The Sun's One of These Vital Things, You Know.
Ponies fled screaming from the Ponyville town hall. Alloy could hardly blame them; it seemed an entirely appropriate reaction to a dark god kidnapping one's Princess and gloating about the fact.
That the Summer Sun Celebration hadn't gone as planned went rather without saying.
Every good survival instinct in his body told him to follow the screaming crowd's wise example. But he had a job to do.
As the mob surged down the town hall's steps and into the bleak night beyond, he strode calmly, a mule garbed in the white-and-gold waistcoat of Celestia's household servants. Ponies pushed and shoved as they galloped past him, guards bellowed instructions to remain calm that they could have benefited from obeying themselves, and the dark alicorn that the purple unicorn had called 'Nightmare Moon' cackled madly all the while.
The mule turned sharply at the bottom of the steps, splitting away to trot around the side of the building. He nestled himself into a secluded spot between a rain barrel and a garbage bin, away from the prying eyes of any ponies or guards or mad alicorns that happened to pass by.
From the saddlebag around his middle, he carefully withdrew a little blue twist of alchemically-treated paper. He tore off the end strip with his teeth and dropped it on the ground. It glowed a soft blue. Enough to write by. Next he produced a piece of paper and a well-worn pencil.
He immediately set pencil to paper, swiftly writing line after line, dredging everything he could from memory. Nearly both sides of the paper were full before he concluded he had written enough for his masters to form a decent impression of events. He could write more as events developed.
Finally, he withdrew another small twist of green paper. He tore the end off, and a little emerald flame flickered and grew at the edges. He hastily dropped it onto the sheet of paper on the ground before him, which burst into a sudden blaze of light and messenger-fire. Fragments peeled off, streaming into the star-mantled blackness above him.
The mule turned around after the paper dissipated entirely. Cries of panic still rang around him, but the screams had devolved into dozens of panicked discussions. A group of earth ponies, pegasi, and a unicorn were making a beeline for the town's library. Craning his head, he noticed Celestia's guard had formed a perimeter around the town hall. The laughter of the alicorn was gone, though echoes still seemed to peal through the air.
Agent Alloy's duty was done. Now he could panic.
Five minutes later and eight hundred miles eastwards, a donkey galloped down a corridor.
Diplomatic Secretary Damasque wasn't the sort of jenny who usually pelted through corridors and slammed open doors in the Asinial Parliament Building. There was a first time for everything, though.
“Where's the Arch-Minister?” she demanded of a passing sleep-deprived aide, brandishing the slip of paper she held at him. “His attention is required. Now.”
“Just got into his office, I think,” mumbled the young jack dismissively, before his gaze focused on who had just addressed him. “Oh, beg your pardon, Secretary. I didn't -”
Damasque was already rushing past him, turning down another winding stretch of corridor. She saw her target loom before her, the great wooden doors of the Arch-Minister's private office. Scenes of donkeys in age-old battles played out across their elaborately carved surface, images from the Jackplate Risings, the Great Revolution, the Corvid Incursion. The Princess of Equestria herself stood in one image, paying respectful homage to the newly-anointed Asinial Republic.
“This is your fault somehow,” muttered Damasque, fixing that last image with a baleful glare before composing herself and slowing her gait. She knocked twice on the door and called, “Arch-Minister?”
“In you come, Damasque,” came the reply. Some unseen mechanism in the floorboards clicked, and the doors swung gently inwards.
Inside, behind a desk comparable to a small continent, Arch-Minister Burro Delver of the Asinial Republic sat and sipped from a cup of coffee held between his hooves. His gaze was turned towards a eastwards-facing window, the lights and sounds of the city of Asincittà stretching out underneath the quiet night sky. Starlight glimmered across the black waters of the city’s harbour and the countless tall ships at anchor there.
The old grey-coated jack turned away from the view and smiled as he looked at Damasque. “Good morning, my dear. Or pre-morning, as the case may be. Celestia's keeping us all on tenterhooks waiting for the dawn, it seems.”
“Now there's an excellent segue, sir,” said Damasque. She placed the sheet of paper on the desk, kicking the door shut behind her as she did so. It smoothly slid closed, the whirring of gears coming from beneath the floor as it did so. “You need to read this. It's from one of our field agents in Equestria.”
“Oh?” said Burro, his gaze sharpening as it alighted on the paper. “One of our official, polite agents, or one of the more … discreet ones?”
“Agent Alloy. One of our discreet ones. Mule, though I don't hold it against him.” Damasque gestured impatiently at the paper. “Read it, sir. We have a crisis on our hooves.”
“Tsk. Is it Thursday already?” Burro leaned across his desk for the paper, and drew it closer for scrutiny.
Damasque watched Burro scan it line by line, a faint frown growing on his face. He flipped it over to read the other side, the lines of his frown becoming deep grooves.
