> The Girokon Incident: A Living the Dream Side Story
>  by Corah Il Cappo
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Words Unspoken
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


For he is everything and nothing
Hero and fool
Potent, helpless
And with one word of truth or treachery
He will save or damn the earth
Because he is mad and sane
Cold and passionate
Lost and found.
-Stephen R. Donaldson.



There was a certain time of day that was neither morning nor night. A time when the horizon was a blurry smudge of violet and golddust while stars drifted off to sleep. The moon still glowered swollen in the sky just as the sun’s first tentative rays reached lazily to drag it down. The world was silent, wrapped in a peaceful ambiance that swallowed up the mutter of morning noise. Deep shadows still stretched through the rustic cottages and manicured oak trees of Ponyville as Prince Blueblood strode down the wide, cobbled streets toward the city library. The air teemed with the smells of autumn; stiff, crisp leaves, ripe apples, and the faint, ethereal aroma of the inevitable.

Blueblood stood outside the Ponyville Library, squinting as the sunlight blossomed in the windows. It had been a long time since he set foot in this town. As a rule, he avoided sleepy provincial towns full of backward yokels as much as possible. Today, however, he couldn’t. He ascended the creaking wooden steps, took a breath, and knocked on the door.

There was a shuffling from somewhere within, the click of a latch, and the door opened. Twilight Sparkle stood in the frame, her mane a mess and her eyelids drooping. She blinked sleep from her eyes and tried to take in the situation. She yawned and smacked her lips, squinting as she lazily lolled her head to one side.

“Blueblood?” Twilight groaned, rubbing her eye with the back of her hoof. “What are you doing here?”

“Good morning.” The Prince said, standing stiffly on the porch. “It’s uh…” His voice trailed off into the whistle of the breeze. He exhaled slowly, running a hoof through his mane. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

Twilight nodded, leaning against the doorframe. “Not since you dragged me off to Saddle Arabia. I only just now got all the sand out of my mane.”

“Your efforts in preserving the peace between the camel tribes were most appreciated.” Blueblood managed a half smile. His eyes drifted towards the door. “May I come in?”

She stepped aside and gestured for him to enter. “Coffee? Toast?”

He chuckled. “You’d oversweeten my coffee and burn my toast.”

“Shut up.” She shoved him before sinking into a seat at the kitchen table. Blueblood remained standing, holding a hoof to the back of the chair.

“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?” He repeated, sighing deeply. “I’ll admit, it’s nice not having you around in Canterlot. Your constant friendship lessons gave me a headache, and the general ambiance is greatly improved when I don’t have to see your face.”

“And here I thought you might’ve turned over a new leaf. Maybe embraced a little kindness.”

“No. Never.” The Prince shook his head. “Though I’ll admit the place feels… strangely empty without you there.”

Twilight managed a small smile. “Careful, that’s dangerously close to a compliment.”

“Don’t push your luck.”

“Things have been busy.” She scratched her mane. “Y’know, with the wedding and the kids and all the bronies…”

Blueblood looked her over with an inscrutable eye. “Speaking of, is your husband home?”

“Upstairs in bed. Why?”

“He’s why I’m here. I just need to talk to him for a moment.”

“Is he in trouble?”

“Not yet.” Blueblood headed for the stairs. A single slanted sunbeam drifted in through the library window, illuminating a universe of dancing dust motes. Twilight was staring at him with a defensive glint in her eye.

“Blueblood, if you hurt him…”

He smirked. “No promises.”

“Blueblood!” She glowered. “Don’t. Please. He’s sensitive.”

“Twilight, death itself hasn’t stopped him. What's the worst I could do?”

“If anypony knew a fate worse than death, it would be you.”

“Well, he already married you.” Blueblood nearly fell from the stairs as he jolted back, a bolt of violet lightning burned itself into the wall mere inches from his face. A plume of white smoke rose from Twilight’s hoof as she glared at him. “Too far?”

She nodded, and he hurried up the steps. The landing at the top of the second floor was dotted with photos of a violet filly dashed with crimson stripes. Twilight's son. As Blueblood glanced up from the picture, he saw the same filly leering at him from the nearest doorway.

“Uh… Who are you?” The kid tilted his head, ears flopping to one side.

Blueblood felt about in the pocket of his suit. He tossed a butterscotch disc to the filly, who caught it with a grin. “Just a friend of your dad's.”

“Wow! Thanks!” The filly scuttled back into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. Blueblood walked past the bathroom, past a laundry closet, and came at last to the master bedroom. He didn't bother trying to enter silently. The door and floorboards both muttered their creaky complaints as he strode confidently inside. There, wrapped from head to toe in blankets and snoring like a chainsaw, was his quarry.

Canterlot High society had always said he was a freak, but Blueblood wasn’t one to take the word of the common rabble, even if their pockets were lined with diamonds. He preferred to make his own personal judgment on their outcasts. That said, what he faced in the bed was freakish beyond even their descriptions. Its bright scarlet zebra stripes, messy hair, fur that looked like it hadn’t been properly bathed since Discord’s return and strange reptilian eyes made Blueblood’s nerves tingle. The fact that some ponies willingly shared a bed with monstrosities like this made him wince.

Blueblood took a seat on the edge of the bed. He had a feeling this wasn’t going to go well.

“Mr. Greenfield,” He spoke, his voice cold and authoritative in the shade. “You and I need to talk.”

Lance rolled over in his sleep, grumbling futilely into his pillow. “Twilight, c’mon, lemme get ten more minutes…”

“Your wife calls you Mr. Greenfield?”

“No, she calls me-” His voice cut off. His eyes opened wide and he sat straight up in bed. He blinked, staring straight at Blueblood with draconic pupils. “You’re not my wife.”

“I’d prefer at least a first date before marriage.” The prince replied dryly.

“Ew! What are you, gay or something?”

“Or something.”

“Well, I’m straight.” Lance thumped a hoof against his chest. “So get out of my bed!”

“Mr. Greenfield,” Blueblood repeated, remaining seated where he was. “We have a lot to discuss.”

“Who the hell are you, anyway?” Lance raised an eyebrow. His eyes went wide and he suddenly slapped the sheets with a hoof. “Wait, wait, wait! Don’t tell me! You’re that one guy from season one!”

“I’m what?”

“You’re uh… Crap, I know this.” He rubbed his temples as he tried to jumpstart his brain. “Grand Galloping Gala, right?”

“I’ve been to one or two, yes.”

Lance clapped his hooves together with a crack. “Fancy Pants!”

“No.”

“Buck!”

“Crown Prince Vladimir Blueblood, first of my name.” The Prince flourished a hoof and bowed. “And nopony says ‘buck’. Who in Celestia’s name taught you that?”

“Oh right! You’re that asshole from the gala!”

Blueblood arched his brow as his tail flicked stiffly. “Have we met?”

“Nah, but uh…” Lance fumbled for an explanation but decided against it. “Whatever. This is my house, and you need to leave.”

“I’m just here to talk, Mr. Greenfield.” Blueblood crossed one leg over the other. “Or do you prefer Girokon? I can never really be sure with your kind.”

“Whoa, what do you mean, my kind?”

“You… What did you call yourselves again? Oh, yes. Bronies.” Blueblood laced the word with enough venom to make a dragon retch.

Lance sat up, kicking his hooves over the edge of the bed. He puffed out his chest and tried to look intimidating, which was tough given that he was standing in his threadbare polka-dot boxers. “Listen, dude. I don’t know who you think you are, but you’re talking to a bonafide hero of Equestria! I’ve fought evil gryphons! I’ve fought serial killers! I’ve fought cults and cannibals and The Nightmare itself!” He stalked forward, poking the prince with every point. “And what the buck have you done? Sit on your ass in the palace with all your rich friends being lazy bitches?”

Blueblood exhaled sharply through his nostrils. “Mr. Greenfield, I’m trying very hard to be polite, but you’re testing my patience. Please, take a seat so we can discuss-”

“I’m not discussing anything with you!” Lance spat, petulantly crossing his arms. “I’m a busy man! I’ve got a wife and two kids. Now why don’t you head on back to Canterlot and-”

Lance suddenly doubled over in pain as Blueblood kneed him in the crotch. He opened his mouth and puffed out a wheezing gasp as he clenched his forehooves between his legs and sank. Blueblood sighed, unwound his scarf, and shed his jacket. “I really did want to make this as easy as possible for you, Mr. Greenfield. But you’re forcing my hoof here. Now sit down and listen.”

“You dickpunched me, you ass!” Lance grunted through clenched teeth.

The prince ignored him. “Are you aware of the fact that you’ve pulled Equestria to the brink of war?”

“I didn’t do anything! You’re the one who broke into my house and punched my balls!”

“I would never do something as uncouth as breaking and entering! Twilight let me through the front door. Now shut your mouth and listen.” Blueblood glared down at Lance. “Last year, a group of bronies thought it would be funny to cross the border into the Gryphon Kingdom of Klienkrieg and attack an outpost there. Now, I’ve got-”

Blueblood yelped as Lance delivered a solid uppercut between his legs. His eyes watered as he stumbled and pressed his back to the wall, coughing hard as the sharp pain lit up his body like lightning. 

“Yeah! Let’s see how you like it!” Lance said as he braced himself against the bed and stood.

“You damn gelding!” Blueblood choked out. “Did you hear a single word of what I said?!”

“Uh… What’s a gelding?”

“It’s what you’re going to be if you don’t-”

“Twilight?!” Lance trotted past the prince and to the bedroom door. “Is breakfast ready yet? I’ve gotta meet Greg and Peter for that dodgeball tournament later!” He glanced over his shoulder with a smirk at Blueblood. “You wanna join our team? We’re the Ponyville Phoenixes, and we’ve got a pretty good record. Might even make it to the championships. We’re going up against the Manehattan Manticores, and we could use an extra player!”

Blueblood’s horn glowed as he used his magic to roll up his sleeves. The pockets of his coat jingled as a flurry of sparkling shards emerged from within. Twenty fragments of meteoric platinum hung quivering in the air around him. “Fine. Let me put this in a way you’ll understand.”

A mote of Blueblood’s blade embedded itself into the door, then jerked back to slam it shut. A pair of them latched onto Lance’s boxers, yanking him across the room by his waistband. Lance prepared to struggle, but just as he reared back, the rest of Blueblood’s sword rested against his throat.

“What the hell is your-” Lance went quiet as he felt the blade press against him close enough to shave bits of fur from his throat.

“You’re going to listen, and you’re going to listen well.” Blueblood’s voice dripped like venomous honey. “Equestria is on the brink of war. Do you understand me, Mr. Greenfield? War. Death and suffering on a scale your infantile brain can scarcely comprehend. Do you understand?” He quickly added. “Don’t speak. Just nod.”

Lance swallowed hard, feeling the razor of Blueblood’s sword on his Adam's apple. He nodded slowly.

“Good. As I was saying, some of your bronies decided that they should risk all our lives so they could get petty revenge against an entire nation for some mare they barely know.” He seethed, leaning closer to Lance as he dropped his voice. “They didn’t get far, but Gryphons are a vast and spiteful people. An attack from within Equestria’s borders, no matter how small, is a casus belli like none other. Kleinkrieg could march over the mountains tomorrow, and they would have the law on their side. I’ve worked for years to preserve the fragile peace we’ve had in the north, signing treaties, making concessions, declaring rights to this and that. And now a few selfish bastards threaten to undo it all.”

Lance’s eyes shifted from side to side, as if looking for an escape. Blueblood gave him none. He inched closer, his blade flickering as the full brunt of the morning sunlight shone through the window. “That’s my problem with you and your ilk, Greenfield. You never think! Everything is a spur-of-the-moment choice for your hedonistic pleasure, never thinking about what your actions mean. Houses destroyed as collateral damage, fillies traumatized, treaties spat on and disregarded… Not one of you considers that you’re guests in this world, a world that is not your own. Now, you’re going to-”

Sparks exploded in Blueblood’s vision as another pain ripped through his nether region. His grip on his magic faltered and his blade dropped to the floor with a clatter. “Bastard! What was that for?!”

“You had a sword to my neck! What did you expect?!” Lance stepped back, rubbing the spot where the blade had scraped his flesh. He snorted, kneeling beside Blueblood. “But you know what? If it's true that bronies have bucked things up with the gryphons, then bronies better help make it right. We came here for a better life, and we can’t ruin it for the ponies we love. I couldn’t live it down if Twilight got hurt because of me.”

Lance extended a hoof to the collapsed royal, snickering under his breath. “So I’ll help you, even if you are a dick.”

Blueblood took the offered assistance, managing to force himself to stand with a grimace. He shook out his mane and brushed it daintily. Within seconds, he looked as prim and perfect as he had when he walked in. “Good. I’ll expect you in Canterlot within a few hours. The Gryphons have agreed to meet with some representatives from Equestria before they begin any operations. They’ve specifically asked that you and your… bronies… be seated at the table. Bring whoever you think can prevent a war.”

“Will do.” Lance nodded solemnly. “Hey, I think the two of us got off on the wrong hoof, y’know?” He stuck out a hoof and smiled. “Lance Greenfield.”

Blueblood clasped him by the foreleg. “Prince Vladimir Blueblood, First of His Name. High Diplomat of the Solar Court and Heir Apparent to Her Majesty Princess Celestia.”

“I’m gonna call you Vlad!”

“No, no you will not.” Blueblood rolled his eyes. “I will be addressed as ‘your grace’ or ‘your majesty’. Or if you’re uncomfortable with using proper convention, as Prince Blueblood.”

Lance rubbed the back of his neck, shrugging. “Whatever you say, Vlad. I’ll see you in Canterlot. I gotta shower and gather the troops first.”

Blueblood exited the room with a disinterested nod, slamming the door behind him. He waited until he heard the water running to descend the stairs and meet Twilight in the kitchen. She sat peacefully in her reading nook, nestled against the cool glass of the window with a steaming hot mug of coffee and a brick-sized novel hovering in front of her.

“Leaving so soon?” Twilight raised an eyebrow from across the room as Blueblood stopped in the entryway. “You’re sure you don’t wanna stay for breakfast? Y’know, for old times' sake?”

“I’d stay, but there’s much to do.” The Prince said, lingering on the lintel. He gnawed his lip as a certain thought buzzed at the back of his skull. He had to at least ask. “You won’t come with us?”

She closed her book and rapped a hoof against the leather cover. “Blueblood, you know I’d love to, but I can’t. I’ve got a kid to take care of now.”

“But think about all the other kids of Equestria. They used to tell stories about you, you know.” He stepped closer, unwilling to take a seat and commit himself to the conversation in earnest. “They would prattle on endlessly about how they wanted to be like you. How they would grow up and defeat Nightmare Moon, or outwit Discord. It’s been a long time since your name was on their lips.”

“Because that’s not me anymore, Blueblood.” She sighed softly. “I’ve settled down now. I know the adventuring life is exciting, but I have a husband who loves me, a child learning more and more every day, and plenty of books to read. I’m happy here.”

“Are you?” Blueblood winced and bit the inside of his cheek. His ears flattened as he slowly exhaled. “Is this what you dreamed of, Twilight? Settling down in Ponyville?”

“It wasn’t my dream, but… You know how life is. You never really know what’s around the corner.” She took a slow sip of her coffee. “Lance wouldn’t want me to be in danger. Besides, somepony has to keep an eye on the homefront! If the gryphon’s cross the mountains, I’ll be the first one out there to lead the defense!” Twilight chuckled as she gave him a mock salute.

The Prince managed a sliver of a smile. “I’ll see you on the frontlines, soldier.”

“Promise me you’ll keep him safe?”

“I’ll try.”

The two stood there in an awkward silence for a moment, punctuated by the mournful croak of a southbound crow. Blueblood wrapped his scarf around his neck and tied it off as he turned and headed for the door. He paused half in and half out of the house. A cold blast of wind ripped through him as he bit his tongue. He didn’t dare say what he thought. He had a reputation to uphold after all. Without another word, he stalked off into the frosty fall morning. The words, “I miss you” lingered unsaid on his lips.
> Misfits and Renegades
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


That’s what friends are, the people who share your crazy outlook and protect you from the world, because nobody else is going to give a damn what you’re doing, so you need a few other people like yourself.
-Ray Bradbury



“You should have gone Breaking Dawn and killed that bitch ass Prince while you had the chance!” Break screamed in Lance’s skull as he lathered his mane. “You just let him manhandle you like you were a little pussy!”

“I think Lance handled it as well as he could. Considering the circumstances.” Dawn chimed in. 

Lance rinsed himself and turned off the water with a kick. “I can’t just go killing everyone, Break. You saw what he could do with that sword! He could have cut my head off and mounted it on his wall!”

“And that would have been bucking awesome!”

“Break, we’d be dead.” Dawn sighed.

“Dead and awesome!”

“Whatever. We’ve got a few hours to get our friends together and meet Blueblood in Canterlot.” Lance quickly styled his mane and dug some clean clothes out of his drawers. He checked himself in the mirror. Presentable enough. Lance bounded out the door, hurtling over the banister and spreading his wings. "Aaand superhero landing!"

He hit the floorboards in a crouch in the center of the library, glancing over to Twilight. She sipped her coffee without looking up from her book. “Twilight! I gotta go!”

“Uh-huh.” She said, her eyes scanning the page. “Blueblood told me he needed you for something.”

“Yeah, just off to save Equestria again, no big deal.” Lance kicked at a discarded book on the floor, putting on his best disaffected sneer. “You’ll keep an eye on Spark while I’m gone, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Oh! And I was supposed to meet Vinetion for lunch tomorrow! Can you tell her I can’t make it?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Am I bothering you while you’re trying to read?”

“Uh-huh.” Twilight blinked and one ear flicked. “Wait, what was that last part?”

“Nothing!” Lance laughed, quickly crossing to her and pressing a kiss to her lips. “I’ll be back before you even notice I’m missing!”

“Be safe!” Twilight replied, squeezing him tight. “And Lance, for Celestia and Luna’s sake don’t get yourself killed again.”

“I promise! No death this time.”

With that, Lance was off, galloping out the door and into the crisp fall weather. He took off from the front yard, rising through thin wisps of fog and sailing over the crabbed, gnarled trees of Ponyville. He settled into a comfortable glide, a frigid bit of turbulence disturbing him as he rocked his wings. Setting a course for Sweet Apple Acres, Lance tried to think who he would want to bring along on his mission.

“Well,” Dawn’s voice whispered through his subconscious like a wind chime. “We need to think. Who among our friends is the most… Diplomatic?”

“Fuck Diplomatic! We want the strongest warriors!” Break’s voice seemed to echo in his skull like a gunshot. “Obviously we’ll want Frederic! He’s an Alicorn for buck’s sake!”

“I can’t fault that. Frederic is a powerful ally to have, and he’s not likely to fly off the handle. What about David?”

“What’s David going to do? Hit them with a sketchbook? Buck that! You know who we need?”

Lance and Dawn were both quiet, waiting for a response.

“MALBATORUS THE BRONY DRAGON!”

“No.”

“Nah.”

“Why the buck not?!”

Lance rolled his eyes and sighed. “Malbatorus didn’t even show up when we fought the Nightmare. He’s got his own things going on.”

“But Lance,” Break pleaded. “Think about it. We could show up riding a goddamn dragon!”

“Awesome, but probably not a good look.” Lance banked left, soaring over a field of ripening wheat. “We’re trying to convince them that Bronies are peaceful after all.”

“No! Show them we’re not to be fucked with, Lance!”

“What about Peter?” Dawn slipped back into the conversation. “He’s a good friend, and who doesn’t love a musician?”

“That’s a good point. Plus, if things go to shit, he can go Violent Inferno and whoop some ass!” Lance descended in a circle, landing on a wide dirt flat between the Apple Orchards and the barn. A dodgeball court had been painted in the dust, concession tables had been assembled in the wide doorway of the barn, and countless ponies in brightly colored uniforms were milling about waiting for the games to begin. The whole area was leaden with a heavy aroma of cinnamon, freshly sliced apples, and freshly baked pie crust. His stomach growled, and he remembered regrettably that he had skipped breakfast.

Mixed in with the lustrous smells of fall, however, was something else. Something foul and skunky that stuck in his nostrils like resin. Lance could recognize that smell anywhere.

“Lance, dude. Bro. My guy.” A unicorn with a forest green coat and an unkempt aqua mane threw a foreleg around Lance and flashed a lopsided grin. “Amigo. Homie. Mon ami.”

“Greg, are you high?” Lance wrinkled his snout as the cloying reek of kush smothered him.

“Psh. Not high enough, dude.” Greg reached into a pocket and removed a spliff he’d rolled up earlier. With a glint of magic, he lit up and inhaled, exhaling spirals of fetid smog with every word. “So Lance, I got good news and bad news, which do you want first.”

“The good news I guess?”

“Kay, good news is we got Zorrow to join the Ponyville Phoenixes.” Greg leaned more of his weight against Lance as they walked together. “Bad news? Dude got struck by lightning.”

Lance blinked, his vision flashing from Greg to the clear sky above. “Lightning? On a day like today?!”

“Yeah. By the way, guess who learned to summon lightning?” Greg’s lips curled back in a wild smirk. “This guy!”

“You shot Zorrow with lightning?”

“Not on purpose! It was an accident, swear to God!” Greg held up both hooves defensively, before taking another quick puff. “I don’t even remember how I did it honestly. But hey, spells come and go. Dodgeball is forever. Now c’mon dude, we’ve been waiting on you!”

