Whispers

"Hey, darl. I take it court went well?"

Arcanus smiled contentedly, the plain old kitchen losing what little allure it had as his attention was held entirely by the gorgeous mare before him. He’d only been gone a few hours, yet that was long enough for a love-struck pony desiring his mate. He shuffled his way over to one of the couches around the small table and planted his haunches into the inviting, cushy embrace of comfort, never taking his eyes off her lithe form...

Paying special attention to certain assets, of course.

The day had been a demoralizing one of revelation, teaching him more unpleasant truths about politics in just a few hours than he felt anypony deserved to be tortured with over their entire lives. The ordeal had sucked the energy right out of him, replacing it with a cynical and very much unwanted understanding of the grim reality of politics. As such, his ears welcomed that serene voice the way a drowning pony would a breath of fresh air.

And, as if his incredibly beautiful wife's dashing smile wasn't gravy enough, she seemed to be slaving away making sandwiches... and coffee.

"Well, uh... let's say it certainly went," he began, reclining into the couch to the gratitude of his strained hindlegs as he watched his wife scoop up the cup and packed plate with her wings. He smirked, once again reminded of how the other races compensated for their lack of magic while unicorns took such basic things for granted. "... Though to where it went, I really don't know."

"Heh. 'Bout time thou wert given a taste of those super-upper class twits' attitude," she said, keeping the unbalanced load stable on her wings with expert control, no doubt gleaned from years tending to society's upper echelons. She veered around to take a seat of her own, setting the cup and plate atop the table. "I remember my first time at court. Still get flashbacks, actually.”

"That bad, was it?" said Arcanus. He sniffed at the alluring scent of coffee to force down the impure thoughts that were stirring at the behest of his wife's adorable pout. "Like, 'facehoof' bad, or... 'I just want to scream’ bad?"

"Thou couldst say either," she said as she retrieved one of the smaller, hay-laden sandwiches. "I was young and naïve. A filly without a clue as to how politics worked, and so I... spoke from the heart." Arcanus's ears perked in sync with his eyebrows, a tell-tale sign he was coming to an epiphany. A sign that, for whatever reason, engaged his wife's 'daww' box in all the right ways. "Yeah, I yelled at a magnate. Out of nowhere, just like that, right in the middle of proceedings. Impertinence didn't even begin to describe it."

Arcanus laughed, briefly conjuring up the mental image of some grossly overweight idiot babbling about tax increases or stricter curfew, only for a hot-tempered little pegasus filly to leap a table with and start chewing him out in front of his peers in a demeaningly high-pitched voice.

It was no secret that Arcanus was often hesitant to speak his mind. He feared his words would crumble under scrutiny, and that in the spotlight his nerves would follow suit. Thus, he had always excelled at essay and letter writing, where he could express his long-sheltered feelings openly without fear of cracking under the pressure. He actually had a great deal to say, and was a deceptively opinionated pony.

The first lesson marriage had taught him: so was his wife. And, unlike him, she actually had the stones to give you a tongue lashing—no matter who you were.

"That... can't have gone over well. I imagine her highness was-"

"Made her day, apparently," she said nonchalantly, biting into the sandwich. "... Of course, mother gave me a look that could melt ice and requested a private audience with her highness the moment we adjourned, but overall I'd say it went swimmingly."

"What happened? Didst thou apologize?" Arcanus asked, quietly impressed by his wife's linguistic... inconsistency. One moment, she was slinging slang around; the next, she was practically delivering a lecture. She reminded him of his own mother, bless her heart.

"Natch. At the time I didn't really know what the big deal was, even as mother forced me to bow and grovel and do the whole obsequious dance. I remember wincing every time she said she'd discipline me at home..." Her tone gradually elevated with each word, building the suspense as though the climax of this tale was one of great triumph. "Her highness just silenced her with a hoof, leaned down, winked at me, and said I had a good head screwed on my shoulders. Not in those exact words, obviously."