Burro rotated briefly in his chair to regard the night sky, turned back to the paper, and let out a little sigh.
“Ah,” he said, his voice soft. He leaned back in his chair. His notched ears seemed ready to droop. “Definitely a Thursday. Let me think about this.”
“Donkeys will start noticing soon, sir,” said Damasque. “Anywhere that's eastwards of us has almost certainly noticed by now as well. Ovarn, Bovaland, Capra.”
“I know,” said Burro. A few moments passed, his hoof drumming upon the desk.
“First things first,” he said suddenly, breaking the hush. He unplugged a speaking tube that sat on his desk, one of several, and waited for a tinny response to sound from it. “Good day. Please pass the following message via utmost-priority telegram to the Westward commander. 'Partial mobilisation of ground forces under your command, full mobilisation and patrolling by air forces along the Equestrian border. Details to follow as necessity dictates. By order of the Arch-Minister'. Third – no, second degree of secrecy applies. Thank you.”
“Only the second degree?” said Damasque as Burro replaced the speaking tube.
“Word will get out about what's happened sooner rather than later, despite any efforts otherwise. One can't really hide an unending night. No point in scaring the Parliament messengers and any snoopers early, though.”
Burro picked up another speaking tube and gave Damasque a significant look as he did so. He maintained the look as the response came from the tube's other end. “Candlewick, a pleasure. Could you please see to the setting up of the Circle Chamber? Cushions plumped, coffee and biscuits set out, lanterns lit – all the usual. Maybe have someone go around with a duster as well, it's not been used in a while. Thank you.”
He set down the speaking tube and closed his eyes, his breathing controlled and steady.
“The Circle Chamber?” said Damasque. “I suppose a crisis shared is a crisis halved, and all that.”
“You'll know who to contact and how to do so,” said Burro. “Get them here as fast as equinely possible. Or whatever other genus applies, of course.”
Ten minutes later, at the heart of the maze of twisty little passages that filled the Parliament Building, Burro Delver sat and thought matters through. One forehoof tapped out a beat on the circular table before him, the other supported his muzzle.
The great guttering gas-lamp at the table's centre cast the large space of the Circle Chamber into a mess of fierce light and deep shadows. Firelight played off the wooden carvings crowding out each wall, seeming to make the figures and flowers jerk and twist as if dancing.
It was a dark and stale place, absent windows to provide light and fresh air. But that was a necessary absence. The Circle Chamber had one specific use, nestled as it was at the heart of the building away from prying eyes and ears. Burro had been inside it twice for that usage in all five of the years he'd spent as Arch-Minister. Both of these times, Princess Celestia had been there as well, and her absence now seemed to make the shadows that little bit deeper.
There were no theoretical ranks amongst those who sat at the Chamber's table. Everyone was an equal. But some couldn't help but be slightly more equal than others, and the sun-wielding Princess of Equestria had qualified.
There came a knock from a door at the chamber's other side, and a guard outwith announced, “Chieftain Gellert of the Fivecrags Tribe, Arch-Minister.”
A lever at Burro's left controlled the mechanisms that opened and closed the door, as in his private office. He grinned and pulled it, getting up from his chair to greet the newcomer. The door swung in with only the softest of creaks, and a griffon strode in. He was tall and powerfully-built, muscles carrying a comfortable corpulence; a sharp contrast with Burro's own dishevelled leanness. White and brown plumage covered his whole frame, adorned only by a jewelled torc around his neck.
“Burro, you old soak!” boomed Gellert as soon as the door shut behind him, “I heard there was a crisis and that I was invited!”
“Dubiously glad you could make it at such short notice, you scoundrel.” Burro hobbled from his chair and thrust his hoof at Gellert; the griffon clasped it with a claw and fiercely shook it. “How's the family? And the tribe? And the vassals thereof?”
“Uppity, uppitier, and uppitiest of all, in that order. Though I'm told they're all about to be plunged into an ever-lasting night, if your letter was correct?”
“You heard right. Coffee?”
“Skyfire, yes. Some of us were still sleeping when we heard about the latest existential threat to the world. Teleporting on an empty stomach's a miserable experience.” Gellert took hold of the silver pitcher that sat on the table and poured himself a cup of the steaming, pitch-black brew. “Who else is on their way?”
“Most everyone else on Ungula. Fairy Floss, Greenhorn, and the Crown should arrive in short order, thanks to their own teleporters. No word from the Diamond Dog's Lord Alpha, or from Corva. The corvids haven't gotten themselves a new authority yet.”
“Blessing in disguise there, I think. Anyone from overseas?”
“The Fire Queen should send a delegate. Gazellen and Saddle Arabia are a bit too far away to be of much immediate use, though, and Zebrica's still in the middle of a civil war. The two pretender princes haven't gotten tired of trying to kill each other yet, it seems.”