Before he could protest, Lance was shoved through the crowds, popping out of a tangle of chatty mares right alongside the concession stand. Greg sidled up to him again, pointing to a steaming hot apple fritter on the wooden table. “By the way, spot me a few bits so I can buy one of those. Smoking in the morning always gives me the munchies.”

Lance sighed, handing over a hoofful of bits. “Hey, Greg? Have you seen Peter around here?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah. He was over in the outhouse getting changed into the new uniforms we got.” He paid for his snack and chomped into it, getting bits of sticky apple and flaky crust all over his cheeks. “Why?”

“So, don’t be mad at me, but we’re gonna have to drop out of the tournament.” Lance kicked at a pebble and watched it skitter through the dust.

“Huh? But dude, I’ve been practicing for weeks!”

“Whipping apples at fillies and colts outside Cheerilee’s classroom doesn’t count as practice!”

“Doesn’t it? Watch this!” Greg picked up a rotten apple with his magic and pulled it back, aiming at a cream-colored earth pony who was admiring a jack-o-lantern. Lance leapt in front of him, and Greg’s projectile beamed him right in the noggin. “Dude!”

“Ow! Bucking hell Greg!” Lance rubbed the sore spot where the apple had splattered against his skull.

“Hey man, you were the one who jumped in front of my shot. Psh.” Greg rolled his reddening eyes and stubbed out his joint. “But yeah like I said, what’s the deal?”

“We have to drop out cause Peter and I are gonna go on a very important trip.” Lance glanced from side to side, dropping his voice. “I got an invite from royalty, and I don’t think I can refuse.”

“Oh, shit dude! Celestia hired you?!”

Lance shook his head.

“Luna?”

Another shake.

“Dude, don’t tell me Frederic put you up to this.”

“No! Prince Blueblood!”

Greg stared back blankly. “Who?”

“Whatever, point is he told me to meet him in Canterlot in an hour, and Peter is coming with me.” Lance spun on his heel and stalked off towards the outhouses arrayed against the treeline.

Greg set off after him at a trot. “The hell, Lance?! You’re gonna bring Peter but not your best buddy in all Equestria?”

“David?” Lance raised an eyebrow. “Louie?”

“No, you idiot! Me!” Greg thumped a hoof against his chest. “How many times have I been there to save your flank?”

“Greg, you smashed my nutsack with a rock.”

“What’s a little mutilation between friends, right?” Greg shrugged nonchalantly. “Look man, you can’t leave me behind! This is my destiny, man!”

Lance huffed. “You don’t even know where we're going!”

One of the outhouse doors swung open to reveal Peter, a rich violet pegasus. “Oh! Hey guys! I was wondering when you’d show up! Lance, I’ve got your uniform in my bag here…”

Peter fussed with his straw-colored mane as he dug through his saddlebags. Lance reached out a hoof to stop him. “Peter, real sorry to do this, but we’ve got a situation.”

“A situation?” He tensed the muscles in his jaw. “Nothing happened to Rarity, did it?”

“No, nothing like that.” Lance gave him a reassuring slap on the back. “You and I got an invitation to take a trip to the Gryphon Kingdoms, and it’s too good to pass up!”

“What’s the catch?” Peter narrowed his eyes.

“Well… Basically, we kinda have to prevent a war from breaking out. But that’s nothing we can’t handle, right?” Lance swung a foreleg around him, grinning. “Whadya say, Peter? You in?”

“I mean…” Peter’s face grew pale. “Are you sure I’m the right pick? I've never prevented a war before."

“C'mon man, you're perfect for the job! After all, who can hate a musician?"

Peter smiled faintly. "I mean, I don't know anypony who doesn't like music."

"Exactly! It’ll be you, me, Frederic, and some diplomats from Canterlot! It’s gonna be a breeze!” Lance held out a hoof. “So, are you in?”

“You can count on me!” Peter exclaimed, slamming a brohoof with Lance as his face lit up. “I’ll meet you in Canterlot Palace! Lemme just pack my things!”

Peter prepared to take off, but Lance grabbed his tail before he could lift off. “Oh, and Peter?”

“Yeah?”

“Please… Please no pranks until after we’ve sorted things out with the gryphons?”

“You got it, Lance!” Peter gave a mocking salute as he flapped his wings and lurched skyward. Lance waved farewell to him. When he dropped his eyes, he found that Greg was standing only inches away from his snout.

“Dude.” Greg rasped. “Not cool. You’re really gonna leave me behind? After all we’ve been through together?”

“No offense, Greg, but you don’t exactly strike me as the diplomatic type.” Lance winced as he recalled a lot of painful memories. “In fact, it seems like every time I let you tag along, I get hurt.”

“But, but but!” Greg held up a hoof and his eyes shifted back and forth. “You need me.”

“I do?”

“C’mon man, you’re gonna be surrounded by a bunch of suits and stiffs. You’ll need someone to take your mind off things. Someone chill and mellow.” He smirked and wheezed out a chuckle. “And who’s more mellow than Mellow Haze, my dude?”

Lance hesitated, looking Greg up and down.

“Lance, do not, under any circumstance bring him with you. He’s dangerous!” Dawn’s voice rang in his mind, clear as a bell. Good advice, to be sure.

“But consider,” Break hissed. “It would be really funny.”

“Plus if you leave me behind, I’m gonna be so bored! And you know what happens when I get bored…” Greg waggled an eyebrow and winked.

Well, that settled it. Lance sighed, rubbing a hoof down the length of his face. “Fine, fine, whatever. Just get your stuff and meet me at the palace. Don’t make me regret this.”

“Awesome! Now we’re talking! Dude, should I bring my bong that looks like a cock? Or should I go with the one shaped like your mom?”

“You have a-”

Greg blurted a laugh in Lance’s face. “Man, I’m just fucking with you. I’m bringing that custom bong I got made. You know the one. The one shaped like my own head?”

Lance was already regretting his decision.
> Understanding Vulnerability
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one.
-C. S. Lewis



“So let me get this straight,” Frederic said, wiping sweat from his brow. “Unless a group of bronies travels to the Gryphon Kingdoms and makes peace, Equestria ends up at war?”

Lance nodded, squinting his eyes in the harsh orange glare of Frederic’s workshop. The forge was in full flame as he repaired a dented breastplate. The alicorn’s reddish dun coat seemed nearly black against the flowering fire and his wings rustled restlessly as he gnawed his lip.

“I guess that squares with the reports I’ve been hearing from the guards.” Frederic’s horn burned a deep crimson as he wriggled the breastplate left and right, trying to pop the dent back into place. “Gotten some reports that they’ve been fighting with gryphons on the border, but figured it was the usual. Drunken brawls, fights over girls, and the like.”

The armor popped and Frederic held it up to the light for a better look. “They’ve been saying that the gryphons have gotten pretty damn cocky lately. Taunting everypony about some new secret weapon they’ve got. So I guess they’re itching to try it out on somepony. No clue what it is, but I can't imagine it's anything good.”

“Yeah.” Lance kicked his legs as he sat on an anvil and watched Frederic polish the repaired plate. “It just sucks that bronies were the ones who kicked this all off! Like, really? Equestria is our home! The last thing any of us should want is for our friends and family to be in danger!”

“Well, Lance, when somepony gets a second chance at life, there are two ways they can go. They can make a clean break and try to be a new, better person, or they’ll try and force their old mistakes on a new world.” Frederic’s eyes glossed as he stared into the sputtering flame of his forge. “That’s what my father did, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember.” Lance furrowed his brow. “But we’re better people than we were before, right?”

“I mean, I try to be.” Frederic shrugged his shoulders as he set the finished piece on the rack to cool. “I guess that’s all we can do.”

“So you’ll go with us?”

“Course I will, Lance. We’ve lived in Equestria for almost two years now, and we’ve done everything we can to keep it safe. Just another threat for us to get under control.”

“And you’re cool traveling with a guy like Blueblood?” Lance arched an eyebrow. “I mean, the dude is kind of an asshole.”

“Heh, don’t I know it!” Frederic laughed, unhitching his heavy blacksmith apron and hanging it on a hook. He wiped the grease and soot from his hooves with a damp cloth. “Kind of is an understatement. He’s a grade-A prick, but the ponies around here respect him. No idea why.”

“Money probably.” Lance huffed as the two of them left at a gentle trot through the high-ceilinged, echoing corridors of Canterlot Palace.

“Yeah, probably.”

After a brief pause by Frederic’s room, so he could bid Luna goodbye and gather his belongings into a suitcase, they were off. The pair ascended a grand bifurcated staircase carved from illustrious marble that glittered with flecks of inlaid gold. A pair of guards opened the doors for them as they passed through, saluting the pair solemnly. Plush Saddle Arabian rugs underhoof muffled their hoofbeats and soaring tapestries of Equestria’s great legends soaked up their hushed conversation. The silent maw of Canterlot seemed to swallow them whole as they passed through a second door with neatly oiled hinges. The temperature steadily dropped as they meandered through the winding, slightly upward-slanted hall. Lance’s breath froze in vaporous fog with every exhale.

There was one last door at the end of the hallway. Compared to the opulence of its surroundings, it felt starkly utilitarian. A slab of stone and iron choked with rust and crusted with frost. Lance shivered as he stretched out a hoof and pushed it open.

The wind nearly blew him off his legs, and Lance skittered backward and slammed into Frederic, who dug in his hooves and pushed them both forward. This door led outside, onto a bustling outcrop of the palace where balloons and airships docked. Garish personal craft mingled overhead with drab beige military schooners. Guards marched in orderly columns here and there, their sergeants barking out orders to tie down this craft, release this one, heft these cannonballs there, and so on. Pegasi flitted like hummingbirds through the sky, running cables and guiding anchors to their destination. Weather-trained pegasi swarmed around just beyond the veil of buzzing airships, diverting certain winds and breaking up the oncoming fog. Crates, barrels, baskets, and bundles were everywhere, stacked into tidy piles by burly earthponies. Lance peered over the cargo being unloaded from one ship, a slim hulled trow emblazoned with “Whirligig Dancer”. He spied casks of wine, bolts of fine linen, aromatic spices, dried fruits, and whole kegs of tea leaves. 

“Are you sure this is the right place?” Lance craned his neck this way and that, trying to take in the whole spectacle at once. “I figured we’d be meeting in Blueblood’s room or something.”

Frederic pointed a hoof through the crowd. Peter and Greg were already waiting beside an airship so ornate it was almost comical. Flowery rococo curves festooned the white-painted wood, contrasted cleanly with gold and silver trimmings. The balloon of the ship billowed in a more luxurious way than those around it; sewn from silk rather than canvas. Blueblood’s compass rose cutie mark was embroidered into the fabric, making it obvious who owned it. As he and Frederic approached, Lance saw the ship’s name carved in flowing cursive script.

Volonté de Celestia.

Lance adjusted his duffle bag as he waved to Peter and Greg. “Hey! You guys made it!”

“Wouldn't miss it for the world, my guy,” Greg said as he reclined against a pair of beat-up cardboard boxes. “Peter’s been freaking out for the last two hours. Offered him a little puff but he said nah.”

“I'm just trying to make sure I have everything I need!” Peter paced in front of his luggage. “My guitar is in the hard case there, clothes are in the bag here, snacks and soda in this tote, winter clothes in this one…”

“Peter you're such a mare!” Lance exclaimed, slapping his duffle bag. “I got everything I need right here!”

“Not to judge, but it does look like a lot.” Frederic snickered.

“I just wanna be prepared!” Peter whined. “Remember how when we went skiing we got caught in an avalanche? If we had a shovel then…”

“What, were you gonna go down the mountain with six bags?” Lance replied with a smirk. “Here, me and Frederic packed light, so we'll help you carry your stuff.”

Frederic’s magic extended, levitating three pieces of luggage with ease. Peter slung his snack bag over his shoulder and tucked his clothes bag under his foreleg. Lance reached for the last box, hefting it up and hoisting it over his shoulder.

“Lance wait!” Peter cried, rushing to try and straighten out the tilting package. “That one needs to be level when you carry it!”

“Why?” Lance readjusted it roughly, trying to find a comfortable carrying position. Something damp and sticky splattered against his flank. It smelled sugary and familiar somehow. As another glut of the creamy stuff leaked down onto his back, Lance recognized it. “Peter, did you seriously bring an entire box of custard cream pies?!”

“What kind of cheap jokester do you take me for? Of course, it wasn't just custard cream pies! There was itching powder in there too!” Peter called over his shoulder as he bounced up the gangplank.

Lance could feel his skin crawl. It felt like ants scurrying across his spine. Dropping the box, he furiously scratched at his coat with his hooves, growling under his breath. “Son of a bitch, Peter! I'll get you back for-”

As Lance stepped on the crushed, soggy case, a jolt flashed through his body that made him shriek. Every hair on his body stood on end and he could taste the fillings in his teeth.

“I see you found my joy buzzer too!” Peter vanished through the door of the airship, leaving Lance to stagger in after him.

“Oh, we’re so getting him back for this,” Break murmured darkly in the back of Lance’s brain. Something primal and animalistic made Lance agree with him as he scratched and itched his back.

The exterior of the airship had primed Lance and his friends for an equally ostentatious interior, yet what they found within was far more modest. Polished wooden floors, burgundy leather seating, and a large table of wrought iron and oak with a world map pinned to its surface. The walls were covered with bookshelves, wine racks, and a small kitchenette set against the craft's rear. It was luxurious, yes, but subdued and quiet. Lance couldn’t help but feel reminded of his home in the Ponyville library.

“Dude, check it out!” Greg pointed to a wooden sign that hung over a doorway. Smoking Room. “They’ve got a whole room for this shit? And you were gonna leave me behind!”

“It’s a nice place,” Frederic said as he slipped comfortably into a seat at the table. “A little more down to earth than I expected for him.”

“For who?” Peter said as he plopped down in a revolving chair, spinning it around as he waited.

“Well, I’m glad to see you all made it.” Prince Blueblood appeared at the top of a flight of stairs, dressed in a white suit jacket and red tie. Lance noted that he'd changed clothes since that morning, and also seemed to have gotten a manicure. Unless his hooves were just naturally that shiny. He descended the steps, horn aglow, as he retracted the gangplank and slammed the airship’s door shut. “I was expecting more than four, but traveling light is probably wise.”

“Now Lance!” Break erupted in his mind. “Deck his stupid ass!”

“Break! Leave him alone!” Dawn echoed. “We can’t solve all our problems with violence!”

"Yes, we can! Choose violence, Lance! Do it!"

Peter’s expression was one of pure rage. He looked like he had seen a shambling corpse. His breath grew shallow and rapid. His hooves dug into the armrests of his seat so hard that the leather squealed. “You…”

Blueblood paid him no mind as he stood at the head of the table, his eyes coming to rest on Lance. “Celestia’s mane! You're tracking dirt all over the floors! And is that…” He sniffed, wrinkling his snout. “Ugh, custard? You'll get the wood all sticky!”

“YOU!” Peter thrust an accusatory hoof across the table. “You're that jerk who snubbed Rarity!”

“I have no idea who that is,” Blueblood replied drolly. His eyes were still locked on Lance as he attempted to shoo him off. “Now, before you sit anywhere or touch anything or god forbid get cream on something important, there's a bathroom just past the smoking room with a shower. There are three different conditioners and seven coat cleaners which you should apply in this order for maximum effect. First, rub your coat with the sandalwood wash to-”

“You insulted my wife, you son of a bitch!” Peter slammed both of his hooves on the table so hard they made the wine bottles clang in their racks.

The atmosphere in the room chilled noticeably. Even Greg stood still where he was, eyes shifting between the two ponies.

“Oh no. Lance, you forgot Peter might have a history with the prince!” Dawn’s voice shuddered. “You really ought to have seen this coming.”

“Why didn't either of you warn me?!” Lance responded in a panic.

“We're just parts of your mind after all. If you forgot, so did we.”

Blueblood merely rolled his eyes. “You're delusional.”

“What did you call me?!” Peter shouted, his nostrils flaring.

“I've never met your wife. I've never met you. I don't spend time in Ponyville mingling with a bunch of ill-bred mongrels.”

“You met her at the Grand Galloping Gala!”

“Darling, I meet thousands of ponies at the Gala. Whoever she was, she-”

“She's my wife, you asshole!” Peter snarled as he launched himself across the table with a flap of his wings. He threw a punch that the Prince easily sidestepped, but the follow-up managed to crack Blueblood on the cheek.

Blueblood staggered, bringing a hoof up to his bruised cheek in disbelief. He worked his jaw and narrowed his eyes. As Peter pulled back for another haymaker, Blueblood kicked the table and shoved it out from under him. Peter collapsed in a heap but was on his hooves a second later. Just in time for Blueblood to drag the table back with his magic, slamming it into Peter’s spine. Peter yelped, but renewed his assault, swinging wildly as Blueblood sidestepped.

“Whoa! Whoa! Easy there!” Frederic threw himself between them, wings outstretched. “Why don't we all just calm down a little and-”

Peter tried to vault over Frederic, only for Lance to catch his back hooves and drag him down. It took both of them to restrain Peter’s rage as he thrashed and kicked and cursed Blueblood’s name. Greg rushed into the melee, used his magic to pry open Peter's mouth, and stuffed something bright green inside.

“Dude! Chill!’ Greg said as Peter attempted to headbutt him. He threw the Pegasus into a headlock to hold him still. “C'mon man, nice and easy. Just chew and swallow. Chew and swallow.”

Peter swallowed and within a moment he seemed to lose the will to fight. He sank to the floor with a frustrated huff and lay there, staring blankly at the ceiling.

“Greg, what the hell did you do to him?” Lance said, hastily checking to make sure Peter was still breathing.

Greg shrugged. “Weed gummy. It'll wear off in a few hours. He'll be fine.”

“Real sorry about that,” Frederic said sheepishly. “We’ll talk to him, see if we can get him to come around on you.”

“Later,” Blueblood replied, brushing the dust from his jacket and gently rubbing his cheek. “I’d like to get on the way as soon as possible, so introductions can wait. Follow me.” He gestured for them to follow him back up the stairway he had emerged from.

They stepped out into the guts of the machine. Pipes lined the walls, valves sputtered and spit, and a large furnace at the center of the room crackled with a controlled burn. Blueblood approached the central gas shaft and tugged a lever, sending hot air shooting skyward to fill out the balloon.

“I need somepony to release the anchor.” He gestured to a large crank on the other side of the craft. “Reel that in.”

Frederic quickly crossed to it and started to turn the crank. As he did, their craft lurched to one side, slowly lifting from the ground.

“We’re listing. Lance, hit the stabilizing fins.” Blueblood pointed a hoof to a pair of valves at the back. “Set them both to fifty percent.”

“Got it!” As Lance twisted the heavy metal screws, he could feel the craft starting to level out.

Blueblood stepped up to the captain’s wheel, gripped it with his magic, and turned it in a slow circle. They twisted as they ascended, rising through the air and weaving through a cloud of oncoming pegasi. “Bring the gas down to forty percent!”

Greg happened to push down on the right lever, slowing down their ascent until they hovered in place. The Prince grabbed a throttle that dangled from the ceiling and thrust it forward with full force. The engines roared to life and the Volonté de Celestia lurched forward like a staggering drunk. The craft rocked a few times as the wind buffeted her, sending Lance rolling across the metal floor as everything listed beneath his hooves. Frederic and Blueblood both held on tight to the machinery as the airship gained speed, while Greg seemed not to notice the constantly shifting floor. Once they had cleared Canterlot Palace and were soaring just below the cottony clouds, Blueblood charted a course and locked the wheel in place. He produced a compass from his pocket and double-checked to ensure they were heading in the right direction, made a minute adjustment, and breathed a sigh of relief.

“Well, with the course set, I suppose we’re all overdue for an introduction.” He straightened himself and tossed his mane regally. “Prince Vladimir Blueblood, as I’m sure you already know.”

“You already know me. Lance Greenfield.” Lance nodded.

“Frederic Bourdages.” Frederic bowed politely. “At your service.”

Greg stared at the prince with a blank expression. “Dude your name is Vladimir? Isn’t he like… Some kinda dictator or something?”

“Greg, just tell him your name!” Lance said, rubbing his temples with his hooves. 

“Oh shit, yeah. Greg Campell.” Greg pumped a hoof in the prince’s general direction. “I’ll be in the smoking room if anypony needs me.” He vanished down the stairs with a clatter.

“And uh, that’s Peter downstairs.” Frederic managed an uneasy smile. “Sorry again about that.”

“It's no trouble. This isn’t the first time I’ve been punched in the face by a subject. It’s why I never leave home without a bit of makeup to cover up any bruises.” Blueblood followed Greg down the stairs and the others shadowed him. “Your chambers are in this room to the right, if you want to settle in. The galley is right here, and dinner will be served in about an hour and a half.”

He stepped over the still hazy-looking Peter and pointed to the Smoking Room. “Your friend has already taken up residence in the Smoking room. The hall to that branches off to the bathroom, which is fully stocked for your cosmetic needs.” He stopped himself, looking both Lance and Frederic over with a disdainful frown. “Not that you’ll be making use of that, it would seem.”

Blueblood paused as he spied Lance’s still creamy coat. “And Celestia and Luna both, Lance, go shower!”

Lance glanced at his still-sticky back and frowned. He sheepishly slunk off in the direction of the bathroom Blueblood had indicated earlier to wash up. As he slipped into the cramped, spartan space of the bathroom, he was able to hear Greg shouting from the Smoking Room.

