not restore glory to those that deserved it but had lost their way. And what was worse was the fact that Platinum was well past her foal-bearing years and had never been so much as pregnant once, leaving no heir to groom into claiming the throne when he was of age.
But all was not lost. While that Mad Stallion Star-Swill had thoroughly corrupted her easily misled mare head, Clover still had three foals, one of them, the stallion, was even a Unicorn! And furthermore an officer in the military. Indeed, he would make a fine King indeed. However, there was a slight problem. Yes Platinum acknowledged Clover as family, but for the lawyers of the world that would not stand. Nay, there must be documentation of a formal adoption. As though the word of royalty, a mare yes, but royal nonetheless, wasn't formal enough.
Nearly forty years had passed since the Kingdom went into hibernation (not dissolved as the ignorant, unwashed masses claimed), and in that time Pyrite had wed the daughter of a social equal, a politically and economically sound marriage that a truly civil society was built upon (not the unnatural female-dominated sex dens of the Pegasi or the simply mad concept of 'love' dictating a sham of 'marriage' amongst the Muddies), and had two children survive to adulthood. Sadly the eldest was a mare, and actually had the nerve to run off and elope with a filthy muddy, tossing aside a perfectly economically favorable marriage. To hell with his wife's tears, Pyrite had actual pride in his station. He would not soil his hooves, nor his eyes, to visit the Muddy whore and her mixed-race abominations that she had the audacious gall to dare call children. Blech, the sentimentality was enough to make one gag.
At least the Count was blessed enough with a son to balance out the good-for-nothing daughter. Though true he kept eyeing the pegasus scullery maid he had hired to his retinue (hey, cheep help was hard to come by) despite the favorable engagement his father happily arrange, at the same time Pyrite couldn't be too harsh. Colts will be colts, and so long as he was discrete a little side-dish here and there never did any harm, and it wasn't like a mare from the lower races was good for much else. But that was irrelevant. The restoration of the Kingdom was at stake, and Pyrite needed his son's help. The idea was to write up a formal adoption certificate and have the Princess (well, King, but everypony of significance knew that Star-Swil was the true power behind the throne, and thus the abominable violation of the King's Law was his way of securing it) sign it. Simple enough as the mare was simple enough to do it without thinking. Pyrite and a handful of old friends of like mind had already drafted it up, ensuring all the while that it was as close to the real thing as possible. But just in case the Princess, for whatever reason, was unable to be convinced to sign, Pyrite needed the lad to forge her signature (a simple task, considering his talent). Then it was a simple matter of waiting for Platinum to die and presenting this 'discovered' document, and then convincing dear Star Burst to claim his rightful place on the throne.
At least, that was the plan... Then that damnable courier arrived with the dreadful, damnable news, straight from the capitol.
And everything had been going according to plan...
------
Deep within Friendship Cavern, under the Canterhorn...
'Everything has gone according to plan...'
Clink-chsss dribble
'All that is left is... Me.'
Clink-chsss dribble
"I must once more protest this reckless action your majesty."
Clink-chsss dribble
"And once more I say that it has been duly noted and cast off."
With grunt and pull, Princess Platinum, blue and green mane now faded grey, face lined from the years, eyes not quite as bright, the glass of her spectacles a bit thicker, worked her way up a few more feet. The years in some respects had not been kind. Her middle was thicker, and she tiered more easily. But in other ways Time was most generous. As anyone who knew her, truly knew her, her mind was just as sharp and tongue just as quick as they were when she was little more than a filly. More so, arguably. After all, nearly forty years of experience made the beautiful mare that guided the formation of Equestria with a hidden hoof seem like a stumbling foal just learning to walk compared to an expert runner.
The fact that it was clear she hadn't gone the way of Puddinghead over the years was all that had stopped Velvet Hooves, her ever loyal spy and agent, from subtly ousting her from the organization she had founded. Not that anypony in the know would notice. After nearly fifty years of hoof-picking her agents and training them herself in the art of subterfuge, the scores of mares and stallions working for her could continue her work decades, perhaps even centuries, without her input. Of course, nopony wanted her gone just yet. Velvet Hooves had often mused on that datum, now more than he had in his youth. Had Platinum been able to work more freely as a filly, she would have been the most popular Queen the Kingdom ever had. The Shouting Congress may have even been successful, the Unification would have been flawlessly smooth. She could even have unified the tribes into a monarchy and nopony would have minded, if her successors were anything like her.
But no. Fate would not be so kind to one so perfect for her station in life. Instead, Platinum had doomed herself to the life as the fool, her own beloved sister Clover not knowing the true depths of her drive to see Equestria thrive, and to have the nobility of her tribe smothered and broken of power. Most ponies of status, Velvet mused, would try to cling to what little power they had, and try to regain what their forebears had lost, and use that as a stepping stone to completing their goals. And struggle all their lives fighting their enemies, and die bitter, having lost even more ground. No, Platinum sought to not only cast off her titles, but do so in a way that would take the nobility with her.
It was like the old Griffin Proverb: "You don't need to win, just ensure the enemy loses."
No, Platinum most certainly had her wits about her, even at her old age. ...Though that didn't explain why she wanted to personally inspect this cavern, especially when much of it involved repelling up and down a six-hundred foot deep pit.
As though reading his mind, Platinum spoke.
"It's like what my father and Star-Swirl always said Velvet: 'Trust that those you send to do your work did it right, then do it again yourself to be sure.'"
Clink-chsss dribble
"Yes your Majesty... But spelunking at the age of sixty?"
"Exercise is good for the body. Besides, I don't want whomever I send down here staking a claim I already own."
In the dim light, all Velvet could make out the sound of her smile in her voice. But had he been able to see her face as she drove another stake into the cliff face, he would have known in an instant that she was bluffing. It was her planning face, the one she used when her masks were unneeded, or when she needed to play the strings of one of her friends and family, or her agents. Velvet didn't know, but Platinum's Grand Strategy was in its endgame. One last act, one last play, and her Ultimum Magnum Opus would be complete.
After centuries of wearing down her family, generation by generation, the nobility of the Kingdom of Unicorns would at last be cowed, deprived of their arrogance and over-inflated senses of self-worth, all of which had been connected to their lands, mines, and vast stores of riches. Furthermore, the Royal Family, the House of Aethelric the Stern of Two Dozen Sons would be extinct, with nopony ever to be able to realistically claim the throne, no heirs left behind. And with both the Kingdom and Unicornia gone, there would be no need for a nobility. They would simply be a living relic of a quaint but bygone, barbaric time. Already the sons and daughters born since the Warming and the Convention see worth in their fellow pony, be they Earth Pony or pegasus. Yes there was some lingering self-segregation, but with time and generations that too would fade away.
Of course, as time went on a few extra sub-plots were added to her Great Drama. Aside from Clover and Hurricane's courtship and marriage (torture of the sleepless nights before and after their wedding aside, it was truly one of Platinum's finest works), there was also the matter of Velvet Hooves. Platnum had known for years that he loved her. Known it almost since they first met. Most ponies could not see the hidden secrets of the heart. But Platinum could. The better to manipulate them to her will. That was her special talent after all: Manipulation. The mare could have easily made him her slave in all but name. But she would know it to be a lie. Other than Star-Swirl, who had a mind as keen as her own as she could tell, and her father, Platinum was never able to tell if a pony's feelings regarding her were true... Or if it was because she made them think they felt that way for her. That kind of control... How could she ever willingly seek out a relationship, political complications aside, when she was always wondering how much of that love was his... and how much was a fabrication of her own unconcious design?
Thus Platinum simply discouraged it as best she could without turning that affection into disgust and betrayal. And part of that was in finding the stallion a pretty little thing of his own for when she was... Finished. It was a stroke of luck really, that Benzatine's late son would be so careless with his seed amongst the staff, and that said staff would be so willing to pretend the father was unknown, and that the filly would be such a clever thing. Really, it was almost like watching a tiny-her trotting around sometimes. True there was an age difference, what with Velvet Hooves being old enough to be the filly's father (...quite literally now that Platinum thought on it), but that wasn't unusual for the nobility. Furthermore, it was quite clear that the two had been... Well it wasn't her place to know really, but it was so bloody obvious with the way she sported that smirk some mornings as she mussed with her mane and Velvet Hooves sulked around the place like a wanted criminal with an expression that was guilty as sin.
Really, the way he agonized over his Courtly Love to her while also being in Lust/Love with a girl half his age was positively adorable to watch.
"Your Majesty? What is it that you need the gems here for anyway?"
Platinum didn't answer right away, examining the rope in her hoof. It had been cut part-way, there was no way it could possibly hold her weight. To anypony else it would have looked like nothing more than a bad rope that had worn out. But Platinum knew better. After all, she held the knife to it herself not three hours ago. With a simple flash of her telekinesis, the former princess floated another stake, loop and hammer in a slightly loose portion of the cliff. It too would have a hard time bearing her weight, hence having Velvet Hooves as the anchor. At least, so long as the rope held. In which case no anchor in the world could save her from a long, long, fall. Nothing to recover, nothing to sanctify. Nothing to be turned into a reactionary martyr.
But Velvet Hooves still awaited an answer.
"You know how it is Velvet. Some noble comes across a new vein of gems or precious metals and claims it, then you get other nobles that say it's on their land, then the lawyers get involved and it just becomes a big mess. You know?"
She could easily imagine his nod in comprehension, but not understanding. He was very intelligent that way.
"So really, it's simply a matter of..."
Clink-chsss...
"Getting it out of their grasp."
rumble-POW!
Platinum gave a scream, but it was really just for show. She knew it was coming, had even practiced on cliffs near her palace to get the feel right, just for this moment. A second after the snap, she saw Velvet Hooves hoof reaching out for her, a look of uncomprehending horror on his face, exaggerated by the shadows brought on by the lantern he had hooked to his back. Platinum felt guilty at leaving him like this, but it would be the only way this could happen without him elevating her to sainthood and swear off mares. He deserved to be married, have foals, and while she could live a Virgin life, it would be ludicrous to ask her successor(s) to do the same.
Platinum knew that she would fade out of his sight long before he did hears, so she kept quiet after her one short scream. Don't make it to traumatic. Ten seconds in and it was done. She was out of sight, and no matter what she did now Velvet Hooves wouldn't hear it. Judging by the height of this pit, Platinum had calculated that she would have about a minute of free-fall after she disappeared. Sixty seconds to ponder her life before it came to an end.
