One Horn Too Many

His hat hit the table with a jingling of bells, and the old stallion’s hoof ran across his curly mane as he sighed. Cursed be those pampered foals.

Neigh, they could not have been expected to hold on for too long. It was in the nature of ponies to seek solace in structure, a remnants of their ancestors and the great herds of the primitive ponies, he suspected. A subject to study for a later project.

“Teacher?” asked the voice of a young mare.

Starswirl grunted. In a flash, a goblet of wine appeared before him, floating just before his lips. After a sip, he turned to his student, a white mare with a long pink mane. The door behind her creaked open as the younger sister peaked outside the laboratory.

“You two cannot put it off much longer,” he said shortly. “The ponies are trying to reform the whole structure from before. It is a jest from the gods that they even managed to form something close to the old system, but luckily it is fragile. Common ponies everywhere hope to rally around you, not those that found out that they were rich after Harmony undid the Chaos God’s madness.”

The same reluctant look passed over Celestia’s face, and she quickly averted her eyes. “We are no nobles. We did not receive the education needed to rule, Teacher.”

The old mage buried his muzzle in his goblet. Then, he looked up, eyes narrowed, trails of wine trickling down his beard. “Neigh. Do not insult me by implying I don’t understand at least this much about my own students.”

“Then why insist on making us queens?”

“We did not do this to seize power,” piped in Luna, finally decided to enter the room.

“Ponies need you two. They need strong and united leaders to rebuild the country and defend it before griffons or minotaurs or dragons decide the land is ripe for the taking.” The old stallion placed his cup down and glanced to the window on their left. “I hear rumors of war on the wind. Discontent rises in the east, my students.”

The sisters exchanged uneasy glances. The magic in the air shifted subtly, tense where the feathers on their wings shuddered.

It was the youngest that spoke. “Ponies don’t want another immortal ruling them. Discord has scarred them for life.”

Starswirl found himself praying for the gods to grant him patience. There was a difference between the reluctance of the inexperienced youth and the obnoxiousness of arrogant adults. “They will rally around the two mares that defeated him. They will trust you to protect them all. Where you come and announce yourselves, what welcome do you receive?”

Starswirl’s magic flared to life, and in a flash of blinding light, a map materialized onto his work table, spread with all its content laid bare.

“In Baltimare, what did ponies say?” He put his hoof on another, near faded spot. “In Neighbraska? In Prance? In Germane? Save the lies for when a crown rest upon your brows, my students. That’s when you’ll need them. But here and now, do not deny what I know to be truth. Ponies await the moment you will claim the reigns of this shambled country.”

His students remained silent, their eyes clouded by memories of their past travels. Doubtlessly, they remembered the cheers, the chorus of thousands hollering as one whilst they paraded down the street of the cities they had freed. ‘Discord is gone,’ they chanted. ‘Hooray for our saviours!’

“Look at yourselves.” Starswirl suddenly stood. “Hiding. From what? You have vanquished the threat. You have liberated a land enslaved for a hundred years. Why are you willing to let it fall into shambles now?”

Luna grabbed her sister’s hoof.

“We will do our duty.”

--

Hoofsteps came in echoes to the grandfather clock’s ticks, one beat leaning into the other with a mechanical regularity. Once in a while, creaks of wood overhead would pile on the noise, just enough to register in Edward’s mind before he put it aside and refocused his gaze on the elegant cursive.

“Born in the now razed village of Whinny Keg in 568 After Unification, Oracle Voyageur started life without distinction.” Running water. “Until the moment he woke up his parents in the middle of the night crying about his aunt mutilated by monsters.” French cursing. “Whilst it was rather proven quickly to be false, the next week saw her convoy attacked by griffons and her body found amongst the victims. When Voyageur’s next dream showed him their house crumbling to the ground, his parents wisely gathered all their belongings and foals and left Whinny Keg forever.”

Humming, Edward made a mental note, then turned the page. The rustling of paper mixed in with the creaks of the stairs, and the faint clinking of metal from their jailer’s armor. He said nothing in response to her grunt of acknowledgement, though in the corner of his eyes, he could still make out the shape of a greyish mare curiously picking out a half-rolled scroll.

“Who wrote that?” Belfry snickered, a hint of bafflement ringing through her laughter. “A five year old?”

Edward barely lifted his muzzle from his book. “Ask the Frenchie. Not like he has ink all over his lips.”

Belfry’s gaze flicked to the kitchen, where the sound of running water had only grown stronger. Said stallion was vigorously wiping his face with a damp towel. When he lowered it, Belfry saw the streaks of black striding down his lips and his chin.

“Pierre? Seriously?” She guffawed. “It looks like you’ve never held a quill before.”

Said stallion scowled, rubbing at his face again until the trails of ink had grown fainter. “That’s because I haven’t.”

Belfry rolled her eyes, her smirk still well in place. “Right, pull the other one.”

“The hints pile up, but the conclusion is already drawn.” Edward closed his book, his gaze cold. “You’ll see more of it, but you can’t bear to rethink what you decided. Whatever doesn’t support your feelings about it is simply discarded. It’s called a bias, batgirl.”

Bristling, Belfry trotted right up to Edward, the corners of her lips pulled downward as she restrained a snarl. “Or, maybe, just maybe, I’m actually familiar with the laws of Equestria. Everypony learns how to read and write as a foal.”

“We aren’t from Equestria, you daft mule.” Ed rolled his eyes, entirely unimpressed. “I’d ask how many times we need to repeat it, but that would imply any of you have the capacity to think beyond your own indoctrination.”

Belfry said nothing, but her fangs flashed in the light. Her eyes were obviously calculating something, likely the cost of actually punching the pony she was assigned to protect. Maybe her rank. And since Edward was not one to back done when pushed, Pierre’s gaze darted between the two of them nervously.

If he didn’t say something now, someone was bound to be punched in the face, and he wasn’t sure who he would be cheering on in this case. “Is it really common for bicorns not to know how to write?”

“Please,” Belfry scoffed, “as if bicorns would ever lack anything.”

Nonchalant. Bitter underneath that. The words held an unspoken challenge. Her eyes glinted, daring and at the same time hoping for silence.

The two stallions exchanged a look. “Is it common for thestrals not to?” Pierre rephrased.

Belfry’s ears twitched. “...Depends on the neighbourhood.”

“You’d almost believe thestrals were from a third world country, or some such dystopia.” He barely refrained from adding Such as Equestria at the end.

“No,” she ground out, “it’s almost like herbivores, who fear anything with a pair of sharp teeth.”

Edward leaned in. “Are you a carnivore, batsie? Is there any basis to their fear? Or are you just what they decide that you must be?”

On the wall, the clock let out a resounding cuckoo cry.

“Thank Luna’s plot!” Belfry shouted to the high heavens.

On that strange outburst, the mare turned on her heels and trotted straight toward the door, not even caring to close it properly. They could hear her complain to her superior and relish in the change of post. A woosh of air followed as the only hints of her fur in the doorframe flew upward.

Tempered Steel entered next, no trace of emotion on his face. If Belfry’s turmoil had been visible, then the stallion had either not noticed, or had been unaffected. When he spoke, he barely uttered one sentence. One that fell like a weight of iron chains on their backs.

“Have you ever seen a thestral outside of the Night Guard?”

Both bicorns paused to consider Tempered Steel’s words. Truthfully, neither could really recall a moment in the show where they had seen them if they weren’t in Luna’s service. Their short stay in Ponyville had given them glimpses of most earth ponies, pegasi, unicorns, and even donkeys once or twice. But thestrals? No. Then again, neither had they seen other bicorns besides the one mare that had been brought. A familiar feeling of unease caressed their skin. No thestral, no bicorn.