“Yo! Holy shit! Nopony told me this thing had a pool table!”


*****


Dinner was served promptly at six, just as Blueblood had stated. After all, he prided himself on punctuality, and his cooking skills weren’t far behind. It wasn’t exactly fine dining, but it was hard to ruin pan-seared oats and peppers with a white wine reduction sauce. As he ate, he surveyed his crew. They weren’t much. Having an alicorn on your side was always good, as was somepony who prided themselves on their skill with a forge. But beyond the obvious benefits of Frederic, Blueblood saw very little to set his mind at ease. Lance was nice enough, though he acted on impulse and lacked tact. Peter despised him and likely wouldn’t listen to any of his orders, even if they’d save his life. And Greg was…

Blueblood watched as the green unicorn stuffed one of his queer-smelling cigarettes in his nostril and inhaled sharply. “Dude, check it out. I can smoke and crush my munchies at the same time! Ha!”

This was hopeless. He had a cohort of ponies who had scarcely left Equestria and had no experience with diplomacy. Already he was staring at the map and trying to plot out the opening moves of the almost certain war. Shining Armor had assured him that the Royal Guard could slow any advance through the mountains, and he had shuffled the 101st Shield Division along the northern border. Blueblood could only hope it was enough.

Pushing his empty plate away, Blueblood tapped a hoof on the table and exhaled. “I suppose I should give you all an idea of what our mission is. The Gryphon kingdom of Kleinkrieg has declared that unless something is done to dissuade them, then they will cross the mountains and declare an open war against Equestria. Obviously, that would be bad for us. Now, who here has experience with Gryphons?”

Much to Blueblood’s shock, all four of the bronies raised their hooves.

“We’ve got experience, but it wasn’t exactly a good one,” Frederic said darkly. “My father decided he hadn't hurt me enough in our world, so he came to Equestria and took the form of a Gryphon. He nearly killed us all before we managed to take him down.” He swallowed and shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t really like talking about him. I spent most of my human life trying to get away from him, and the idea that he followed me into Equestria because he couldn’t let me go…”

His voice trailed off and Blueblood levitated a bottle of wine across the table to refill Frederic’s glass. He clearly needed it.

“Terribly sorry to hear that.” The Prince managed a touch of genuine concern. “Does anypony here have experience with Gryphons other than that one?”

Their raised hooves fell.

“That’s what I thought. We only have three days until we reach Kleinkrieg, so I won’t be able to brief you on all the intricacies of Gryphon culture, but let me give you a crash course.” Blueblood downed the rest of his wine before continuing. “Gryphons value strength above all. Their myths all center around great warriors blessed by the North Star who conquer their foes with beak and blade. If we want them to take us seriously, then we’ll need to project power of our own.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem for us,” Lance said around a mouthful of peppers. “We’ve been fighting pretty much since we got to Equestria!”

“Yeah, we’ve got one hell of a history!” Peter spread his wings and flexed. “And you’ve seen I’ve also got one hell of a right hook!”

Blueblood chose to ignore that particular jab. “They want power without vulgarity. Just strolling around throwing punches will do nothing but get you arrested. To a Gryphon, the best power is one that you don’t need to draw attention to. It’s the difference between swinging a sword around at a tavern and stopping a fight by showing that you have a sword. Is this making sense?”

Everypony at the table nodded. 

“If everything goes according to plan, we’ll project power, diffuse the situation with a few well-timed negotiations, and they’ll call off their war before it even begins.”

“And what if things go wrong?” Lance raised an eyebrow curiously.

Blueblood stared down at the table. “Then they declare war and likely revoke our diplomatic immunity. We’ll be stuck behind enemy lines with targets on our back.”

“So we’ll have to fight our way out?”

“We won’t make it out,” Blueblood said with deathly certainty. “Kleinskrieg is no backwater villa. It’s a metropolis. Millions of citizens and hundreds of thousands of soldiers. We’ll be outnumbered ten thousand to one.”

“You mean five?” Frederic chimed in as he swallowed the last of his wine.

“Ten thousand to…” Blueblood’s eyes fell on Greg, who was leaning back in his chair lazily blowing fetid-smelling smoke rings. “Four. Still, terrible odds to be faced with. We would be shot to bits before we could flee, and if they don’t kill us they’ll hold us hostage for leverage with Equestria.”

“So what you’re saying is,” Frederic swallowed hard. “We can’t fail.”

“Exactly. I wanted to make you all aware of the stakes we’re facing. It would be uncouth of me to lead you into this without letting you know how much rests on our mission.”

“I wish you would’ve told us before we were loaded onto an airship and on our way,” Peter said as he picked at the last of his food. Sighing, he pushed his fork and plate aside and rose without another word. He stalked out of the room with a sour expression. Blueblood too rose from his chair, finished with his meal. What he wanted now was some peace and quiet to try and prepare.

“Yo Lance!” Greg said as he tipped his chair back, slamming onto the floor and rolling over onto his belly. “You wanna try and play me in pool? I’ve been practicing my trick shots since last Nightmare Night!”

“Hell yes!” Lance leapt from his seat so fast that the chair rattled. “Dude, I’m gonna whoop your flank!”

The two of them exited the room with a flurry of arguments about whose flank was getting kicked and how hard. As Blueblood turned towards his quarters, he found Frederic blocking his path.

“Hey uh,” The alicorn scratched his mane and flashed a friendly smile. “I don’t really know how to put this, so I guess I’ll just say it outright. You should talk to Peter.”

“The one who tried to kill me?”

“I don’t think he really meant it.”

“He seemed pretty intent on it an hour ago.”

Frederic shook his head. “I think he’s just sore about how you treated his wife.”

“I told you, I never met-”

“I know, I know.” He held up his hooves pleadingly. “It doesn’t matter whether you did or didn’t, he just wants some sort of apology. You don’t have to do it directly! But just… Y’know. Talk with him! Try and set things right! We’re all on the same side here, right? We can't be fighting with each other when we need to have each other's back!”

Blueblood withered him with a scouring snarl, yet deep down he knew that Frederic was right. That was what made him so angry. Equestria itself was hanging in the balance. He couldn’t afford to have a company too busy fighting each other when they had a common enemy. It would hurt, but he had to do it. Blueblood stopped by the kitchen to grab a pair of chocolate cake slices from the kitchen fridge as he made his way through the craft. He had a feeling he knew where Peter would be.

He crossed through the smoking room, where Greg was currently trying to aim the pool cue between his legs, and passed beyond it to a ribbed metal door at the rear of the craft. He spun the wheel lock, which opened with a satisfying clack. Cool air rushed through it and buffeted his mane as he stepped outside. There was a small balcony with a pair of iron lattice chairs at the very end of the airship. Sure enough, Peter was seated in one of the chairs, watching the sun sink below the clouds as he tuned his guitar. He said nothing as Blueblood approached and in turn, Blueblood said nothing as he took a seat beside him.

He set both plates down and gazed out on the horizon. The clouds churned silently as the craft glided across them like an ocean of cotton. A scarlet sun stared at them like a half-lidded eye as it hovered just above the edge of tomorrow, painting their world in gilded pinks and inky shadows. Peter strummed a few chords on his guitar, sighed, and twisted the tuning knobs again. The quietude between them was stiff and heavy, like a leaded pane of glass. Blueblood folded his hooves in his lap and tried to think of something to say.

“I understand you’re not thrilled at the prospect of us working together.” He began, trying to tread on inoffensive ground. “And that’s understandable.”

Peter didn’t reply. His hair drooped over his eyes as he stared down at his guitar with resentment simmering beneath his skin. Blueblood shifted uncomfortably. He took a deep breath and reminded himself that Equestria hung in the crosshairs. Celestia save him from what he was about to do.

“Not many in Equestria are excited about working with me.” Blueblood exhaled slowly, his eyes drifting into the distance to avoid eye contact with Peter. “Honestly, I’d wager nopony is. I’m not exactly popular among Canterlot circles, and I’ve spit enough bile about Ponyville, Manehattan, and Appleoosa for my name to be poison there too. So I get it. Working with me is a burden. A test of patience.”

“You got that right,” Peter said darkly, brooding over his instrument.

“You punched me, and I probably deserved it.” He had to fight himself to say the words, damn near speaking them through clenched teeth. “It isn’t the first time somepony has hit me for something I’ve said.”

“So why say it?” Peter finally glanced in his direction, even if it was just a side-eye. “The ball is in your court, Blueblood. If you want to be liked, then start acting likable.”

The Prince couldn’t meet his gaze. “Because the second I become likable, I become weak. It’s a chink in my armor. A vulnerability that I cannot tolerate.”

Peter found the tuning on his guitar and stroked the strings, eliciting a few somber notes. “That’s part of life, isn’t it? You have to be vulnerable to love someone. I know I had to knock myself down a few pegs for Rarity’s sake.” The pegasus paused, his hooves frozen in place on his instrument. “You’ve loved someone, haven’t you?”

The wind whispered through the hollow silence in the wake of that question.

“Peter,” Blueblood’s voice was disquietingly meek. “I couldn’t do that to somepony. Not to anypony.”

“You couldn’t love them?”

“I couldn’t let them love me.” He stood and strode to the railing, his every muscle wound taut. “I’m a prince of Equestria. I speak and the sun and moon listen. It’s a great power, but it comes at a cost. Equestria has to be first and foremost in my every decision. I cannot get close to anypony, because at any moment I might be asked to choose between them and Equestria.” He glanced over his shoulder, his face shaded against the setting sun. “Would you be willing to sacrifice Rarity if it meant saving Equestria?”

“I…” Peter struck a shrill, sour note. He screwed up his face in thought. “I wouldn’t. I couldn’t hurt her! She’s the world to me, Blueblood.”

“Nopony should have to make that choice. Not you, not me, not anypony.” The prince said solemnly. “I don’t even know if I’m strong enough to make it myself. That’s why I have to stay detached. That’s why I can’t be vulnerable.”

“I mean, it's pretty vulnerable of you to tell me about it,” Peter said with a ghost of a smile.

"I suppose it is." Blueblood slumped his shoulders glumly. "This is a side of myself that I'm not terribly comfortable showing.  I'd appreciate it if this conversation stayed between us."

Peter sealed his lips with a hook and pantomimed throwing away the key. "You got it. I'm glad you can show this side to somepony, even if it's just me."

Blueblood nodded tepidly, rapping his hoof on the metal railing. “As unfortunate as the situation is, I have to trust you bronies. I just hope that next time you’re throwing a right hook, it’s aimed at a gryphon’s beak rather than my snout.”

Peter chuckled, brushing his bangs off to one side. “Cross my heart and hope to fly.”

“You’re a pegasus, Peter. You can fly.”

“Oh. Yeah, you’re right.” He laughed again, setting his guitar to one side as he picked up the chocolate cake the Prince had gifted him. Blueblood returned to his seat looking like he had seen combat. He grabbed his own plate and stared down at the pastry with a long, exhausted exhale. Peter held up his fork and extended it towards his former rival. “Truce?”

“Truce.” Blueblood’s utensil clinked against his and the two shared a dessert in peace. They were entering that time of day that was neither night nor morning. Where the stars shone in the ultraviolet between bands of cloud that burned with dying sunlight. A time when the world was hushed by the stark awe of the universe and where the sun, moon, and north star shared the heavens.

Unfortunately, the silence was broken by the shattering of glass and the opening of the steel door to the balcony.

“Blueblood! We gotta stop the ship!” Lance panted as he sprinted out onto the terrace.

“What did you break?”

“He’s lying! Whatever he says, he’s lying!” Greg emerged in a cloud of acidic smog. “He shot the cue ball straight through the window!”

“Greg broke the window 'cause he was using magic to curve his shots! He was cheating!”

Blueblood sighed as he took a bite of his cake. The peace was nice while it lasted.
> Kleinkrieg Awaits
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


On the horizon the peaks assembled;
And as I looked,
The march of the mountains began.
As they marched, they sang,
"Aye! We come! We come!"
-Stephen Crane



For two full days, Lance felt like he was back in school. Blueblood was quizzing all of them on Gryphon culture every second of every day.

While he was eating? He had to remember that the Lord of Kleinskrieg was Egil Hauberk. Brushing his teeth? He was tested on proper Gryphon greetings and their responses. Playing pool with Greg? Blueblood wanted him to review his table manners. He was at the end of his rope with all the questioning, the only thing that kept him going was knowing everypony else on the ship had it as bad as he did. Peter, Greg, and Frederic all looked every bit as exhausted as he felt, grated down like pebbles under a gurgling creek.

On the third day, as they gathered around the table for a light breakfast of fruit and pastries, they all looked drained. Frederic was half asleep at the table as he peeled an orange with an absentminded stare. Peter slumped forward in his chair nibbling a croissant. Even Greg had been bludgeoned with so much information that all he could do was fidget with an unlit joint while he munched on some dry cereal.

As Blueblood emerged from his quarters and slipped into his seat, everypony winced. They were all waiting for him to start asking questions, drop another unsubtle reminder about their posture, or correct their spoon choice. But he didn’t. He levitated a fresh apple across the table and bit into it while double-checking the map.

“Uh, you’re sure you don’t wanna ask us anything?” Frederic said, his ears lying flat against his head. Everypony glared at him for asking, and he returned a shrug as if to say 'Let's get this over with'.

“Hm?” Blueblood looked up from his charts and cocked his head. “Like what?”

“Usually by now you’ve asked me to name like three kings and tell you how to greet a Gryphon who you know, one you don’t know, and one who you have a rocky romantic history with,” Lance muttered as he stuffed his mouth with toast and jam.

“There's not much use in reviewing at this stage.” The prince responded as he drew a hoof across the map. “We’ll be in Kleinkrieg by mid-afternoon today. Either you know it by now, or you don’t. So Celestia and Luna both, you better know it.”

“Wait, we’ll be touching down? Officially?” Greg wiped crumbs from his cheek. “Fucking finally! Dude, I’m so ready to see Klinsreeg.”

“Kleinkrieg.” Blueblood corrected. “Before we land, however, there’s one more matter for us to address.”

A sonorous groan made its way around the table as they mentally prepped themselves for another test.

“You don’t even know what it is yet!” He put his hooves on his hips and rolled his eyes.

“If you’re excited about it, it can’t be anything good.” Frederic moaned. 

“Fine.” Blueblood deftly rolled up the map and tucked his pencil behind his ear. “Then I’ll just throw your uniforms overboard I suppose.”

“We get uniforms?” Peter practically vaulted over the table, hovering in place with steady wing beats. “What color?”

“Oh no, everypony said they don’t want them so-”

“New clothes!” Lance leapt from his seat, throwing an arm around the prince. “Can mine be leather? Maybe with some metal spikes on it?”

“Absolutely not.” Blueblood slipped from his grasp like oil on water. “I said we need to project power, and one of the easiest ways to do that is to dress cohesively. Thankfully, the Equestrian Diplomatic Corps had some uniforms they could spare.”

He stepped into his quarters, returning only seconds later with a set of garment bags slung across his back. He laid them flat on the table and gently smoothed them out. Each bag contained a beautifully embroidered silk jacket, braided with silver cord along the wrists. Each had a high collar, braided epaulets, and a frogged belt around the waist. The only difference was their color. “Now, obviously, I can’t be seen working with a set of rank amateurs like yourselves.”

“I take offense to that!” Greg slammed a hoof against the table, making his bowl and spoon clatter.

“I’m only speaking the truth, darling.” The prince rolled his eyes. “None of you have any real diplomatic connections beyond knowing me, and we can’t afford to let anyone in on that. If they knew you were all new to the game, they’d take advantage of your ignorance. So, I’ve taken the liberty of punching up your resumes a bit.

“Normally there’s a lot more ceremony to receiving these uniforms, but we’re a bit pressed for time. I’ll have to keep things somewhat brief.” He cleared his throat and lifted the first uniform from the pile. “We’ll start with you, Frederic.”

The alicorn stepped forward and crossed his legs for a small bow. “Ready when you are!”

“Luckily, yours was easy enough.” Blueblood removed a black jacket from the bag and extended it to Frederic. “You married Luna, which makes you part of the royal family. You’ll have the same uniform as me, just in black rather than white.”

Frederic nodded and slipped the coat over his head. “How do I look?”

“Like a professional.” Next was a dun-colored sleeveless vest that seemed to stick out among the options. “This one is for you, Greg.”

“All right!” The unicorn snatched it from Blueblood’s hooves and whipped it on with a flourish. “You sure I can’t get it in green? I was really hoping for something to match my stash.”

“Unfortunately, no. Beige, sleeveless uniforms indicate that you serve in Saddle Arabia. Too hot and stifling in that country for sleeves after all.” Blueblood reached out with his magic to flatten some of the wrinkles Greg was already putting in his uniform.

Greg folded down the stiff collars and Blueblood winced. “And how come you picked this one for me? Do I look Sarabian or something?”

“I have a feeling you’d enjoy the country. They’re a very relaxed, laid-back people.” Blueblood couldn’t help but manage a small smirk. “Plus, I’m sure you’d enjoy the hashish bars there.”

Greg froze, blinking in shock. “Lance, Lance we made a huge mistake. We need to go to Saddle Arabia ASAP, man!”

“Greg, I can barely trust you in Equestria, much less in another country!”

“Lance, it’s my calling!” He slapped the vest excitedly. “I was born for this!”

“Speaking of, I have your uniform right here, Lance.” Blueblood held out a deep violet coat. “I went with purple for yours, since it’s the color for Yakyakistani diplomats.”

“Cause I’m strong, brave, and loyal?” Lance said as he slipped into the jacket. The silk felt smooth against his coat as he buttoned it up. 

“Mostly because you’re simple, but yes, those things too.”

“Ouch.”

“I’m teasing.” He said in a flat monotone. “I’ve studied your file, Lance. You’re more brave than smart, and I don’t mean that as an insult.”

Lance cocked his head. “I have a file?”

“And lastly, Peter.” Ignoring the question, Blueblood tossed an emerald green coat to the pegasus, who caught it excitedly. “Green is the color of Zebrica. If there’s one country I know that appreciates music as much as you do, it’s Zebrica.”

“Peter! I’ll trade you!” Greg was already pulling off his sleeveless vest. “Please, Please Peter! Green is my color, dude!”

“No way! This is gonna go great with my coat!”

“Peter, I’m literally green!”

“Tough luck!”

“If you don’t mind,” Blueblood butted into their argument, which continued unabated. “I’m going to be taking the wheel since we’re getting close to Kleinskrieg. Lance? If you could come with me?”

Lance followed close behind as they climbed the ladder to the control room. Blueblood approached the wheel and unlocked it, gently rocking it to ensure the rudder hadn’t frosted over. “Are you a strong flier, Mr. Greenfield?”

“Hell yes, I am!” Lance spread his wings excitedly. “Wanna see me do a shadowboom?”

Blueblood reached out with his magic, tugged a cord, and the Volonté de Celestia began to dip into the clouds. “I have no idea what that is, but I’m going to assume it’s good.”

“Do it now! Show him! Make him fear your power!” Break screamed through Lance’s brain with a manic laugh. Lance shoved the thought aside brusquely.

“Yeah, it’s like a sonic rainboom, but instead of a rainbow, it’s black and red. Pretty cool, if I can brag a little.” He leaned against the bare metal wall. “First time I did it, I flew straight into the ground and died!”

The prince looked over his shoulder and sighed. “That doesn’t really inspire confidence.”

“Well, I mean, that was when I was first learning to fly! I’m way better now!”

“For both our sakes, let’s hope so. I promised your wife I wouldn’t let you die.”

“Aww, how sweet!” Dawn cooed. “Maybe he’s not so bad deep down!”

“Don’t listen to this idiot, Lance!” Break retorted, his voice a snarl. “That royal prick is evil to his core! He’s just faking so you’ll do his bidding!”

Lance shook his head, trying to block out the bickering of his two consciousnesses. “So, what is it you need me for?”

“I need somepony with good wings to fly ahead and get us cleared for approach.” Blueblood drew an envelope with an ornate wax seal from the pocket of his coat. “They’ve been told we’re coming, but I’d prefer to give them a last warning before we arrive. The last thing we need is some trigger-happy Gryphon to blow us out of the sky and doom this expedition.”

“Uh, they’re not gonna blow me outta the sky, right?” Lance looked down at the letter with hesitation knitting into his brow. 

“Not if you fly fast enough!” Blueblood replied as he accelerated their descent.

Lance sucked in a deep breath, tucking the letter into his pocket. “I’m gonna trust you on this one, Vlad.”

“Please stop calling me that.”

Clambering down the ladder, Lance trotted through the craft until he reached the balcony at the rear of the ship. He stretched his wings, twisted his hips to work out the stiffness, and held his breath. He set off at a full gallop and hurled himself over the balustrade, diving through the damp cold of the clouds. Tucking his wings against his body, he fell like a scream through the fog at a blistering speed. Wind shrieked in his ears as he plunged towards the earth in a timeless shroud, half expecting the ground to suddenly fill his vision a second before collision.