"Obviously," Arcanus said, even as his imagination cooked up a perfect image of Celestia using precisely those words. After what this chapter of his life had taught him about the immortal god-empress, nothing could surprise him anymore. A little break in character for the sake of a young filly's feelings? Psh. She'd confided her personal troubles in him. She'd lost her temper in his presence. She'd allowed him to console her in her weakest moment. She’d shared a drink with him. You didn't get less formal than that! "She didn't scold thee at all?"

"Kinda. She reminded me to think things through before speaking." She took another bite of her sandwich, the brittle grass layering crunching audibly as Arcanus nodded his agreement. "Well, and that calling somepony's mother an ill-educated mule isn't the most integrious approach to debating. I'll never forget the way she smiled so caringly and empathetically to somepony so far beneath her, even though that pony had spoken so audaciously out of turn. We're so lucky to have a ruler as wise and gentle as her."

"Hear, hear," said Arcanus as he bowed his head respectfully. "She is most certainly tolerant. Truly, I do not know how she doth stand it. Those above us are just... beyond belief. Mother told me stories of their arrogance and entitlement, but I just smiled and paid them no mind. To see it for myself..."

"Underwhelming?"

"Aye. I figured her tales for exaggeration. One would think an upper-class education would at least afford them a sense of etiquette and restraint, or some darn manners—"

The violet-maned mare sighed, shaking her head. "Thou shouldst never overestimate our peers' capacity for self-centered bigotry. They see manners and etiquette as tools with which a pony can earn a living—or rather, money. And since they were born with more of that then they know what to do with, they don't see the need for them at all." She unfurled her wings and motioned toward them proudly. "I haven't always had it easy, either. Neither did my parents. Why dost thou think I took up my father's work?"

Arcanus scowled, momentarily letting the idea of anyone viewing his lover in a negative light distract him from the bigger picture. She had alluded to something he'd noticed as well. Many of those who had spoken at court uttered such terms as 'pegasus' and 'earth pony' with varying levels of dismissal, pity and in some cases contempt. This was particularly apparent when Lord-General Ixion himself had talked down to both Ruby Slipper and Golden Silver like they were filth on his hoof without even making an effort to hide it.

The caste system itself was a racially-charged holdover from the pre-unification era, whether or not the unicorn-dominated elite were stallion enough to admit it. A time when society was split between three purist tribes and kept that way by hatred and prejudice, all the while begrudgingly relying on each other due to ponykind's intrinsically interdepenent nature. Although rarely acknowledged, it was well-known that the unicorn elite—the Platinum family line in particular—had difficulty adjusting to their status in the newly formed Kingdom of Equestria, and having to shack up with 'bedrazzled earth ponies' and 'rough-and-tumble pegasi.'

It was assumed that these cracks in the shiny new armor of a united ponykind had healed over the centuries leading up to Celestia and Luna's enlightened era of tolerance and camaraderie. And, like many assumptions, Arcanus was finding more and more reason to second guess it. History was written by the winners, and those winners had an agenda to keep.

I... actually know very little about that period, he thought dismally, realizing his knowledge of that particular era of history was limited. Celestia had never stressed the importance of studying the past; her focus was on the present, and especially the future. Mental note: look into pre-classical history.

“The lessons of Hearth Warming are so easily forgotten, aren’t they?” Arcanus was jolted to attention by his wife’s sudden solemn sentiment that eerily mirrored his own. Also by the fact that she’d somehow moved from her seated position to a new one… right next to him. She rested her head lazily on his shoulder and, although he couldn’t see it, Arcanus assumed she was grinning inanely. “But enough banter. Now, is the food to one’s liking, sir?”

“Daffodil and daisy…” Arcanus remarked fondly, plucking the largest sandwich from the pile and drawing it to his nose. He closed his eyes as the sweet flowery scent mixed with the distinctive fragrance of the mare next to him. “It certainly smells such.” He went to take a bite, but hesitated as an idea came to mind. “… Promise to let me finish this one?”

The lady whistled. “Thou meanest… er, some manner of which I’m not…” She shook her head in a universally pointless gesture, one that ponies often used to “shake off” a tongue-tied moment. “I know not of what thou speakest.”

“Must I spell it out?”

“Right, right,” the clingy mare scoffed. “It’s my fault thou burnt thy last one?”