By the time they had dug through their memories, Tempered Steel had already began his round around the first floor.

Edward hummed, a hoof to his chin. “So there seems to have been some truth to her ramblings and her hostile attitude.”

“What do you think it is?”

Edward took a look at his scattered papers, momentarily regretting their lack of diversity. Registers on bicorn births did not tell much about the status of other pony tribes. “Well, obviously, it must be in the opposite direction of bicorns. She is always annoyed that we protest the ‘privileges’ given to us, so it would stand to reason that the thestrals are lacking those basic accommodations.”

“She did say that she was forced to join the guard,” Pierre said slowly.

“No, frog-eater, the bat told us that she didn’t have a choice between that and starvation. I’m more of the opinion that thestrals in general don’t have other options, because no one else is willing to hire them. Steel more or less confirmed it just now. And I’m betting Luna is the reason they have a shot at jobs in the palace itself.”

Pierre looked down, dejected. It already felt as if he was grasping at straws. “It couldn’t be the lack of jobs, right?”

“Considering that any number of bicorns are sent on reserves or live on forced stipends, I would be surprised if Equestria’s economy did not have a whole chunk dedicated to this. They are not lacking in either workers or taxes. Equestria’s economy had been growing for decades before it reached its current plateau as the first world power.”

There was a pause during which Pierre collected his thoughts. He could say many things to that, but truly, he only had the desire for one. “Sometimes,” he sighed, “I really think Celestia just went insane. How is this all worth it?”

“You’re forgetting our fabled power to see into the future. That is a rather valuable asset.”

“This valuable?” Pierre asked, muzzle scrunched up.

Edward shrugged. “I suppose it depends on what is seen. Amongst the prophecies I’ve found archived are Nightmare Moon’s return, an assassination attempt on an ambassador that would have been blamed on Equestria, a famine following a few parasprite swarms all around the countryside, and my personal favorite, the reemergence of the Crystal Empire. Sunbutt had to spend a few years negotiating with the yaks over this one.”

“The yaks?”

Edward’s smirk told it all. “It wasn’t as smooth an appearance as what we saw in the show, my dear little Frenchie.”

Instead of amusement, Pierre only felt fatigue, like a fog blurring away their futures. “Nothing is quite as simple as what we saw on the show… That being said…” he trailed off, his eyes falling on the unfolded scroll left behind by Belfry. “She might have had a point.”

Edward grunted. “Well, don’t tell her that. I am absolutely certain she would be insufferable if she thought she was proven right on anything.”

For a second, Pierre remained silent, a thoughtful frown on his face. His gaze followed Edward as he made his way back to the couch with his book tucked under one of his forelegs. Something about the way his friend had talked… well, it was the usual snide comment, of course, but… Nah.

“Sergeant,” Pierre suddenly called. “I need your help.”

As expected, the military stallion answered the call promptly, galloping down the stairs so fast he appeared to be gliding. His golden eyes quickly scanned the room, at first in search of a threat, then focused on the French bicorn with a certain wariness.

Traces of a blush pierced through Pierre’s maroon fur. It wasn’t a thing he ever thought he would need to ask again. “I want to present my apologies to Pinkie Pie for having disturbed her so much. I can’t write with my hooves and trying with my mouth is just a bad joke.”

Sergeant Tempered Steel raised one eyebrow. “And how exactly may I be of assistance to you?”

Pierre jerked his head toward the table, the inkpots and the scrolls. “Well obviously, I’ll have to dictate it to you.”

The guard didn’t move. He kept his stare affixed to the blushing bicorn.

“Oh come on, you don’t want the Element of Laughter to stay sad, right?” His sheepish smile did nothing to stop the chill going through the guard’s spine. Without need for further prompting, he began trotting toward the table, when Pierre added, “Plus, it saves you the time of reading it yourself later.”

Tempered Steel did not slow down, but his voice seemed a touch tighter. “You say that as if I were looking for blackmail.”

“Aren’t you?” Edward crooned, putting a mark in the margins of the book he was reading.“I would have thought Miss Lapdog would want a ‘friendship’ report everyday.”

The thestral’s traits were carefully neutral as he took off his helmet and smoothed a sheet of paper with a press of his left wing. “A bilan of the day’s events, and a notification if something of worth happens. You two are under house arrest, after all.”

“For daring not to want to live in Ponyville, no less,” drawled Ed.

“Can you imagine what it would be like if we had actually committed a crime?”

Steel’s brows furrowed, but he did not rise to the bait. Wordlessly, he bit into the tail end of a quilt and turned an awaiting gaze to Pierre.

“Right, should have known it wouldn’t faze you at all. So, it was something like this… Dear Pinkie Pie...”

--

Tempered Steel’s gaze had gained hints of ice and cold, almost a metallic glint, since he had left the house holding his charges. Ponies in the street gave him a wide berth. Were he a more idealistic stallion, he would have guessed that it was respect for his uniform. Alas, he wasn’t, and the old feeling of indignation crawled under his fur, then faded away as quickly as he could muster it.

On the flipside, he never truly needed to raise his voice and call on the authority of the Princess to get through a crowd. That had been useful more than once.

He took one look at the gingerbread-styled house and knew he had reached his destination. Without a moment’s hesitation, he knocked thrice and waited.

The door opened on a washed-out pink mare.

“Oh, hi Steely,” the bearer of Laughter greeted him, far more subdued than the day before. “I’m really sorry I haven’t had time to throw you a welcoming party yet. There was this cuteceanera and then the tea party with the guys, and...”

Pinkie lowered her gaze to the ground, her smile a flimsy, fleeting thing.

“I’ll get around to it soon. Probably the moment you come back.”

The grey stallion waved it off with a hoof, his eyes narrowed a fraction. “There is no need for that, Miss Pie.” Not that she should know they would be leaving soon either.

“Oh, yes there is. I do it for everypony. I don’t want any of you feeling left out.” Pinkie suddenly extended one hoof, presenting half a dozen of neon colored cupcakes. “So, while you guys get around to doing your super special missions, have these cupcakes to give you an idea of what you’re going to get once you come back.”

Sergeant Steel stared at the cupcakes as if they were dangerous explosives. “Where did you hide these?”

Pinkie Pie blinked, then giggled. “I just had them with me, silly.”

“Yes... well, I was tasked with the delivery of a message,” Steel said, pulling from his saddle bag a neatly folded paper.

Pinkie took the paper in hoof, eyes widening slightly with wonder. “A message, for little old me?”

“Dear Pinkie Pie, I want to tell you I am sorry for the...”

Said mare’s narration cut short as her eyes flicked to the lines below. Her mane deflated slightly, and she scrambled to put on a good smile for Tempered Steel.

“Thank you for the letter,” she said. A poor lie. Pinkie seemed to want nothing to do with the letter at all. She half hid behind the door, her hoof on the doorknob. “You can go back now. With your head held super high for a mission accomplished.”

“Miss Pie.” Tempered Steel put a hoof in the doorframe. “The letter was dictated to me. I know the topic at hooves is a heavy one. And what he mentions has not been found in any historical records.”

“That’s… that’s nice,” she sniffled, before pushing the door close and running through the bakery.

She heard Mr. Cake call her name, a touch annoyed, but mostly concerned. Pinkie nearly stopped right there and then, would have broken the laws of physics as if they were mere suggestions had it not been for a voice in the back of her head that said ‘millions!’ She climbed up the stairs at breakneck speed, and hid herself in the privacy of her room.