Exploding from the cloud cover was like entering a whole new world. Below him stretched a seemingly endless expanse of tidy farmland. Fields of wheat and rye, dense orchards of apples, pears, and plums, and trellised vineyards canvassed the world below him, painting the country with autumnal gold. Villages and small towns bustled at crossroads and thatch-roofed farmhouses snoozed on the outskirts. Lance continued to dive, bringing him close enough that he could see the Gryphons flitting like crows down below. A pair of them were plucking plums from a tree and tossing them down into wicker baskets. A cluster was cutting through a row of wheat with a massive machine of black metal that spewed smoke and chugged so loudly he could hear it from miles above. Twists of sweet-smelling smoke drifted up from local bonfires of dry leaves and pruned branches to tickle Lance’s nostrils.

The whole vista stood in the shadow of a massive snow-capped mountain range at the opposite edge of the valley. The roads seemed to snake along a zigzag track dotted with small villas and outposts as they routed themselves toward the peak. Lance could only barely see the top through the shroud of clouds around its pinnacle. A winding ribbon of river split into two at the base, and Lance could make out congregations of great water wheels churning in the rush.

All of that he expected to some degree. What shocked Lance was the airships he spied hovering just beneath the clouds. The first he saw was so large it could have swallowed Blueblood’s craft whole and still had room for dessert. It moved slowly and with deep purpose along the sky, a great shimmering whale of steel studded with more cannons than he could count. He swallowed a lump in his throat as he considered what those were capable of. It would be bad enough if there was only one, but there were six; each one massive, imposing, and bleak as it stained the horizon.

“Oh, we’re fucked aren’t we?” Break’s voice quivered as Lance set a course for the nearest airship. “We’re so fucked.”

“What happened to all that bravado from earlier?” Dawn replied smugly.

“That was before I saw all the guns. We should go Breaking Dawn mode. Just in case.”

Lance ignored them, dove once, and rose again before giving his wings a solid flap. “I’m not gonna go Breaking Dawn, but maybe we oughta show ‘em what we can do!”

He gained speed rapidly as he approached the craft, feeling the pressure of the air around him grow crushing as a frigid cone of wind shrouded him. Lance squeezed his eyes shut as the wind buffeted him before everything normalized with a sudden pop. Two seconds later, Lance heard the reverberant explosion from the sound barrier he had shattered. He shot forth like a bullet, arcing over the top of the airship with a scarlet and black blur trailing behind him. He spread his wings to brake as he circled back around. He spied an opening on the back of the craft where a few Gryphons were standing guard. He slowed to a glide and approached it, waving a hoof in greeting. They stared at him in confusion with one of them managing a weak little wave in return.

Touching down on the metal with a clatter of hooves, Lance reached into his coat and held out the letter. “Hey. Letter for you!”

A gryphon dressed in a lopsided hat with a scar across his beak took the letter wordlessly, his eyes scanning the page. He barked a few sharp short orders in a rasping, guttural language and the other three responded with a salute before they rushed off into the bulk of the craft. He smiled at Lance and slapped him on the shoulder with a clawed hand. “The captain will be knowing you. Thanks much, skyhorse.”

“Uh, thanks?” Lance replied. He wished that Blueblood had given him more of a course in the Gryphonic language. At least he still remembered the farewell the Prince had shown him. “Oh! Guidestar light your path!”

The Gryphon’s face suddenly lit up with a grin. “Be true, skyhorse!”

Lance felt a swell of pride. His first diplomatic interaction, and he’d passed with flying colors. He dropped over the side of the ship and dove once more, just in time to see the Volonté de Celestia drop through the clouds and glide past. He banked sharply and rose with a flap of his wings, landing back on the airship he had come to know so well. Frederic and Greg were waiting for him in the smoking room. 

“You’re not hurt? Nopony shot at you?” Frederic said, looking him over with a trained eye. 

“Nah, I was fine. They really like it if you remember those phrases Blueblood taught us.”

“Oh damn, dude,” Greg said, tucking his still burning blunt behind his ear. “I guess those lessons weren’t for nothing, huh?”

Frederic watched as they drew by one of the Gryphon airships, his eyes fixated on the countless gaping mouths of their cannons. “Jesus…”

Greg’s jaw hung slack as he watched the ship pass them by. Through the windows, they could see hundreds of Gryphons milling about, performing repairs, or cleaning weapons. “Holy shit man…”

“Yeah,” Lance said plainly. “We gotta stop this war. A fleet of these things on their way to Canterlot…”

“I don’t even wanna think about it.” Frederic shuddered. 

The three of them made their way back to the control room, where Blueblood and Peter were guiding the craft along a downward trajectory. They shifted to the left and Lance noticed they were on due course to strike the mountain in the distance. 

“So uh, where do we land?” Lance said, staring out the window. 

Blueblood pointed a hoof towards the mountain. “See that peak? That’s where we’re headed. The capital city of Klienkrieg, the Rookery.”

“But where is it?” Peter cocked his head as they passed another titan airship.

“Look closer.”

Lance stepped to the window and squinted. The mountain seemed to jut out in places, sticking out at unnaturally flat angles. The truth dawned on him as they drew closer. He could see yawning maws that studded the mountain like a termite mound. Griffons flew in and out of these caves like wasps buzzing from their hive. “Oh my god. The mountain is their capital. The whole mountain.”

“You got it.” Blueblood gestured towards a smooth outcrop of stone. “There’s our landing strip. Everypony prepare for landing. And for Celestia’s sake, be on your best behavior when we land.”
> The Dented Helmet
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


I shall not die alone, alone, but kin to all the powers,
As merry as the ancient sun and fighting like the flowers.
How white their steel, how bright their eyes! I love each laughing knave,
Cry high and bid him welcome to the banquet of the brave.
Yea, I will bless them as they bend and love them where they lie,
When on their skulls the sword I swing falls shattering from the sky.
The hour when death is like a light and blood is like a rose, --
You never loved your friends, my friends, as I shall love my foes.
-G. K. Chesterton



The anchor dropped, the Volonté de Celestia parked on the airstrip, and the ponies set hoof on foreign soil for the first time. Blueblood had told them that they would meet up with his liaison in Kleinkrieg once they were in the city proper, and so they entered the mountain flanked by marching soldiers who bore bayonetted muskets over their shoulders. Lance’s eyes went wide as they set foot in the Rookery.

The light poured in through various inlets in the roof and the walls, making it surprisingly easy to see in the cavernous interior. It was packed densely as they made their way along the main road, their hooves clip-clopping on the granite cobblestone. Shops and stalls were carved directly into the mountain, with elaborate statues, engravings, and mosaics lining the walls. Wooden ramps stretched upwards, allowing access to a second level just above the main street, filled with small, cozy-looking warrens where gryphons reclined alongside vented fireplaces. They passed by a tavern, a cooper, a blacksmith, a cobbler, a butcher, and two bakeries whose owners were bickering in the middle of the street about their bread recipes. The whole place buzzed with activity and conversation, while the wind gibbered and raved as it wound through the structure.

They all tried to give friendly nods and smiles to the gryphons they passed on the way, and despite the tension between their countries, they mostly received courteous waves and greetings in reply. More than once Lance was pulled aside by a particularly friendly gryphon who tried to talk him into buying something from a nearby shop, or coming into a local tavern for a beer. Peter stopped to stare into an artisan store where three tan gryphons were putting together the wooden frame of some unknown stringed instrument. Frederic was entranced by the familiar glow of a forge as an ancient-looking gryphon put the finishing touches on a curved sabre. Greg struck up a conversation with a girl who took a tentative drag on his joint. She coughed but laughed as she passed it back to him. Blueblood tried to hurry them on, but even he couldn’t escape the crowds. He was constantly being yanked into conversation, which he handled deftly with fluid responses in High Gryphonic. Lance couldn’t help but be reminded of his visits to Manehattan, where crowds pressed him on all sides and everypony was shouting to be heard.

Yet simmering just beneath the friendly atmosphere Lance could see glimpses of the war already beginning to brew. Soldiers were marching in formation here and there, bearing muskets, pikes, or sabres that glittered menacingly in the slanted shafts of sunlight. A newspaper that one Gryphon was reading had a rather unflattering caricature of Celestia on the cover, spilling a wineglass over a map of the world. Another featured the silhouette of a gallow and noose with a Gryphonic word that Lance was sure was Brony. He gulped and subconsciously rubbed his throat at that one.

Blueblood motioned for them to follow as he ducked into a tavern at the corner of an intersection. The name of the establishment was etched into the stone above its door. The Dented Helmet. As they stepped through the doorway, the sound from outside seemed to fade away. Lance felt it was almost eerily quiet, with only hushed conversation and the occasional squeak of a wooden chair leg. The reason for the name was clear after one glance. Rusted and dented suits of armor were set into the painted stone walls, relics from ancient wars that still bore the scars of long-forgotten battles. The floor was heated, though Lance couldn’t figure out how, and the whole room smelled of greasy cooking, woodsmoke, and sour, spilled beer.

“Y’know for royalty, I was expecting something fancier,” Frederic whispered as they entered and took seats at the bar. “Maybe like a statue garden or a bar with one of those ice tops like they have in Canterlot.”

“Maybe Vlad is just a cheapskate,” Lance mumbled as he settled into a wobbly stool.

Greg and Peter both slid into their seats without a word, aside from Greg blowing a few smoke rings as he reclined against the counter. Peter leafed through a nearby menu.

“Anything good?” Lance inquired.

Peter frowned. “It’s all in Gryphonspeak. I’ve got no idea.”

“Do they take bits here?” Greg spoke up. “Lance, my guy, spot me for a drink or two?”

“No way! You still owe me for the apple fritter at the dodgeball tournament!”

“But I get real thirsty whenever I smoke! C’mon, dude!”

“Use your own bits!”

“You know I’m broke, man!” Greg gesticulated with the stub of his smoke. “This shit ain’t cheap!”

“You grow it yourself, don’t you?” Peter said over the top of his menu.

“Okay, but don’t get me started on growing costs. I gotta pay for the lights, the water, the fertilizer, plus rent on the house and shit!”

Frederic shook his head with a resigned sigh. “I’ll open a tab. Since nopony else here has a job.”

“I had a job!” Lance protested with a huff.

“For two weeks!”

“Being a waiter was freaking hard, Fred! Not all of us can get a cushy job like metalworking.”

Their argument was cut short by a high-pitched cry from behind them. “Ah! Blueblood! You bastard! You should have told me you were coming sooner! I’d have prepared a welcome fit for a prince!”

They turned to see a Gryphon with pale feathers and pinkish eyes stalking across the tavern. Slender and small compared to the other patrons, he was clad in a long, flowing black robe studded with flecks of sparkling pyrite. It looked like he wore a portion of the night sky. He bore a broad smile as he approached the prince and wrapped him in a tight hug. Blueblood returned it with an excited gasp, spinning him round and laughing.

“And miss out on surprising you? Never!” Blueblood’s eyes glinted as he rested a hoof on the Gryphon’s shoulder. “Gath, it’s been too long.”

“Hey, Gath!” Frederic spun in his stool, pounding his chest in the customary salute he’d practiced. “It’s a pleasure to-”

His words trailed off as he watched Blueblood and Gath share a knowing smile before they embraced with a passionate, open-mouthed kiss.

All four bronies fell silent as they watched, jaws on the floor.

“That’s a traditional Gryphonic greeting, right?” Dawn questioned. “Right?”

“Nah that’s a lover’s kiss if I’ve ever seen one.” Break chortled.

The pair broke off their embrace with a flustered inhalation. Gath’s cheeks burned red as rubies as he wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve. “It’s good to see you again, mein liebling”

“And you as well, mein schätzchen.” Blueblood said with a demure incline of his head. “Everypony, this is our contact. I’d like to introduce you to Lord Occultist Gath of Kleinkrieg.”

Gath bowed low, sweeping the ground in front of him with his robes. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Equestrians have always been fine partners in the magical arts. I've learned much from your libraries in years past. I only wish the circumstances of our meeting were less dire.”

“If only.” Blueblood sighed, gesturing towards the bar. “Will you join us for a drink? I’ve been craving a sip of Golden Plum Wine since I embarked in Equestria.”

“Ah, I wish I could! And I promise we will! But first, I must speak with you privately, mein liebling.” He jerked his head towards the stairs. “Come, I’ve already paid for your rooms. The rest of you are free to order from the menu if you like. I highly recommend the onion and apple soup!” 

“Frederic, you’re in charge until I get back.” The Prince said as he headed up the stairs.

“What?!” Lance called after him. “But-”

“He’s an alicorn, Lance. That gives him seniority. Now don’t do anything stupid until I get back.”

The pair vanished around a bend at the top of the stairs, and Lance promptly collapsed back into his seat. “So, is no one gonna talk about that?”

“About what?” Frederic said as he scanned the menu, trying to make sense of the language.

“Did you not just see Blueblood make out with that guy?!”

“Oh, yeah. Kinda weird.” Peter shrugged.

“Kinda weird?!” Lance’s voice rose to a shout. “Am I the only one with questions here?! Was this whole trip just an excuse to see his boyfriend?!”

“Oh, that’s not his boyfriend,” Peter replied. “Blueblood went over that with us already.”

“What do you mean he went over it with us? When?”

“He told us he’d had a ‘fling’ with Gath during dinner last night.”

Lance opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, Greg lifted a hoof and motioned to the bartender. The griffon working the bar, a burly fellow with a bushy mustache and a patch over one eye, approached with an eyebrow raised. Greg proceeded to rattle off an order in High Gryphonic like it was nothing. The barkeep nodded and replied with a wry smile and what sounded like a joke, to which Greg laughed and rattled off a wisecrack of his own. 

“Greg, what the hell?” Lance stared in confusion.

“What?” Greg glanced over his shoulder.

“Since when do you speak… Whatever the hell that was?!”

“Oh! Haha, so Blueblood had a book of Gryphon phrases and stuff that he left in the smoking room. I was gonna roll some of the pages to smoke ‘em, but I started reading it and I guess I picked up a few things.”

“Does everypony just know everything except for me?!” Lance threw up his hooves in frustration and slammed his skull against the varnished bar. His face squeaked as he turned towards Frederic. “Fred, please. Please tell me you didn’t get some kinda weird knowledge when I wasn’t looking.”

“Oh no! I’m still the same pony I was when we left Canterlot!” Frederic responded with a smile. “All I got was the new uniform.”

“Thank God.” Lance exhaled, running a hoof through his mane.

“Wait, Greg!” Frederic pointed to the menu, tapping a specific name. “You’re gonna want the blonde ale, not the porter. It’s lighter and it’ll go better with your soup. Porter is better when you're just drinking it alone, doesn't blend well, y'know?”

“Oh shit, thanks, man!” Greg rephrased his order to account for that. Lance stared at Frederic with barely contained hostility as the Alicorn scratched the side of his neck.

“I mean, Blueblood did show me a guide to Gryphon ale while you were delivering that letter, but other than that-”

“Hey, Fred? Hold that thought.” Lance grinned, planted his face against the counter, and screamed as loud as he could into the wood grain.


*****


Gath pulled Blueblood into a room at the end of the hall, his tail flicking nervously behind him as he closed the door. He scanned the room before removing a small bottle of ochre liquid from his robe. This he smeared around the edges of the door, muttering incantations under his breath as the sigils he drew shimmered with arcane potency. In the same motion, he removed a sack of powder and scattered it on the floor. With another word of power, smoke began to rise as the powder sizzled and sparked. 

“Do you trust me so little that you need two spells of protection?” Blueblood wafted a hoof past his snout to disperse some of the smog.

“I’m sorry,” Gath spoke in a hushed voice. “Things have changed since your last visit, Prince.”

“Believe me, I’m aware. I need to hold council with King Egil immediately to-”

“I don’t think you understand, Blueblood. Do you know what these spells are for?” Gath hissed. “They’re not to protect us. Not directly. They’re to keep us from being watched. There are eyes everywhere, and none of them are friendly.”

Blueblood fumbled in the dim light until he found the bed, taking a seat on the squeaky spring mattress. “Who would be listening in?”

Gath winced, twisting his claws in his robe. “Prince, I don’t know how to put this.”

“Bluntly, if you please.”

“King Egil is dead.”

The room was blanketed in a deathly silence. Neither quite knew what to say after that. Blueblood’s mind was moving at a hundred miles per minute, so many of his potential plans had hinged on playing to Egil’s ego, and now they were all dust. “How did he pass?”

“Screaming,” Gath replied solemnly. “I heard him from my room crying out as a usurper tore him to shreds. The one who sits on the throne now…” Gath trailed off, his pale complexion frail with worry. “Blueblood, he terrifies me.”

“Who is he?” Blueblood inclined his head, unwilling to raise his voice above a whisper.

“That’s what scares me. No one seems to know. Black rumors are circulating about him. They say that he was a dead man drawn back to life by an unfinished battle. A fatal revenant here for one purpose.”

“Revenge.” The prince breathed. “And the court simply goes along with him? No one dared to challenge him?”

Gath’s pupils went wide. “He showed the court what he had done with the king’s corpse the next day. I pray you never have to look a flayed man in the eyes, Blueblood. No one would dare challenge him after that. Now he marches singlemindedly towards a war with Equestria, and the skirmish on the border gave him the perfect excuse. I don’t see what we can do to stop this. It’s like standing in the path of an avalanche.”

“We have to at least try damn it!”

“He’ll kill us if we oppose him, Blueblood!”

“He can try.”

Gath leaned in close, his beak near enough to Blueblood’s snout that he could feel the heat of his breath. “You didn’t see what he did to them, Prince. I watched it all. Don’t insult me by doubting.”

“No insult intended,” Blueblood replied, exhaling low. “You don’t see much hope in changing the king’s mind about the war then?”

“He would pursue war even if he was the last Gryphon alive in Kleinkrieg.”

“It doesn’t sound like there’s much hope in stopping the war before it starts then.” Blueblood crossed his legs. “Unless of course, we invoke the Ehrenkampf.”

“The honor duel?” Gath recoiled. “Blueblood you can’t be serious!”

“It might be our only chance at preventing this! What other options do we have?”

Gath paced, his claws clicking against the wood as his tail whipped from side to side. “I’m thinking, I’m thinking!” He suddenly stopped, his eyes going wide. “I have an idea.”

“Let’s hope it's a good one.”

“The council meets early tomorrow morning. It’s a mere formality, a discussion on budgetary approval. But there’s a new clause in there approving of military spending.” Gath grinned triumphantly. “The law, according to section twenty, article five, revision B of the Civil Conduct for Monetary Law, explicitly states that anyone with an objection may raise it.”

Blueblood nodded slowly. “I follow so far.”

“Note that the law does not state the objections must be to the law being discussed.” He strung his claws together for emphasis. “You can object to the budget, but your objection doesn’t need to concern it. Use it to speak out against the war. If you can sway the council and get a vote against the war, then the King cannot overrule it.”

“And you’re certain that the law would be on our side?”

“Positive! The King can veto decisions, but only when present. If he isn’t present for a meeting, the decisions are codified into law. The process for revoking it covers 45 pages in the civil code and can take months to go through. Even if he did, it would give us ample time to set other plans into motion.” Gath crossed his arms over his chest. “Of course, that’s all provided you can convince the council.”

“Ah, the one thing I do best,” Blueblood replied with a broad smile. “And if all else fails, there’s always the Ehrenkampf.”

“Please, Star's sake, don’t challenge the king to Ehrenkampf.” Gath put a claw on Blueblood’s shoulder, his eyes soft. “I don’t want to be the one to burn your remains.”

“I wouldn’t want anyone else to do so.” Blueblood managed a hint of a smile. “I presume you’ll be there in the morning?”

“I wouldn’t dream of missing it.”


*****


“Y’know, I gotta be honest,” Lance said as he slurped soup from his spoon. “When they told me that they were serving an apple and onion soup, I thought it would be disgusting. But this is pretty good!”

Greg belched loudly as he finished his second mug of thick, frothy, honey-scented ale. “Dude, gotta be real. I think we picked the wrong place to spawn in for our second lives. Equestrian cider's got nothin’ on this ale!”

“The dessert is even better!” Peter was rubbing his hooves together as he was served a second helping of plum pie topped with a dollop of fresh ice cream. He hovered over it for a moment, before a smirk overtook his features. Carefully, he lifted the plate and balanced it squarely in the center of his hoof. “Hey Lance? Wanna taste?”

“Yeah sure, do you have an extra spoon so-” Before Lance could finish, Peter hurled the pie at him with a baseball pitch. Lance managed to duck just in time, only for the projectile pie to slam into Frederic’s snout.

“Ah! Hey!” Frederic nearly fell off his stool as the dessert splattered against his face. “Peter what the hell!”

“Sorry! I was aiming for Lance!” Peter rubbed the back of his neck.

“How does that make it any better?” Lance chimed in from his position under the bar. 

Peter shrugged and held up his hooves. “They gave me pie! You should have seen it coming!”

“Not cool, Peter!” Frederic said as he pawed at his face with a napkin. “You got crumbs everywhere!”

“It’s a prank! Jeez! Did everypony lose their sense of humor?!”

Greg looked up from his ale, blinked blankly then laughed uproariously. “Dude! Nice one Peter! That’s funny as fuck!”

“Well, at least somepony gets the joke.” Peter rolled his eyes.

“Hey, I’ve got an even funnier prank.” Greg lifted his half-empty mug of ale and dumped it over Lance’s head. “Ha!”

Lance yelped, jumping up and bumping his skull against the wooden counter. “Greg! Asshole!”

“C’mon dude, lighten up! It’s a joke!” Greg ordered another mug of ale with a slightly slurred snicker.

“Yeah, Lance! It’s just a prank, bro!” Peter quickly added.

“Your pranks are just throwing pies at people!”