Arcanus gave her a blank look, deadpanning in a half-heartedly grumpy manner. “Sounds good to me.” Apparently his dorkish attempt at snark was cute in its own way, as his wife began to laugh. “I think we reached consensus that thy tongue was at fault.”

In short, he’d arrived home early one afternoon and found both a cold coffee and sandwich his wife had so thoughtfully left for him. Playing on the distractions of exhaustion and hunger, that same oh-so-thoughtful wife saw fit to lick his neck mid-heating spell. Bigger picture—that tongue played a pivotal role in what quickly developed into a very interesting afternoon.

“Guilty as charged,” the mare conceded, foalishly sticking out the tongue in question. “Knock thyself out.”

As expected, the sandwich was divine. As was also expected, every passing moment made it clear that the mare, with her hooves dug into his back and shoulders, wasn’t really intent on letting him eat. Arcanus reclined into the couch with an elated sigh, appreciating the tendency of a mare's hooves to become soft and tender when the situation called for it. He closed his eyes, nearly succumbing to bliss as the stress flowed out of his admittedly underused muscles like a floodgate.

"Is there not something else thou wishest to tell me?" the mare broke the silence after nearly a minute of the heavenly workings she was applying to Arcanus's back. "Regarding thine invitation to court?"

"Mhh... such as?" Arcanus replied, though it came off as more of a yawn. He was more than happy for talky time to just be over already.

"I couldn't help but take a look at it..." She paused her ministrations long enough to point at the table. Next to where she'd placed the sandwiches and coffee sat a scroll bearing Celestia's golden royal seal and matching signature. "... and noticed it was a subpoena; an order. I get the feeling her highness didn't summon thee to court just to take some notes for posterity."

Arcanus sighed, leaning forward and breaking the massage momentarily—ignoring his muscles' screams of protest and discontent. "... Her highness hath appointed myself, and two of my choosing as 'impromptu ambassadors.' Something about the outlying villages threatening a revolt." He didn't really want to talk to about this until he'd had a chance to think it over, but ultimately, 'no time like the present' had prevailed.

His wife raised an eyebrow. "Moving up in the world, are we?" She smiled. "Soundeth like thou art headed for a great career."

Arcanus leaned back into her embrace, smiling a little as she immediately resumed her massage. "Thou art not surprised at all? That a pony with no training or experience in negotiation has been called up for such a weighty task as this?"

He gasped, as the hooves in his back dug into a particularly tight muscle. Whether she'd done it on purpose to stop his rambling, or just by dumb luck, he'd never know. But the interruption brought him some clarity, at least.

"I say her highness hath suggested thee for thy loyalty and charm," she whispered in his ear, taking extra care to lower her voice to damn near intimate levels. "And maybe she thinketh thou wouldst work the same magic on those rowdy country-folk thou didst on me. Y'know... kiss here, hoof there-"

"I get the idea," Arcanus cut her off. He hummed acceptingly, allowing the silence to resume and his wife's hoof-work along with it. There was another reason he'd been chosen for this task, but it didn't merit elaboration quite so soon.

It was strange, really. A year ago he'd never have considered that silence could be so comforting; that you could communicate so much with so few words. He'd read books all his life, and so the indirect ways in which emotions worked had been... lost on him. Yet now that he'd given this mare a chance, and in turn given himself so completely to her, he realised there were many avenues of life no amount of reading could have prepared him for.

The kiss—tongue and everything—he suddenly felt on his neck was one of those things.

Coupled with the hooves in his back, it served as a catalyst to get his own libido into action like a sleeping wolf suddenly waking up to defend its territory. In the past, those skilled hooves could render him putty to be toyed with at his wife's unmentionably naughty whims. However, years of Celestia's tutelage—coupled with being married to an open-minded girl—had taught him to think outside the box. He had his own tricks too.

Marriage lesson number two: magic provided options, and with great power came great opportunity to pervert that power.

With his own growing lust and a fittingly smug grin in place, Arcanus materialized a bubbling, jelly-like mass of raw psychic energy in the air. With well-practiced precision, he trimmed it down into distinctly claw-like digits and directed them toward their destiny—the ticklish spot at the base of the mare’s wings. "Thou likest that?" he asked needlessly as the pressure in his back quickly eased off.