The letter, now crumbled in her grasp, trembled.

Pinkie breathed out a sigh, then lowered her voice until it resembled the Prench stallion’s.

“I want to tell you that I am sorry for the sorrow I caused you. And yet, I do not take it back. Everything I said was the honest truth. Back in my home country, everyone had their lives irremediably changed by that war. The country surrendered to the invaders, the resistance went underground, and so many people died… It just so happened that my great-grandparents would have never met if not for those circumstances.”

She heard again, ‘millions’, and droplets hit the paper. Pierre’s voice seemed shaken.

“You’re probably wondering why I’m saying this. It’s because of what you said. The laws made it possible for your family to exist. And I get that, in a roundabout way. No one gets to choose what circumstances they’re born in. You have bicorns up your family tree, so I understand that those laws are a sensitive topic for you. Maybe you feel like you owe them something. Without them, would you or your family have been born? It’s hard to tell. The past is the past however. It can’t be changed.”

“Those bicorns that lived and died are gone. It’s not their feelings that count. It’s not the ‘what if’ and the ‘should have’ either. It’s the ‘what might be’ that matters.”

“Fluttershy said bicorns need help. She was right about that, but not about why. How many of them are unhappy, Pinkie Pie?”

The cotton candy pink mare put down the letter with little fanfare, then glanced to the framed picture on her stand.

--

Vivid green hills and laboured fields flowed past the windows like water trickling down a stream.

Pierre sighed. It felt silly, needlessly sentimental. But it was like a pinch on his heart. The thrums of the train’s wheels rolling on the tracks, the faint buzzing of the seats not quite shaken by the motion, the cheap cushions growing steadily less comfortable every passing hour. He hadn’t realized he missed it. He hadn’t thought it would remind him of home.

Equestria did not have cars or planes or even bicycles. But it had trains. So, of course, they would board on one and he would have hours to kill.

Long, fruitless hours whilst he tried not to see the transparent reflection of a bicorn in the cart’s windows. Not to imagine someone typing on a laptop’s keyboards three seats over. Not to wait for an electronic voice to ring through the wagon and announce the next train station.

Though, newspapers pages crumbling whilst they were turned by their owner… that part he needed not imagine.

Pierre glanced to his right, at Edward and the small mountain of newspapers he had scattered around him. Points to him, it was something to do instead of just waiting to arrive at the reserve.

God, the reserve. A big gilded cage for a lot of bicorns. If Twilight had expected them to be thrilled to meet more bicorns, well, she clearly would have been in denial. They had not… made a fuss, per say. Kind of useless at this point. Protest loudly? Yes. Deride Twilight’s general existence and stubbornness? Also yes until she had used a silencing spell.

He had felt his eyes go wide, and he had tried to meet Attention Span’s gaze. The private had averted his. Edward, on the other hand, had glared. Hard. It was as if the alicorn had lit a brasier behind his eyes.

When Twilight lifted her spell, long after her explanation had been given, neither of them had spoken out loud. Not yet. At the train station though, Edward had made the request for some newspapers. To their curious and suspicious looks, he had answered:

“I want something to read during the train ride. Are you afraid I’ll die of a papercut now? Or is there something you fear we will learn by looking at the local news?”

For a moment, the princess had seemed unsure on how to proceed. Her wings had fluttered near imperceptibly. Her eyes had glanced over the frontpage of papers lying on the stand, then to the pony behind the counter. Finally, with one word, she had agreed, and stepped inside the train.

Tempered Steel had been selected to watch over them. A practical choice, all in all. Sergeant Tempered Steel generally kept his tongue still unless asked, never rose to baits and honestly was the least likely to cause either Pierre or Edward reason to complain. Half the time, Pierre forgot the guard was even there with them.

That probably could become very dangerous, but for now, he’d take the respite. Even without it, he might still throw up from the nerves alone.

Finally, unable to just sit still and think any longer, he stood and trotted up to his English friend. “Why did you get so many newspapers?”

Edward’s answer had his typical flair. “Unlike a certain bicorn that I will not name, I like to be kept informed of recent events in my surroundings.”

“Urgh, Ed, can you not? We’re on our way to a reserve, and I am already stressed enough thinking that Twilight will just dump us there.” He shot a glance to their guard, hoping to catch a reaction, a hint, something! “What are we going to do if she does?!”

“She’s not,” Edward snorted, not even rising his muzzle from his papers. “It’s a matter of pride now, and our neurotic little princess lapdog can’t stand the thought that her pet project failed. Can you imagine the letter? Dear Princess Celestia, I did not for a second imagine that some ponies did not want to fuck total strangers and have kids because I told them to. Especially after they said so. I’m a failure, your ex-student, Twilight Sparkle.”

Well, Pierre mused, Twilight probably wouldn’t send a letter like that to Princess Celestia.

“Okay, I kind of get your point. Still...”

He had to think of something else. Anything else. He’d take an intrusive examination by countless doctors and nurses again if it meant not thinking about the fact that they were heading for a reserve. Yes, he would. Even if his rump would hold a grudge against him for the rest of his life. He had reached that kind of low.

Or he could speak to Ed. Almost the same thing to him, really. “What are you reading exactly?”

“The obituary.”

Pierre repressed the shiver that danced on his spine at the morbid reply, and settled for a simple disturbed look. “Why?”

“Because I have noticed something interesting.”

And the shivers doubled. Joy. Did Edward have to give such a creepy answer to his question? What could be so interesting about the obituaries of half a dozen newspapers?

Without prompting, Edward’s hooves displaced the papers spread in front of him, cycling through the names on the fronts easily. He seemed not to need much effort to sort through his mess. Then again, for a bookstore owner… It probably was second nature to him, or so Pierre imagined.

“Here. Take a look at this article,” Ed prompted.

YOUNG TEENAGER FOUND DEAD AFTER HIS SIXTEENTH BIRTHDAY.

For a moment, Pierre hung his head, his fringe hiding his eyes from sight. It was another piece of his mental Equestria stripped away. A layer off the dream-like place, another hint of cold on his fur. The words on the paper clawed at that silly idea.

“Bordel...” For a moment, he struggled to speak. Suicide. Of course, ponies committed suicide. A bicorn, in this case. “I… why would you read that?”

“I see you haven’t noticed. Typical, seeing the tree but not the forest.”

With a somewhat smug smirk, the Brit shoved the papers very nearly into his friend’s face. But the offended shout that Pierre wanted to let out died a premature death. His eyes had fallen on the number next to his friend’s gray hoof, and suddenly, he did not quite know what to say.

“Page twenty-two?” he said slowly. Wait, something wasn’t right about that.

Edward nodded. “You’d think by how much coddling they do, ponies would care far more about a bicorn’s suicide, right?”

Pierre’s brows furrowed together. As much as he was loathed to admit it, Edward had a point. It did not quite fit with what the Equestrians thought of bicorns. If their lives were so precious as to build an entire system around, then their deaths…

“You’re right. That doesn’t make much sense.”

“Well, I extrapolated two hypothesis so far: one, that they’re lying about caring about bicorns,” Edward counted on his hoof with a sardonic smile, “two, they do care, but this is so common that it’s not newsworthy anymore.”

Pierre grabbed one of the opened paper lying around. His frown deepened as he took note of the page. “Neither sound right… It has to be at least a little newsworthy if there are articles on them.”

“Why don’t we ask one of our charming captors?” Edward stretched his neck to look over the benches and to the end of the wagon. “Sergeant, any comment?”