Platinum didn't know what to expect, and to be honest she was afraid of what her mind would drift to...
And it turned out she was right to be afraid. Star-Swirl was the first pony to come to mind. What would he think of how she used the skills he taught her? Would he be proud of her accomplishments with Equestria and the fall of the nobility? Or would he be disgusted with the murders, theft, and framing she and her cronies did to bring it all about? Platinum did not have illusions of being a good pony. Quite the opposite in fact. She knew what her final reward would be, and she had accepted that fact long ago. To do otherwise was to delude the mind, and that was the last thing her mind needed to be with what she had been planning.
No, she could take becoming a denizen of Hell, burning for all eternity for what she had done... But the thought that her beloved mentor would damn her along with the Spirits... Odd... She never shed tears, true tears, a day before in her life...
Oddly enough, her mother was next. Platinum barely remembered Queen Argentum, having lost her so young. Oh certainly she recalled things like the shine of her grey mane, her blue eyes and... That was it. Not the sound of her laugh, her lullaby as she put her foal to bed. Did she put her to bed? Or was that just the wet nurse? Why only now, after everything, did these questions come to her? Why didn't she ask Star-Swirl or her father when they were still alive?
Her father... Oh how the nobility broke him, that great stallion. He would have made a Great King, had the nobles let him become one. Would he be proud of his little filly avenging him? Or would he be disappointed in her brutality?
Clover... Only now did Platinum truly understand how this would hurt her. Oh she knew she would grieve... But Clover was so much more willing to experience her emotions than Platinum was, was allowed to be. What a horrible sister Platinum was... To cause her little sister so much pain to soon...
Hurricane. That rascal. That gentlestallion. True at first she considered a single evening with him (an idle fancy, nothing more), but one look at the look in his eyes when he saw Clover, beyond the lust... Well. Out of all the stallions Platinum knew in her life... He was the only one she'd trust with Clover.
Smart Cookie... Out of the other five, she was the only one to figure her out all on her own, the only one to even suspect her hoof in Hurricane and Clover's courtship without being clued in out of necessity. Had she been born with a horn, she would have made a terrifying adversary... Or a vital friend and ally...
Puddinghead... Pansy... Good friends, gone to soon. Would they welcome her? See her off with a few comforting words and warm embraces before she was sent to burn?
Would they even care to tr-?
The hard, cold stone came without warning.
------
The Hideaway
"Ma'am? I think you should take this. And I dare say the Commander ought to as well."
Clover, her dark brown mane now sporting a few locks of grey, looked up from her notes, a look of confusion on her face. Fresh Clippings and her had, surprisingly enough, forged a close friendship, despite the clearly obvious fact as to just who Collard Green's father was (not that either brought it up of course), and thus she knew how Clover preferred not to be disturbed when going over formulas or drafting a speech, even more so when said speech was to be a lecture given at the new university. So what could it be that would get the shy Earth Pony to dig her up from her books? It was still bright out so it was clearly not yet dinner time, and if something was wrong with Hurricane's health she would be much more agitated.
"Yes Fresh, I am coming. I shall be out in but a moment." A gentle breath upon the wet ink, an eagle feather to mark the page of her research book, and a puff of extinguish the candle (a careless keeper loses her work to the flame after all), and Clover joined Fresh Clippings in the hallway. The older mare spoke not a word, simply guiding the unicorn down the halls and down the stairs to the entry hall... Where her Husband and Star Burst (she didn't know he was visiting! Such a sweet colt) waited for her. Among them, Velvet Hooves, Platinum's personal stallion-servant stood, face crestfallen, eyes moist with unshed tears.
"My lady... I bear tragic news..."
Clover couldn't believe it. No. She could believe it. After all, accidents happen every day. It was simply that she didn't want to believe it. The Princess, the mare she trusted above all others to be the god-mother of her children... Dead. How could she be dead? Why must she be dead? There had to be some sort of mistake. There had to be! How could she have been here for breakfast just this morning and be gone scant six hours later? Why? How! How could Velvet be sure? Did he check? Why was he here wounding a poor old mare's heart when he could be looking for her sister to make sure she was all right?
The next thing Clover was aware of, she was being held. A thick forelimb around her shoulders, a strong wing wrapping around her middle. A strong, musky scent filling her nose. A soft, soothing baritone humming in her ear. Hurricane. Ironic, that a stallion named after a raging storm, and known for his loud and boisterous personality... Could be so soothing and calming...
"Shhh lovey. It's going to be all right. You're going to be just fine."
But then, was that same storm not also known for the calm eye in the middle?
Next she could feel herself being rocked. Soon a second body was pressed on her other side. Star Burst. Always a good colt, so sweet, so considerate of his poor mother's feelings.
For some time, the family huddled like that, sharing their grief in silence. And by the time they had all calmed down, Velvet Hooves had already taken his leave. No doubt to both give them their privacy, and to get a little of his own. Clover wiped at her eyes one last time, taking in a deep, soothing breath to steady herself.
"If you will excuse me... I must... I must write to Twinkle. The Press Secretary of the Republic ought to hear about this as soon as can be managed."
The two stallions nodded, watching their wife and mother (respectively) ascend the stairs again. The elder of the two looked to his son. His tone was light, but his face was dead serious.
"So son... Wanna be king of the unicorns?"
Star Burst clearly thought the same thing as his father, of how the old nobility still alive would most likely try to strong-hoof him onto the dead throne of Unicornia. While Aunt Platinum never had any foals of her own, with some clever lawyering one could make the argument that Clover, and thus her children, would be next in line. All his life, Corporal Star Burst had heard the horror stories from his dearly beloved and now departed Aunt Platy. As such, his choice was obvious.
"No way in Hell dad."
The old War Horse smiled.
"That's my colt."
------
Palace of Friendship, Bedchambers of Princess Platinum
Velvet Hooves sat on the bed. Her bed. A bed that now would never again hold her body as she slept. Before him was the Black Room, folded up to look like nothing more than innocent furniture. Never again would she look through the correspondence of the nobility, never again would she uncover and circumvent their plots before they could begin... Never again would he see her lovely features set as she plotted a set-up, a scheme, a blackmail...
At the soft rustle of fabric to his left and behind, Velvet Hooves turned to see the filly. ...The filly, that was what he called her in his mind, though she was already four and thirty years of age, so she was hardly a foal. Especially with those curves, he guiltily admitted himself noticing. Whereas his face was like a dead pony's with grief, with hollowed eyes and slack mouth, her expression was even, her gaze piercing.
"So," she whispered after a moment's silence, "it's true then? The rumors? Our lady is dead?"
Velvet locked eyes with her, held them for what felt like forever. Eventually he broke eye-contact, looking down to his hooves.
"Yes. ... I had her right here and... And she was gone..."
The old stallion gave a soft but heart-wrenching sob, burying his face in his hooves.
"Oh spirits... What are we going to do? What are we going to do? What are... What are we...?"
The knock to his head wasn't enough to do damage, but the pain was enough to jar him from his breakdown. Turning around, the young mare's face was set in resolute determination, as though irritated that he would dare behave so in her presence.
"'What are we going to do?' 'What are we going to DO?' What do you think we will do Velvet Hooves? The nobility are powerless now, and without a dynasty to focus around they are adrift. But don't tell me you are a big enough fool to even entertain the notion that they will fade away willingly Velvet Hooves. That they won't regain their power someday around a charismatic and power-hungry individual. What are we going to do? What we've always done: Observe the nobility, and those they have in their households. See what they are planning. Help it along if it is to the betterment of Equestria. End it if it isn't. Kill them if that is what is needed. Now quit your sniveling. I won't have a colt sharing my bed."
Velvet Hooves sat agog at the reprimand, looking the younger mare in the eye before she broke contact, trotting back into the hidden corridors of the palace. Somehow, her words and actions cut through the fog that had addled his mind all day, and he smiled. Yes. Her Majesty's work was still afoot, much was still needed to be done. He didn't have the skills to run their enterprise, but this youthful mare... She just might be a worthy successor to their secret society...
------
Alicorn Farms
Smart Cookie was enjoying the warm weather on her rocker, sipping a glass of lemonade as she watched her great-grandbabies playing in the sunshine. Most were still Earth Ponies... But a few had wings, and now and again she could make out the burst of light hinting at magic.
"Ahh Star-Swirl," she thought aloud, "if only you could see this in person. It ain't perfect... But it's mighty close."
"Premier Cookie?"
Smart Cookie raised a hoof to her brow to block out the glaring light of the setting sun, mouth drawn up in a half-grimace as she considered the colt before her.
"Dumpling, I haven't been Premier in nearly thirty years, now get off your poor hooves and sit a spell. You look like you've been walking all day."
The colt (well, stallion, but when one got as old as Smart Cookie was now, everypony was a foal) seemed surprised at the invitation, looking one way and the other before squatting down on the steps.
"Go on dumpling, the world's not going anywhere." she poured him a glass of the tart drink from the pitcher. "Here, have some lemonade."
"Thank you ma'am. That's very kind of you."
As the government stallion sipped on his lemonade (the style had changed some, but a government uniform couldn't be assumed to be anything else), Smart Cookie mulled over why Canterlot would send someone to her farm without prior warning. True she was one of the Founders, and the first Head of State of Equestria at that, but she and Clover and Platinum had agreed that the subsequent generations would need to learn not to rely on them; so her, in her old age, being asked to serve once again was a long shot. So what could be so important that an agent would be sent to her in person, with no prior warning? ...Unless something had happened to one of the others.
"Tell me son... Which of us was hurt, and how bad is it?"
The government pony sputtered his lemonade, coughing the tart fluid through his nose as he looked at her with wide eyes. Smart Cookie could only give a tiny smile at his bewilderment.
"Smart Cookie's the name dumpling, don't wear it out. Just answer the question."
And so the agent told her, in the fullest detail he could give. He mentioned that there would be a vigil the evening after tomorrow, and asked if she would be so kind as to speak if she thought she could manage. Cookie agreed. Of course she would speak a few words in remembrance. It was the least she could do for a friend. Of course... It seemed like it was just yesterday when sweet Pansy was taken from them too. And now Platinum, gone so sudden-like. Smart Cookie continued to sit in her rocker long after the government pony left, soaking it all in.
And then, like sunlight from behind a cloud, an old conversation, way back to just before the Constitution Convention, came back to her mind. Platinum had put her support behind the Democratic model of government for Equestria, and Cookie had pulled her aside to ask her why she, a ruling princess, would give it all up without a fight.