Foalish giggles were his only answer, as the cute girl thrashed and writhed under the unwavering assault of the Telekinetic Tickle Torture spell. She resisted just enough to shoot him a defiant glare, which served only to widen Arcanus's own smirk. He took charge, swooping around to stand in—and lean into—her face, steadily funneling more power into the spell. Whoever originally invented the tickle attack practically revolutionized the art of torture.

"S-stop! I can't... haha! I-I can't take... it!" she screeched, stating the blatantly obvious. She'd given up trying to even maintain eye contact, as her ability to resist the indescribable agony of being tickled wavered even further. Despite his own dignity and sense of decency, Arcanus smiled lustfully and made no effort to hide how much he was enjoying this; he'd learned months ago the sheer fun a pony could have by indulging in such desires. Tears formed in the lady's eyes, shorthand for her rapidly wavering willpower, yet the torment persisted. "P-please..."

Arcanus arched an eyebrow playfully, nonetheless adhering to her request. He eased off on the spell, causing the conjured claws to back away and give the tormented mare her space. The energies rippled and waved back and forth, as though cracking their proverbial knuckles for the next 'assault.' "And why should I?"

"So I can do this-" she whispered, recovering instantly and tackling him to the floor with the speed of a pegasus and strength of a horny mare in heat. The blazing, amorous look in her eyes left little of what was to come (besides himself) to Arcanus's imagination, so he just smiled in anticipation of the kiss he was about to receive.

Marriage lesson number three: his wife was very keen on physical intimacy. He'd pushed her buttons the way she'd taught him, and now it was time to reap the rewards.

"Ahem."

That is, were it not for the most ill-timed of interruptions. Arcanus sighed, immediately recognizing Aurora's voice. The royal mail system sure worked fast, didn't it? And where one strolled, the other was surely not far-

"No, no. It's not meant to be polite," came an accompanying voice from the same direction. Moonthistle. Only she could possibly carry herself with transparent nobility yet blend it with such... roughneck pointedness at the same time. "Say it with me: 'ah-HEH-mm.' A jarringly intrusive rasp."

Arcanus briefly considered getting up from the "evil" and compromising position to address his friends with the usual 'it's not what it looks like' spiel, yet two things put a pin in that plan.

One, it was exactly what it looked like, and he wasn't exactly embarassed or ashamed at that fact. After all, it was his wife, in his house, about to do things to him with her tongue that until recently he'd only heard about. He could count on one hoof how many damns he gave about being seen. Two, he couldn't actually get up because said wife still had him pinned to the floor.

"Lady Stella," said Aurora, bowing slightly and only hiding about seven-eighths of her smile. "Always an honor. May I ask if we are interrupting something?"

"Obviously."

"It's proper manners to at least pretend, 'thistle..."

"Aurora Borealis, not at all. Please, come in," said Stella, only sparing the mares at the door a brief glance to beckon them inside, before returning her hungry eyes to the colt beneath her. The playful look in her eyes made it clear that she wasn't finished with him, even as she reluctantly back off to let him up. "We always discuss seasonings and dress colors over a kiss. Do not mind us. Now, what matter doth bring thyself and—" her smile shrunk slightly, just enough for no one to notice, "—Lady Moonthistle to see us?"

"'Canus asked for us," Moonthistle replied bluntly, eyeing her friend's wife somewhat seriously even while keeping up her usual enthusiastic smile. She felt Aurora's steady hoof on her shoulder, but didn't even glance her way to acknowledge the touch. She reached into her bag and withdrew a scroll. "Something in the mail requesting us to 'escort' him on some sort of assignment?"

"That's right." Arcanus cleared his throat, drawing all eyes to him. "Canterlot is facing an economic and political crisis."

Aurora raised an eyebrow. "Meaning?"

"I don't know the details, but a string of peasant villages is threatening some kind of... separatist coalition. Her highness hath ordered me to travel to Pony'borough and present Canterlot's case to the mayor. I was asked to nominate two escorts."