The thestral’s armor clinked as he turned his head, expression blank.

“None. You’d have to ask the newspapers’ owners.”

“Do I?” Edward said in an entirely too pleasant and polite tone of voice. “Shouldn’t I look for censors first? What’s the law on publishing?”

Tempered Steel’s eyes narrowed. “The only law in place is the obscenity law, forbidding the public presence of sexual intercourse, obscene swearing and violence in general media. Those cannot be published and advertised for the general public. Opinions that do not contradict this are not subject to censorship, Edward.”

“Even the idea that bicorns are lazy goatheads undeserving of their privileges? Can that be published?”

The guard remained silent for a moment. “Yes. It won’t net you a broad readership though. Princess Celestia stops buying the papers that present tribalists opinions.”

Edward scoffed. With a roll of his eyes, he dismissed the guard and returned to his readings. “Ponies are more sheep than bicorns is what you’re saying. A little braying herd that listens to the good shepherd Sunbutt.”

Curiously, his comment netted no reaction out of Tempered Steel. Edward filed that away in the back of his mind. It could be nothing. It could be something rather important.

“So,” Pierre said, finally sitting down on one of the few spots not occupied by a newspaper, “it’s not censorship, but ponies won’t read what Celestia dislikes. At least, we know that they probably like her as much as the canon version.”

“Probably.” Ed shrugged. “It would be better if there were more dissenting opinions.”

At this, Pierre grinned. “Oh, but there are. Remember how ponies react to us? We’re too privileged. Thunderlane pretty much hated us on sight. Could be jealousy. Same with Rainbow. She sounded pretty pissed about how undeserving we are.”

For a moment, the Brit considered the point. It wasn’t exactly wrong, but he wouldn’t readily call it the dissent he was looking for. He needed something more… substantial. “Rainbow Dash is a hothead, obviously, but would you bet on her contradicting the princesses? ”

Pierre’s ears drooped. “Touché.”

“Spare me your asinine language, snail-slurper,” Ed said with a smirk.

At times like this, Pierre had to wonder what really made them friends. There probably had to be a masochistic component to it. What kind of friends took so many potshots at each others? Or maybe, they were both just that desperate for allies.

“Right. Whatever, crooked teeth. Why were you reading the obituary anyway? Trying to satisfy your necrophiliac fetish?”

“Between the two of us,” Ed laughed, “the one considering bestiality isn’t me. Now, shut your mouth for a second, a challenge, I know, and listen. I’ve found six bicorns in eight publications. Of those, only one was of old age.”

What little comfort could be found in their old vitriolic routine vanished. The realization crashed onto him like a tidal wave. He did not ask for the cause of death for the other five. He knew. He knew, Edward knew, he had shoved it in his face.

The smile found on Edward’s face had turned into something sharp, something cold and angry. “Bicorns are born and die somewhat faster than their population can bear. It seems to be an old problem, I’ve seen mentions of it going back about a century. Why do you think they seem so desperate to raise the number of births so much?”

Pierre’s mouth clamped shut. He… he did not want to say it. He did not want to think it, to look at the numbers and wonder, again, to think back on a mare with a timid smile and her army of siblings. Had she… did she know somepony that had? Five in six, in eight different newspapers. Today’s toll. They did not have the knowledge yet.

But she must have. Some pony or another, close to her. A friend of a friend. A neighbour. A pony she used to see at the market. One or another. And she would be far from the only one. How…? How did ponies not look at it and beg Celestia to stop this madness?

Deep down, maybe he knew. It was not such an alien concept after all.

“Edward…” Pierre gulped. “I think I see the reserve.”

A rare hint of doubt flashed in Edward’s eyes before he forced it out. His face appeared carved in stone as grey as the fur on his body. With a stoic look, he turned to where Pierre pointed, and examined the sight through the window.

In the distance, away from the skyline of Baltimare a lone mound of grey cut through the blue sky.

The shadow of the rock bore on their heads. Sounds seemed to close around them, the sound of their hooves creating echoes under the arches. The guards on each side of the path melted in the gray as if they were statues, as unmoving and unyielding. Belfry and Steel at their back pushed them forth.

That was it. The reserves. The big fancy cage Equestria dumped its bicorns into.

Their little group came to a halt in front of a veritable barricade, one toward which Twilight confidently strode. Bronze and Span stopped just short of reaching it, and turned completely toward the two bicorns.

Nopony said a word. They let the silence and the darkness fill in their wait.

Pierre’s lung felt as if they had caught fire. Every breath, too short, too small. He needed more. He needed more air, and they were stuck beneath tons of rocks, stuck inside a cage where the walls closed on them.

“Get a hold of yourself, Pierre.”

The annoyed grunt he meant to throw back became nothing more than a rasp wheeze. A cough. Sharp, quickening intakes of air. His legs trembled, unable to carry his weight anymore. They were going to throw them both in a cage and sit on the key. He had to run. He had to leave, right now! NOW!

The flurry of feather shot a bolt of adrenaline straight through his veins. They squeezed, they pulled at his shoulders, and he squirmed, struggled, wanted to scream, but couldn’t breath. Were they trying to strangle him?!

“Slow,” Attention Span said, “slow. Relax. Slow breaths, Pierre. Just like mine. Listen.”

Listen, he heard, inhale, exhale, listen. Not his heartbeat, a deafening pulse throbbing in his ears. Not the voices in the back of his head. Not the screeches of panic.

Listen. Slow.

Inhale, exhale.

Warmth was spreading through his back. The feathers weren’t strangling him. They were stroking his back, soft. His blurring vision returned to normal, the unfocused figures becoming clearer, the slatters of gold and silver becoming metal plates, the blobs, ponies.

And one, yellow, smiling, still so youthful looking, rubbing a hoof against Pierre’s shoulder. “Feeling better?” Attention Span asked.

Wiping sweat from his brows, Pierre nodded wordlessly. Everypony was watching him, thoughtful or annoyed. Little concern beyond Attention Span’s. And Twilight Sparkle’s.

That last detail creeped him out more than anything else. At that second, he thought he might have been able to take it if it were fake. If it were a trap, an evil so blatant it would laugh at his misery. No, Twilight Sparkle, the very mare that had requested he be brought in this accursed place, looked at him with concern.

“If everypony is ready then,” she trailed off, making Pierre’s tail flick nervously, “then let’s get inside. I’ve cleared it all with the captain of the garrison.”

Their little group marched forward, Span still at Pierre’s side, making small talk under his breath. The bicorn stallion didn’t listen, not truly, but he preferred the private’s voice to his own fears. It would take just a moment to unleash the flood of repressed emotions again. He trotted slightly behind, Bronze Chainmail closing the march.

And though he tried to hide it, Edward’s movements were a touch stiffer than before. Rattled one might say, off if only slightly.

They couldn’t compare this inner city with Ponyville. Whereas the little town had sprouted from the arrival of new families around the apple orchards, the reserve of Baltimare had been planned, down to the detail. Each row seemed meticulously aligned to give an equal yet modest space to each house that occupied it. Edward and Pierre needed barely stretch their neck to see how the streets met at perfect perpendicular angles at exactly the same distance, over and over, until a town square of sort near the very center of the reserve.

“You’d think they got a good deal on the brown paint. Nobody can like the colour that much,” Edward quipped, though neither he nor Pierre so much as smiled.

Truthfully enough, most roofs were of brown or brick red shades, or something in-between. It did not pop with anywhere near the impact of the Carousel Boutique or Surgarcube Corner. It lacked… personality.

