Dictatorship of the Heart
“Nein, nein, nein!” bellowed Führerfilly at her general. Since her father’s death, his, now her, staff had been slow to accept her more loving and tolerant policies. She had cleared most of the more extreme of them, but there were a few, especially generals, who could not be replaced without causing civil war. Fortunately, she was Adolf Hoofler’s daughter, which earned her a lifetime of respect, loyalty, and obedience.
“Forgive me, meine Führer. We will release Herr Stallion to your custody right away.” Führerfilly nodded her consent as the stallion, little more than a colt, bowed out.
Joseph Stallion - the second pony to bear the name - was also the foal of an infamous, ruthless dictator. His father, however, was still alive. The poor pony had been chased out of his homeland by his own father, who feared his son’s more democratic, capitalistic ideas. The KGB had chased the younger Stallion down and captured him, but he had managed to escape across the border while they transported him to be executed. Führerfilly’s own secret police, the SS, had greeted him with handcuffs. Once again, she resented the organization’s staying power.
A knock roused her from her reverie. “Enter,” she said drowsily.
“Meine Führer,” a young guard said as he stuck his green head through the door, “Herr Stallion.” The young guard led in the notorious stallion, heiled, and left.
“I understand that I am to address you as ‘meine Führer’,” Joseph Stallion said by way of greeting. His yellow pelt complimented the golden scales on his flank perfectly.
“And I understand that you are Comrade Stallion,” Führerfilly replied tersely, “but I don’t think either of us much like those formalities. Now, tell me, what are you doing in my country?”
“Oh, you know, murdering capitalists and leading Communist revolutions. What do you think I’m doing here? I rather enjoy living.” The pony’s opening sarcasm almost brought a smile to Führerfilly’s face. Almost.
“So, what do you want? Asylum, citizenship, anonymity... An army? Perhaps you wish to reveal our enemy’s greatest weaknesses in exchange for a position in our government, or as governor of some state?”
“You must be trying to make me laugh. I’ll gladly reveal my father’s weaknesses, but I expect no reward. No, I ask only for a place to go without fear of a tyrant’s pet police.”
“The SS is more like a guard dog I can barely control,” Führerfilly mused. “I will make an offer. You reveal to me your father’s dirty little secrets and I’ll make you my personal advisor. Sound fair?” Stallion just stared for a moment.
After what seemed to Führerfilly to be an eternity, Stallion said, “It would be more entertaining than prison, I suppose.”
* * *
Stallion lay on the opposite side of the desk behind which Führerfilly reclined. They were discussing the finer points of democracy when there was a knock at the door. Führerfilly opened her mouth to answer when the door opened. In trotted a general whose name she could never remember.
“Meine Führer,” he said, and opened his mouth to continue before he was silenced.
“Silence!” Führerfilly bellowed, her tone imitating her father’s famous rage. “You will not enter my privates offices unless I explicitly permit it! Is that understood?” The general opened his mouth a few times to speak, but never did, his eyes growing wide.
Finally, the general said, “Yes, meine Führer,” and bowed. Führerfilly saw Stallion grin slightly. “As I was saying, some university students have recently been imprisoned for protesting government policy, and thus are to be executed in the morning.” The pony turned to leave.
“Now, wait one moment,” Stallion said, his gaze steely as he stared down the wall behind Führerfilly. “Meine Führer, I would suggest you release the prisoners and, more importantly, answer their requests about government policy in the affirmative.” There was a moment of silence, the general’s eyes wide and mouth hanging open, Führerfilly’s expression calm and stoic, if barely.
Before the general could speak, Führerfilly said, “That is an excellent suggestion.”
The general whirled about, his eyes fiery as he loudly said, “Meine Führer, this is a ridiculous idea! If we show weakness here, the next thing we know, people will want to overthrow you! Surely your magnificent wisdom sees the foolishness in this?”
“General,” began Führerfilly calmly and sternly, “I am deine Führer. You will not speak to me in such a manner. However, to address your concerns, it is more likely that the people will try to overthrow me if I restrict them than if I grant them liberty. Now, bring me my new educational ministers and then inform your lieutenant of his promotion to general and your retirement.” The general glared darkly at his Kommandant before leaving.