Moonthistle leaned over to Aurora, who pre-emptively rolled her eyes. "She's asked him to go there and stop a rebellion, and he needs us to bail him out when things go pear-shaped."

Aurora ignored the remark. "As I recall, standard formal negotiations are usually handled by a sworn ambassador. We have no such pony with that skill."

"This isn't standard," Arcanus corrected with a sigh.

Aurora scowled. "Her highness expects us to play emissaries on Canterlot's behalf without a hint of training? What about a military escort?"

"That's what I said, at first," Arcanus commented, looking at the floor. "It's not ideal, but her highness... she confessed to me a fact I'm not entirely comfortable with even knowing, let alone sharing." He looked from Aurora to Moonthistle and back again, a steely resolve suddenly present in his eyes. "... There's a personal reason why her highness hath asked me to handle this rather than one of her ambassadors, and without any kind of armed assistance."

"And since we're coming with, wanna at least tell us why?" said Moonthistle without any hint of a questioning air.

"Indeed," Aurora added. "If we must take time out of our own lives to risk dealing with these roughneck barbarians, we at least deserve to know."

"... I suppose."

As was rapidly becoming the norm when it came to one-on-one encounters with Princess Celestia, Arcanus sat in awkward silence awaiting whatever unpleasant truth was about to be revealed to him.

"... I'm sorry, Arcanus," Celestia whispered remorsefully. "I'm sorry I must impose such an impromptu hardship upon thee. Thou art on the brink of starting a family with young Stella, and here I am, burdening thee with my problems once more."

Arcanus shook his head, naively accepting whatever hardship he was about to hear before even... well, hearing it. Again. "Nay, highness. Your will is absolute, and mine subordinate."

Celestia giggled. "We'll have to work on that." Her smile held strong, and Arcanus liked that. He hoped never to see his idol in the state... that night had left her in again. Despite the gravity of what he felt was to come, she seemed more... disappointed than genuinely upset. "... But for now, it will do. Listen, and listen well. Dost thou know why I appointed thee to this task?"

Arcanus came up empty in that regard. Why had she? What did he know of politics? He'd attended court a grand total of once, not even in an acting magnate or advisory role, but as a mere guest. She saw fit to trust such an important task—the aversion of a secession, with the worst case being a possible civil war—to the political equivalent of a magic kindergartener?

"... I fear thou art one of the few I can knowingly trust," she continued, her student's silence being answer enough. "Canterlot trains and employs many ambassadors, envoys and emissaries, as thou art no doubt aware. Diplomacy. Peace. 'Tis how the Council of United Ponydom first established trade routes and steady alliances with the neighbouring lands following the formation of Equestria. 'Tis how my sister and I have maintained them for the near-six hundred years since our inception as princesses."

Arcanus nodded, unconsciously sitting down as he once again segued into the role of nerdy schoolcolt lapping up every word, every piece of knowledge the teacher shared.

"However, Canterlot's ambassadors are experienced. Too experienced. Thou hast spent mere hours at court; these ponies have spent what may cumulatively amount to months. And, what happens to a pony when they dabble too much in politics?"

"They..." Arcanus paused for a moment to think. "They become corrupt?"

Celestia smiled. "Suspicion where it's due, Arcanus. The word I sought was 'opinionated.' But, yes, they do often form an agenda of their own. Their job becomes a mouthpiece through which they can share their insights, wisdom... and, sadly, grievances and prejudices as well. To mince words no longer, Arcanus..."

She sighed, letting the smile drop as she looked Arcanus dead in the eye; a succinct way to hammer the seriousness of this situation home, and to point out the fact it wasn't a game or some fancy test.

"This 'rumor' regarding Luna's disappearance? The working class's increasing dissatisfaction with Canterlot's alleged lack of poise? The sudden rise in jackal aggression? I fear subterfuge is at play here. My advisors are best kept out of this, as I fear my inability to properly read into their... intentions presents a risk. I need somepony I know I can trust. Somepony far removed from the politics of this. Somepony I can trust to stand at my side not only as a loyal subject and student, but as a friend."