Greg frowned. “Hey now, I spilled a beer on your head.”

“All you did was replace the pie with a beer!”

“Shit, you’re right. Lemme fix that.” Greg promptly grabbed an empty plate and promptly smashed it over Lance’s skull with a shattering crack. “Opa!”

“Ow! Greg! What the hell?!” Lance screamed, forcing himself to stand as he clutched a hoof to the top of his head. He could already feel it starting to swell up. “That’s not even a joke! What’s the punchline?!”

“Oh, that comes later.”

“The hell do you mean it comes la-” The wind was knocked out of Lance’s lungs as Greg threw a punch to his midsection. He wheezed out a string of expletives as he sank into his seat and gasped for air. Greg and Peter shared a brohoof and a laugh as Frederic rolled his eyes.

“Okay, real funny guys, but can we try and focus?” He said as he drained the last of his soup. “Greg, stop punching Lance, Peter, save the pranks for later, Lance, quit being so punchable.”

“What did I do?!” Lance whined.

“I dunno man, you just kinda look punchable.” Frederic shrugged. “I think it’s the cutie mark.”

“You guys are such dicks.” Lance huffed as he scooped a spoonful of soup into his mouth. As he ate, he felt a distinct sensation of being watched. Glancing over his shoulder, he looked around the bar at the other patrons. A few female Gryphons were munching on sandwiches at a table in the corner, a couple was discussing books over glasses of wine, and a nervous-looking young one sipping his beer with a shaky claw. As Lance’s eyes fell on him, his head drooped and he averted his gaze. Lance felt a pang of pity for him. He was shy! Probably he had seen them all laughing and hanging out and wished that he could be a part of the fun. “Hey guys, you see the lonely dude in the corner there?”

The others turned in their stools to see the Gryphon, who was now bashfully holding his menu in front of his beak.

“Yeah?” Peter nodded. “Why?”

“I think we oughta help him out! We’re supposed to be doing diplomacy work, right? So let’s mingle with some locals and show ‘em a good time!” Lance flashed a roguish smile and waved a hoof to the Gryphon, who returned it with a weak twitch of his claw. “Let’s show them that bronies aren’t all dumb mobs picking fights on the border!”

“Good idea, Lance!” Frederic clapped him on the back. “Greg, can you translate for us?”

Greg sucked down the last of his third ale, slamming the mug on the counter. “Uh, yeah. I can try.”

“Peter, can you give us some music?”

“Already on it!” Peter removed his guitar from its case and strummed out a jaunty-sounding tune.

Lance jumped to his hooves. “Bartender! Another round of drinks for everyone! Let ‘em know it was on us!”

“Ja, ja.” The barkeep nodded as he pulled out a cluster of fresh mugs from beneath the counter and began to fill them.

“Everypony, let’s roll!” Lance spread his wings and crossed the bar in a flurry of feathers, landing across the table from the shy Gryphon. “Hey! How’s it going? The name’s Lance Greenfield!” He thrust a hoof across the table for a shake.

The gryphon looked at it with a flicker in his eyes. He clutched the hoof with a touch so gentle it might as well have been nonexistent. “Igor.”

“Hey, Igor, nice to meet you!” Frederic said as he sidled up to the table, using his magic to draw more chairs around it. “I’m Frederic, this is Greg.”

Greg nodded and said something in Gryphonic that sounded polite enough to the others.

“And this is Peter.” Frederic gestured to Peter, who announced himself with a strum of his guitar strings. “We’re visiting from Equestria, and we saw you were a little lonely over here, so we figured we’d give you a visit!”

The bartender dropped off five massive mugs of golden, frothy ale and each of the bronies took one. Igor stared at his drink with eyes the size of dinner plates until Greg gently slid it over to him and muttered something vaguely reassuring. Frederic raised his glass with a cheer. “Prost!”

Echoes of “Prost!” reverberated around the bar as everyone clanked their glasses together and took a drink. Igor took a small sip while the bronies downed nearly half their mugs with a steady chug. It was at that moment that Igor suddenly sprang to life and launched himself across the table. Lance was the first to react, falling backward out of his chair as Igor’s claws narrowly missed raking his cheek. Frederic jerked to action and tried to grab the gryphon, only to be rewarded with a mug of beer being thrown against his face.

Igor’s claw flashed as he reached into his jacket and drew a snubnosed flintlock pistol. He leveled it at Frederic and squeezed the trigger. Greg jerked his claw aside at the last second and the gunshot rang in their ears. The bullet struck the floorboards and sent up a cloud of splinters. Lance rolled to his hooves and threw himself at the attacker with a furious flurry of jabs. Igor wove between his punches and slashed across Lance’s chest, ripping through his uniform and rending flesh. Greg jumped onto the table and grappled with Igor, pulling him off of Lance and hammering his skull with two punches. Peter threw himself into the fray a second later, cracking Igor’s cheek with a swing of his guitar.

Yowling in pain, Igor writhed beneath them. His claw groped for something up his sleeve, and a brutal crooked dagger slid into his palm. He thrust upward at Peter, his attack only cut short as Frederic threw out a spell to shatter the metal. The gryphon headbutted Greg to break his hold, making the stoner stumble as he clutched his snout. With an ear-splitting shriek like an eagle cry, Igor threw off his coat and revealed something he’d hastily lashed to his body. The faint whiff of gunpowder immediately told them all what they were dealing with.

“Fred! Shield, now!” Lance screamed as he threw a sharp kick into Igor’s chest and sent him sprawling. Gritting his teeth, Frederic surrounded the gryphon with a field of shimmering magic. The makeshift bomb went off only a split second later, sending sharp tremors through the floor of the tavern. When he dropped the shield, all that was left was a smoking crater and the faint smell of burned feathers.

“What the hell was that?!” Peter said, his face pale. “We just tried to buy him a beer and he…” Peter gestured to the reeking hole in the floor.

Greg was panting, leaning against the table as he caught his breath. “Right before he tried to blow himself up, he yelled something.”

“Did you know what it was?” Frederic couldn’t take his eyes off the spot where Igor had once stood. 

“For the King,” Greg muttered. “That’s what it was. I’m fucking positive.”

Blueblood and Gath rushed down the staircase, practically stumbling over each other to reach the bar.

“What was that?” Blueblood shouted. “Is anyone hurt?”

“Some dude tried to bucking kill us!” Lance said, clutching the shallow wounds he’d taken.

Gath’s pupils shrank. “Assassin! The King knows you’re here.”

“We’re all still alive,” Frederic said as he finally tore his gaze away from the smoldering hole. “Lance got hurt, but nothing we can’t bandage up.”

“You can’t stay here,” Gath said in hushed tones. “Come, I’ll find another place for you to spend the night. I’ll explain on the way.”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Lance held up a bloodstained hoof. “I need an explanation now! I didn’t nearly get blown to smithereens to not know who did it and why!”

The pale gryphon exhaled slowly. “The king is bound and determined to have his war. He must have heard you were on your way to try and end it, so he sent someone to try to stop the negotiations before they started. There are forces at work in this city that are beyond you or I. We’re going to get your wounds looked at, get you all to safety, and keep you hidden until tomorrow.”

“And tomorrow, we stop this,” Blueblood added. Lance could see the tightness in the Prince’s muscles. “But we can’t if we’re all dead.”

“Now, follow me.” Gath turned abruptly and headed to exit the tavern.

“Wait!” Lance held up a hoof again. Everypony froze and stared back at him from the threshold. “We should clean things up here first. I don’t want to leave this bar all messed up. If we’re trying to make a good impression, then we can’t go leaving craters in people’s floors!”

Something clicked in Blueblood’s eyes as he looked at Lance. His gaze drifted down to the wounds on the pegasus’ midsection, then to the hole in the floor. “You’re sure you don’t want us to get you patched up first?”

“Nah.” Lance shook his head. “I’ll be fine. C’mon, if all of us work on it, we can get it fixed in just a minute!”

Gath looked impatient as he rapped his claws against his arm, raising an eyebrow at the prince.

“Alright Lance, let’s get to work then.” Blueblood shed his jacket and tossed it to Gath, who caught it with a huff.

“Let's go!” Lance pumped his hoof. “Peter, sweep up the dust and broken glass! Greg and Blueblood, break down those empty beer barrels and get some planks to fix the floor! Frederic, nail those boards back down! I’m gonna grab some polish so we can really make it shine!”

“You’re aware you’re very much still in danger.” Gath exhaled into Blueblood’s ear.

“I’m very aware,” Blueblood whispered. “But good publicity usually carries at least a little risk.”
> The Diplomatic Solution
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Be a craftsman in speech that thou mayest be strong, for the strength of one is the tongue, and speech is mightier than all fighting.
-Ptah-Hotep



The backup plan was for Blueblood and his diplomats to stay at Gath’s manor. Thankfully, as a high-ranking member of the Royal Council, Gath was afforded quite a spacious home. They were led to a building much higher up in the city that had been built half in and half out of the mountain. From the moment they stepped in the door, they were overwhelmed by the opulence. The floors were brightly polished black marble, the walls were fragrant mahogany, and every surface seemed to be custom-made. Bookshelves were on every wall, laden with a mixture of leatherbound tomes and baubles from around the world. Lance spied a helmet from the Equestrian Royal Guard, a scale model of a Saddle Arabian desert tomb, a seapony-shaped figurehead from a Zebrican galleon, as well as many, many swords and knives in ornate bejeweled sheaths. A slender spiral staircase led to a second level, where Lance suspected their sleeping quarters would be. But that wasn’t what caught everypony’s eye when they entered.

At the opposite end of Gath’s home, where the ceiling rose into a high dome, was situated a bronze telescope so large it practically defied comprehension. Lance’s first thought was that it was a cannon with a muzzle that could have swallowed him whole until he saw the countless protruding brass instruments that lined its length. The whole thing was situated on a complex series of gears and pulleys and set in front of a massive single-paned window. The curtains were still drawn tightly, however, not permitting even the slightest sliver of starlight through their thick, velvet fabric.

“I hope my humble home will serve you well,” Gath said as he shed his cloak and hung it on a coat rack by the door. Something subtle in his voice told them that he was very much aware that his home was anything but humble. “The home of an occultist isn’t usually a place for guests, but it’ll have to do.”

“Yo dude, holy shit.” Greg dropped his bags in the doorway and took a long drag on his joint. His bloodshot eyes blinked as he stared at the telescope. “You should’ve just told us you were an astronaut, man. I’d have thought you were way cooler.”

“He’s not an astronaut, Greg!” Lance rolled his eyes. “Astronomer!”

“Astrologer is the term I'd use, but I appreciate the enthusiasm.” Gath ruffled his feathers as he brushed past them. “Any occultist worth his salt studies the stars. I’ve simply got a better setup for it than most.”

Despite his modesty, there was a note of pride in his voice as he scattered a reddish powder in the cobblestone fireplace and spit a note of power. The flames ignited, burning an eerie cyan to light and heat the room.

Frederic stacked his luggage neatly by the stairs before collapsing into a leather recliner with a huff. “It’s a nice place. Thanks for letting us crash here for a night.”

“Blueblood knows the layout by heart. He can explain it to you better than I can.” Gath waved a claw as he ascended the staircase. “Goodnight. Sleep well. We have an early morning and one hell of a day ahead of us.”

“Guidestar light your path.” Peter gave a lazy salute as he yawned and cupped a hoof over his mouth. He collapsed in a heap beside the fireplace, lying on his back and staring up at the ceiling. 

Blueblood unwound his scarf and hung his jacket as he clip-clopped across the stone floor. Despite the events of the day, he seemed as fresh as ever. Not facing an assassin probably helped. “You’re all probably exhausted. Your sleeping quarters will be the two doors on the left upstairs. Bathroom is at the end of the hall. Anything else you need to know?”

The only reply was a low groan from Frederic as he shifted in his seat.

“I’ll take that as a no, then. I’ll be making some tea, if anypony wants some.”

Lance lazily raised a hoof in response. The rest lazily shuffled off as Blueblood set a kettle to boil over the aquamarine flames. Greg stepped outside for one last smoke break before bed while Frederic and Peter ascended the steps to find their sleeping arrangements for the evening. Blueblood slumped into a seat and hunched forward, watching the fire with an intense glare. His gaze shifted over to Lance, appraised him, and relaxed.

“How are your wounds healing?” Blueblood gestured towards the bandages that had been wrapped around Lance’s midsection. 

“Huh?” Lance’s ears perked up. “Oh, yeah. It’ll be fine. The cuts weren’t that deep. I’ve been through a lot worse before.”

“Worse than an assassin trying to detonate a bomb in your face?”

“I mean, Greg pounded my family jewels flat with a rock before.”

Blueblood cocked his head. “And you just let him do that?”

“We were filming for Jackflank! I had to do it!”

“What in Celestia’s name is Jack-” He sucked in a shallow breath. “Nevermind. Some questions are meant to remain unanswered, I suppose. Regardless, I’m glad you’re taking well to your position.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean what you did earlier at the Dented Helmet. You took a bad situation and turned it into an opportunity for good publicity.”

Lance chuckled and rubbed the back of his mane. “Aw, man. I wasn’t thinking about publicity. I was just thinking about what you said back in Equestria.”

“What I said?” The kettle screamed and Blueblood levitated it from the fire, filling a pair of mugs with hot water and dunking in their tea bags. “Do you take cream and sugar?”

“Yeah. Just a little cream and a lot of sugar!” Lance helped himself to an extra sugarcube from the tea tray, crunching it between his teeth. “But back in Equestria, you said something about how we never think about what we do. And that’s kinda true. I’ve never been the kinda person who plans things out the way you do, Vlad.”

The Prince chaffed at the sound of his first name. “Few ponies need to plan things the way I do. Not everypony is juggling foreign affairs on their shoulder. It was a little unfair for me to-”

“No, no I don’t think it was unfair.” Lance stirred his tea as Blueblood passed him a cup. “I don’t really focus on consequences. I never thought ahead back on earth and I brought that with me to Equestria. I realized that we’d caused a bunch of damage to someone who didn’t deserve it, and I wanted to make things right. Frederic said that when we bronies came to Equestria, we had a choice. Either we could change and try to be better people, or we could keep repeating our old mistakes.” Lance smiled over the edge of his mug. “I figured maybe it was time to quit making the same old mistakes.”

“That’s… Surprisingly mature.” Blueblood sipped his tea and winced at the heat. He blew on it and kicked up plumes of steam. The two sat silently, listening to the crackle of the fire and the whispers of the midnight breezes. “Let’s just hope all your self-betterment wasn’t for nothing.”

“You think things aren’t gonna go well tomorrow?” Lance said as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“I’m not sure.” Blueblood shrugged. “Nopony can predict the future. I'm no seer after all. We’re treading on new and dangerous ground here, Lance.”

“Well, you’ve got us backing you up.” Lance reached out to give the Prince a brohoof, but Blueblood merely stared down at it with confusion. “No matter what happens, us bronies will be there for Equestria. I know you don’t think much of us, but we love this world more than anything. My wife and my son are the best things that ever happened to me. I’d do anything to protect them.”

“I know.” The Prince sipped his tea and muttered over the rim of the cup. “That’s one thing we have in common.”

“Y’know, we’re not so different, you and I.” Lance mused into his drink. “Both just two guys trying to do what’s right in a world gone-”

Even as he spoke, Blueblood was rising to ascend the stairs.

“Dude, I was talking to you!”

“It’s late, Lance.” Blueblood yawned at the top of the staircase. “We should both be getting some sleep. We have an early day tomorrow, and I already know I’ll have to drag you out of bed.

“I’ll be up bright and early, first thing in the morning! Promise!”


*****


The next morning, Lance walked down the cleanly swept stone halls in a blind stupor. He rubbed his eyes, but the sleep stubbornly refused to abate. Blueblood hadn’t needed to drag him out of bed; thankfully Frederic had stepped up to that task. The five of them were awake before the sun, with only the greasy light of oil lamps to light their way. They passed up through the gut rock of the mountain, emerging in a window-lined chamber that rested at the very crest of the range. The ceiling rose high, held up with fluted columns topped with grotesque leering gargoyles that squatted and smirked in the gangrenous light of the setting moon. In the center of the room was a bonfire that crackled and blazed, surrounded by rough-hewn stone benches and solid tables. The air was thick with the smell of woodsmoke and warm stone as they entered, sitting at the table Blueblood indicated. Up ahead were the seats of the council. 

Tall barriers of polished marble set with a black and green mosaic of the Kleinkrieg flag separated them from the council members, who were seated in comfortable overstuffed leather chairs with soft velvet pillows. Behind them hung ornate tapestries of their coats of arms, all except the upraised empty throne in the center of the council.

The king was absent.

Everypony breathed a sigh of relief. Their plan hadn’t been derailed yet.

“All rise for the honorable council of Kleinkrieg!” A soldier dressed from head to toe in grim black armor cried out, spreading his wings wide before clanking the iron-capped butt of his musket on the floor. Blueblood and his bronies stood. Lance leaned against Peter’s shoulder, his eyelids drooping.

“Grand Spymaster, Maxim?” The guard’s voice billowed around the chamber like a winter wind.

“Here.” The speaker was an elderly, frail-looking Gryphon with a chipped beak and dull iron feathers. He adjusted his thick spectacles as he reseated himself.

“Master of Wealth, Galway?”

“Here.” Lance’s eyes caught a glimpse of her as she flopped dramatically back into her seat. She was dressed in luscious silk finery with a bejeweled headdress that reflected a rainbow in the glittering firelight. 

“High Occultist, Gath?”

Gath’s seat was shielded from the slowly rising sunlight by a flurry of dark parasols. “Present.”

“Bishop of the Guidestar, Mordred.”

The bishop was so old that the nod he replied with made his bones creak. His feathers were falling out by the dozens, and when he sat he seemed to lapse into a drowsy slumber. Lance felt a pang of jealousy.

“Master of Arms, Gertrude?”

“Ready and willing.” The young, feminine voice contrasted sharply with the tower of muscle and metal that it came from. She was armored and resplendent with medals from countless campaigns, yet looked no older than Lance himself. Golden brown feathers crowned her as her gaze swept across the room. She looked to Blueblood and flashed a grin, to which he waved nervously.

“Dude, please tell me you didn’t fuck her too,” Lance whispered to the prince behind his hoof.

“No, I didn’t. Now hush.”

“Master of Industry, Chesterton?”

“Here.” A bearded Gryphon with a sleek black shirt and a pure alabaster waistcoat took his seat without another word. His mind seemed to be focused on other matters, as he perused a sheaf of paperwork that he’d brought along.

“All present. The session is considered open.” The guard banged his musket against the stone again with a metallic jolt. “All guests may be seated.”

“We’ll open this meeting with the notes of the previous.” Galway yawned into her sleeve as she tapped a notebook with her claw. “Last week we proposed an increase of import taxes on agricultural products imported from the eastern kingdom of Schadenfreude, and there was an agreement on-”

Blueblood motioned for the others to lean in while the council went over the meeting notes. “The goal for today is simple, we object to the motion as a block. That means we can all speak on it. Understood?”

Everypony nodded in reply. Lance’s head fell snoring to the table before the jolt of the hard stone woke him. “Yeah, got it.”

“We need to make a convincing argument to abandon a war with Equestria. At least half the council needs to side with our proposition, so we need to tailor our message appropriately. The six members are all going to have different priorities, but here’s a simple way of looking at it. The members focused on the internal- Wealth, the Bishop, the Occultists, and Industry- are going to want to know that their country would run more smoothly without a war. The external, like the Spymaster and the Army, will need to feel they would lose a war against us.”

“Would they lose?” Frederic whispered. 

“Unlikely.” Blueblood shook his head. “But we need to make them feel like at least it would be too costly to bother.”

“And how do we do that?” Peter glanced between the council and his friends.

Blueblood shrugged. “That’s why we’re here. We’ve gotta come up with something. Improvise.”

“You got it!” Lance saluted, thrusting his hoof across the table. “Alright, bronies on three!”

Frederic, Peter, and Greg added their hooves to a growing pile. Lance looked to Blueblood and jerked his head towards their hooves. “C’mon Blueblood! You’re one of us now!”

“No.”

Greg grabbed one of Blueblood’s hooves and held it to the pile despite his protests.

“Bronies!” The four of them shouted loud enough that it made the stone ring.

The slam of a musket butt against the floor made them all recoil with their ears flat against their skulls. “Silence in the gallery!”

Gertrude exhaled sharply through her beak. “So, as I was saying, let’s make this quick so we can get back to sleep. All in favor of passing the new tax code, say aye.”

Four voices muttered “aye” as claws were raised in approval.

“Measure passed.” The soldier’s voice reverberated from the windows just as the sun lifted above the skyline to set the city ablaze. “If there are any objections, voice them-”

“We object!” Greg leapt from his chair and stood on the table. “We object to the war and all that other shit!”

Blueblood tugged him down off the table and back into his seat. “More specifically, we object to the passing of the new taxation, as it would be used to fund a war against Equestria.”

“Objection raised.” The guard sighed, clearly annoyed at the prospect of having his shift extended. “Make your case.”

Blueblood stiffened in his seat and took a deep breath. “We object to the concept that there must be war between our peoples. The inciting incident of this war was a group of ponies crossing the border and making a futile attack on an outpost. This is something which ought to be handled through diplomatic channels, not through a costly war between two nations.”

Maxim, the bespectacled Spymaster adjusted his glasses and leaned forward in his seat. “Would the objectors give their names for the record?”