'Make no mistake Cookie, in the end the government Equestria has is irrelevant to me. My one, singular goal is this: The total uproot and destruction of the powerbase of the Unicorn Nobility; and doing so in such a way as to keep them from regaining their power for a thousand generations. Everything I do, every action, plot, motion, and thought, has that in mind. Everything else is secondary to that, even my life. Should it come to that, I would slit my own throat, if it meant that the nobles were to end up powerless.'
How odd... That a sixty-year old mare would go spelunking to investigate a gem claim her estate had staked. It all came together. Most of the lines of the Pre-Warming Unicorn nobility were extinct, Platinum's included now, the rest being nobles she herself instated for their loyalty to the throne and her principals. All of the Pre-Warming Noblility's titles, lands, and wealth had defaulted to the throne in lieu of a successor. Had she wanted to, Platinum could have easily restored the days of the Unicorn Absolute Monarchy. But, as Smart Cookie's idle reading of the former Kingdom's history showed, such resurgences of power only lasted three or so generations before the 'status quo' had been restored, and expanded upon. For Platinum, a relatively short-term back-breaking of the nobles wasn't good enough. For her, it had been all or nothing. With no successor for the throne, the Kingdom was truly dead, and the riches in property and wealth would be deposited to the treasury of the Kingdom of Unicorns and Unicornia's Successor State: The Equestrian Republic. Smart Cookie couldn't help it. She laughed. Long and, while not loudly or heartily, then certainly mirthfully.
It wasn't until her youngest daughter, Fine Wine, came out that the old mare realized it was dark.
"Ma? Are you all right? You've been out here for hours it seems."
The old mare looked to the younger one with a start, looking about the now dark porch.
"Oh! Yes. I'm sorry dumpling if I scared you. I just... An old friend has died today." Fine Wine gave a slight gasp. Mother had many friends, and each one felt like family, in some cases almost literally. Already a list of potential names came to mind. No doubt she would be plotting out the list of condolence letters for their kin and half-way to planning the wake come morning. Smart Cookie couldn't help but smile at the mental picture, long given up on the mare's tendency to plot out any sort of gathering. Instead, she stood up on her shaky legs, one part of her mind musing on how, before too long, it would be her turn to be mourned.
"If you don't mind, I'd like a little extra time alone before bed."
"Oh! Yes, of course ma. Do you need hel-?"
"I'm an eighty-four year-old mare Wine, not an invalid. I can go down to the basement just fine dumpling. Just see to the foals please."
And go up and down the stairs she most certainly could do. It was just slower going that it had once been. But eventually she made that last step, and trotted over to the wine rack. It was empty, her family having little taste for the stuff. Except for one bottle, of a three-hundred year-old vintage. A gift from a friend now past. Smart Cookie couldn't think of a better private send off than a quiet libation with a glass of the departed's own stash.
While her eyes were going, her heart wasn't ticking like it once had, and her ears made everything fuzzy, Smart Cookie was pleased that her teeth were just as good as the day they came in, enough so that she pulled the cork out without the need for fancy gadgets. That done, she held out the single wine glass she brought with her and poured a single serving of the red liquid. Recorking the bottle, Smart Cooke placed it back on the rack before holding up the glass, a small smile on her lips, and a hint of a tear in her eye.
"Well played maestro. Your orchestra was well tuned, well trained, and the composition of the symphony was nothing short of masterful. Truly a Magnum Opus for the ages. A pity only we of extreme politics can appreciate your masterpiece."
Smart Cookie tapped the glass to a loose nail to simulate a clink, and downed the wine in one go before placing it upside down on the rack with the bottle.
"Bravo. If only I could request an encore."
------
"Daft foolish mare. Who of proper breeding would go wiggling around in a filthy cave like a common muddy? Especially at HER age!"
Count Pyrite paced before the fireplace of his study, his anger fully on display. It being summer there was no fire lit, but it was the most suitable spot in the room for pacing dramatically. Sadly, the lack of bonfire in its head-high maw took away from the histrionics.
"Oh this is simply a travesty, an utter disaster of untold proportions! The likes of which unseen by the Kingdom since that eternally Damned Warming forty years ago!"
His son Musco, however, lounged on the sofa, reading a book, utterly and magnificently indifferent to his father's ranting. Not noticing the apathy, or simply ignoring it, Pyrite continued.
"Oh, and we cannot simply sneak in the Certificate of Adoption into her records either! Not now! All of her estates have already been collected, her Last Will to be read upon the morrow!"
It was true. Before the official announcement of death was even released, the Royal Lawyer, now out of a job from the looks of affairs, and the Chief Justice of the Court of Justice went about pulling the late King's records. As the Sovereign of the Kingdom of Unicorns and Unicornia, the lands and property of any Noble who died without heirs went to the Throne, and with the House of Æthelric now extinct, no doubt those lands and assets, certainly worth well into the trillions, would default to the state. With so much money and property at stake, no doubt the lawyers would look at every single legal document with a fine-toothed comb, trawling for even the slightest hint of an adoption or an inheritance. With Æthelric's last heir dead, the only true link to restoring the Kingdom, Unicornia, and most importantly the Nobility's position and status of power, was well and truly dead, the legacy of the Lords, Counts, Barons, Dukes and Marquees past tossed to the collective pockets of the unwashed masses.
"Damn her. Damn that daft, stupid, insipid, silly mare to whatever fine eternal torment the Spirits deign to curse her with for ending our glory like this. You see son! This is why it is an unnatural sin against Nature itself for a mare to be granted even a little education! She starts to get it into her silly head that she is a thinking being, one that can conceive a-an-and deal with the harsh realities of this world!"
"Whatever you say father."
"Indeed you should!"
A gentle knock came from the open door. Entering with a tray with a bottle of brandy and a tumbler on one wing, a young pegasus mare in the uniform of the maid-staff walked over to the table near the window.
"I apologize my lord, but I thought after the distressing news of the day that you would desire a drink before bed."
Pyrite glared at the mare for interrupting his rant. However, by all accounts she was in the right. And judging by the label on the bottle the butler who was her supervisor clearly knew his master. After all, no one could reasonably expect a mare to know her way around a liquor cabinet. No sense reprimanding the mare for what her boss told her to do. He would simply direct his reprimand to the butler. Though he wouldn't drink at the moment, he still had a lecture to give to his son. He could ignore his learned father all he wanted, but so long as he was in earshot, the colt would learn something.
"Indeed. Pour one for Musco as well. Then be off. Now Musco, as I was sa-GURGSHK!!"
The knife piercing his neck and poking out the other side came without warning, blood from his jugular and carotid spurting everywhere. Within seconds the count's eyes rolled into his head and he thumped to the floor. Musco, now Count Musco, looked over the now lightly blood-spattered book at the body lying on the floor, and the maid yanking the dagger out, hilt in mouth, with clearly practiced ease.
"You took your sweet time Whirlwind. A few minutes more and I would've tried my hoof at doing the deed myself. A few months of reprieve at university and already I cherish quiet more than his life."
Whirlwind wiped the blood off the dagger with the ex-count's robe before sheathing it in the hidden slit of her uniform. She laughed at the young count's comment.
"Give me a break Musco. Sure my parents were of the Thunder Strike Legion, but this was my first mark. I needed to get psyched up for it." She looked down on the corpse, something resembling pity on her lovely features. "Three years of service... And the only time I remember his face looking even remotely at peace is when he's dead. It's a pity really."
"Yes, a pity that so much was wasted on the likes of him." Up till then Count Musco's face and voice was deadpan and without emotion. As he trotted up to the mare and tenderly removed the headpiece that covered her shortly cropped mane, turning the motion into a caress upon her cheek, his tone turned soft. "And you? And the foal?"
Whirlwind blushed before she could stop herself, smiling at this rare moment of affection. "I'm only two months or so in. I highly doubt we'll be having issues for a while yet."
Musco and Whirlwind locked eyes for a moment, sharing a small smile. And like that the moment was gone, and Musco was back in business.
"Now come on, the gardener will be by with the day's addition to the compost pile any minute now."
Together, the unicorn noble and the pegasus maid picked up the still-warm body to the open window. Eight stories below, scent secured by distance and a standing breeze, a mound nearly five feet high and twice that in diameter sat, consisting of everything from grass-clippings to kitchen scraps to the morning offerings by the servants from the chamber pots of the estates and the dung of the animals of the farm. Nopony other than the elderly and half-blind gardener ever bothered to interfere with the developing compost for nearly three years, and by then little would be left of Pyrite but the bones, and by then they would be indistinguishable from the bones of the occasional pig and fowl carcass tossed in as well.
With grunts of exertion, the two youths heaved at moving the body of the overweight fifty-something onto the window sill when another sound came to their ears.
"What in the world?"
Turning to the still open door with horror (Whirlwind cursed allowed at noticing her mistake), the two saw the Countess standing there, her own tray of brandy held aloft by her magenta magic. Musco looked between his mother and the body of his father and back again before making the attempt to address the situation.
"Mother... Hello. Umm.... Father had a sudden bout of... Uh..."
"The dead?" Whirlwind offered.
"The Dead! Yes! Ghastly stuff that! Uhh, and... We were.... What were we doing Whirlwind?"
"Huh? OH! Well, I was simply doing what you were doing m'lord!" At the oh-so-innocent grin, it was clear that Musco was on his own, and judging by the glare he gave his lover it was obvious he was insufficiently impressed.
Pyrite, meanwhile, continued to drip coagulating blood on the floor. It was really all he was good for, being dead and all.
The Countess, while the comedy-routine in progress went on, walked up to Pyrite's body, examining the stab wound. A moment of silence and she looked between the two younger ponies, a deadpan expression on her face.
"While using the compost pile to dispose of the meat sack is a good one, death by stabbing was a poor choice son. It leaves too much of a mess to clean up, and as you can tell, leaves a noticeable trail that any idiot can use to find out where the body is hidden," she turned her slightly disapproving gaze to Whirlwind, "regardless of whatever 'help' you may have on hoof. Did you think about what would be needed to clean up nearly half a gallon of blood and voided death-fluids?"
It would have been charitable to say that the blank stares the two gave the countess was due to nothing more than being surprised at the wife of the not-at-all-dearly departed giving them advice on post-murder logistics. But that would be a lie. The two clearly were that ignorant. After a moment's silence the countess rolled her eyes with a sigh and floated the bottle of brandy to the bloody smear on the flagstones and pouring the contents. After a few moments, the blood began to bubble, and a thin white smoke began to rise. Acid. And a strong one from the looks of it.