"Wow," Aurora said bluntly. "So, we're waltzing off to some backwater peasant village to talk them out of declaring war, or best case scenario secession?"

"Pretty much," Moonthistle agreed bluntly.

"I get the feeling I'm mixing up in some real trouble..." Aurora said with a nod, before turning to head for the door with Moonthistle in tow. "We'd better get packing. The winter winds are cold this year, so remind me to bring—"

"The caltrops?"

"I... was... going to say a map and scarf..."

Arcanus turned to Stella as his friends' voices turned the corner and faded away down the corridor. "So... that's it."

Stella beamed at him, apparently more enthusiastic about the arrangement than he was. "'Tis just what thou needest, really. A camping trip with thy friends, to get away from being all cooped up here obsessing over books."

Arcanus sighed, putting a hoof around Stella's neck and pulling her in close. "I like being 'cooped up' here with thee—"

"I know, darl," Stella interrupted, derailing that train of thought with a quick kiss. "Now, let's get thy bags packed. We'll need... let's see..." She began to tally items off, never once noticing her husband's facehoof. "Road-worthy trekking shoes, winter attire for the late afternoons, water-resistant wrappings for the sleeping bags, a tent, flint and tinder, a generous supply of non-perishable rations..."

"I was just going to keep it simple," Arcanus insisted. "Some ink and parchment, enough platinum dust to send a letter, just enough food to get us to the village, a book or two for whatever down time we have..." He trailed off, naively forgetting to mention any kind of travel-wear or sleeping gear. "I'd like to travel light and modest."

"Two things," Stella said while shaking her head and, with a devilish grin, wrapping a wing around the clueless colt. "One, not a chance in hay," she declared, hastily guiding him to their room, for she would not allow her husband to leave so grievously ill-prepared for a perilous journey. "... And two, don't forget that coffee."

*******

"I do believe we're here," Aurora mumbled in a bored monotone, the modest village before her adhering to her (low) expectations of an outlying farming town. Sure, the two-day trip hadn't exactly taken much out of her, but an excursion like this didn't rank highly on her list of preferred leisure past-times. Moonthistle and Arcanus quickly followed up behind her, the latter collapsing and gasping for breath under the weight of two grossly overpacked saddlebags. "... Remind me again why you allowed Lady Stella to do the packing, 'canus?"

"She can be... quite persuasive," Arcanus stammered out, noticing too late that uttering those suggestive words while panting like a rabid jackal was just going to get Moonthistle's perverted jokes going. He looked up to the worn archway spanning the gates and the sign hanging upon it reading Pony'borough in fading letters, and noted that to its credit the rundown hamlet was actually enclosed by a clay wall. Of course, it wasn't high enough to stop a determined pony that knew how to jump, but at least it was a start. "Besides, it's not much further now. We just need to find a tavern and rest, and meet with the local government tomorrow."

"Well, villages this small usually just have the one," said Aurora, wasting no time in leading the way down the main street past a slew of decaying buildings.

Admittedly, she'd expected a village of broken down straw huts. Instead, she was pleasantly surprised to find they were straw houses instead! The early evening streets were rather quiet, implying that the farmhands either had yet to finish the day's work to knock off for a drink, or already had; the few that did walk the streets eyed them with overt suspicion, keeping their distance.

"It would appear these local hayseeds think I'm the ambassador, with you two as my humble entourage," Aurora said with unmistakable mirth, holding her head high as the bystanders clearly paid the most attention to her. "Mayhap they have more taste than I credited them with."

"'Tis because thou wearest all that..." Arcanus looked over the various trinkets and jewellery adorning her extravagant gold-themed regalia, still wondering how the hay she could stand travelling cross-country in such attire. He wracked his brain for the word his wife had used. "... Bling?"

"Yeah," Moonthistle countered coolly, casting the peasants an almost empathic smile. "If anypony stands out, 'tis thee. If anypony looks like she's got money, 'tis thee. If anypony among us is most likely to be targeted, robbed, murdered and/or ogled, 'tis thee!" she said, wearing an exaggerated grin of pure glee. "And it won't be my fault this time."