“High Diplomat of Equestria, Prince Vladimir Blueblood.”

“Prince Frederic Bourdages.”

“Lance Greenfield.”

“Greg Campell.”

“Peter Kruzel.”

“Noted.” The Spymaster steepled his claws and leaned back in his seat. “Now, solving this through diplomatic channels is a lovely thought, but unfortunately, crime begets punishment. How are we to explain to our citizens that-”

“Were there any casualties?” Frederic blurted out, cutting the old gryphon off mid-sentence. “I mean, were any gryphons hurt or killed when the bronies showed up?”

The council shared a collective blink as they glanced between themselves and shrugged. Galway’s gown shimmered as she rested against the stone balcony. “What exactly is a brony?”

“Oh, that’s us.” Lance gestured to himself and his friends. “Long story short, we’re from another world that got destroyed, and we're making our home here now. The ponies who crossed into your territory and started all this? Those were bronies too.”

“But we’re here to make things right!” Peter piped up.

All eyes were suddenly on Gath and Mordred. Galway lapsed into a lazy smile as Gath shook the old priest awake. “You two are the ones who deal in all this mystic mumbo jumbo. Anything true in what they’re saying?”

“Well,” Mordred yawned, shedding feathers with every motion. “The Church doesn’t discount the possibility. Our observatories have spied countless planets in the beyond. Could one not be home to…” He dug a claw into his ear and attempted to clear it. “These brownies?”

“Bronies.” Frederic corrected. 

“Occultists are firmly in favor of the existence of other worlds,” Gath added. “Hence the old adage, ‘Do not call up that which ye cannot put down’. We wouldn't have a rule about summons if there was nowhere to summon from.”

“But that doesn’t answer our question.” Peter picked up where Frederic had left off. “Was anyone hurt when the bronies did this?”

“Well, we can’t quantify the nature of ‘hurt’.” Gertrude drawled as her armor creaked. “Plenty of guards may not be injured in a brawl but the stress of the event can weigh heavily on them even if they didn’t see combat. So while there might be no worse injury than a bruise, it's impossible to say how the trauma of the event could impact-”

“Fucks sake, was anyone injured or not?” Greg shouted, slamming his hoof on the table. “It’s a yes or no question!”

“Greg!” Lance clapped a hoof over Greg’s mouth, only to jerk it away a second later. “Gross! You fucking licked me!”

"Heh. Your hoof tastes like-"

Blueblood cleared his throat to regain order. “Regardless of how crudely it’s put, he has a point. It’s a question we ought to have an answer to. I’ve seen the records you keep on every engagement. They say the paperwork is deadlier than the frontline!” That got a few chuckles from the older members of the council. He smiled imperceptibly. “So let's dispense with the prevarication, what was the casualty rate from that particular border skirmish?”

“No major casualties,” Gertrude said through clenched teeth.

“Well, that’s good!” Lance nodded. “Right? No one was hurt!”

“Unfortunately,” The bearded industrialist reached into his sheaf of papers and removed a folded stack of parchment. “I’ve read over the treaty we signed with Equestria, and even if the attack had no casualties, an attack is still an attack.”

“An attack only voids the treaty,” Blueblood was quick to counter. “It is not an immediate declaration of war.”

“And have you read the treaty in its entirety?” Chesterton’s eyebrow rose incredulously.

“Read it?” The prince snorted in contempt. “I wrote the damn thing!”

Chesterton swallowed and drooped his head, shrinking back and muttering something under his breath.

“Nice one, dude! Brohoof?” Lance held out a hoof towards Blueblood, who regarded it like a disease.

“If he won’t take it, I will!” Frederic leaned across the table to pound Lance’s hoof.

“So if nobody got hurt, then what’s the war about?” Peter sat up straight and brushed his mane out of his eyes.

“Casualties are not the only measure of an attack.” Spymaster Hiram crossed his arms over his breast. 

“Any property damage will be paid in full.” Blueblood intoned confidently. “And Equestria will add on punitive damages to recompense Kleinkrieg for the inconvenience its citizens have caused.”

“Payment?” Gertrude laughed so hard that her armor seemed to flex. “Why would we accept a pitiful payment when we can plunder your country for double, even triple what you offer?!” She clapped her claws against the hard stone of the balustrade with an echoing ring. “You want to placate us with pennies while you hold millions ripe for the taking.”

“She’s not wrong.” Hiram stepped into the conversation with a calm confidence that made Blueblood’s skin prickle. “My agents have examined your defenses and found them lacking.”

“War is costly-” Blueblood began, only for Chesterton to pounce on the opportunity.

“It’s only costly if you haven’t prepared for it.” He puffed his breast with pride. “My factories have been pumping out armor, weapons, and ammunition for years now, and for what? So it can sit in stockpiles waiting to be used? No, Prince. War is a business. And against your soldiers? We’ll be in and out before Celestia finishes her tea.”

The Prince bit his lip. He scratched at the recesses of his mind for a response, but none formed. He had expected that the council was being dragged along by the wishes of a mad king, but many of them were mad themselves. He cursed himself for not expecting it. Even worse, Lance was searching in his saddlebag for something with a glint in his eye that suggested he was going to answer.

“Lance! Don’t!” He seethed silently.

Lance produced a weatherbeaten old notebook from his satchel and blew dust from the cover. “Vlad, you gotta trust me! I’ve got something perfect to say!”

“Lance, think for a second! If you screw this up, it’s war! Do you want that on your shoulders?!”

“Do you trust me?” Lance replied, eyes wide.

Blueblood couldn’t reply. He couldn’t vocalize anything aside from a grunt. 

“Please. Equestria is my home too!” Lance’s eyes sparkled with faint tears. “I want to be a better person than I was, Vlad. Just this once, trust me.”

“I-” The Prince choked on the lump in his throat. “I trust you. Don’t let me regret it.”

Lance beamed as he rose from his seat, scooting his chair back with a sharp squeak. All eyes were on him as he held up his notebook. Blueblood happened to notice a phrase scribbled across the cover. My Favorite War.

“You think it’ll be easy to take over Equestria?” Lance began, arching an eyebrow. “How many of you have been to Equestria?”

Aside from Gath, there were no claws raised in the council.

“Ponies like me and my friends might look cute and innocent, but we’re fighters! Don’t you dare laugh!” He thrust a hoof at the council preemptively. “We’ve fought Nightmare Moon, we’ve fought Discord, we’ve fought Changelings and cults and even gryphons before, and guess what? We won every time! You say that you’ll come over here and sweep across our country? No. We’ll fight.”

His eyes drifted to his notebook as he started to read, adapting his words on the fly.

“We shall go on to the end. We shall fight in Equestria, we shall fight on the seas and oceans, we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air, we shall defend our homes, whatever the cost may be. We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender!”

He ended his speech by pounding a hoof against the table as the other bronies slapped him on the back and cheered. Blueblood's eyes were wide, impressed.

"You had a speech prepared for this?"

"Nope." Lance grinned wide. "But Winston Churchill did."

"I have no idea who that is, but I'll be sure to send him my thanks." Blueblood glared at the council with the eyes of a predator. He could see their weakness in the wake of that speech, and he pounced on it. “Sure, you say that you can take all the plunder you want if you ignore the deals we offer you now, but how quickly will you burn through that capital I wonder?” Blueblood rose and paced in front of the table, tapping his chin. “How many days of attrition can you take before the cost starts to outway the benefit?”

“Our stockpiles are deeper than you know, prince.” Chesterton hissed the word violently. His claws clenched the arms of his seat, worrying the leather. 

There was a sound of bubbling that drew attention away from their conversation. Greg leaned back in his seat with his hooves on the table, using his magic to warm up his bong. True to his word, it was shaped like his own head, and he took a long hit through the horn. Exhaling smog, he stared at the ceiling and spoke to no one in particular. “Okay but like… What if someone else decided to hop in?”

“What is he prattling about?” Galway rolled her eyes and crossed her arms.

“I’m just sayin’ like,” Greg stretched his back until he felt an audible pop. “What if you’re marching all over Equestria looking for a fight, and someone else decides to hit you with a suckerpunch from behind? You dudes get what I’m tryin’ to say, right?”

“You’re implying some other power would enter the war on Equestria’s behalf?” Gertrude sniffed. “Wishful thinking.”

Mordred cleared his throat, rattling his entire body with the effort. “There is precedent for such things. The 1746 War with Schwarzkamf for example. We had struck a blow right through the center, but halfway through the summer campaign, we were stabbed in the back by Schadenfreude. We had to recall troops to defend the border and the war was nearly lost.”

“Even if no one shows up to save us,” Blueblood narrowed his gaze. The sun was rising behind the council, its head blushing his coat. “All we need to do is last long enough that the war bankrupts you.”

He took a seat on the edge of the table, smiling.

“Of course, none of us need to go to war.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “We can work out details for the repayment of damages, bonuses for injuries sustained, perhaps even a tribute stipend to help everyone save face in this incident. It’s up to you.”

Quietude settled over the chamber in the wake of that statement. The lone guard present slammed the butt of his musket on the floor. “Your objection has been heard. The Honorable Council will now vote on the measures raised. All in favor of rejecting the war with Equestria and accepting reparations, say aye.”

“Aye.” Gath was the first to raise his claw, but his vote was a given. Blueblood could feel his heartbeat thudding against his chest as he glanced around the council.

“Aye.” Mordred followed his voice a scraggly croak as he lifted a shaking arm.

The bronies were all on their feet, inching across the table with every breath. 

“Aye.” Galway raised her claw, the bejeweled bracelets around her wrists jingling. 

One more vote. That was all they needed. Blueblood could scarcely hear anything beyond the thunder of his blood in his ears. Lance held his breath. Frederic clung to the table. Peter couldn’t stop fussing with his mane. Greg took another rip on his bong to steady his nerves.

“Aye.” Chesterton raised his claw with a defeated sigh.

The scream that the bronies unleashed came close to shattering the glass. Lance threw his arms around Blueblood, who for once didn’t reject the offer. As they briefly embraced, Lance cleared his throat. “Uh, no homo. Obviously.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Let’s fucking gooooo!” Greg bellowed, thumping a hoof against his chest.

Their celebration was cut short, however, by the slam of a door. All eyes were on a cloaked and hooded figure who entered the room flanked by a small battalion of bodyguards. The light seemed to warp around the creature, aside from a dim, jaundiced light that shone from within the hood. It spread its wings and vaulted over the assembly, landing silently on the throne like a carrion bird. Even the council members looked upon it with a mixture of terror and revulsion. Blueblood and Lance exchanged a worried look. They could both sense something horribly, emphatically wrong.

Blueblood was a failure when it came to magic, but even he could feel the strenuous pulsing of something horrid and primal. To touch it was to touch something ancient, like the capstone of a mountain or the floor of an ocean. His skin crawled in its presence, his every nerve shuddered in instinctual loathing of the thing that sat before him. The yellow eye fell upon him and he could feel it in his bones. It wasn’t the pure yellow of gold or sunlight; but a sick, hateful yellow. It was the yellow of oozing pus, reeking infection, bile and maggotflesh and concentrated blasphemy.

To Lance, it was something unholy. He had stood in the presence of the Almighty more than once and knew what holiness felt like. Now he could practically taste its antithesis in the air around him. It manifested in every sense; a whiff of sulfur, a rising heat, faint sibilant words in tongues long dead. He nearly recoiled from it, steeling his resolve only at the last second.

“What the fuck is that thing?” Break’s voice trembled with every syllable.

“I don’t know,” Lance replied, nausea welling up in him. “I hate it.”

“But you do know, Lance,” Dawn said helpfully. “Shall I dig up the memory?”

“I don’t think I want to remember whatever this was.” Lance threw a look at the other bronies, who all looked just as worried as he felt. “You guys feel that, right?”

Peter and Greg both nodded.

Frederic however stood stock still, his heartbeat thrumming like a hammer. “It feels familiar. Familiar in a sick way.”

“My lord,” Gath put on his best smile to mask his growing fear. “Our business has just concluded. Thankfully it was a short meeting, so we can all get back to-”

“Veto.” The thing upon the throne croaked.

“What?”

“I am in attendance at this meeting. I use my veto.” It exhaled slowly, like steam hissing through its nostrils. “My war will go on unabated. Do not test me.”

“The King has spoken!” The guard clapped his musket on the floor. “Previous meeting will be stricken from the record and-”

“No!” Blueblood could feel his victory slipping through his hooves like sand on the beach. “Celestia, please no.”

The King settled into his throne, his eyeshine raking the Prince. “Expel all Equestrian diplomats. We’re through talking. We can settle our differences as real men, with blade and bullet.”

“What do we do?” Peter said, looking to Blueblood for some sort of trick. “There’s a way around this, isn’t there? Some loophole you know?”

The king's guard, a group of Gryphons in black armor bearing cruel, curved blades, started to approach them. Blueblood and the bronies began to back away from the table, goaded at swordpoint.

“Blueblood, think of something!” Frederic yelped. “We can’t just let them do this!”

Blueblood couldn’t pull his eyes off the creature that loomed over the council. He knew what he needed to do, but he was riveted to that eye like a moth to a flame. Terror chilled his blood and his limbs felt like lead.

“Dude! Snap out of it!” Greg grabbed the prince by the shoulders and shook him like a ragdoll. It was enough to rattle Blueblood’s brain into thinking clearly for a split second. It was just long enough for him to scream his last-ditch defense to the king.

“Ehrenkampf!” Blueblood shouted the word so hard that it scraped his throat. 

Everyone in the room went quiet. Gath pleaded with his eyes, desperately begging the prince to reconsider. Blueblood swallowed hard as the King leaned forward in his seat. 

“What did you say?” The voice rumbled like the grinding of concrete.

“Ehrenkampf.” Blueblood reiterated. “By right and by law I can demand an honor duel. I invoke that right now.”

The King’s robes seemed to writhe with repressed laughter. “You dare? I will flay your skin and mount your head on-”

Blueblood sucked in a deep breath and lit up his horn. He prayed that this would work.

“EHRENKAMPF!” He bellowed with a royal Canterlot voice that rippled the curtains and upended the table with its force. His vocal cords felt like they would snap, and he could only cough hoarsely afterward. “If I win, you call off the war. If you win…”

“I will.” The thing on the throne rose to its full height. “You and your friends will be the first casualties of the war. I will give you one hour to prepare for your death.”

Blueblood jerked his head for the bronies to follow him as they exited the council chamber flanked by guards.

“Oh, we’re so fucked.” Greg shook his head as he filed out of the chamber.
> Ehrenkampf
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


When shall I be dead and rid
Of all the wrong my father did?
-T. H. White



Their duel was to be held in a pit with concrete walls and a floor of gravelly sand. A ring of empty seats surrounded the arena, though the only ones who cared to watch were the bronies. There was an atmosphere of inevitability surrounding the entire affair. It felt as though the end was already decided, and they were merely delaying the oncoming war rather than stopping it. The air was as still as death, broken only by the creaking of wooden benches, the restless breath of the spectators, and the shifting of sand under Blueblood’s hooves.

Blueblood stood with his blade hanging in the air. Twenty sparkling shards of meteoric platinum glistened like ocean spray. They twitched occasionally, connecting into a single blade one moment, spreading out the next. He was fidgeting and he didn’t bother trying to stop. He didn’t see a way to win here. He had felt the power of that thing only when it was at rest, not at its peak, and even then it had been mind-boggling in its potency. What was he supposed to do against a power so ancient?

He gandered at the bronies who were watching him, and they gave him a hollow cheer of encouragement. They wanted him to win but certainly weren’t expecting it. He resigned himself to doing what he always did. The impossible.

The King arrived, dropping heavily into the other end of the arena and kicking up clouds of dust. His cloak devoured the light that drifted in through the open ceiling. Standing at his full height, he glowered at Blueblood with one shimmering eye.

“Last chance to back out.” He said, sliding his cloak aside to reveal the long-handled axe he held in his claw, still spattered with dried blood. The prince tried not to think where the gore had come from.

“I could say the same to you.” Blueblood tried to project confidence against his fear.

“No more words then.” The King leveled his axe. “Hit me with your best shot.”

No more words. Blueblood’s blade surged forward as he charged. Twenty shards whipped out in a storm of razor-sharp metal. The King hurled himself through it, finding gaps in the swarm and closing the distance between them in the span of a second. His axe descended like an executioner’s blade, narrowly missing Blueblood’s skull as he danced back. Recalling his sword, he chained them into a single tapering weapon just in time to deflect a follow-up sweep. Blueblood fell into his old Canterlot fencing pose, dancing between heavy swings of the axe and retaliating with swift thrusts of his blade.

Unfortunately for him, the king moved like a hurricane and hit like a cinder block. Every time Blueblood struck, his quarry was no longer there. The slashing, crushing onslaught drove him back as he parried, always on the backhoof and always forced to play defensive. A vicious backhand caught him off guard, and the force behind it was staggering. He sailed through the air and crashed down on the sand, choking on grit. His cheek stung and his eyes watered. He rolled to the right just as the axe chopped through the ground beside his head. 

“C’mon! Get up!” Lance shouted from the stands, already on his hooves. “Get up, Vlad!”

Blueblood caught another descending attack on his sword, shuddering as he held it back from his snout. The king barked a guttural laugh as he pressed on the handle, driving the blade closer and closer. Swiftly breaking his blade in two, Blueblood managed a desperate slash to drive his attacker back. Scrambling to his hooves as the king dodged, Blueblood caught his breath and pressed his meager advantage.

Shattering his sword, he hurled shards at his foe in pairs, trying to strike from both sides. The king vaulted over them with a flap of dark wings and hurled his axe end over end. Blueblood deflected it with three motes of his blade but was struck hard across the snout with a follow-up punch. He hadn’t even seen the gryphon approach. He staggered, ears ringing as a claw raked the air inches from his face. Another blow caught him on the base of his horn, and the concentration he held on his magic was shattered. Everything around him exploded into sparks. A wing crushed him from one side as a clenched claw battered him from the other. He was backed against the wall of the arena, his spine accepting the chill of the concrete like a balm. Another flash of claws tore into the stone just above his head as he ducked. Blueblood threw himself forward and attacked with his bare hooves, only to find himself pinned to the wall as his foreleg was caught.

“Is this how you imagined things going, Prince?” The gryphon hissed into his ear. “Or did you think your last stand would be more glamorous?”

Blueblood grunted, writhing against the grip.

“You’re going to die. Then your friends will die. And there’s nothing you can do to-”

The king was cut off as Blueblood kicked him as hard as he could between the legs. It was just enough for him to wriggle free from the hold, ignite his magic, and gather his sword. He thrust hard, driving his blade through the cloak. The gryphon twisted aside at the last second and battered the Prince with a headbutt.

“No more toying around.” The king unfastened the clasp of his coat and let it fall away. “You die now.”

Blueblood looked up into the face of his killer.

A gryphon black as night with streaks of muddy crimson loomed over him. His body was mutilated from some long-forgotten battle, patches of feathers burned away leaving slashes of bare, scarred skin in their wake. He was missing an eye and the one he had kept burned bright yellow with infernal malice. Lifting his axe from the sand, he raised it high and flashed a sardonic grin as he brought it down. Blueblood sucked in a breath and closed his eyes. Nopony could say he hadn’t done his best.

CLANG!

The piercing ring of armor shocked him into opening his eyes again. Frederic had leapt into the arena and covered them both with a shield of dark, shimmering steel. The alicorn’s eyes blazed with rage and memory as he held back the blade with a grunt.

“Richard.” Frederic snarled through his teeth. “How?! I banished you to the core of the earth!”

“Not even a hello?” Richard laughed bitterly. “Is that any way to greet your father?”

In an instant, the other bronies leapt the barricade and landed in the sand pit, surrounding Blueblood and backing up Frederic. Peter threw a hoof around Blueblood and helped him stand, wiping the blood from his snout with a handkerchief.

Richard’s single eye drifted away from his son until it landed on Lance. “Your friend here will understand. Isn’t that right, Greenfield?”

Richard flapped his wings and battered them all with a scouring cloud of sand. He landed a few feet away and leered wickedly as he went on.

“When he died,” Richard pointed an accusatory claw at Lance. “Something from beyond this world intervened. Call it fate, the Creator, God, whatever. It gave him life again. Gave him power.

“After years locked in a box beneath the earth, something reached out to me. Something ancient, primal, and fucking angry. It had been defeated once, back when the universe was water and firmament, and it hated. Oh, it hated. It was a kindred spirit to me. Whispered in my ear through the silence of my prison. Made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

Pacing, Richard licked his chops like a malnourished predator. “After all, if Greenfield here can deal with God, who says I can’t deal with the Devil?”

“We defeated you once, and we can do it again!” Lance retaliated, spreading his wings.

“You barely lived last time we met.” Richard rolled his eye. “I’m not the same gryphon I was back then. I’ve picked up a few new tricks.”

As he spoke, the feathers on Richard’s throat began to glow like hot embers. He crouched low and sucked breath through his nostrils. Frederic realized what was happening just in time, throwing up his shield a split second before an explosive flame battered them. Frederic’s aegis held against the flames, but a follow-up attack shattered it. Richard’s claw thrust through the barrier and grabbed his son by the throat, dragging him across the sand and pinning him.

“The first time we met, I wanted to kill you. But y’know son, you’re never too old to learn something new.” Richard spit into the dirt as Frederic broke his grip. He kicked and punched at his father, who danced around the attack with pitiful ease. One sloppy swing and Richard caught his hoof, digging sharp talons into soft flesh. “I’m not going to kill you, Frederic.”