"Poison is the cleanest of murder weapons. And if you manage to lay low and remain inconspicuous, no one would think to investigate the sudden death."
Whirlwind and Musco looked from the frothing blood puddle to the Countess as she made the last steps to the body of her late husband, now perched on the window sill. Without a word, she pushed the dead body, sending it tumbling down to the pile below, the soft landing spot dampening any sound, and half-swallowing Pyrite.
"There, that's that. Musco? I trust you plan on making Whirlwind an honest mare."
Musco couldn't help by cough slightly at that. As a matter of fact he was planning on wedding the maid. And given his response to his sister's choice of a husband, Musco didn't expect his father to react any better to his taking a pegasus wife. At best he'd demand he take her as nothing more than a mistress, but no more than that. It had been the catalyst to this evening's events. He had expected the announcement to be a surprise to his mother, though clearly they had not been as discrete as he had thought.
As though reading his mind, Whirlwind bore what was probably the smuggest grin she ever had in anypony's presence but his.
"Told ya somepony would hear."
The countess looked at the pegasus with something resembling approval.
"In any event, be a dear and fetch me some paper, ink and sealing wax Whirlwind. I must send a letter to Feldspar asking her to move back in if she and her husband are still renting living accommodations. Oh! And to bring the children as well of course. I want to see my grandbabies!"
...And on the twenty-third day in the second month of summer, Princess Platinum died, thus ending the reign of the House of Æthelric after 3332 years to the very day of rule, not with a grand last stand, or a dignified abdication... But with a quiet, undignified and ignominious accident. The brilliance of the architect of the Great Standoff at one end, and the foolishness of a silly mare-child, too caught up in her idle fancies to care about the world outside her window, at the other. Had Platinum even the tiniest fraction of Æthelric's genius and political savvy, how different history could have been. The Nobility no doubt would have been broken once again, the Winter War would most likely have been averted entirely, and Hearth's Warming circumvented, leading to a wildly different Equestria.
Would the Equestria helmed by an intelligent Platinum have been a Monarchy? With Empress Platinum and her marriage to King-General Hurricane sealing the alliance, and Grand Vizier Smart Cookie guiding the bureaucracy of government? Sadly, that different world, possibly even better world, will never be known. For thirteen centuries, with the occasional hiccup, the House of Æthelric stood unrivaled in Unicorn society in their rule. But with the rise of King Mercury to the throne and the Magna Carta, the death warrant for the Dynasty was signed. All that was left was the dying, a slow, tortuous death of increasingly incompetent, decadent, or ineffective kings, culminating in a Princess illegally ascending the throne under the manipulation of Star-Swirl in his scheme of forcing the tribes together against their will. Had Mercury remained strong and refused to sign the Magna Carta, we can only imagine what the Dynasty could have been, and we are now bereft of knowing what the only Pony Dynasty could have been in our time.
--The House of Æthelric, A Burning House of Schemes and Treachery, Vol. Ten of Ten, Chapter Sixty-Seven by Musty Tomes, 1st edition published 399 AW
Nighttime in the dead of a mild winter had fallen upon the lands of Equestria, and good little fillies and colts had gone to bed, and their parents were soon joining them. One by one, hearths were allowed to burn down to coals, and candles were snuffed out. The full moon hung in the night sky, totally unobscured by even the faintest of cloud-wisps. Her soft light bathing the land in a gentle pale blue shade like a tender, more temperate sun. It was the time of the Wise Owl, the haunt of the Midnight Wolf and his soul-soothing howls. The time of Lovers, and their sweet serenades to one another.
At the palace, one mare in particular prepared for bed. After her usual hours after the Moon Rise Ritual devoted to studying the esoteric nature of the cosmos, she read over the philosophy and theoretical-magical ponderings of the greatest minds of history, her beloved and dearly departed mentor being chief amongst them. But, even natural philosophers needed their sleep, and so Clover the Clever partook of her rituals. After her evening bath, she took a brush in her mouth and began to pass it over the hairs of her tail and what parts of her dark mane she could reach until they were almost smooth as silk. It had been a task that had been performed by her mother as far back as Clover could remember, and that was indeed a very long time. Her mother's health had never been exceptional, but sadly her condition had worsened in the months since Father's passing. The writing was on the wall. But even so, this small, tender memory of action and touch had always soothed Clover after any sort of day, and even as the loss of another parent loomed, this memory, she felt, would be nothing less than one of peace.
Still, Clover could only dwell on such melancholy matters for so long, and thus she directed her thoughts towards things more... Pleasant. And... Well, carnal. In particular concerning a certain stallion that, to others of the present and distant future, would normally be considered an unusual choice in a suitor. For the latter, it will one day be his age, to the former, it would be the fact that he was a pegasus and she a unicorn. However, after many years of trial and error, the older pony had caught her heart deeply in his net, and for the mare, no other stallion would do other than Hurricane, the former Commander of the defunct Celestine Junta. The reasons for her affections were rather nuanced, but there was no doubt that he was, despite his boisterous disposition, very intelligent, and a sharp wit that made conversations most entertaining.
However... Well, there was no denying that, for a stallion his age, Hurricane was very attractive in the face and in... In body. And many a pegasus mare had visited the palace, swapping stories of his past. Obviously many were at best implausible based on anatomy (though admittedly her material on pony anatomy was composed partly on guesswork), but they all seemed to have a basis in reality when compared to the stories told by mares who had actually been his lovers in times past. And their audience Clover, known or unknown to them, had a photographic memory, meaning every word, and every inflection of emotion their memories conjured up, was perfectly preserved in her mind. It would be a lie to suggest the stories did not have some affect.
But, second or third-hoof information was not something to compare to actual experience. And in the months since their first night sharing a bed (utterly innocent mind you), the unicorn and pegasus had spent more and more nights together in her chambers. And in more recent evenings the visits had proven to be... Less innocent. Oh! Her maidenhead was still safe and secure mind you... However, Hurricane's years of experience proved that there were other ways for a stallion to bring his lover to ecstasy, and all while never indulging in satisfying his own no doubt strong urges.
The unicorn sighed at the memories. Not just at the sensations contained in them (and their affects on her person in the present), but at the sights of Hurricane's expressions at his handiwork -- The obvious pride at his skill, and the affection he held for her and the surrogate joy he had in pleasuring her.
Yes, despite his marenizing nature, Hurricane was indeed a romantic at heart. The memory of realizing this fact was most assuredly the most cherished in Clover's mind. His tender embrace, the sweetness of his kiss, the very scent of his presence, all seemed honed to ensuring a moment together in a beautiful memory, a memory that worked upon her body as though her lover was right there himself. Why, even now it was almost as if she could hear music...
Clover blinked.
No, no she was hearing music: The gentle tones of a lyre being played by skilled hooves, weaving a soft tune and was to cause the heart to melt, and it was coming from the young mare's window. Which should have been impossible, for her room was on the highest floor of the Royal Keep. Clover racked her brain to think of a logical reason for the sudden increase in melody in her life... And really the answer was quite obvious.
"Honestly, that stallion."
Getting up from her bed, Clover put away the brush before making for the window. The palace was situated on the side of a steep hill, allowing unparalleled views of the landscape, it's sweeping plains, the distant mountains, and the forests where the two met, all of it illuminated by a bright, full moon as though it were a sun. And out beyond that nocturnal orb, a field full of stars danced in accompaniment. It was a sight that Clover was quite familiar with, having lived here for nigh a decade. But a few feet out, and a story below, on a fluffy white cloud and playing the mystery lyre, was her dark-coated pegasus beau. With skill that belied his lack of magic, Hurricane played a tune reminiscent of quiet nights, of tender touches, and sweet kisses. He opened his eyes, and looked up to Clover, his smoldering gaze locked to her own, promising so many wonderful, dangerous things. It was a gaze Clover was well acquainted with, having seen it as he... The thought made her heart beat and her cheeks blush and her, her body react in ways that desired attention. But still, there was the fact that her suitor was out in the middle of the night on a cloud.
"Hurricane what are you doing out here? It is midnight."
The old stallion simply smiled, and continued to play his tune as though he didn't hear her. Clover rolled her eyes before continuing.
"Hurricane, 'tis lovely, but it is late."
Hurricane merely smiled, and then began to sing.
"Take the ribbon from your hair, Shake it loose and let it fall. Laying soft against your skin, Like the shadows on the wall."
As he played, he gently flapped his wings, slowly pulling his cushion closer and closer to her window. As he softly crooned, he paused in his song after each line to play a few sweet notes.
"Come and lay by my side, 'Till the early morning light, All I'm taking is your time, Help me make it through the night."
By now, the old stallion was within feet of Clover in her perch, eyes locked to her own, his baritone like a decadent dessert in her ears. His song began to crescendo into a bridge, further exciting the mare's heart.
"I don't know what's Right or Wrong, And I won't try to understand. Let the Devil take tomorrow, For tonight I need a friend."
Clover sighed, head framed by her hooves as she simply gave in and enjoyed the music as it returned to its soothing tones. Meanwhile, Hurricane drifted ever closer, his voice fading to a bare whisper, just audible over the sound of the breeze and flap of his wings. Now inches apart, Clover could smell his musky scent, sending tendrils of excitement into her body.
"Yesterday is dead and gone, And tomorrow is out of sight, I can't stand to be alone, Help me make it through the night."
The Lyre lay abandoned upon the cloud, and Hurricane, forelimbs supported on her windowsill, began to nuzzle Clover, his warm breath tickling her ear, his lips just brushing her fur of her ear. The mare's face was hot with blood and excitement. Finally, after a year of teasing, they would consummate. It was the only logical explanation for why the stallion would be here and seduce her in such a manner. And as the stallion whispered the last of his serenade, the mare tilted her head to the right, to provide Hurricane a better angle for him to kiss the nape of her neck...
"I can't stand to be alone..."
So close, so warm, Clover the Clever was so aroused, closing her eyes in mounting anticipation, biting her lower lip to contain her moan of excitement. Any moment now, in her mind's eye, Hurricane would take her to bed, force her nightwear from her body and ravish her like a wild animal.
"Help me... Make it through... The night."