On the other hand, within the walls bicorns abound. From around every corner, more bicorns trotted down the streets of the reserve.

Most went about their businesses with neutral or focused expression, not unlike humans in a big city. Yet, on ponies, it did not seem quite right. What it was, the two former humans did not understand right away. However, when they saw the element missing, they felt a chill crawl down their spines. Here and there, they noticed some stallions and mares with a cutie mark of flowers or quills or baby bottles. However, even those rare drawings would fade in the crowd, disappearing from sight beneath the sea of markless fur.

In this crowd, it wasn’t Edward or Pierre that stood out. Their escort, already clunky with their heavy armor, already peculiar by their lack of horns, would have stood out by virtue of their cutie marks alone. Indeed, the bicorns that trotted by almost all turned their heads toward the guards, curious if nothing else in the presence of unknown guardponies.

“A struggling population, huh?” Pierre deadpanned.

Certainly, going through those crowded streets, one might have been allowed doubts on the endangered status of bicorns.

If they were to escape attention for a minute or so…

No, Edward shook his head and eyed the walls. They would be stuck inside. So far, their only hope of leaving this place was through the doors, with Twilight Sparkle, loathed as they were to admit it. This wasn’t the place for their daring escape, not yet.

Besides, he added as an afterthought, there wouldn’t be a better place to fill in the holes in their knowledge.

“So,” he drawled, “is there any plan for this charming visit, Princess Sparklehead, or are we going to aimlessly wander through the crowd as technicolored ghosts?”

The very idea seemed to be a personal affront. “Don’t be silly, Edward, of course there is a plan. I’ve already compiled a list of common experiences known to bicorns for you guys to see.”

“Well, if you said anything, we’d--” His words got cut off as he bumped into a frozen Pierre. “Frenchie?”

He only blinked, looking to the other side of the street, where a mare had stopped dead in her tracks. “Fortune?”

“Pierre!”

The aura of gloom and doom that had followed the young stallion lifted entirely at the sight of the mare running toward them. Forgetting the guards and any pony watching in, he broke into a run to meet her in the middle of the road.

Their hooves hovered in the air awkwardly, both stopped mid-stride, remembering their last agreement. But then, Pierre threw caution to the wind and just grabbed her hoof to share a quick hug. “It’s good to see you.”

“What are you doing here?” she asked, breathless, smiling widely. “I thought you two were supposed to live in Ponyville for the time being.”

Twilight stepped in. “Oh, that’s on me. I wanted Pierre and Edward to see how Equestrian bicorns lived. And help them make new connections with their peers.”

“Oh! Princess!” Fortune scrambled to detach herself from Pierre and lowered her head in a bow. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t notice you.”

“Too busy ogling the Frenchie...” Ed muttered.

Pierre struck him on the shoulder, more irate than he had looked with any other teasing.

Now rather used to their antics, Princess Twilight paid them both no mind, instead looking at Fortune. “Please, don’t mind me. This is precisely the kind of things I wanted them to experience. Authentic, verified bicorn lives. Do go on.”

Being sanctioned by a princess to continue with an unexpected reunion failed to make her at ease, especially in front of a bunch of strangers, one of whom stared judgmentally. She couldn’t make eye contact, the weight of the group’s expectations growing with every passing second. How did one act naturally when they were asked? All she could think of was whistling, and she had always been terrible at that.

“You know,” she heard Pierre’s soft whisper, “if you had errands to run, places to be, we won’t bother you at all. Don’t worry about what Twilight was saying.”

He was close, his hoof raised and near her chin, as if he had attempted but stopped himself from touching her. If she wanted, she could focus on him alone. But she stepped back, spoke more clearly.

“You... ” Fortune looked away, a faint blush to her cheeks. “You gave me a tour of Ponyville. Maybe I could… repay the favor?”

Neither mentioned that it had been a little bit more than a tour. That they’d trotted close enough to touch, that sometimes they had paused and looked at the other with shorter breathes, quicker heartbeat. They had made a choice already.

But here and now, Pierre could hardly see the harm. He smiled, roguish. “I’d love that.”

Unfortunately, they were not alone. “Keep it in your pants, Frenchie,” Ed hissed in his ears..

“We’re not wearing pants, smartass,” Pierre whispered back.

“All the more reason. No one wants to see your baguette.”

Pierre froze, his hooves digging into the pavement.

Then, he looked at Fortune who was trying to keep a polite and patient smile on her face. And he blushed down to his hooves. And then some. Not for the first time, but certainly with the most intensity, he remembered that they were all naked here. Very, very naked.

Bordel, he was going to die. And then roll in his grave. And then die again.

He was naked, she was naked, fucking Edward was naked and watching, alongside a handful of nudist ponies. God, what had he done to deserve this?

“Are you okay?” Fortune asked, because she was a good person and not at all a jerk like a certain friend of his.

His answer to her translated as a high-pitched wheeze.

Edward shook his head. “A poor French lover, as if he wasn’t sad enough.”

“What did you even say to him?” Belfry asked, one eyebrow raised higher than the other.

The Brit’s grin was entirely too smug for his own good. “The better question is what went through his mind when I finished.”

“Wow!” Pierre exclaimed. “Look at the time. We better get started if we want to do this before sunset, right?! We have a reserve to visit. Let’s go.”

And chuckling as if he wanted to die, he pulled Fortune forward, alternating between ‘ignore him’, ‘he’s a jerk’ and ‘so, this is where you live, huh?’ The mare followed suit, bemused, sometimes glancing back to the rest of the group that stepped forth behind them. Every time she did, Pierre made another comment, stretching his imagination to find anything worthwhile as a distraction.

Yes, the shops were interesting in their own right, but they lacked a certain diversity. The fifth flower shops and the third arts and crafts supply store they went past sapped his creativity, ironically enough.

“And, huh, this one is… another flower shop… It must be… something…” He swallowed, his mouth too dry, a few beads of sweat rolling on his brows. “I mean, do you, no, I already asked that the last time…”

A gentle hoof brushed against his. “It’s okay, Pierre.”

“I wasn’t thinking of anything,” he swore under his breath.

A rare twinkle of mischief sparked in Fortune’s gaze, and she murmured “I wouldn’t have minded if you had.”

It sent shivers down his spine, his ears standing straight at attention. Like every muscles in his body had tensed. Oh boy. This was bad. Fortune had noticed, she giggled in her hoof, all too pleased by his reaction. And he had to force his legs to keep moving, to keep trotting by her side. That laugh, he could let slide.

“We’re nearly at the center of the reserve,” Fortune announced to Edward and the rest of their escort.

A fact they soon noticed by the increasing thickness of the crowd. Bicorns filled in the streets in these parts, adults almost always leading foals behind them. The noise level grew until they could hardly hear each other speak. One could no longer trot without bumping into another pony.

The marketplace resembled Ponyville’s, though much larger, the stands curiously manned by a mixture of bicorns and other ponies. They shouted much the same things. Their products were the best, the very best, approved by Celestia herself!

That call left a bitter taste in both former humans’ mouths. Oh, they had no doubt the products must have been approved by Celestia in person. They could have done without.

Pierre however kept his expression awed, and his smile joyful as Fortune pointed some pony or another to describe what usually was sold around the market.

“--and Cash Crop has some of the best berries you’ll find, but only by the end of the seventh moon of the month. Before, it’s all terrible,” Fortune stage whispered to Pierre.

“What does she do the rest of the time?”

“Pretend it’s good,” she giggled, and Pierre joined in.