His grip tightened and Frederic could feel his foreleg going numb.

“I’ll leave you alive. Barely. Just enough that you can watch everything you love go up in flames.”

Lance watched the unfolding scene with horror in his eyes. In the recesses of his mind, something screamed at him to fight. Quite literally screamed, in fact.

“Lance! Get in there!” Dawn shrieked. Lance could feel the rage building within him, simmering through his blood. 

“It’s finally time!” Break cried with rapturous glee. “Pull the trigger, Lance! I’m ready to let it rip!”

Lance snorted out steam. It was time. Power rippled through him, prickled every hair in his mane, and sent lightning through his limbs. His consciousnesses were working in unison, powered by his anger and driven by his desire to protect the people he loved.

“Raging Breaking Dawn!” Lance screamed his name and countless voices bellowed from within his throat. He surged forth like a bullet, striking Richard with a punch so hard it threw him from his feet. Quick as wildfire, Lance looped back and dove on the Gryphon again, pummelling him with a furious barrage of blows.

Frederic’s eyes ignited with molten iron as he shrouded himself with magic. His coat singed to a gunmetal grey, his mane and tail stiffened like razors, and beneath his breast thumped the hammering of anvils and the red-hot flame of the forge. He exhaled embers as he threw himself into the battle, the sand beneath his hooves reduced to glassy slag. “Darksteel Edge!”

Blueblood glanced at Greg, who merely shrugged like this was an average Tuesday morning.

“Is anypony else going to reveal they have some alter ego locked away in their head, or are we the only normal-” Blueblood nearly fell to the ground as Peter convulsed, flecks of foam dotting his lips. His pupils shrank and his face contorted spasmodically. “Nevermind. Peter, whatever you’re going to-”

“My name isn’t Peter, bitch!” He snapped, spattering Blueblood’s cheeks with spittle. “I’m Violent Inferno now.”

“You don’t look any different to me.” The prince shrugged. Thankfully, Peter’s rage had been turned on Richard, and he jetted off into the fight.

Said fight was going poorly.

Lance’s punches were batted harmlessly away before Richard aimed a slash for his neck. Frederic managed to intercept him, throwing his father back with a bolt of force. When he pressed the attack, the gryphon ducked his hoof and swept his legs out from under him. Peter’s guitar whistled inches away from Richard’s beak. He followed up the swing with the right hook he was so proud of, only for his momentum to be shattered as Richard swooped close and delivered a devastating elbow to Peter’s gut.

“Is this all you’ve got?!” Richard crowed as he sent Frederic rolling with a swift kick to the flank. He dodged another attack from Lance and caught him by the tail before arcing the pegasus over his head and slamming him spine first on the sand. “You’re the best defense Equestria had?”

Peter landed a solid punch to the gryphon’s chest and felt the bones of his foreleg scream in agony. It was like trying to punch through concrete. Richard batted him away with a sharp backhand, drawing blood as his talons bit into Peter’s cheek. His singular eye locked onto Frederic. “Pathetic! Even after all these years, you’re still such a fucking dis-”

Richard was sent sprawling as he was suddenly struck with a bolt of lightning. Everypony’s eyes turned to see Greg standing proud with a massive smirk on his lips. For once, smoke was billowing off his horn rather than his lips. He and Blueblood trotted over to help the others up during their brief respite.

“So Lance, my guy.” Greg laughed as he shoved his friend to his hooves. “Remember how I said Zorrow got struck by lightning?”

“Uh, I think so?” Lance coughed.

“Remember how I said I had no idea how to do that again?”

Lance nodded as he shook the dust from his mane.

“Dude, I was just fucking with you. I totally did that shit on purpose.” Greg’s horn crackled with electricity. He raised a blunt to it and sparked a flame on the tip, sucking down fetid smoke. “I was trying to make a party lighter, but this is like, twenty-percent cooler.”

At the other end of the arena, the smoke had begun to clear. Richard brushed soot from his shoulder and snorted contemptuously. The mere idea of harming him was offensive to his nature. Striding forward like a bulwark of inevitability, he smiled as he faced the small army of ponies. It was five against one, and the odds were in his favor. 

The ponies rushed him as a group, only to be driven back and divided by a gout of fire. Before they could react, Richard rushed an isolated Lance and slammed into him with a shoulder tackle. Lance was sent flying but felt a tug of magic on his tail as Blueblood caught him. Working with the momentum, Blueblood spun him once and hurled him back at the gryphon. They collided and exchanged blows until Richard wrapped Lance in a bear hug and strangled the breath from his body. Blueblood kicked up sand as he approached, flashing his blade and thrusting for Richard’s spine. The king disengaged and soared high, dodging another bolt of lightning from Greg as he ascended. Peter and Frederic were hot on his tail. Frederic’s magic lifted a clump of sand from the arena floor, glassed it with forgefire, and sent bullets of molten slag screaming after his father.

A bullet glanced off of Richard’s claw, then another, until he managed to return one to sender and catch Frederic in the foreleg with a hot bolt of glass. Thanks to his metallic sheen, it didn’t pierce, but the alicorn still winced and screamed in pain. Peter reached the gryphon and managed to catch him off guard with a hoof to the throat. Richard retched and staggered, only to recover and retaliate with a punch so forceful he sent Peter crashing to the ground. Father and son clashed with a brutal snarl, and Frederic landed two walloping blows to Richard’s face. Flying backward, Richard squared up like a boxer, blocked the next three attacks with nigh-instinctual shoulder rolls, and clenched both claws into his son’s chest. Diving swiftly, Richard dropped them like a rock until they collided with the arena sand. Frederic gasped and sputtered as he heaved for air. Blueblood and Greg rushed to his aid.

Greg threw himself at the gryphon with a dropkick, which was easily dodged. What wasn’t easily dodged was the shroud of smoke he exhaled as he hit the ground rolling. Richard coughed on the smog, squinting his watery eyes as he flapped his wings to disperse it. Something sharp slashed across his shoulder, leaving a crimson streak through his feathers. Blueblood pressed his attack, shards of his blade whistling through the acrid air like arrowheads as he approached. Richard charged him, only for Blueblood to throw himself flat. He avoided Richard’s attack, as well as Lance’s oncoming onslaught.

The air crackled as Lance plowed into the gryphon, pushing him back with an incalculable number of hoof strikes. Their speed abruptly stopped when the king dug in his claws. His feathers prickled and his throat ignited as he exhaled fiery death. Lance threw up his hooves to shield his face as Greg threw up a feeble ward to protect him. The ward subdued the explosion but couldn’t stop it, and Lance was thrown back until he collided with Peter, who was just starting to stumble to his hooves.

Richard reached up and gently touched the wound Blueblood had left him with. Ichorous blood oozed between his claws as he regarded it with raptorial anger in his eyes. It was as though he believed that what he was seeing was an affront to him; something which could not and should not be. His one good eye narrowed as he glared at the small army that stood against him, battered yet unbroken.

“He’s gotten so much stronger!” Dawn whimpered in the back of Lance’s skull. “All that fighting and the most we could do is draw blood!”

“We’re all still alive at least.” Lance managed, despite the aching pain that was creeping into his body. Even through the power of his rage, the beating was taking its toll.

“Really?” The gryphon rumbled, folding his talons across his chest. “You can resist me all you like, but all of you are already dead.”

“While I’m still breathing, I’ll still be fighting.” Frederic huffed the words between deep gasping breaths.

“How noble.” Richard sneered. “Allow me to show you where all this fighting leads.”

He opened his one eye wider than should have been possible. The light behind his eye grew devastatingly bright, the putrid yellow tainting the room to its bones. Lance tried to shield his face from the piercing gleam, but it entranced him. He couldn’t look away. He had to see.

“Lance! Lance look away, goddamn it!” Break’s guttural voice snarled somewhere in his mind, but Lance couldn’t hear him. All he knew was the light.

"Lance you need to..." Dawn's voice trailed off into oblivion as the light embraced Lance.

It entered him, coursed through him, and whispered to him in languages unspoken and universal. The light penetrated him in ways only it knew how. It delved the depths of his soul and dredged the deepest wells of his memory. Lance felt it surround him like a shroud and envelop him in its diseased aura. His nostrils filled with the smell of wet pennies and his tongue tasted sand. He tried to tear his eyes away, tried to force it to exit his mind, but it latched onto him with hook and talon.

“This is all your fault.” A choir of familiar voices echoed through his psyche. Lance couldn’t pick out a speaker, but he knew every voice intimately. Mothers, sons, lovers, friends, rivals, an infinitesimal crowd reduced to a pinprick of sound. “You weren’t strong enough to save us, Lance.”

And then he could see them. Ghosts etched into the scattered stones of Canterlot’s shattered walls and the broken, burning homes of Ponyville. His throat burned with the smell of smoke as rising embers smote the sun. Lance could sense it was day, but it was pitch black. Distant screams echoed through broken ruins, his hooves were awash in blood that was not his own, and he was driven to his knees by the weight of his guilt. This was his fault. Why hadn’t he been stronger?

The light infected them all; feverish and raving as it drew on their deepest fears and wove fresh hellscapes for their bleary eyes. It beckoned them with voices warped and familiar to dive deeper into their delusion, to plumb the ocean of madness that simmered beneath the fragile ice of sanity. Overcome and overwhelmed, they sank into those frigid waters to meet their fates.

Frederic stood alone in a silent room with dusty wooden floors and barren walls. Empty chairs sat at empty tables, and a devastating sorrow loomed over each one. Every chair was a missing friend, a friend he had outlived. There were phantom voices from another room; voices he hadn't met yet knew he would. Voices he knew would fade until they too were empty chairs at empty tables. Immortality had a cost.

Peter was frozen solid on the side of a road, the tarry stink of asphalt, burnt rubber, and motor oil miasmatic in the air around him. The flicker flash of police and ambulance lights nearly blinded him but couldn’t erase the yellow streak in the highway that painted him with cowardice. He didn’t need to be told that his friend wouldn’t make it. 

Greg felt the cold metal cuffs tighten around his wrists as he was pressed against the filthy wall. Too many hands felt around in his pockets, too many radios crackled out arcane codes he knew all too well. 11357b, 11360a, and a jumble of mumbled jargon that felt like hammer blows against his future. He could smell the courtroom, the county jail, the reek of years being shaved off his life as he rotted in a six-by-nine cell just for having a little fun.

Then there was Blueblood. For his eyes, the light reserved a special, delicate sort of horror. It had penetrated every wall, every tower, every last defense that he had built around his innermost fear and dragged it to the forefront. Blueblood stood in the shadow of somepony else. Somepony resplendent, drinking in the sunlight with wings spread against the corona flare. A long slender horn graced the top of their head, shimmering with potential magic. Blueblood knew in his heart that they were friendly, he could even make out a faint smile through the blaze, and knew he was safe with them. That wasn't his horror.

With this unrecognizable alicorn came a realization. A realization that this wasn’t him. That this would never be him. He stood where he always knew he belonged, in the shadow of someone greater. In that instant, Blueblood knew he was a failure. Somepony else would take his place as Celestia’s heir, despite his best efforts. Whether this war ended in victory or defeat, he would never be seated upon Equestria’s throne.

As his enemies writhed in the grip of madness, Richard approached slowly and methodically. Who to kill first? The arrogant prince who had dared to threaten his war? Lance, who had long been a thorn in his side? One of the lesser ponies, whose death would no doubt strike horror into the rest? He made his decision as he stood in front of the little prince who had managed to draw blood from him. He curled his talons under Blueblood’s chin, feeling the softness of his flesh with apparent disdain.

As nightmares tormented him, Peter tried to move. He found that he had been rooted in place, forced to stare at the scene that haunted his slumber. Taking a deep breath and steadying himself, he focused solely on flicking his ear. Once he was able to do that, the rest of his body seemed to follow, shaking off the stiffness like sleep paralysis. He needed to touch something, to feel the solidity of the space. Yet when his hoof reached out to grasp a shard of metal wreckage, the steel seemed to warp around it. He blinked. This had to be a dream. He fumbled in the weeds that choked the edge of the highway, but they melted away like murky paint. Then he touched something smooth and firm among the weeds. At last, he felt something true and real and solid. He knew what it was without even looking. Sucking in a breath, Peter hoisted his guitar up and over his neck.

Music was the only thing that ever brought him any comfort in these dark moments. His hooves found their familiar places on the strings as he looked out on a painted dreamscape. Peter steadied himself and struck a chord like a weapon against the darkness.

What he played didn’t matter. The power was in the playing itself. Peter had spoken until he could no longer speak, and would now play until he was out of notes. The reverberations shook the illusions to their core, shattering them in a shower of sparks. The hateful light retreated from the acoustic assault, and Richard’s one good eye flicked to Peter. Peter smirked, struck a few chords, and belted out the one song he knew could break his friends out of their stupor.

“Look at this photograph…”

Almost immediately the hold Richard had held the bronies under was broken. Everypony jumped in with their own horrible Chad Kroger impression, shredding their throats trying to emulate his tobacco-infused vocals. A whole chorus of "Errytime I do it makes me laugh," echoed through the arena as everypony but Blueblood threw this voice into the choir. Richard stared in disbelief as they laughed, scarcely caring that he was about to behead their beloved prince. He snarled and threw himself like a bullet, colliding with Frederic before anypony could react. Pulling back his fist, he clouted his son under the chin with a skull-shaking uppercut. Frederic was launched skyward, tumbling end over end as he attempted to right himself with his wings, but Richard was in hot pursuit, catching him by the back leg and slinging him toward the stone ceiling. Frederic struck the roof and dislodged decades of dust, choking as he felt his wings buckle. He squinted through the clouds of dirt, just in time for his father to barrel into him again and drive him straight through the dome.

“Lance, we gotta help Frederic!” Peter shouted as he took off into the air, frantically flapping his wing in pursuit.

Lance kicked off the ground and launched himself like a rocket. “Right behind you!”

As Blueblood clutched at his throat and rubbed the spot where Richard’s dagger-claws had dug into it, a disturbed silence fell upon the arena. Dust rained down, ruining his mane, and he cursed the name of the king and every turn of fate that brought him to this moment. Greg however didn’t seem to care one way or the other and was leaning casually against the concrete wall, hooves tucked neatly behind his head.

“So you wanna like, just chill here?” Greg said, puffing smoke with every word. “Pretty sure they can handle this.”

“That… thing, damn near killed all of us!” Blueblood’s breath came in short bursts. “Greg, they’re going to die up there!”

“Awww, you do care!” Greg chuckled softly as he blew out a ring of smoke. His horn shimmered as he motioned for Blueblood to follow him as he leapt through the wispy circle. He didn’t appear on the other side. Blueblood threw himself through the magic portal only a second before it dissipated, landing on something metallic and freezing. A stiff wind billowed past him, and as Blueblood stood, he could see that they had emerged atop one of the airships that cruised over Kleinskrieg.

Frederic tried to control his spiral as he careened towards one of the armored behemoths, but it was too late. He threw up his hooves to cushion the blow as he struck the steel hull with a metallic clang. Before he could catch his breath, Richard caught him by the throat and dragged him across the surface, slamming him against every bristling gun emplacement along the way. Lance and Peter closed the gap and distracted him just long enough for Frederic to break his grip and shove him away with a burst of magic. The three of them engaged in a deadly midair dance, slinging spells, exchanging punches, and slamming each other into the thick armor of the airships at harbor.

“Follow me, I’ve got an idea.” Blueblood sprinted across the airship and threw open the hatch to the interior of the craft. Greg trotted after him at a leisurely pace, his eyes only occasionally catching flickers of the battle beyond. Gryphons were rushing through the corridors below, escaping the craft by any means necessary as their king brutalized an ambassador only a few hundred feet away.

Outside, Lance, Peter, and Frederic were fighting a desperate struggle against an indestructible foe. Peter lashed out with a flyby punch and Lance followed it up with a hypersonic tackle that slammed the gryphon against the airship. Metal squealed as Richard’s claws shredded the craft, rolling over and using Lance’s momentum against him. Lance thudded against the steel head first and his eyes filled with stars. Frederic wove a spell, heating the craft’s armor until it glowed bright red. Richard’s flesh sizzled as he leapt from the surface, only for Peter to beat him back down into it. Igniting his horn, Frederic peeled the metal from the canvas like an orange, wrapping it around Richard and turning up the heat. The ball of metal blazed white hot as Frederic forged it, only for his father to burst from it in a shower of sparks. He still clutched a fragment of the scalding steel in his talon and hurled it at his son. 

Frederic caught it between his hooves, its glow painting his features bloody as Richard approached like an oncoming train. They slammed together, hoof and claw ringing with every blow. Lance shook the sparks from his eyes and shot back into the fight, hoping to take the gryphon from behind. Richard whipped around and slapped Lance out of the sky for daring to attempt, and did the same seconds later when Peter attempted to interfere. The feathers on his throat bristled and glowed as he clamped both of Frederic’s forelegs at his side.

“If you won't stop fighting,” Every word was punctuated by flares of orange from his beak. “Then maybe I need to start breaking things.”

Frederic thrashed and struggled against the grip, but his father only dug his nails in deeper.

“I’ll start with your wings. Then your horn. Then your legs.” Richard savored every word as his one good eye narrowed. “Then, with you powerless, I’ll start killing your friends. They’ll scream for you to save them, and you’ll just be forced to watch.” He licked his lips. “And if you hadn’t betrayed our family, you could have saved them.”

“No!” Frederic screamed. “I won’t let you!”

“You won’t have a fucking choice!” His claw clenched around Frederic's wing and started to bend it. He could feel the hollow bones straining as his son shrieked in numbing pain.

There was a sudden ear-shattering chorus of explosions, a split second of silence, and then the air around them was filled with fire. Frederic clenched his wings to his body and fell as Richard’s grip went lax. He fell like a stone, just in time to watch a second volley thunder from one of the airships.

“Faster!” Blueblood shouted as he stuffed another shell into a cannon mouth and rammed it home. “Greg put your back into it!”

“I am!” Greg huffed as he shoved one of the guns back into position. He jammed his still-smoking blunt into the priming hole and moved on to the next. The cannon behind him fired only seconds later, hurtling explosive shells downrange. Before they could finish reloading, Richard shattered his way through the armor of their airship and snarled as his eye locked on Blueblood.

The prince narrowly dodged two swipes of the gryphon’s claws, dancing back and drawing his blade. The various shards of his weapon had been scattered during the fight, and all that remained was a single mote no smaller than a pocketknife. Richard seemed to regard this as a challenge, ripping a small piece of the airship’s hull out and holding it in front of him like a jagged dagger.

Blueblood struck first, slashing low and nearly slitting the king’s belly. Richard sidestepped and elbowed him in the snout, just before he thrust his makeshift blade for Blueblood’s eye. Mere millimeters saved Blueblood as he reared back and retaliated with two swift jabs that Richard wove between. He poised himself for a downward stab, but Blueblood caught his claw and tried to hold him back. Greg hurled himself into the fight, jumping on the king’s back and pummelling his skull with punches. Blueblood managed to jam his blade into the gryphon’s shoulder, where it stuck as it hit bone. 

Richard threw off the stoner and kicked the prince away. Peter, Lance, and Frederic arrived through the hole in the armor and immediately re-engaged. Frederic whirled around and bucked his father back. Before Richard could recover, Lance and Peter struck him with a coordinated one-two combo: one punch to the body, one to the face.

“Keep pushing him back!” Blueblood shouted, using his magic to levitate a discarded gryphon musket and discharge a bullet at Richard. “I’ve got a plan!”

“You’ve got it!” Frederic’s magic coalesced as he fired a blast into his father’s chest. Peter ducked under a claw and swept Richard’s legs with a kick. Before he could hit the floor, Lance caught him under the chin with an uppercut. A bolt of lightning from Greg caught him seconds later, stunning him just long enough for Blueblood to close the distance and catch him off-guard with a headbutt.

“Just a little further!” Blueblood managed to shout before Richard clocked him in the gut and took the fight out of him. The gryphon’s claws caught his shoulder, and as he tore away the crooked talons lacerated his foreleg.

Peter attempted to throw a headlock around the king but was broken by an elbow to the stomach. Frederic used his magic to drag Peter out of the way before his father vomited flames over him, then bashed his father with an iron wing. Lance was quick to follow, cracking the sound barrier and shattering windows as he smashed Richard with both hooves. The gryphon was hit hard, rolling back from the sheer force of the attack, but he landed on his feet as he skittered to a stop. He inhaled slowly as he faced his foes, all of whom were battered and bloodied. He glanced at the tiny fragment of Blueblood’s blade still embedded in his shoulder. This was the best they could do?

The prince clutched his bleeding foreleg and spat orders. “Frederic! Shield! Now!”

Dutifully, the alicorn threw up a ward just as Richard slammed against it.

"Bigger!"

Frederic's horn burned like a phosphorus flare as his ward expanded it to fill the hall from floor to ceiling, sealing the gryphon on the other side.

“Stalling for time?” Richard sneered as he dug into the magical aegis. His eye caught a glimpse of movement to his left. The missing shards of Blueblood’s sword were hard at work cutting through the layers of the craft. Richard heard something snap and felt a rush of faintly rotten-smelling air flood into his nostrils. He realized with mounting horror what Blueblood had just done.

The little bastard had cut the gas lines.