Yes, Yes! Now! Now was the time! Hurricane would touch her neck with butterfly kisses, and then he would nibble upon her ear, exciting the nerves there like a fire! Her untapped loins, so eagerly awaiting his ministrations, would overflow with readiness, making her perfect to accept his guidance into true marehood! And then he would-! And then he... He... Why was nothing happening?
Clover opened her eyes to find... Nothing. Well and truly nothing. Where Hurricane once stood was naught but empty air and an abandoned cloud. The brown-coated mare looked left, then right, and then up, but saw no sign of her beau. She heard a laugh from below, and upon looking down, Clover saw Hurricane, gliding away like a colt who stole a cookie from the kitchens without being caught.
The unicorn mare stared, wide-eyed, an occasional twitch affecting her left eye as she watched the laughing mad-pony fly off. Slowly but surely, her brain began to work again as she processed what this meant: There would be no deflowering tonight. Her untapped loins would remain untapped. Her mental constructs of what that Holy of Holies in Lovemaking would be like would go untested for the foreseeable future. And what was worse: Her body was well and fully aroused and eager for those activities.
To say that she was, ah, frustrated, was putting it mildly.
"HURRICANE!" she bellowed, giving a grand total of negative five damns about the possibility that somepony might hear her. "You get back up here and get me off this instant!"
The only response she got was an uproarious and quite recognizable laugh from the darkness.
"Scoundrel!" She yelled, "Cad! Virgin-Tease! UTTERLY UNPLEASANT FELLOW!! AUUGH!!"
With continued application of rage-induced pseudo-vocabulary, Clover strutted away from the window and paced the room, stomping the floor as if it had personally insulted her. Seeing this do nothing to help her mood, the mare flopped onto her bed and did her best to get comfortable. She tossed this way, she tossed that way. She even turned herself around so that her head was at the foot of the bed and her back hooves at the head. Still nothing. With another wordless groan of frustration, Clover came to accept the harsh and cruel reality she found herself in: She was in for a long, sleepless night, as there would be no release for a long, long, long time...
------
Three stories above, unbeknownst to a certain court mage, a number of ponies were watching the proceedings at Clover's window. Most of them were guards, the local garrison of the Royal Army charged with protecting the palace and its occupants. The solitary mare in the group was Princess Platinum herself.
All were munching on roasted chestnuts.
"Can I get my money back?" one of the stallions deadpanned.
"It was a free show, of course you can." quipped another.
The pan continued to prove itself well and truly deceased throughout the remainder of the conversation between the commander on duty, who bore the insignia identifying him as the Grandmaster of their Order, and the Princess Platinum, their eyes never once looking away from the scene they just witnessed, even as the other soldiers went about their rounds (bags of chestnuts in hoof).
"I suppose Her Majesty will be sleeping in her own quarters this evening."
Platinum chewed on her chestnuts a little bit longer before swallowing. She then took an expression that could only be described as 'blissful' as she contemplated the notion.
"Indeed Lord Nightshade, I suppose she would. Not that she looks down upon the accommodations in the barracks, but the Royal Spine has not the constitution for chronically enduring a mattress that is not at least partially stuffed with feather-down."
Lord Nightshade nodded sagely as he munched on another hoof-full of nuts.
"Indeed. The rigors of state and the rigors of security are equally taxing upon the body, just in different ways."
The two sat at the wall surrounding the roof of the keep in companionable silence as they continued to eat their snacks.
"Lord Nightshade, I trust you and your stallions will continue to understand the utmost importance in discretion on their part."
Nightshade nodded before looking down to his much shorter liege from the corner of his eye.
"There is no concern from that quarter You Majesty. Lady Clover on the other hoof, is another matter entirely."
Platinum 'hmm'd' at that and gave a small nod in agreement before a few more minutes of quiet fell over them. Then Nightshade came to a rather daunting realization.
"Considering how audible Lady Clover is during foreplay, what prey-tell will she do when Hurricane unsheathes his blade Your Majesty?"
Platinum's eyes shot open, her jaw pausing in mid-chew. Seconds ticked by before she swallowed, and as her food fell down her throat, the color in her face seemed to go with it.
"The sooner they are wed and out from under my roof, the better."
Excerpt, A Brief History of Equestria, Vol. 2, Princess Twilight Sparkle
With the terror of Nightmare Moon resolved, Celestia found herself ruling all of Equestria alone. After centuries striving to be an upright and moral exemplar to all the Princes beneath her and Luna, the Princess of the Sun found herself as one of them – having cast aside Love and Harmony in the name of battling her beloved sister over the Throne of Equestria.
“I know it’s silly,” the Princess said in a private interview, “after all, the Balance and Harmony of the world was at stake. However, the fact alone that, in fighting with and banishing Luna as I did, the Elements of Harmony severed their connection with the both of us, is proof enough that I was no longer worthy to wield their power. And they went dormant once the business was done.”
In her grief, Celestia could not focus on ruling in sound judgement, and so retreated into seclusion, cloistering herself from the outside world, leaving the daily governing to stewards and the sisters’ closest friends and allies. This beginning a period called by the more histrionic among historians “The Anarchy,” even though it was nothing of the sort. Twelve years later, Celestia was finally ready to face the outside world and once again sit in her, now solitary, throne. Unfortunately, her so-called friends ruling Equestria in her stead, were all implicit in the isolation of Luna from the ponies of Equestria – either deliberately by orchestrating events to sabotage her efforts to connect with Equestria, or vicariously out of apathy to the situation.
Luna, in the final days of her time before succumbing to her darker nature, was anything but popular among Equestrians, despite her nightly duties Dreamwalking. If anything, her falling to Nightmare Moon was met with more relief than horror among the common folk, as it was seen as a confirmation of what they already ‘knew,’ as her affiliation with The Night and all things Dark and Terrifying to ordinary ponies did her no favors in winning her much in the way of affection or acceptance. Thus, with Luna no longer among them and Celestia in mourning, the animosity that was under the sheen of civility bubbled up and took hold in Equestrian culture. The Autumn Feast, Luna’s personal favorite holiday in the later months of the year, associated with the end of the harvest season and the beginning of preparations for winter, soon became known as what we now celebrate as Nightmare Night, a night where everypony celebrated the defeat of Nightmare Moon, and the triumph of The Sun. The Trick or Treating and costumes being rituals created in the past hundred-fifty years. And much to Celestia’s horror, it was this perversion of her sister Luna’s favorite holiday, twelve years and four months after having to banish her to the moon, that she stepped out of her apartments and looked upon her subjects.
There were celebrations for her return to government of course. However, intermingled with the expected decorations for both the Autumn Feast and Celestia’s return, there were effigies of Nightmare Moon – of Luna – being crucified, burned, drawn and quartered. The cries of “Hail the Solar Princess” were almost drowned out by cries of “Glory to The Moon Killer,” and all manner of similarly mean-spirited cries.
“What happened next, I have always been ashamed of. Even more so than what had happened to Luna. That had been a matter of duty. This was personal. To call what I felt in that moment anger would be to belittle it. I was furious, beyond any measure. And… I decided in that moment that these… Ponies, did not deserve anything resembling happiness. And like Luna had in her loneliness, I became something… Unbecoming of myself. And the only good thing that came out of that was that I was able to regain my faculties before the tragedy turned into an atrocity Equestria couldn’t recover from. Though it would be many long decades before I even considered the notion of forgiving the ones parading their hate for Luna like that. And by then, they and their children and grandchildren, and Great-Grandchildren were all dead and buried, and Luna had been effectively erased from history. In a misguided attempt to… Expunge, I suppose, her connection to the Nightmare.”
In her anger, Celestia’s form had changed, and according to survivor testimony, she began to – with sadistic glee – conjure up stormclouds. Clouds that rained down not water, but fire on castle, home, business, and pony alike. For three hours, Canterlot burned, and by the time Celestia calmed down, only the gutted stonework of the city walls and castle remained. And in the weeks and months that followed, Celestia consolidated power over Equestria, rendering all civil liberties, checks, and balances null and void, save by the Throne’s pleasure alone. Thus beginning the period now known as The Bicentennial Tyranny.
This time period of two-hundred fifty-three years was characterized by harsh enforcement of the Law, executions and banishments were a yearly occurrence when before and after they were more of a once-in-a-generation event. One result was that, after Celestia finally relaxed her iron grip on government and introduced the Advisory Duma Assembly system, the last vestiges of the disregard for Alicorn Authority over Ponydom, a disregard that lead to such death and warfare during the 15 Years War over a millennium and a half before Luna’s fall, was ground to dust.
Another effect on society was the Culture of Punishment – a sentiment where sensational stories of criminals and their exploits were gossiped about and glamorized. Among the upper class and Nobility, honor duels saw a resurgence, and among the poor, conditions deteriorated as the social welfare institutions Celestia and Luna established atrophied on the vine.
Among the multitude of stories that spread like wildfire in the press and by word of mouth, are stories that live on in popular culture in one form or another even today. Such as the strange case of Doctor Pines, whose self-experimentation with alchemy and the mind lead to a split personality named Mister Hide, a sociopathic monster of a pony that was only resolved with the doctor's suicide. And then there is the affair of the disgraced medical student VictoriousHippostein and his obsessive experiments with Immortality leading to his Creature rampaging across Equestria. Or Captain of the Royal Guard Absentia Clemency’s obsession over a singular escaped convict Joy Fallen-Joy, and his mismanagement that resulted in the Summer Sun Riot, and thus leading Celestia to begin to turn away from her tyrannical ways. And most influentially – especially among the Nobility – there was the affair of The Count of Monet Dumas.
Twenty-three years after Luna’s banishment, Nightmare Moon put forth all of her effort to break her seal. This led to three-hours of total darkness, the sun blocked by an unplanned solar eclipse as the madmare fought the energies of the Elements of Harmony and Celestia’s own magic. Eventually Nightmare Moon used up the last of her reserves and went dormant until the seal finally failed in 2600, the 1000th Summer Sun Celebration. The aftermath was as predictable as it was tragic: Everypony assumed that Nightmare Moon had some sort of outside help, when in reality it was a last desperate gasp at freedom. But it still led to a witch hunt. Lives were destroyed when neighbor turned on neighbor, and innocent ponies were tossed into Kangaroo Courts for show trials and dealt with just as apathetically. Celestia, steeped in her anger, sat back, uncaring, letting the ponies eat each other alive until the turmoil had run its course.