Two paces behind, Edward observed the collections of fruits and vegetables splayed over the tables. “No luxury ingredients here,” he commented evenly.

Belfry’s eyes narrowed on him, not that Edward seemed affected in the slightest. He kept a close watch on the produce being sold, mouthing names and numbers. A slow, churning feeling seized Belfry in her stomach, and she glanced to Chainmail, whose frown had deepened. Neither spoke, but they glanced around the crowd and kept a tighter formation.

Their progress went unimpeded. Despite the crowd, the guards never needed to break through. Ponies stepped around them without even looking, as if they were rocks in the middle of the river. Soon, they had left the market place.

This district obviously was residential. For one, neither Pierre nor Edward could detect any shop’s sign hanging from the walls. Beyond that however, most houses were aligned in perfectly neat rows, the only differences between them the flower pots on the porches and the heads moving behind the windows.

In contrast to the market place where every word not shouted was lost to the ambient noise, here only the chatter between Pierre and Fortune filled in the silence, with the occasional interjection from Twilight or Attention Span. Edward would rather not willingly inflict that on himself.

Just then, three mares trotted past him reading a list to each other. His ears caught the words ‘potatoes’ and ‘haybars’. He would have looked away, forgetting that detail entirely, if not for the sight that chilled his blood. Seven foals no older than the Cutie Mark Crusaders trailed behind them like obedient ducklings. They were blathering exceedingly loudly about the useless frivolities children loved to care about. And their voices squeaked.

His ears twitched.

He shuddered. Nope, he thought, never.

In a way, it served as a good reminder of the stakes. If they failed, he would have to be the happy father of a brood of demanding little brats. His worst nightmares did not compare to that.

He shot an accusing look at Twilight. “Why, this is all very interesting. Fascinating even. It sure does make me want to know more about the culture of ‘my’ people.”

Tension thickened the air around them. Their guide alone did not gaze at him in suspicion, and that was for lack of knowing him. She would learn in time, he imagined.

“Fortune, my dear, there has to be a library or something equivalent in this town, isn’t there? I’d like to find something to read. It is a favourite pastime of mine.”

“Oh,” said Fortune, blushing a little, “right, sorry. There is one on --”

“I’m not sure that’s appropriate, Edward,” cut in Twilight Sparkle. “The restriction of genres still apply.”

She had spoken tensely, her words clipped. She was frowning, standing firm with her wings clasped on her sides, unaware that behind her, Fortune had blinked in silent surprise.

“Why, bring me something by a bicorn author then,” Edward retorted with a sneer. “They would have respected whatever inane conventions you have come up with. Surely writing can’t be too strenuous of a job. You wouldn’t have banned that, right?”

“...Later,” Twilight said as if it were painful. “I brought you here to meet bicorns, Edward. You won’t meet new ponies by locking yourself in a library. Trust me, I know.”

Edward’s face twisted as if he had bitten into a lemon. Through his teeth, he mumbled something that resembled ‘trust her? I’d rather swallow a porcupine dry’.

“I do apologize for this scene, Miss Fortune,” Twilight bowed her head. “Please, continue.”

It was a relief when, a few minutes later, Fortune led them on the porches of one of the houses. Though this one lacked any particular distinction, the flashes of excitement on the mare’s face told them what they needed to know.

“I’m home!” Fortune called as she threw the door open. “And we’ve got visitors!”

Pierre and Edward followed, the former with an hesitation he recognized in the days of his adolescence. Though they would be loathed to admit it, they had expected the interior to be as dull and repetitive as the rows of houses. But the walls were a vibrant green and couches in the living room were buried under pile of multi-colored pillows. Somepony lived here. Many ponies, in fact. Pictures littered the top of the hearth, the number of ponies within always growing. At the center, an olive stallion leaned against a cyan mare. From where they stood however, neither visitors could make out more details.

And too little time to move closer. From the adjacent room came four ponies, all crowned by twin horns, all seemingly of age with Tempered Steel. Three mares and a stallion, the latter of which scanned for Good Fortune with silver-like eyes. His mouth curved into a half-smile, slowing down just in time for one of the mares to trot well past him.

Whilst her partners were softened angles and quiet surprise, this one towered over them, trotting with purpose, barely stopping when she caught sight of an alicorn in her home. She ignored them all in favor of getting up to Fortune and nuzzling her on the cheeks. The others, however, recognized their visitor.

“Oh my, Princess Twilight Sparkle?” gasped one of the mares, before dropping into a bow, her black mane falling over the rest of her purple coat.

Her partners tried to follow suit, but one of them only managed to lower her head, hoof clutching to her bloated belly. Not that they needed worrying. Twilight Sparkle nervously looked aside, fighting the faint blush lingering on her cheeks. “Rise, please.”

“To what do we owe the honour, Princess?” asked the lone stallion of the herd, his voice gentle and soft. “Does it concern our eldest daughter?”

For a second, the young alicorn appeared lost, before it suddenly clicked, and her posture straightened into a royal countenance. With a gentle voice, she explained that her daughter was ultimately tangentially related to the problem at hooves. Rather, the two bicorn stallions had cruelly lacked any sort of interactions with their kind before. Her explanation stretched on, both subjects of her speech drifting away from it.

“These are my parents, Pierre,” Fortune whispered, forgetting about the rest of the group. “My father, Evocator, and his three wives. Good Omens in the middle is my mother, while Presage on her left and Starry Eyes on her right are my herd-mothers.”

One of the mares, Good Omens, Pierre repeated, stepped back from her daughter and eyed Pierre suspiciously.

“Is this the stallion that you met, Fortune?” she asked, and the atmosphere suddenly grew thick and heavy.

Pierre found himself smiling just a touch too wide, a fearful look in his eyes as they darted quickly between all three adult bicorns. In particular, he kept a tighter guard in regard to the orange mare who resembled Fortune the most. Her horns were angled just enough to seem threatening without being outright.

She also happened to be heavily pregnant.

Luckily, Fortune’s father, a knowing, fond look on his face, called out, “Honey, come back here, I think you’re triggering that colt’s sense all over.”

The second mare broke apart her hug with Fortune and turned to her herd sister with a roll of her eyes. “You weren’t this protective of Estray and Daydream. They had to find new partners too.”

“Yes, but Estray and Daydreams are stallions. They get the easy part of foalmaking. I’m not going to just let any colt make my daughter go through that.” She gestured at her bloated midsection.

For a second, Good Omens’ partners looked hesitant. The cyan mare’s face fell, hints of wrinkles appearing around the corner of her eyes. Unspoken things flashed in her gaze. Questions. Bitter replies. She stepped in closer, and Good Omens leaned in without a word.

Evocator gently nuzzled her. “Fortune will have to go through it eventually, Omens.”

Something on Good Omens’ face twisted. “Yes, she will have to. But not with the first stallion that looks her way.”

“Mom, it’s fine,” Fortune urged. “We talked, and we don’t think we would be right for each other. You don’t need to worry.”

Presage tossed a strand of her white mane aside and smiled knowingly. For a second, the mare seemed the repress a laugh. The next moment however, she was next to her daughter in all but name, stroking the side of her face. “As if we ever could stop.”

Sensing an opportunity, Starry Eyes ambushed their daughter with a sneaky hug. The poor filly hid her blushing face from view, moaning in despair “Auntie… not in front of P… the Princess...”

Good Omens and Evocator watched on the scene with near identical smiles.

Pierre and Edward only felt a vague tingling at the base of their horns for sole warning before a door on the right wall suddenly opened. In stepped a mare greatly resembling Fortune, but with a softer traits, hints of childishness still in the shape of her face and her legs.