"Hush. Appearances are the first impression these ruffians will judge us by," said Aurora, veering off the road toward what she presumed was the tavern. "They will know that us Canterlotians are not to be disrespected."

Aside from the classic swinging doors, the building was easily the largest in sight, and was remarkably well-kept compared to the nearby houses; the fact it seemed to be built from clay and plaster likely had something to do with that. The many windows suggested a fair few comfortably sized rooms reaching up an impressive five floors, and the hollow glow and ambience of drunken laughter emanating from within hinted at a healthy business.

Aurora stopped just shy of the door. "Now, can you please behave yourself, 'thistle? I know I can't take you anywhere, but the last thing I need is getting dragged into a fight."

Moonthistle gave a mock salute, before placing that hoof over her heart and flashing the most sincere smile anyone who knew her well could possibly take seriously. "Cross my heart 'til the day I die, wouldst thou think I would lie?"

"Be glad that's rhetorical," Aurora mumbled, thrusting the doors open. She was immediately blasted in the face by a release of warm, musky air saturated in the sweaty stench of drunken peasant labourers. She took a step back, visibly clenching her nose with a hoof. "On second thought, after you."

"Me, or him?" Moonthistle asked sardonically, going out of her way to savour the undesirable scent. "I can do both."

"Either suits me," Aurora gagged, stepping further back and urging one of her comrades to brave the den of deplorable depravity first.

Inside, Arcanus came to an immediate realisation: this didn't feel like a backwater tavern at all, at least from what he'd seen in books. It felt as though it had been designed and built with actual funding, rather than just hastily thrown together by a poor town looking for somewhere to drown its sorrows in relative comfort. Eight polished oak tables played host to a slew of twenty-something drunken stallions and the occasional mare to keep them riled up. Along the left wall, behind the bar, was a cabinet packed with bottles running the whole spectrum from wine to champagne to spirits.

Especially notable was the massive stage in the back; rather, the thick, shiny steel pole riveted to its floor and ceiling. A dejected looking earth pony mare with a mauve coat and dazzling, if not short and modest yellow mane danced unfeelingly around it, eliciting the occasional drunken roar from her shameless audience. The look in her eyes told the tale, and Arcanus briefly imagined one of the mares in his life in such a demeaning... profession.

"'canus? She's probably taken."

"As are you."

End result: he'd stared a little too long. Long enough to catch the attention of a grumbling Aurora and highly amused Moonthistle.

"Y-yeah, right," Arcanus said sheepishly, tearing his eyes away and pushing ahead toward the bar. He felt out of place, noting that pretty much every set of eyes in the establishment belonged to an earth pony, with only the occasional pegasus, and certainly not a unicorn in sight. The bartender looked up from the glass he was cleaning and gave him a wary look. "Dost... thou have any rooms available?"

"Depends who's askin'," the cream-coated stallion replied gruffly. "What business y'all have'n Pony'borough?" The uncoordinated noise filling the room died down momentarily, as though everypony in there was interested in what these strange visitors had to say.

"We are here to meet with your governor," Aurora took over when it became apparent Arcanus was taken aback by the attitude. "We come in peace, and do not seek trouble or to inconvenience you. We need one... make that two day's lodging, in a single room with at least two beds."

"With meals, I hope? I'm starving, and my hooves feel like they've been sandblasted-"

"Mouth is open, 'thistle. Should be shut," Aurora hissed. "... With meals, if possible."

The bartender looked the three foreign unicorns up and down, though not in an overtly pervy manner. Rather, his lavender eyes seemed to only betray the same two emotions every other pony around there seemed to feel in response to this unannounced visit—mistrust, and possibly... contempt? Like the surreptitiously aggressive way the natives of a conquered land would regard the foreign forces keeping order, or something.

"... Fifteen bits per night for one room," the bartender stated, smirking at Moonthistle as he handed Aurora a rusty old key. "Including morning and evening meals."

"Deal," Aurora conceded without hesitation, pulling a small pouch from her modest saddlebag. She noticed the blackboard to her left that proudly displayed the available meals, including tonight's special, in messy chalk writing; thank Celestia for the precision of unicorn magic! As hungry and in need of a glass of wine as she was, she knew they'd best get the room sorted before digging into dinner. "You two, head upstairs and get settled."