One of the innocent victims was a young sailor named Prismés Prosperous, of Baltimare. Like dozens of ponies, he had been accused of being a Luna Collaborator, with letters of correspondence found in his home showing him to be exactly that. This was all fabricated of course. Unfortunately for the newly minted captain, he ran afoul of a conspiracy by ponies he thought were friends: Lord Avarice Monsparkle, a long friend of the Pegasus, Coinage Jangles, and the local magistrate Fair Sanction. The noble wanted Prismés’ marefriend Piety as his wife but had been rejected. Coinage Jangles had been overlooked for promotion to Captain of their ship, and Fair Sanction had familial ties to the few ponies of Society that actually liked Luna, and was looking to undermine any potential attention that might come his way because of it.
With so much ‘damning’ evidence against him, the pegasus was thrown into The Castle Rock, Equestria’s most brutal, most infamous prison, where he was soon forgotten.
Nineteen years later, in 1642, Princess Celestia received word of an escape at The Castle Rock, a prisoner had swapped out the body of a recently dead inmate with himself in the body bag before it was tossed into the sea. A small search was carried out, but when nopony matching the prisoner’s two decades out of date description was ever seen, he was presumed dead and the matter closed.
Two years after that, a middle-aged stallion in fine clothes presented himself to court in Canterlot, wishing to purchase the title of The Count of Monet Dumas.
Monet Dumas, then and now, is little more than a glorified rock out to sea between Trottingham and the mainland. However, it was a notoriously hazardous stretch of sea, and many treasure ships had sunk in those waters. Add in how it had been a den for pirates for centuries after the Defeat of Discord, and a desperate refuge for nobles from one of the Equestrian Republic’s multitude of successor states during the Wars that followed after that, and the result was that it had been suspected to be home to untold riches - provided one was willing to hunt. But the island had never been a part of any noble title, and between Discord’s merry havoc with space-time during his rule, and everypony having other things to focus on after Celestia and Luna’s ascension to the thrones, there were no surviving records connecting ownership of the place to any territory from the time of the Equestrian Republic, not even to the Crown Territories Celestia and Luna took ownership of. Therefore, anypony willing to claim the island for his own was welcome to it, and was given only mild scrutiny, until he proved his worth via displays of wealth and noble baring.
“Had I been in a better mindspace at the time,” Celestia says, “I would have looked further into it, and likely prevented what was to come. But I was so full of malice and anger, I couldn’t bring myself to care. It disgusts me now, looking back, but I think I reveled in the prospect of what this mysterious stallion was going to do, and how it might be an entertainment.”
The count made waves in court. He was clearly wealthy, and well-mannered, and soon had mares lining up to be the lady at his side at every function. He even caused more sentimental ladies to swoon at his charitable nature when he took in a teenage earth pony filly named Haydi as his ward, straight off the streets. He cleaned her up, dressed her in fine clothes, and gave her the best education - but not by hiring tutors, he taught her himself, showing that the mysterious Count was as cultured as he was wealthy. And the drama intensified later that winter when he and Lord Adler Monsparkle – the son of Lord Avarice Monsparkle and Lady Piety – were caught up by a gang of thugs, and the Count was instrumental in saving them both, for which the colt – having recently turned 17 and was thus of age – introduced him to his family and their circle of friends; Including Lord Avarice Monsparkle’s business associate Coinage Jangles, and Lord Prosecutor Fair Sanction. The Count ingratiated himself with the stallions and their families, soon becoming a common visitor to their dinner tables.
Then the gossip turned from the interesting to the dramatic. Because within months, things started to happen.
As an act of friendship, the Count opened up an investment account at Coinage’s bank, and proceeded to make outrageous investments in highly risky ventures, leaving Coinage Jangles to bare the risk. This proceeded for months, with the Count investing seemingly endless amounts of bits into investments that were certain to fail. Finally, one did, and it collapsed Coinage Jangles’ bank within a weak, leaving him with nothing. Penniless. In order to spare his wife and daughter the indignity of the poorhouse, Coinage Jangles sold himself into a life of indentured servitude and sold much of the lavish things he had collected so that his wife could live in modest comfort, and his daughter could still have a dowry.
The Lord Prosecutor Fair Sanction’s wife, who had long had issues with his family, somehow got it into her head to dabble in poison after a series of conversations with the Count about Pre-Hearths Warming Unicorn society. Within a year, over a dozen of Fair Sanction’s extended family were dead in suspicious circumstances, and then his wife and their youngest daughter were dead due to an accidental poisoning. Fair Sanction, seeing the family he discarded his morals decades before to save be culled brought up repressed guilt over his dirty dealings, driving him insane. He would spend the rest of his days an invalid in a mental asylum. He had spent his whole life obsessed with his image and the standing of his family. He would end his life unable to use the water closet without the aid of an adult diaper, nor chew his own food.
And finally, Lord Avarice Monsparkle. To the surprise of nopony, the sort of stallion that would frame a friend in order to get a chance with said friend’s marefriend was not the sort to avoid shady business dealings. Using his ‘friendship’ with Lord Prosecutor Fair Sanction – and his role in framing Prismés Prosperous as insurance – in order to avoid scrutiny from the authorities, and Coinage Jangles’ business as a money launder, the Lord invested in all sorts of Black Market activities, ranging from drug smuggling to underground brothels to enterprises too depraved to publish here. With the loss of Coinage Jangles’ bank, he had no way to ‘legitimize’ his alternative income. With Fair Sanction committed, he had no one to manufacture fig leaves to hide his dealings. And then – one by one – his businesses were exposed. Never with a strong enough connection to convict him however, but with just enough circumstantial evidence that only the most idealistic individuals would refuse to realize what he had been doing.
Suddenly finding himself isolated from Polite Society, and seeing the effect this was taking on the public standing of his family, Lord Avarice Monsparkle seemed to have a crisis of conscience, as he was found in his office one morning with self-inflicted slits to his throat. On the table was a note with only a single sentence on it. This note is preserved in the Royal Archives: It is normal lattice linen paper, written with expensive ink. There are dark brown blotches where the Lord’s blood splattered on it. There is no seal on it, the sender choosing to instead tuck in the paper into itself, nor did they provide a signature to the note. And when one unfolds the letter, there is only a singular phrase:
What of Prismés Prosperous, your Lordship?
His son Adler Monsparkle was the one to find both his father and the note. And he would swear to his dying day that the note came from the Count of Monet Dumas. And indeed, throughout the centuries, professional analysis of the hoofwriting of the note compared to the writings of the Count throughout his life all came back in agreement that the author was indeed the Count. In fact, the Count was similarly associated with the downfalls of all three conspirators. Close enough to catch the attention of spectators, but was never connected in a way that would be construed as deliberately sabotaging the three stallions. Or if he was, it was never anything that any court could prove as criminal.
In fact, all of his associations looked innocent, or even decorous: The tragedy of Fair Sanction’s family was instigated by the Count, but not by anything criminal, and Fair Sanction’s wife was by no means coerced into murder other than by having burdensome in-laws. And even today, no court would be able to see the Count’s dealings with Coinage Jangles as anything but a stroke of back luck while investing irresponsibly, and it was Jangles’ own greed that did him in, as he could have cut off the count at any time. And with Lord Avarice, the Count just happened to hear rumors of foul play in Canterlot, same as anypony else. But while the rest of the upper crust were content to let the rumors stay just that, he used his influence and resources to actually investigate those rumors and bring them to light, and Avarice just happened to be caught in the crossfire. If anything, the Count was a hero, a bringer of Law and Order to Canterlot’s seedy underbelly.
However, for young Lord Adler, it was all a conspiracy to destroy the lives of his family and the families of his friends. With something approaching solid proof of the Count’s dealings, he challenged the Count to a duel for the honor of his late Father, and to avenge the misfortune that he placed fully at the hooves of the Count. Which the Count accepted…
Mimic Path Place, town home of The Count of Monet Dumas, Year 1647 of Royal Rule
“Please, you have to stop this!”
“Truthfully madam, I have to do no such thing.”
Bardigiano, thanks to his years as a smuggler, kept a straight expression in the face of The Count’s apathetic delivery. In his mind, he wagered with himself how this encounter would go. On the one hoof, he had long suspected that the Lady Piety was the chink in the Count’s armor. Between the subtle softness that came to his eyes when she entered a room, and how he deliberately ensured to never be alone with her, and that their conversations were as short as politeness made possible, were all signs that there was a great deal of past intimacy there. Intimacy that ended poorly.
“’No such-?’ ‘No such thing?!’ Adler has no business demanding or fighting duels, he’s just a colt! A baby!”
The Count turned away from the distraught mare, choosing to instead occupy his attention with the painting that filled the wall behind his desk. The one with a ship, tossed by an angry sea, and a lone captain struggling to man the helm even as the waves swamp his ship. Bardigiano had been there when the Count had commissioned the artist, a relative unknown that was apparently being taken advantage of by his jealous master, who downplayed his work, when he wasn’t taking the credit for the pieces in question. That artist was now quite wealthy and flooded with commission requests, after the mysterious Count of Monet Dumas ‘discovered’ him.
“Young Lord Monsparkle turned seventeen earlier this year madam. Regardless of your sentimentality, he is nevertheless a full stallion in the eyes of the Law and his Peers. If he feels that I have wronged him, and that the normal avenues of justice cannot serve him to his satisfaction, then he is well and truly within his rights to demand retribution on the Field of Honor.
“The Young Lord has impressed me with his character and baring. I would not insult him in denying him.”
From where he stood at the side of the little drama, Bardigiano wasn’t sure what he expected from the mare. But as her face grew dark with desperation, he felt a pit in his stomach.
“Liar. You just want to use him to get to me. Avarice, Coinage Jangles, Fair Sanction. You ruined them all Count. And now you are taking away my last thing of joy in my world?”
That gave the Count visible pause, resulting in the pale pegasus to turn his head just enough to look the Lady from the corner of his eye. And like that the moment had passed, and the Count pulled a ledger from the shelf under the painting, and began to leaf through its pages.
“My Lady, these have been trying times, and have no doubt left you tired and emotional. You are seeing things that cannot be. Why could I possibly see to end such honored worthies?”
A tear trailed down the mare’s nose, and dripped to the floor.
“Because they took everything from you first, Prismés Prosperous.”
In the study, there was only the tick of the clock for, as far as Bardigiano was concerned, hours.
“Madam, you are confused.”
“Then why is that ship in the painting the Merry Balance?”
The Count grew still, a sure sign to Bardigiano that the stallion was floored.