“What’s going on? I could hear you all--” The teenaged filly stopped, her blue eyes going wide at the sight of Pierre, flicking to Fortune and then back to the French stallion. “Celestia! Fortune, is he your stallion?! Oh, I’m so happy for you! Finally! You must be so pleased.”

Pierre’s lungs depleted of air as the newcomer barreled into him and threw her forelegs around his shoulders.

“And strong too! Look at him!” she marveled, fawned, cooed.

The attention made him flinch. She was much too young. More like a little girl daydreaming about a princess’ life than a teenager.

Pierre loudly squawked as the embrace went from sisterly to far-from-sisterly. Rearing, he jumped back, his tail now curled protectively over his right flank. Not that it seemed to register in the filly’s mind, now giggling.

“Oh hay, you look plain dreamy! Fortune, you have to share him! Our foals would be so pretty. Can you imagine what they would be like?”

With a sigh of pure longing, Faith twirled on herself, daydreams filling her gaze and her smile. One could imagine her, years later, cooing over little foals and nursing them against her chest. The desire radiated off her very skin like a crackling fire.

And just as Fortune opened her mouth, likely to chastise her sister, Faith turned toward Edward. “Are you--?”

“No.” He refused to even let the thought be completed. “It’s never going to happen. With anyone.”

A hoof met a forehead. “Sorry about that,” Fortune whispered.

“Likewise,” Pierre deadpanned.

“Good Faith!” snapped her father. “Give the poor lad breathing space. Besides, he’s been selected for Fortune. There is no guarantee that he would be well-suited for you.”

Good Omens rolled her eyes. “And I can tell you right now, two sisters after the same stallion never ends well.”

“But you and Aunt Starry Eyes got along fine!”

The two older mares shared a look filled to the brim with secrets over their daughter’s protest. Their sardonic smile made Pierre shiver.

Those two definitely have a big history.

“Besides,” -- Faith pouted -- “didn’t Fortune say they weren’t right for each other? ”

Pierre deflated. So, yes, that had been said. It wasn’t that he regretted it exactly. He had no intention to stay in Equestria long enough to be in a relationship. Not in the slightest. But, sometimes, when he found himself hoping to catch a glimpse of Fortune’s smiles, he forgot.

“Faith… ” Fortune growled.

“Okay,” the teenaged mare breathed, “okay, I’m sorry. I got a bit excited. It’s just... I can’t believe my Health Screen test is tomorrow! I’ll finally be able to look into finding my own partner and having my own foals and helping Equestria!”

“Yes, yes, you will, dear,” sighed Starry Eyes. “But in the meantime, you are still supposed to be cleaning up the kitchen. Don’t think I didn’t hear the clatter of silverware before you got here. They better be well-sorted when I go take a look this evening.”

“But...” Faith gestured helplessly toward Pierre, and vaguely toward Edward and the rest of the escort.

“You heard me, young lady.”

With a series of badly concealed curses, Good Faith made her way back to whence she came, dragging her hooves as much as physically possible while the rest waited.

Pierre cleared his throat. “Your little sister is… intense?”

To this, Fortune replied with a mysterious smile and a peck on the cheek. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

As if it were a cue, Evocator turned to the stairs and bellowed “Hey, come down, we have guests! Fortune’s beau is here!”

Stomps rang through the air, mad beats on an infernal drum. A dark look of satisfaction passed on Good Omens’ face, and Pierre suddenly searched for exits.

“Huh… Fortune?” he shot a nervous glance back to the mare, taking a step away from the rumbling stairs.

He ought to have taken twenty. Shouting excitedly, half a dozen young bicorns came galloping down the stairs with all the grace of a tumbling elephant. And they only had eyes for him.

Fortune, that beautiful traitor, chimed in, “Here comes the brood.”

Pierre might have screamed, had he had the time. Alas, the first of Fortune’s sibling must have just hit puberty, and was just tall enough put Pierre on imbalance. The next three were much younger, but much more enthusiastic, and slammed into his right side. With a yelp, he fell to the ground -- mercifully on no foal -- , at which point they decided they would rather dogpile the poor stallion.

“No, guys, girls,” Fortune said between giggles, “let him breath.” She made a half-hearted attempt at pushing off a little filly with soft pink fur. “He needs air too, you know. Oh, come on, he’s still going to be there in five seconds, Cornucopia.”

“Heeeeelp...” Pierre groaned, barely audible in the midst of all that chaos. “Fortune, you betrayed me.”

Not more than three ponies lengths away, the spectators observed the scene, baffled.

“...Are we supposed to help him?” asked Attention Span, after a moment of stunned silence.

Belfry shrugged helplessly.

“So this is how it ends. Suffocated under a pile of excited furballs,” Edward said in a monotone, a hoof over his heart. “How fitting for my fallen comrade.”

From his right rose a raspy voice. “Haven’t heard a coo from you yet, colt. What’s with you?”

Edward hid his surprise, half-turning to take in the sight of this previously hidden pony. Though, on a second look, he could understand why none had noticed. Beneath a bundle of haphazardly thrown together blankets, one mare, her face ravaged by wrinkles, glared at Edward through dusty spectacles.

“Lady, I despise foals. I never understood the fuss about them. They’re needy and most are rather bratty too.”

“A stallion after my heart.” The old mare barked a laugh and rocked her chair back. “As if we need more yappering about the house. If I could smack my past self about it, I’d tell her to just go for the centers. At least they don’t expect you to raise them after. Maybe I could have done something with my life instead!”

“Mother!” shouted one of the adult bicorns.

The old mare scoffed. “Oh, don’t call me mother. There are enough little goats that legitimately do, don’t try to do it just because you married my son.”

Presage hovered close, her brows furrowed and her mouth left open. One moment she reached for the old mare, the other she held back. With a sigh, she turned around to try and get control of the army of foals still suffocating one of their guests.

Fortune’s grand-mother eyed her daughter-in-law with disdain. Settling in her chair, rubbing her front hooves together, she closed her patchwork blanket over her frail body.

“Honestly, those mares. When I was young, it was still rare for a bicorn not to ever get a cutie mark.” She turned to Edward, stern. “How many of them did you see, just today? A dozen? A hundred? Hay, by the looks of it, even you don’t know what to do with yourself, young stallion. Faith, that sweet fool, thinks that having foals is a happiness in itself. Ah! Try saying it after you take care of a crying foal in the middle of the night while having trouble walking because of the one in your belly. Try it before you speak.”

“My heart goes to you, oh venerable one,” Edward offered with a gallant bow. “I cannot try it because of my inherent maleness, but even imagining it seems a cruel and thoughtless fate.”

“Why, are you trying to make me swoon, you vile flatterer?” The old mare cackled. “But seriously, talk some sense into my granddaughters, will you? My son and his flock of hens are too young and naïve to bother. You’d think Omens would get it, half the time she gets my hopes up. But no, it’s always about the ‘right’ stallion. Like that changes anything!”

The guards exchanged uncomfortable looks, their indignation as clear as the fact that they could not in good conscience argue with such a fragile and ancient pony.

Grinning, Edward did not say anything yet. He did not need to, judging by the scandalized look on Twilight Sparkle’s face. Such a sight alone deserved to be immortalized. If only he had had his phone on him, he could have taken a picture of the princess and printed a poster.

Alas, the passage had stripped them of everything but their minds. So, he would make do.

“Well, I think this little trip is working,” Ed declared with faux-enthusiasm. “Meeting other bicorns has shown me the errors of my way. I definitely want to get myself a herd now.”