The balloon around them began to wheeze and sag as the craft listed to one side. Richard redoubled his efforts to break through the shield, suddenly realizing the danger he was in.

“So, should I do the thing now?” Greg muttered, rubbing a nasty bruise on his cheek.

“Now Greg!” Blueblood grabbed onto a metal railing. “Everypony brace yourselves!”

Wickedly grinning, Greg slung two spells. First, he opened a portal in a smoke ring as he exhaled through his teeth, then he zeroed his magic on the blademote that was still stuck in Richard’s shoulder. It was a spell he used hundreds of thousands of times to light up a blunt. A single spark flashed from the blade, and that was all it took.

The explosion struck them all blind and deaf. The craft didn’t hold together as Blueblood had hoped but sheared messily in two as it went up in flames. The explosion didn’t throw them all into Greg’s portal either. He was propelled back, sailing through the clouds on the edge of consciousness, barely able to hold himself together. Shrapnel whizzed through the air around him, bits of glass and shards of metal falling like deathly rain. Apparently, he’d had the foresight to recall his blade, which he felt vaguely against his hip. Billowing explosions rocked the airship as he fell, trying to somehow control his descent. He knew somewhere in the back of his mind that if he hit the ground from this height he was dead, but the thought refused to register. He didn’t dare take his eyes off the descending airship. He needed to know they had won.

“Vlad!”

Blueblood could barely hear Lance’s voice over the rushing wind and the bludgeoning of his heart. He blankly watched the wreckage for any sign of life. He saw a multicolored blur approaching him at great speed. Evidently, Lance hadn’t been thrown into the portal either. No sign of Richard.

“Vlad! Grab my hoof!” Lance screamed as he rocketed towards the earth, reaching out to catch the falling prince. Blueblood managed that at least. He reached out for rescue with a hoof covered in drying blood.

Then it hit him.

Blueblood was struck so hard in the chest he swore that he heard the crackle of his ribcage. He was sent horizontal, spinning out of control. One second he saw the earth below, the next the sky above as he tumbled over and over. He closed his eyes tight to avoid throwing up. He opened them just in time to see Richard approaching like an oncoming apocalypse. The air reeked of burning feathers and molten flesh as the gryphon punched the prince squarely in the snout. Blueblood crumpled under the impact as he whirled above the landscape like a maple seed.

“You’ve meddled in my affairs for the last time!” Richard heaved as he clocked Blueblood again and again, propelling him through the sky on pain alone. “I’m saving my son’s death until Equestria is in ruins, but you?” Another strike to Blueblood’s midsection. The prince spit blood all over his white coat. Richard leered, smiling. “You can be the first of his friends to die.”

As he cocked his claw back for another slash, Lance caught up and rammed into him from behind. It was enough to distract Richard from his quarry for at least a second. He turned his fury on the pegasus, letting gravity do the work on the unicorn. He inhaled breath and exhaled flames, forcing Lance to brake with his wings and shield his face from the heat. Richard bashed his skull against Lance, shattering his senses, and when the pegasus reeled, he was ready. His claw lashed out and snagged Lance’s wing, squeezing it tight as his quarry screamed in pain. Lance struggled, but his desperate efforts were in vain. Cranking his grip, Richard bent Lance’s wing until he heard it snap painfully. Lance roared and retched in pain as his left wing bent at an unnatural angle. The only thing keeping him aloft was Richard, who released him and let him drop with Blueblood.

The pair fell in a death spiral, rapidly approaching the earth. Blueblood reached out a hoof and grabbed onto Lance as the two of them rushed ever downward.

“My wing!” Lance groaned through clenched teeth. “It’s… I can’t…”

Blueblood had to scream to make himself heard over the scream of the wind. “Lance! We need to aim for those trees! We have to-”

They didn’t need to aim. They hit the first tree with a crack and a shower of splinters, flipping end over end before they collided with a second. Branches snapped and sharp limbs scraped their already sore bodies. Blueblood struck the third tree shoulder first, and he feared that he’d dislocated it as he spun into a fourth. Their momentum slowed with every painful crash, and when they hit the fifth they were slow enough that the branches merely bent rather than broke. Pine needles showered them as they dropped through the limbs to the ground below, where they landed in shin-deep snow that shocked their wounds.

Blueblood wasn’t sure how long they laid there, or whether or not they maintained consciousness. His eyes opened to a slow, steady fall of snow and a brutally battered figure standing between a pair of snapped pines.

Richard was burned badly. His skin was loose and sagged over his frame like a canvas tarp. His feathers had been scorched to nearly nothing, exposing flesh painted with old scars and fresh wounds. He was breathing heavily, his breast heaving with every inhalation. Yet even now, Blueblood could sense power at work in him. Some antediluvian horror lurked just beneath the skin that was knitting bones together and soldering nerves. He still stood like a titan against the icy wind, driven on by unfathomable forces and insatiable bloodlust.

Lance vomited in the snow as he tried to stand. His broken wing throbbed and set his brain on fire with pain. He could barely stand, using a nearby pine branch for support as he forced himself to his hooves. Blueblood wasn’t looking or feeling much better. His snout dripped blood, and his wounded foreleg was tender and ached whenever it touched the ground. His ribs pulsed with inflammation and moving his shoulder made him feel nauseous.

“What do we do now?” Lance whispered in the hush. “We couldn’t stop him with all five of us, what can two of us do?”

“We buy time.” Blueblood huffed, spraying red on the pristine snow. He summoned his blade; twenty softly glowing shards of meteoric platinum glimmering in the falling flakes. “Equestria needs all the time she can get to strengthen her defenses.”

Lance swallowed hard. “And if we die?”

“Then we die standing.”

“You’ll die like everyone else.” Richard spat, his eye gangrenous through the shroud of snow. “Alone, weak, and helpless.”

“We die standing,” Blueblood repeated, flashing the steel in his eyes as he looked to Lance. “And we die together.”

Lance reached out to the prince with an unbroken smile. “Brohoof?”

Mustering up what strength he had left, Blueblood pounded hooves with Lance. “Brohoof.”

And with that, Blueblood and Lance charged off to face death.

Blueblood’s blade flashed in the gloom as he sliced shards at Richard, who rolled aside and retaliated with a billowing flame. Blueblood kicked up a cloud of slush to stifle it, reformed his blade into a single sword, and aimed a thrust at the gryphon’s throat. Richard sidestepped it, only for Lance to catch him unaware with a kick. Thudding against a tree, Richard dodged three motes of the prince’s blade and caught Lance’s follow-up punch. Grappling the pegasus, he whirled and slammed Lance against a tree trunk, making sure to strike his broken wing in the process. Blueblood dashed in and slashed low, only for his opponent to go high and deflect him with a roundhouse. He rolled in the snow, staining it as he struggled to stand once more. Richard kicked him in the stomach and knocked the wind from him.

Lance attacked again, but his punches were sloppy and his eyes were swollen with bruises. Richard blocked both with ease, then struck Lance in the face for his insolence. Blueblood threw himself at the gryphon, sword blazing as he swept it in wide arcs. Richard avoided these poorly aimed attacks, only for Blueblood to shatter his blade and use the scattered shards to slice through a pair of spruce trees on either side of his enemy. They fell, but Richard reacted quickly enough to flap his wings and sail out of their reach. He sped forward, sidestepped five shards, and closelined the prince, knocking him from his hooves.

He knelt over Blueblood and wrapped his claws around the Prince’s throat. Blueblood fought tremendously, but the pain clouded his mind and made his limbs leaden. He couldn’t breathe. He saw Lance struggling to stand, slipping on the snow and ice as blood ran freely from his broken wing. The brony reached out a hoof, a futile effort to assist in the face of the inevitable.

Blueblood's eyes bulged and his tongue protruded as he convulsed. His mind screamed with one alarming thought.

They were going to die here.
> Denouement
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


No banquet was eternal. Everything had an end. Everything.
-Cixin Liu



Twilight had just dropped Spark and Fawn off for school and settled down to read before lunch. She’d nearly finished the novel she’d started when Blueblood and Lance had first set out. She was fully engrossed in a magical duel between two mages when something tugged at her attention. It started as a small ringing in the back of her mind before it escalated into a full-scale alarm. Something had activated a magical tripwire she’d set a few days before.

When she had told Blueblood that she would be the first pony on the frontlines if the gryphons crossed the border into Equestria, she hadn’t been idly boasting. Even since then, she’d been maintaining a detection spell along the northern front, just in case. Now she felt that telltale tingling that told her a line had been crossed. 

It told her that something had gone horribly wrong. That her husband, Blueblood, and Equestria itself were in danger.

And she couldn’t have been happier. 

Putting her bookmark in place, Twilight gingerly set the book down on her nightstand and trotted down the staircase. She locked the door behind her as she stepped out into the cool autumn morning, a grin on her face and a spring in her step. She started to gallop, her hooves pounding the dirt road as her horn blazed with violet light. She blinked out of existence and reappeared on the outskirts of Ponyville, sprinting alongside a chugging train. She didn’t slow her gait even slightly, teleporting again and popping into place on the downward slope of a mountain. Magic rippled through the air around her as she came, billowing the deep snow until she kicked up a rumbling avalanche. She rushed with the oncoming torrent for a moment, then vanished again, emerging with an explosion along the stone-littered floor of a distant valley.

Again and again and again she teleported, covering hundreds of miles in seconds. Twilight bounded between trees, leapt over streams, skittered across gravel paths, and hurtled up slopes as she came, the memory of what power she commanded rushing back to her with every second.

For years Twilight had lifted books when she had the power to lift buildings. For years she had warmed up cold soup when she had the power to glass deserts. For years she had remained at home knowing that no lock, no door, no border could ever block her passage. She was the greatest mage of her generation and Celestia’s personal student.

Blueblood was right. It had been too long since her name was on everypony’s lips. It was time she reminded Equestria who she was.

Twilight burst into a snowy forest of aromatic spruce and pine with a blinding corona. She wasted no time, clobbering a gryphon with a punch so forceful she threw him back through a dozen trees. Her horn burned like a newborn star as she stood in the clearing, catching her breath.

“Twilight?” Lance croaked, wiping blood from his face. “What are you doing here?!”

“Saving your life.” She smiled, kissing his cheek. He winced at the tender touch. She spied Blueblood hacking and gasping for air as he rolled onto his hooves. “And yours too.”

“But what if you get hurt?” Lance plead through bruised eyes. “Twilight, I can’t risk-”

She shushed him with a hoof over his mouth. “I know, you can’t risk losing me. But I can’t risk losing you again either.”

Twilight sent a spell out across the vast miles until she found her target. With a spark and a flash, Twilight summoned the cavalry. Frederic, Peter, and Greg appeared in the forest, blinking confusion from their eyes as they gauged the situation.

“Yo, Lance.” Greg jerked a hoof towards Twilight. “Your chick is here.”

“Yeah, I can see that Greg.”

“Jeez, you guys look terrible.” Frederic bit his lip. “Still alive?”

“Never better.” Lance made a feeble gesture to try and signal that he was fine, nearly collapsing halfway through it.

Blueblood wiped his face, his eyes falling softly on Twilight. “You came.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Twilight beamed, helping him to his hooves.

The Prince swallowed hard, blinked away what Twilight thought might be tears, and managed to smile feebly. He finally said those words he had choked himself with days ago. “I missed you.”

“It’s good to be back.” She cracked the air with magic as her gaze whipped back to Richard. The gryphon had stood and glared at her with determined malice in his one good eye. Twilight met his gaze levelly. Her blade appeared, twenty-two points of indigo light that surrounded her head like a heavenly halo. “You there! You’re on Equestrian soil now! I’m giving you one last chance to back down!”

“You dare to threaten me?” Richard growled, digging his claws into the bark of a listing tree. “I’ll have your head on my wall.”

Twilight snorted. Her eyes shifted to Blueblood, then to Lance. The other bronies fell in alongside them, ready for one final charge.

Richard threw himself at them, spittle flying from his mouth as he flew. He belched flame, and Twilight’s horn burned brighter. A counterbalance of violet fire rolled forth from her, silencing his power. Frederic and Peter rushed in, working as a duo to undo his defenses. Peter rolled over a slash and kicked the gryphon as he passed, while Frederic took advantage of his opening to bludgeon his father with a thick branch that shattered on impact. Greg finally managed to land the dropkick he’d been itching to hit with, staggering Richard as he bounced off. Lance stumbled into the fight, aiming a punch for Richard’s jaw, but the gryphon was ready for him. He caught Lance’s hoof and yanked him close, tightened his grip, and went for the eyes. Lance thrashed wildly as the gryphon’s talons worked their way toward his sockets.

“Blueblood! On me!” Twilight said as she flashed her blade. Blueblood nodded, his own sword shimmering. They didn’t need to speak to understand the other’s plan. This was hardly the first time they had fought side by side at the end of all things.

Twilight teleported and was beside Richard in an instant. Blueblood muttered something about her showing off as he sprinted through the slush, his foreleg biting painfully with every step. The prince and student moved like partners in a dance, their blades moving in sync as they severed Richard’s claws at each wrist. Lance kicked out of the grip, sputtering as blood that wasn’t his own splashed his coat. Richard roared with pain as he reeled back, staring at the spurting stumps where he once had hands. Blueblood gasped and staggered, trying to keep the weight off his foreleg as she supported himself with his sword. Everypony was exhausted, battered, and bloodied, except for Twilight.

Richard was hurled backward with a blast of magic, skittering across the ground as he tried to stop himself with his hind legs. Twilight appeared on his left and decked him on the cheek. She blinked to his right and kicked him straight through a cluster of fir trees. Woodchips filled the air as Richard rolled through the snow. He forced himself to stand with a flap of his wings, only to glance up to see Twilight tearing up a tree by the roots with her magic. His eye shrank as she swung it like a baseball bat, crushing him with thorny branches. For the first time since he’d emerged back on earth, he felt fear.

Rolling to a stop against a snowbank, Richard panted for breath. His body shrieked with pain. Blood loss made his head feel woozy. The power that sustained him was trying to repair the damage, but it was too much. His one eye fluttered as he stared up at Twilight, who leveled her blade inches from his throat. Blueblood and the bronies hobbled their way over, standing beside her and glaring at Richard with haggard faces.

“I am…” He choked on the words, blood dribbling from his beak. “I am still… The king…” 

Richard lifted an arm, trying to flex a phantom limb as he spit gore over his chest. “I am still…”

His eyelid slid shut and his head drooped. Silence reigned supreme in the forest once more.

“Is he…” Peter stammered nervously. 

“He’s alive.” Frederic exhaled. “Barely.” 

Twilight sheathed her blade. “It’s up to you, Fred. He’s your father after all.”

Frederic levitated a broken branch, holding its sharpened end under his father’s chin. He swallowed hard, pushed the point against flesh, then blinked and retreated. “I can’t.”

He spit into the snow.

“After all he’s done, after all the times he’s hurt me and the people I love, he’d deserve it.” Frederic broke his makeshift spear and dropped both halves in the snow. “But I think what he wanted in the end was for me to kill him. He always thought I was weak, some sort of coward for not being the man he wanted me to be. If I kill him, if I cross that line, I’d just be following in his footsteps.”

Frederic knelt beside his father, running a hoof across his feathers. “I won’t become him. I’m not that kind of man.”

A cerulean glow covered Richard as Frederic wove a spell. He reattached his father’s severed talons with a touch of magic, bowed his head, and then the body slowly faded. He exhaled slowly as he stood, readjusting the now-ruined jacket Blueblood had given him.

“What did you do with him?” Lance asked in a hushed voice.

Frederic looked up to the sky. “Being on the moon for a few hundred years changed Luna, didn’t it? Maybe it’ll change him too.”

Although Twilight could have teleported them back at any time, the party lingered in the woods until the time of day that was neither day nor night. A time when the snow seemed to swallow voices and the ochre sky sparkled with stars. A time when the moon shared the sky with the sun and the North Star dared to show its face.

The fight was over. It was time to go home.

*****

Patching up the diplomatic situation after the battle took a bit of time. Kleinkrieg was in shambles after losing two kings in a month, and it was obvious that the looming war was no longer feasible. Blueblood negotiated some concession payments for the damage caused, with plenty of extra thrown in for good measure. It was a hefty sum, but gold cost less than lives. Gath had assured Blueblood that tensions were dissipated for now. Word had spread of how the bronies handled themselves at the Dented Breastplate as well as before the council, plus plenty of eyewitnesses had seen them duel the king in the sky. Public opinion had shifted, with most feeling that they were perfectly fine, albeit a bit naive. 

Everypony involved in the fight needed some pretty lengthy hospital stays. Aside from Twilight, of course. Blueblood and Lance had it the worst, with Lance needing some surgery to repair his broken wing. Thankfully after a few weeks in a cast, he was good as new! Blueblood was healing nicely, though he was still walking with a slight limp. The doctors said he would lose that after a month or so, but he was too busy to stay in bed and rest any longer.

A post-mission party was held in Canterlot once they had all healed up. Blueblood was hesitant to allow it, but Lance talked him into allowing the rest of his brony friends to attend. He had expected maybe three or four others but found that the ballroom was so crowded with unfamiliar ponies that he could hardly breathe.

Frederic and Greg were regaling a group with tales of their adventure among the gryphons, Peter was eyeing the cupcake platter with a mischievous smirk, and Lance was refilling his glass at the punchbowl. Plenty of new ponies had introduced themselves to Blueblood, though his tolerance for their antics was at an all-time low. He sighed as he rose from his seat and politely excused himself. He needed some fresh air and a stiffer drink than what this party could provide him.

The prince exited the gala hall and stood out on the balcony overlooking the garden. The sharp smell of fall rose to greet him: dead leaves, distant bonfires, faint scents of Nightmare Night on the horizon. He’d taken the liberty of stashing a glass and a bottle of wine in the flowerboxes. He filled his goblet in the moonlight and raised it, watching the starlight dance with the tannins.

“What’s wrong, Vlad? Not enjoying the party?” Lance leaned against the doorframe, grinning.

Blueblood shrugged. “It’s fine I suppose. I just needed something a little stronger to get through the night. I don’t know how you deal with them all daily.”

Lance trotted to the balustrade and hopped up to sit on it. He raised an eyebrow at Blueblood’s drink. “What’s that?”

“Merlot. It’s an import from Zebrica.” Blueblood levitated the glass over to Lance. “Take a sip for yourself.”

Lance sniffed it, scrunched his snout, and took a small slurp. He made a face and gagged. “Shit! You drink that for fun?”

“I drink it to get drunk, but it’s nice to savor a good wine from time to time.” Blueblood took another mouthful, swished it, and swallowed. “I assume things are getting back to normal for you?”

Lance shifted his arms like a scale. “Sorta. They’re as normal as they ever are for us bronies. Twilight has been really amped up since our adventure. Says she’s itching to go on another one.”

“And you’re alright with that?” Blueblood mused over the rim of his glass. “You seemed pretty adamantly against her tagging along at first.”

“Honestly, I guess I forgot who she was.” Lance accepted another sip of wine with a grimace. “I mean like, I forgot she can handle herself. I always want to be there for her, to protect her, y’know? But this time she was the one who protected me. Well, all of us really.”

Blueblood nodded sagely. He stared out over the empty gardens below, uncertain of what he wanted to say. After all he’d gone through, the courage to speak his mind should have come easy to him. Yet still, he’d rather fight a thousand gryphons than talk openly. “Lance?”

“Yeah, Vlad?”

“Thank you.” Blueblood quieted himself with another drink. He mulled his thoughts, trying to decide if he should continue beyond that. The dam was already breached, so he swallowed his wine and went on. “I know I wasn’t exactly kind in my estimations of you when we first met.”

“I mean,” Lance scratched the back of his neck with a chuckle. “Yeah. You were pretty bucking harsh.”

“Don’t mistake this for an apology.” The prince added almost as an afterthought, a mere trifle to save face. “But I may have misjudged you, Lance Greenfield. When we first met, I thought you were childish, uneducated, and impulsive.”

Lance waited for him to go on.

“I wasn’t wrong,” Blueblood smirked as he downed the last of his glass. “But, you’re more than that. You were clever, brave, and saved my life more than once.” He rested his forelegs on the cool stone. “And for that, I owe you my thanks.”

“Aw, c’mon man! You’re welcome!” Lance playfully punched his arm. "It's like I keep saying, this place is my home now. I'd do anything to keep it safe."

"We talked once before," Blueblood stared off into the middle distance. "About becoming a better person in a new world. I don't know what kind of person you were before we met, Lance, but you're a better person than most already."

Lance took the compliment in stride, puffing out his chest. “So uh… Y’know how I said Twilight was really amped up for another adventure?”

Blueblood nodded.

“Think we can tag along with you next time?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on! I’ll bring along new bronies for you to meet! Like Seth or Zorrow!”

Blueblood raised an eyebrow. “The one who tried showing me his pornography collection?”

“No, that’s David.”

“Is he the dog?”

“Louie.” Lance kicked his legs over the balcony and clapped Blueblood on the black. “Hear me out! Let’s go to Saddle Arabia next!”

“No.”

“Zebrica?”

“Let’s not.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure, Vlad?”

Blueblood sighed softly. “I think all of us have had quite enough adventure for now, thank you very much.” The prince topped off his drink, holding it under his nose for a deep breath. “But, if something comes up, you’ll be the first on my list.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Lance extended a hoof. “Brohoof on it?”

Blueblood sighed and gently tapped his hoof. “Brohoof.”