“Madam, it is just a ship.”
“A ship that you and I both loved as a friend!” the Lady pressed, “I would recognize that happy ship anywhere!”
“Perhaps I merely saw her in the harbor on my travels.”
“Coinage paid her off and sold her timbers for firewood years ago. And yet that painting – which you commissioned – has every detail correct, down to our love promise, carved into the sternpost. Do you remember? ’Whatever sea may rise…?’”
“’I will be there.’”
A second after the words left his lips, like a sigh more than anything else, the Count’s eyes blinked rapidly, the only outward sign of his shock at his laps of control. Meanwhile, the Lady’s eyes dripped tears at the confirmation of what she had long suspected.
“Please Prismés, end this. In the name of our Love, do not do this!”
“’In the name of our Love...’” the count repeated, his voice turning horse, bitter, “Funny, that our Love should be sufficient now, when it would be convenient to you after all these years. But it was not enough for you to wait for me.”
The Lady Piety would have looked less wounded had the Count stabbed her, but a hardness Bardigiano was surprised to see from the aristocrat pegasus came to her eyes almost as quickly.
“I thought you dead!” she exclaimed with firm finality, “Lost at sea! You were – are – my whole world, and losing you broke my heart! But what was I supposed to do, die in spirit, until I died an old maid, alone and with no joy in my life? IS that what you would have wanted for me Prismés?”
The Count moved his mouth, looking as if to exclaim that, yes, that is exactly what she should have done. But he held his tongue at the last second, grit his teeth, and turned back to her ledger. This seemed to please – or at least mollify – the Lady, going by how her face softened.
“At dawn tomorrow, I will be meeting with the young Lord Monsparkle, our duel will be carried out with the Prince as our witness.”
Despite himself, Bardigiano smirked. Prince Blueblood was quite adamant that this duel not go on… Until the Count sent him with copies of the Late Monsparkle’s ledgers showing that his highness had been a frequent customer for the establishments that catered to those with a taste for young colts. Suddenly the Prince was more than happy to not only permit this duel, but to personally oversee it
Lady Piety however, looked all the more heartbroken at the Count’s declaration. To the ex-smuggler’s experienced eye, the Lady’s spirit was utterly smashed. It was a look he had seen more than once or twice, when his old Boss had driven an otherwise noble soul to do his bidding. So it was with no surprise when he saw the Lady finally go to the most lowly measures in her desperation to save her son.
“Then… I suppose… I suppose my body will suffice?”
The Count’s quill froze at the words, and he looked up from his books, watching with shock and even a little heartbroken horror as the lady began to undo the fasteners that held her fine dress to her body. Bardigiano would have been amused at seeing the Count getting a wing-boner as the silk pooled around the aristocrat’s hooves, had he not himself admired the form laid bare before him. Certainly, she was past her prime, but her station had spared her from the work and environment that artificially aged so many mares her age, and indeed motherhood had been kind to her form, and Bardigiano was reminded of an old shipmate’s preference for older mares. What was it he called the type? ‘Mother I’d Like to F-?’
“It… It would be all right. I am a widow you see. No scandal would be seen in me… Seeking out the comfort of another stallion. Especially one of your means…”
And at seeing the bashful, humiliated, and broken soul before him, Bardigiano suddenly felt an uncharacteristic guilt at what he was thinking. It was strange, for years he wouldn’t have cared about the pony that was the mare he was interested in. No doubt a result of his service to The Count.
“Yes…” Piety whispered, her voice turning slightly to mania, and Bardigiano’s guilty intensified to shame and pity in equal measure, “yes! There’s nothing to stand between us now! I am a widow, and you are unmarried! Adler would need time to adjust, but with you as his legal step-father-!”
“GET OUT!”
Bardigiano and the Lady were both absolutely shocked at the raw emotion in the Count’s voice, and neither pony was at all expecting to ever see the Count’s intense expression of pain and torment, tears running like rivers in flood stage from his eyes, having seen what he had reduced the mare he had loved for his whole life to.
“BARDIGIANO!”
At the almost animalistic cry of his name, the stallion jolted like a bolt of lightning, dragging the mare and her discarded dress out of the Count’s office, slamming the door behind them with a bang, leaving the Count alone in the pain he had brought on himself. The stallion breathed heavily for but a moment before being overcome, slamming everything on his desk to the floor in a desperate attempt at getting some satisfaction at destroying something. And when that did not work he broke down in sobs, and with the muffled calls from Piety on the other side of the door, and the pounding of her hooves on the door echoing in the chamber, the Count of Monet Dumas, Prismés Prosperous, sank to his haunches, leaning against his desk, shoving his hooves to his ears in a vain attempt to silence the sound.
Meanwhile, Bardigiano watched the Lady Piety, naked and bereft of all dignity of her station, pounding her hooves on the door, tears running down her cheeks, screaming plea after barely articulate plea for the Count to call off the duel and spare her baby.
Feeling very much out of his element, Bardigiano was more than happy to see the filly, Haydi, appear at the foot of the stairs. Taking the out that had presented itself – a skill absolutely vital in the Criminal Underworld – the stallion trotted up to the grey-coated and dark-maned pony.
“Haydi,” he said, being sure to keep his voice down so as to avoid gaining anypony else’s attention, “be a dear and help Lady Piety regain her dignity, and then assist her in being presentable before seeing her out? I have… Ah… Screw it – I want none of this drama.”
And with the Discretion that is the better part of Valor – that is to say, with a coward’s haste – the stallion bolted for the back door, leaving to the poor sixteen-year old with the task of helping the mare, now a disgusting puddle of inarticulate sobbing, pull herself together enough to not make a scene when she left the building.
The rest of the night was quiet, the Count having never left the sanctuary of his office, not even to touch the dinner the staff left at his door. But just as he intended, the Count exited in the pre-dawn hours, fully dressed in his traveling clothes and over-sized great coat, and ready for the encounter before Bardigiano even had time to knock on the door. Without a word, the two stallions finished the preparations, and just as the dark of night began to fade into the False Dawn of early morning, the Count entered his carriage and Bardigiano began to pull it into the rolling fog.
The Count watched the faint outlines of the newly rebuilt streets of Canterlot pass by, his mind focusing on everything and nothing. With Monsparkle’s suicide, that should have been it, his vengeance complete with the demise of the stallions that destroyed his life. Even though he didn’t have a goal in his life now, he would never regret his actions these past few years…
But Adler… And his friends, the children of those same stallions… He never intended for innocents to get caught up in this. And yet they had…
Further contemplation was interrupted by the sound of the carriage door opening and shutting, the ride not being disrupted even a moment as the seat bounced at a new weight beside him.
The Count turned with a jerk, somewhat surprised to see Haydi there, glaring at him.
“…Good morning?”
“Are you really going to do it?”
The Count didn’t bother asking what she meant, anypony could fathom her meaning.
“What will happen, will happen. Regardless, you have no need to worry. I have already finalized my affairs. You will inherit my wealth. You will be free to pursue whatever life you wish, no matter what you will never know the cold of the street again.”
Haydi looked at her guardian in confusion, which turned to horror, then anger, the Count’s meaning making itself fully plain.
“You mean you intend to die?”
The Count considered her, his usual neutral expression on his face.
“My work is finished. With you I have ensured that something positive is left behind. I see no reason why I sh-“
The Count was once again shocked by the actions of a mare. Haydi, her earth pony features hardened with determination, leaped at the Count, throwing her forelimbs around his neck and locking their lips in a hungry kiss. The Count was all but slammed against the walls of the carriage, eyes wide. As the mare that was little more than a filly herself continued the kiss, pressing a knee into his groin in a way she had seen dozens of Ladies of The Night do with their customers on the street, the Count slowly found himself returning the kiss and embrace, first with forelimb, then with wing. For the first time in years, the Count felt a warmth in his breast untainted by treachery and bitterness, as if once again he was in those halcyon days of his youth.
And then it was over, Haydi pulling away, tucking her head under the Count’s chin, her body racked by contained sobs.
“Don’t say that.” Haydi whispered, “Never say that. Not when I am here Monet. You are the first stallion, the first pony, who saw me as having anything of worth. Not a burden, not a tool, but as another pony. You saved me, in every possible way somepony can be saved. Without you, I’d have grown up to be a whore at best, and you gave me everything I ever needed. A home, food, you opened my eyes and mind to the world beyond the streets, you deserve so much Monet! Please… Don’t take away the only thing in this world I need.”
The Count held his tongue, his only comfort offered was in rubbing the filly… Young mare’s back…
Outside the gate of Canterlot’s defensive walls, the woodlands surrounding the rolling country of the Canterhorn made for an ideal killing ground. The trees were close enough to provide more than enough privacy for these matters between gentlestallions, but were not so dense as to make the all-important form of the ritual of blood cumbersome. In the pre-dawn light, the fog slithered through the trees like a mass of phantasmic snakes, everything fading in and out of shadow. In time, the carriage came at last to a stop, and the Count exited. Just as he predicted, word of the coming duel gathered more than a few spectators, fellow nobility and the upper classes, eager to see the outcome of this little drama.
Like Vultures to fresh carrion.
On the far side of the chosen clearing, young Adler, with coat of orange and mane of maroon, stood among his peers, but looked as isolated as the Castle Rock itself, focusing on nothing more than inspecting the dueling pistol in his possession, cleaning it, ensuring the mechanism was smooth, and the powder and ball untampered with, an action the Count performed in turn when one of the Prince’s servants came with that pistol’s twin. Without a word, Bardigiano continued onward, where he met in the middle with one of the young noble’s friends, his appointed second. They would take the opportunity to try and negotiate some sort of peace. Most duels ended here, if they made it even this far. But the Count was well-versed in the sort of Revenge Adler was after. This was nothing more than a formality.
And to the side was Piety, looking like she had not slept in months, like a walking husk that had only hours to go before it crumbled away, watching events unfold, like the final scenes of a Tragedy on a stage – the end was fully in sight, and despite not wanting it to come, that downfall was coming all the same…
“I trust all is in order?” Prince Blueblood inquired, toying with one of his finely waxed mustachios. A nervous tic the Count had long committed to memory.
“This is a fine pistol your Highness,” the Count replied, eyes never leaving the weapon in his hooves.
“Ah. Yes… The pistol…”
The Count restrained a smirk at the royal’s anxiousness. A social high-flyer Blueblood may have been… But a politician he was not.