Belfry hid her muzzle behind her hoof, but everypony heard her snicker out loud.

A blood vessel popped on Twilight’s neck. She whirled on the laughing mare. “You shut up or I assign you to Edward permanently.”

She shut up. And Edward scowled, bizarrely annoyed and relieved at the same time.

Bronze Chainmail coughed. Tempered Steel stared. Attention Span fidgeted. After another few seconds, the young guard decided that Pierre could use some help, and he crossed the distance, putting the melting pot of tension between Twilight, Edward and their escort behind.

“Smart colt,” grumbled Chainmail.

Sparks fizzled at the tip of Twilight’s horn. She dragged her hoof over her chest, inhale, then let go of her breath slowly. And yet, when she glared at Edward again, strands of her mane remained frazzled, electrified. “This… this is just the first evening! You’ll see, Edward! By the end of this visit, you will understand!”

Without waiting for a reply, she trotted past Edward to join the rest of the bicorns, uncaring of Edward’s heated words following her.

“Oh, somepony will understand alright. But I don’t think you’ll be too happy when it happens.”

Fortune’s grandmother laughed.

Pierre’s belated cry of “FREEDOM” was all the warnings Edward received before the little monsters pounced for his blood.

Perhaps they sensed that he was not as fragile as his companion, perhaps they had an instinctive understanding that he would not tolerate it. Or maybe they were listening to their mothers who were telling them to behave. That order, they only half obeyed. Instead of physical contact, they used a far more insidious weapon.

Questions. Who was he? Why was he here? Was he going to marry their sisters? Was he going to marry the six years-old filly that thought he looked pretty? Was he going to play with them?

Edward felt the years being shaved off his lifespan every time they opened their possessed little mouths. And, seeing Pierre being helped up to his hooves by their father whilst he was being swarmed, he grew deeply envious. Not that he would ever admit it.

“I am in your debt, sir,” Pierre chuckled, firmly grasping Evocator’s offered hoof. “Your kids are a bit too energetic for me.”

“Better get used to it, colt,” he said with a sly grin. “You’re gonna have to deal with their kind on a daily basis soon enough.”

Pierre’s smile froze around the edges. Seeing the unshakable conviction in the stallion’s eyes rattled him far more than Twilight’s imperatives ever had. There was something knowing behind the casual tone.

“I dunno, sir,” Attention Span said, to both bicorns’ surprises. “Edward and him aren’t family-crazy like most bicorns.”

“Hmmm? You’re thinking of the donation centers then?” Evocator asked, seizing Pierre.

“No.” His voice was stone-like. “I don’t like that idea either. I’m not comfortable thinking there could be children of my blood out there that I’d never meet. That’s just not me.”

Evocator’s lips tugged upward. He seemed more at ease. As if Pierre had passed some sort of test. “Would you like to stay for dinner? A few extra mouths to feed make no difference to us.”

“Oh,” Pierre blinked owlishly, glancing back to Edward, still scowling in the midst of the foals, and then their bodyguards. “We couldn’t accept… This is far too much work out of the blue.”

“Actually, that would be lovely. We would be honoured to accept.” Twilight nodded, then levitated a quill and notepad from her saddlebags. “Rest assured that I will add a compensation on your next stipends. Seven adults is no small addition.” She seemed to consider that. “Bronze Chainmail, Attention Span, you two will be on grocery duty, under the directions of… well, which one of you will be in charge of cooking?”

Presage smiled softly. “That would be me, tonight. If there’s any one of you that feel like helping with the cooking itself, I’m not saying no. ”

Pierre raised his hoof. “I’m a bit of a klutz in the kitchen, but I am not a terrible cook.”

“Better than terrible,” the mare said, nodding toward a blushing Omens. “Come on then, follow me. You too, Fortune, you brought them, you are going to help feed them.”

Fortune nodded and shot a small smile at Pierre, mouthing ‘thanks’ at him. Gently, she grabbed his hoof and led him away from the cluster of ponies in the living room, into a kitchen with two ovens and a selection of cutlery that would make a chef grin. Half of them were laid out on the counter, shining in the last rays of sunlight of the afternoon, polished by Fortune’s little sister.

“Faith,” Presage cut in before the first word had even left her mouth, “start setting up the tables in the living room. We will be hosting dinner for the Princess. Twenty two covers.”

The teenager seemed to know when she was fighting a losing battle and pouted. She trotted past them with little fanfare, blushing as she left, her eyes lingering on Pierre’s face.

“Alright, Fortune, start peeling and washing the corn. Pierre, you’re in charge of the beans. Don’t be stingy with the portions. We’re cooking for twenty two ponies.”

Pierre let out a low whistle even as he trotted up to the counter where the greens lay. “I’m not sure my extended family is that big.”

“Twelve foals is not a large number for a four ponies herd,” said Presage.

“Oh, I’m an only child. I’ve got one aunt on my father’s side and two uncles on my mother’s. Three cousins. Two living grandparents.”

Presage’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Lucky Foal then?” she asked, her voice light.

The urge to sigh rose within him. Here and now, waddling around a kitchen with two nice person, he didn’t want to explain and sound like a madman. “No. I’m not even sure what that is, but I am certain that I wouldn’t be one.”

“He’s not from Equestria, Auntie,” Fortune chimed in.

For a few seconds, the cyan mare merely shuffled around the clean vegetables on the counter, hooves on a knife. “I see,” she said flatly. “I suppose that would explain it. It must have been a relief to finally cross the borders.”

Of the many, many words Pierre would use, ‘relief’ was so far down the list it was sad for a brony. He snorted, muzzle scrunched up, and accidentally crushed a handful of beans. He cursed in French under his breath, then stared at his useless, slightly gooey hooves.

Wordlessly, Presage handed him a bowl of washed up lettuce leaves topped with a mound of dressing and two large wooden spoons. Well, he thought, I shouldn’t be able to mess that up. And to his pleasure, he didn’t. It was even a bit amusing, seeing the leaves fly and fall down under his own power. Without realizing it, he had tuned out Fortune and her herd-mother’s voices.

Until Fortune settled next to him on the counter, crushing squash under a masher..

“So,” she trailed off, “where are you all going to stay tonight then?”

Pierre’s hooves slowed, some leaves sticking to the spoons.

“I’m not sure actually. Knowing Twilight, she definitely has something planned, but it’s not like she’s sharing with the class.”

For all he knew, they were going to sleep outside to ‘straighten them out’ or such nonsense. Maybe try to guilt them into appreciating all the nice money she shoved in their faces.

“You could stay here...” Fortune whispered.

He nearly dropped the spoons into the bowl. Wide-eyed, he stared back at her as Presage cleared her throat.

Fortune turned red, but stayed resolute. “Well, Daydream and Estray left their beds in my room, didn’t they?”

“Sweetie, do try to remember that you also share your room with three impressionable foals. I am not giving them the Talk tomorrow morning. Is that clear?”

It took a second to register. And then they were both speaking frantically.

“Auntie! We’re not like this, I swear!”

“Madam, I can promise you that we do not see each other this way, and even if we did, nothing would happen in front of your foals and my friend. I’d be too embarrassed to even… ”

Mouth, insert foot. Deeply.

Presage laughed as if it had been startled out of her. “I think I can see why Fortune likes having you around. Fine, Fortune, go tell your mothers and your father, and don’t forget to ask the Princess. She gets the final say on this.”

Pierre somehow refrained from rolling his eyes. Quite opposite to what the bicorn mare might think, he had a feeling Twilight Sparkle would be delighted.