As soon as he was gone, Stallion said, “That was a most masterful use of words and logic, meine Führer. Ich heil sie.”
“Danke, meine freund. I see you have expanded deine Deutsch. You have almost no accent from the little I’ve heard.”
“Danke, meine Führer. I am trying. Well, it grows late; shall we retire for the evening?”
“A most excellent suggestion,” Führerfilly replied. “Perhaps you would join me for my evening meal at, say, eight?”
“It would be my honor,” Stallion replied as he rose, opening the door for his leader.
* * *
“Viermont, come here!” the just-disgraced general bellowed to his lieutenant. The lieutenant faithfully approached his Kommandant.
“Yes, mein Heerführer?” the pony answered.
“That... That... That Hure of a mare has ordered me to resign and give you my position! Congratulations!” The general focused much sarcasm into the final word. He then turned to leave without another word and began to trot out, his hooves clacking loudly on the floor.
“Mein Heerführer, wait!” the newly appointed general called to the older pony’s back.
“Yes, mein kleine Heerführer?”
“Why was this done?” The red coloration returned to the old general’s face.
“We recently apprehended some student for dissent and scheduled them to be executed. I informed Führerfilly and she responded by ordering them released. I protested, and she ordered me to come here and inform you of your promotion and my retirement, then to inform the prisoners that they are her new educational advisors.” The tone of the general’s voice was chilly and intense.
“Mein Heerführer, this is terrible! What can we do?” The old general’s scowl lightened somewhat.
“Rebellion, miene Kind.”
“Rebellion! But how?”
“I cannot say. I am no longer in a position to move against our,” the old pony spit, “führer.”
“Do you have no suggestions?”
“No, and I do not care to. I am free to spend the rest of my life in peace and quiet. I cannot complain. However, I will advise you on your ideas, if you so desire.” The new general thought for a moment.
“We will soon be going on tour of a large majority of das Drittes Reich. I will meet many of my new peers during this time. Many are original Party members. Perhaps they would be willing to support a bid to overthrow this... Disappointment of a leader?” The old general merely chuckled, nodded his head slowly, and left.
* * *
Stallion knocked on the door to Führerfilly’s suite. Almost immediately it swung open, revealing the room’s owner. She was wearing a formal evening gown of red silk that was perfectly fitting, tight in the right places and loose in the right places, revealing and accentuating the fit body of the most powerful pony in the world, not to mention highlighting her violet coat. Unfortunately, it did not show off her Reichsadler Cutie Mark. “Come in,” she said in a gentle, casual voice.
As she turned to lead the way in, Stallion noticed that the dress fell almost to the floor around her flank and legs. As he fully entered the room, he shifted his gaze to the area around him. Besides the gold trim, red paint, chandeliers, and dining table, all of which were due to Adolf Hoofler, the room was fairly simple. There was a plain yet elegant sitting area with a carved wood coffee table, a plain wood and glass china cabinet, and a black and red grand piano. However, there was no grand, solid gold statue or million-bit painting, no servants standing in every crevice. The room was still grand and elegant, yes, but not as wasteful or rich as it was under Hoofler. In short, it was quite tasteful.
“What a beautiful room you have here. Did you decorate it yourself, meine Führer?” Stallion commented cordially but formally.
“Yes, but please, don’t refer to me by my title here.”
“Very well. How would you like me to address you?”
Führerfilly thought for a moment. “I’ve never really considered it before,” she said softly as she took her place at the dining table, nodding to the area opposite her where Stallion took his place. “My father gave me a name based upon my heirship. I don’t feel that it would be appropriate for less formal situations. Fillydelphine is a beautiful name. Address me as that when we’re alone.”
“As you wish, Fillydelphine. And you may call me Joseph.”
“Very well, Joseph. So, shall we dine?” Fillydelphine queried.
“As the mare commands,” Joseph replied snarkily. The two began to eat slowly. The place settings were laid out with a salad, a nut dish of some sort, and a fruit salad for dessert. It was not until both ponies had finished their salads that either spoke.
“So, Herr Stallion,” Fillydelphine began with a slight grin, “how are you liking Deutschland so far?”