“Once this business is completed Your Highness, I would like to invite you to my townhouse. You and I have business to discuss.”
“Y-yes! Of course! I am at your service your grace!” Blueblood replied with far too much enthusiasm to be anything other than genuine.
The Count nodded in acknowledgment, and after that paid Blueblood no mind, letting the royal go about his duties as the official witness. As the Prince went about, recording the faces and names of the spectators for the official record, Bardigiano walked up to his master.
“No luck in talking the young stallion out of this I take it,” asked The Count.
“No. So, I take it you’ll go ahead and do him in? He might come after you if you let him live. He does have your example to look up to.”
The count did not answer right away, taking the time to polish the pistol barrel as a distraction.
“I have not decided, truthfully,” The Count replied at last, softly so that only his servant and confidant could hear him, “But in the moment, I think I will have that answer. Just be certain that-“
”ADLER!”
Further discussion was interrupted by the cry of a mare. All eyes turned to see a young Unicorn mare barreling toward the young Lord. Her hair was a mess and her face was a mess from tears, and she was still in her night clothes and had clearly run all the way from home in Canterlot, but all there could recognize her, by her alabaster coat and two-toned rose and violet mane. After all, her own family had suffered greatly from a similar tragedy to Lord Adler’s, as the older daughter of Fair Sanction.
“Velvatine?!”
Adler barely had time to register the sight of his fiancé before he was enveloped in a tackle of a hug, and the lady finally collapsed and half-dragged him down in her exhaustion.
“Adler, please! I beg you, stop this madness! I have lost everything! Everypony I have loved, I cannot bare to have you taken from me as well! I love you! Do not leave me, please!”
Lord Adler – unlike most stallions in his position – was not enraged at the young mare attempting to interfere with his business… But neither was he willing to simply do as she asked just because she was asking, no matter how much she grieved. The rest of the ponies watched the drama unfold… But The Count found he could not bare to watch. Instead he elected to look away, dark memories clouding his mind with heart ache. While the crowd looked on, The Count was content to allow the young lovers something resembling privacy.
In time, Adler’s friends were able to gather up the unicorn and guide her a distance away. There she was taken to Piety’s side, and two mares embraced, taking comfort in each other’s presence as the horror began. Adler’s glare and nod at Prince Blueblood was enough to get the stallion to understand the younger lad was ready, and asked aloud if The Count was ready in turn.
“Make certain that Haydi is kept out of the line of fire.”
Bardigiano nodded his assent, then voiced that The Count was ready.
“Then will the stallions with grievances please approach the middle of the feeling.”
The short trot to the appointed spot was both excruciatingly long and brutally short to The Count. But all the same he was met with Adler, snout to snout, the shorter stallion – little more than a colt, only just going into his final growth spurt – glaring at The Count with visceral Hate in his eyes. And yet despite his hoof holding a loaded gun, the young lord did not take advantage of the close proximity to just kill the stallion that had wronged him and his family. Such self-control in somepony so young.
“There is still time to avert this young Lord Monsparkle,” The Count said, privately shocked at how his mouth said those words. “Despite what you know, your father is not worth you throwing away your life like this.”
The young aristocrat worked tight lips around clenched jaws, clearly wanting to say something, but sternly controlling himself. And once again The Count marveled at how this stallion was so mature, for one so very young.
“You. Know nothing. Of my father.”
It was obvious that the young Lord had a great deal more to say, but was to polite to say it. Despite himself, the count gave a slight nod at that.
“If he had any role at all in raising a young stallion with the moral character of one such as yourself… You may very well be right.”
The young Lord’s eye twitched at the complement. This was not how this was supposed to go damn it!
“Lords,” Prince Blueblood called out, “about face. Now, ten paces on my mark.”
The Count and Adler made their long, even strides, each one made with each count of the Prince’s voice, ensuring both stallions were covering an equal distance. When the Prince made it to seven, Velvatine started sobbing again, on eight, Piety broke down once again. At nine, Haydi got in on the action, begging the two stallions to stop. And at Ten, the poor lady Velvatine’s sobs turned to screams of despair, that turned to denials and pleas as the stallions turned…
And Adler fired.
And The Count had not.
To be sure he was wounded. His great coat had obscured his form, and it’s thick material had softened the impact of the sphere from the smooth bore pistol some, but The Count was still struck in the shoulder, and his grunt and flinch was proof enough that Adler’s aim was not wasted…
But The Count had deliberately withheld his fire. And now that Adler had spent his only shot, he was completely at The Count’s mercy until he had unloaded as well.
With gritted teeth, The Count gathered his faculties. When the initial pain of the gunshot dulled enough, he raised his hoof holding the gun. His grip was shacky, but it was true. And with deliberate motion, The Count aimed solidly at Adler, square at the center of mass, so that no matter in what direction the ball arced in its random spin, it was strike somewhere fatal.
Adler’s ears were flattened against his skull, his eyes wide and pupils pinpricks at seeing the inside of the pistol. He could even see – faintly – the outline of the ball of lead deep within the pistol, waiting for the powder to ignite and fling it at him. It was clear that the stallion, the colt, was horrified, and panicked, at the realization that, yes, this was indeed where he was going to die. With his wise, loving mother, and beautiful foalhood friend and fiancé, watching, helpless to save him.
In the brief ticks of the clock that felt like years, the two stallions stood there. The Count as inscrutable as always, baring the clear pain of the gunshot, and Adler in dread over facing his mortality. But, the young Lord took a breath. He stood up straight, and looked not at the gun, but The Count, meeting his eyes, facing his executioner without any sign of cowering before the weapon.
The Count noted that. His expression… softened somewhat, and gave a small nod, as if he had found some sign of something he was looking for. Then he fired.
Into the air, directly above.
The Duel was finished. And nopony died.
Piety and Velvatine sobbed and cried in relief, rather than grief, and both ran up to the young lord, to stunned at The Count’s action to noticed, not until first his mother slapped him for his foolishness, then his fiancé did the same, and then both embraced him, joyful that he was alive.
As the spectators applauded and gave the sorts of cheers befitting a long, boring speech, Bardigiano and The Prince’s physician trotted up to The Count, helping him ease out of his great coat in order to treat the gunshot wound to his shoulder. The powder charge for dueling pistols was strong enough to kill a pony, but not so much that a series of sufficiently thick cloth layers could not do anything to affect it.
Still painful though, and if the blood was not stalled, or infection set in, he was a dead stallion anyway.
“Y-your highness,” The Count uttered around the broomhandle shoved in his mouth while the doctor worked, “Did not young Lord Adler Monsparkle carry himself with nobility? Did you not see how he stared death in the eye and not flinch? Such an honorable look on his face.”
The Prince looked to the young aristocrat and his party, who had all heard everything.
“Yes your grace, I would say that is an accurate assessment.”
“Truly, even if the impossible were true and his father was a scoundrel,” he groaned as the doctor removed the bullet from his shoulder, “it would be malicious slander to let that ruin standing of him and his House, would it not?”
Blueblood looked at The Count with confusion, but at seeing the intensifying of the pegasus’ glare – and the vague threat it implied – the Prince was quick to agree.
“Please, your highness, could you make sure that all in high society know? I would be… Most grieved… If his nobility was drowned by the scandal surrounding his late father.”
“I promise Count, I shall make every effort to ensure the whole of Canterlot knows.”
The Count groaned in pain as the doctor cauterized his wound with a white hot firepoker.
“I… I thank you, Prince.”
With that, the show was over, and the crowd began to disperse. Adler and his party cheered and congratulated him for his daring deed, event as Velvatine sobbed into his shoulder begging him never to do such a thing again. Piety was the last to walk away, but not before – for the very last time in their lives – Piety and Prismés Prosperous locked eyes. It was only for a moment or two, but Piety smiled faintly and nodded, and all she could have hoped to say was shared. The Count returned, and watched as his old flame walked away, content that the nightmare, after over twenty years of pain, loss, regret, and hate, was at long last over.
The Count – maybe from bloodloss, likely from seeing what he had dedicated over half of his life to completed to his satesfaction – was unsure how he had come to the carriage, with Haydi sleeping across his lap from emotional exhaustion, and Bardigiano pulling the carriage, but… In the brightening of the sky, the first rays of sunlight pierced his window, a spear of Celestia’s own light framing the young mare’s soft features.
His Revenge was complete. His destroyed life paid for. And now… And now what?
And then the words of Abbe from the Castle Rock dungeons came back to him.
’Justice and Revenge are sometimes one and the same my boy. But remember this if nothing else – Revenge is a fire that cares little for its master. If you intend to go down that route Prismés – and I fervently wish you do not – you must remember that you will be alive once those that wronged you have faced your justice. You must find something worth living for when you are done. For the best Revenge, my boy, is to live well and live happy, despite all that your enemy has done to you…’
The Count’s lips tingled, and the taste of a kiss what felt like days ago, from a young diamond in the rough street pony, came back to him…
------
After these events, the Count of Monet Dumas and his ward left Canterlot, never to return all his days, settling down in the Baltimare area, where they became benevolent benefactors to the lower classes by sponsoring orphanages, hospitals, business investments, The Arts, and education programs. Before the year of his duel with Lord Adler was out, the Count’s ward became of age, and the two were wed on Hearth's Warming Eve, the date chosen, according to the Count, both for its themes of Love and Fellowship, and of Rebirth. This provided just enough of a scandal to get ponies to talk, but not nearly as much as what had happened with Lord Avarice and his co-conspirators. The pair lived long and happy lives together, raising seven children. The Count would die with nopony ever learning his origins – or if they did, they took that knowledge to the grave. It wouldn’t be until 1705, when one of his grandsons was looking through the Count’s affects that he discovered the Count’s private journals – written in a code. It would be another thirty years before the cipher was found and the contents translated, and made public. The tale of Prismés Prosperous’ betrayal and decades long quest for revenge would spread through Equestria like wildfire – long after the descendants of the Count’s heirs died out.
In the modern day, the descendants of The Count’s fourth son, Cumulus, have regained some notoriety. The colt had inherited the wanderlust his father had in his youth. So much so that he willingly foreswore his right to a title and inheritance and joined the Royal Geological Survey, where he spent decades on expeditions into the great deserts left by Talonhoof’s salting of Equestria, and surveying the territory for settlement and recovery efforts. Thirty years later, he retired and settled down in Cloudsdale with a wife and children of his own.
It is through this lineage that, eventually, came the Element Barer of Loyalty – Rainbow Dash.