Despite the looming issue of splitting two beds between three ponies, Arcanus was pleasantly surprised to find the matter was handled with dignity and maturity; Aurora and Moonthistle, being mares, would share one bed, while the lone colt got the other. With the exception of an inevitable fillyfooling joke from Moonthistle, the whole thing went over smoothly.

Arcanus wasted no time unpacking the thick books he'd brought along for 'light' reading. Meanwhile, Aurora sparked the fireplace to life with a little blast of what she did best, and proceeded to assemble what looked to be a portable chess set. She withdrew a scroll with various letter and number combinations written across it and, with a glow of her horn, the chess pieces began to move according to the instructions.

"Still not over it, huh?" Moonthistle facehoofed at the pre-recorded chess game playing out before her. "That was months ago, 'rora."

Arcanus looked up from his book. "Over what?"

"She got thrashed by her sister." Aurora glared at her. "What?"

"It's not exactly a point of pride to me, 'thistle. I don't talk about her- about it, for a reason."

Moonthistle rolled her eyes. "Yes, because problems between sisters just go away if they ignore them, right?" Those words struck Arcanus hard, as certain memories resurfaced. Celestia herself wasn't here to feel hurt, so her faithful protege would have to fill in by proxy. Moonthistle seemed vaguely aware of this effect, and smiled awkwardly. "Erm..."

Arcanus waved her off, instead focusing on his new train of thought. It had occasionally come up that Aurora and her older sister Belphegor weren't exactly on the best of terms, but he'd avoided prodding for details the way a filly would poking a beehive to see what was inside. Still, he had just the way to sort-of divert the gloomy subject.

"Thou playest chess? I didn't know that," said Arcanus, taking a seat opposite the seething crimson mare. "We should have a game sometime."

"Right now?" Arcanus nodded, and Aurora immediately ceased the replay spell. The pieces shuffled through the air, clicking and bouncing off one another like a swarm of wooden crickets as they retook their default positions. She cracked her neck back and forth. "White, or black?"

"White," Arcanus said with a shrug, watching as Aurora used an impressive coordination of magic to both spin the board like a turbine and keep all the pieces in place. He hadn't played a game of chess in a good long while, and even then Celestia had introduced him to it as more of a mental exercise to help get the magic flowing. Going with a fairly standard opening, he plucked his king's pawn and moved it to E4.

Aurora began to channel some magic of her own, but as seconds turned into minutes and her forehead turned into a sweaty surf board, it became clear that whatever she was trying just wasn't working. Arcanus looked to her side of the board, and immediately knew why; her queen side knight was positively sweating drops of magical energy, rippling and blurring like the horizon on a sweltering summer's day.

Great chess masters of the age, Celestia herself included, would often use a minor reality bending spell derived from chaos magic to warp their pieces into place, instead of simply moving them with standard unicorn telekinesis. Not only did it give the illusion of great mental fortitude, but it was a way to intimidate one's opponent.

Talented as she was, Aurora couldn't do it. Arcanus himself couldn't do it. It stood to reason that whomever had shown her the trick had been insufferably smug about it, and three guesses who it could have been...

"As much fun as it'd be to watch you two stare each other down for hours," Moonthistle drawled, giving a fake yawn to remove the growing tension from the scene, "I'm not letting you spend our time here locked away in the room. We're going downstairs to have a drink."

"This isn't a vacation, 'thistle..." Aurora said, calming down and wiping the sweat from her brow. Still, her fatigue was apparent. Arcanus raised an eyebrow; he'd only tried it once and given up quickly, but was chaos magic really that strenuous? "We're here on business, not for adventure. Unless attempting to defuse a damn intention to secede is a walk in the park for you."

"No, but that's how an adventure starts." Moonthistle grinned at the grumpy mare, unintimidated by her old friend's attitude. "But, Ms Serious-about-her-work, I reiterate—how 'bout we go downstairs, buy a drink, and maybe chat up a local for some intel and insight into this town?"

Moonthistle was out the door before anyone could respond, leaving her friends clambering to keep up.