After a moment’s thought, Joseph replied, “The common ponies here are far kinder than those in my homeland. They’re much harder workers, more loyal to their nation... They have such a strong national spirit and sense of honor. The land itself is beautiful. The forests of the east, the Rhineland, the mountains to the south... And you, der Führer, do your best to protect the ponies in your care, to help them and support them. So, I suppose you could say that I rather like Deutschland.”
“That is most excellent. You speak of the land; would you like to see more of it? I am scheduled to tour our military bases and your military background would make you a most excellent bodyguard.”
“I’d be delighted, meine Führer,” Joseph replied with glee.
“I ask not as deine Führer, but as deine freund.”
“Meine... Meine freund? I suppose so. Very well; zwei freunds.”
With a smile and a laugh like ringing bells, Fillydelphine said, “I see that not even our numbers are beyond your keen mind.” The rest of the meal passed in near silence, punctuated only by small talk.
As both ponies finished their fruit salads, Fillydelphine said, “Well, Joseph, shall we move to the sitting area? I have a record player and some beautiful symphonic excerpts which I am certain you will enjoy.”
“Certainly. I do love a good piece of music after a delicious meal.” Once the two relocated, Fillydelphine went into an adjoining room before returning with a young unicorn mare, maybe even a filly, and a record player with records on a platform beneath it. The two mares exchanged rapid sentences in their native tongue and the unicorn placed a record on the player before turning and leaving.
“This piece is an excerpt from the ninth symphony of our own Beethooven. I’m sure you will have heard it.” Issuing forth from the record player came the famous notes of Beethooven’s final movement. “Here,” Fillydelphine said at one point, her eyes closed, “This is my favorite part.”
When the recording ended, Joseph said, “A most superb recording. I assume it was performed by ein deutsches Orchester?”
“Yes,” Fillydelphine replied, a smile spreading across her face. “In fact, it was recorded the night I was born. My father used to play it for me every evening, and on my ninth birthday he brought the very orchestra to perform for me.”
“Oh, he must have loved you dearly,” Joseph replied.
“Yes. My father may have been an evil pony, but he was a good father.”
“I must ask, if he loved you so dearly, and presumably kept you so close, when did you develop your democratic opinions?”
“When it came time, I went to university in Munich. In fact, I went to the very university that gave birth to the White Rose Society of so long ago. Oh, you’ve probably heard nothing of them; they were a group of intellectuals who spoke out against my father early in his rule. One of my professors was a member who had managed to escape the hangman’s noose. Through him, I ultimately fell in with a neo-White Rose group and became politically inclined towards democracy. What of you? Surely you were even more inundated with your father’s beliefs than I was with mine.”
“Yes, which is the very reason I turned from them. Unlike you, my father did not love me so dearly. He sent me to communal school as soon as I was old enough. Once I reached adolescence, and had supposedly been firmly rooted in Communism for years, I was taught,” and here he struck a sarcastic tone, “about the stupidity of democracy. Needless to say, I fell in love with the concept and actively researched it. I’m sure you know the rest.” Joseph’s head fell.
“I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine...” Fillydelphine moved closer to Joseph and placed her foreleg around his neck.
With a hard, cold expression and colder, harder voice, Joseph said, “Don’t be sorry. My father has killed more ponies than yours did.” There was a moment of silence as Fillydelphine searched for words. Joseph lowered his head slightly.
“Would you like to hear more music?” asked Fillydelphine in a more up-beat tone, removing her foreleg and moving towards the record player.
“Certainly,” Joseph replied in an attempt at cheer. “Perhaps something from farther south? And perhaps a certain drink famously from that area?” With a smile, Fillydelphine moved off to fulfill the request. The two passed the rest of the evening in such a manner.
Finally, as the moon began its descent, Joseph excused himself. “It has been a most enjoyable evening, madame, but I must go now.” He rose and made towards the door.
“Your company has been a pleasure, monsieur. We must do this again sometime.”
“Most cer-” Joseph began, but was cut off as he whirled around and his lips met Fillydelphine’s. Both of their eyes grew wide, both too stunned to move from the awkward position. Then, suddenly, at almost exactly the same moment they fell passionately into the kiss.
After several moments they disengaged. “Well,” Joseph said as he back away, his cheeks flushed, “good night.” And with that, he left.
Author's Note
I must note, I wrote this over a year ago, almost a year and a half now. My writing has (hopefully) improved considerably since this time.