“Ah, well,” said Gellert, sipping at the coffee. “When Fairy Floss gets here, that's three sane voices at the table at least. Don't know about the new Bullwalda, though I'm probably safe in guessing he's not going to be all that akin to the Crown or the Fire Queen, unless we're very unlucky.” He took another sip and said, “Bet you a revised trade agreement we're very unlucky.”
“Aargh, don't even joke. This is going to be a spectacularly bad morning as it is.”
“Technically, it's not morning yet. Play your cards right today, it'll never have to come again.”
Burro glared daggers at Gellert, who chuckled into his coffee. They were interrupted suddenly by another knock from the door. “Tyrant Fairy Floss of Ovarn.” The donkey and griffon both immediately sobered.
The lever was pulled down, and in the opening doorway, three sheep stood. Two of them were black-coated rams, clad in thick armour and with helmets that entirely covered their faces behind snarling masks. Their horns were sheathed in curving steel spikes, wisps of magic still clinging to any exposed keratin.
Between them stood the Tyrant of Ovarn, a diminutive elderly ewe wearing yellow velvet robes, pince-nez glasses, and a serene expression.
"Fairy Floss," said Gellert. "We're missing a Celestia, and you seemed like the next-best substitute."
"Go insert your head into a drainage pipe, dear," said the Tyrant, nudging the door shut on her guards and trotting delicately over to the table. "It's true then? No Celestia, no sunrise, returning dark goddess intent on turning our world into a dark and lifeless wasteland?"
"In essence, yes," said Burro.
Fairy Floss considered this. "Bother," she concluded.
“Our thoughts exactly. When you were a student of politics back in your young day – Eohippic era, correct? - did you ever learn the correct response to one of the fundamental pillars sustaining life on the world being knocked away?” said Burro.
“Don't get cruel with an old lady who could assassinate you in seven different ways before the week was out, dear. And no, I think the most my political education ever touched on that topic amounted to 'Don't let it happen.'” Fairy Floss settled herself in a chair with a relieved groan. “Greenhorn's right behind me. Just saw him having a little argy-bargy with your guards over whether he could bring his servants to the meeting or not.”
Burro nodded. “Well, much joy to him. Coffee?”
“Thank you, dear, but no. Wreaks unholy murder on my digestion nowadays. We can't all be ever-young and immortal alicorns, unlike certain absent friends I'm much too polite to name.”
“Not that you're getting bitter in your distinguished and serene autumn years.”
“Of course not, dear. That would be -”
Whatever it would be went unheard as the guard knocked on the door and announced, “Bullwalda Greenhorn of Bovaland.” Burro yanked the lever, and the door opened once more.
The Bullwalda strode through the doorway, a tall and imposing young aurochs bedecked in ceremonial barding and fine red-gold cloth. Bands of precious metal covered his large horns, which he held high and proudly as he strutted into the room.
Burro realised it was the first time he'd ever seen the new Bovish monarch in person, though they'd exchanged letters before. He'd kept some of them personally as a cure for insomnia.
Greenhorn nodded perfunctorily at the donkey and griffon in turn, “Salutations to you, Arch-Minister. Chieftain.” He turned to Fairy Floss, who was hardly a third of his height at the withers, and he inclined his head. “Tyrant.”
“Oh, don't stand on ceremony, dear. There aren't any diplomats here to cluck at us. Have some coffee. You've had a long teleport,” said Fairy Floss.
“Thank you,” said Greenhorn, moving towards the table and the pitcher thereon. “Arch-Minister, I would have it noted that your household staff are appallingly discourteous.”
“Forgive them, I pray. The Parliament's staff doesn't deal with monarchs routinely,” Burro said.
“Hmmph. Republicanism. A barbarous debacle. No offence,” Greenhorn added hastily.
“Some taken,” said Burro dryly. “You got the message then?”
“Hmm? Of course,” said Greenhorn, his horns glowing and lifting his cup in a pale magical aura. He sipped from the brim, his face screwing up briefly before he set the cup back down. “Some dark mirror of Princess Celestia returning from exile, spiriting her away and permanently raising the moon over the civilised world was the gist of it, so I believe. Quite the sudden crisis. What's to be done?”
“We're still waiting on the arrival of the Fire Queen and the Crown before we can start discussing things in earnest,” said Gellert. “Once they're here, I'm sure we'll all have a great deal of vital bickering and posturing to get through before we can come close to something approaching the tentative beginnings of a decision. Hope you brought a book to read, lad.”
Greenhorn made a face. “Must we wait on them? Their reputation as compliant partners … leaves something to be desired.”
“Well-known details, dear,” said Fairy Floss, with the air of someone congratulating a toddler on going to the bathroom all by themselves. “But heads of state tend to get snitty when they're left out of a decision-making process. Peace has to be kept. It's only polite to include them if they've got a contribution to make. Especially if you can get them on your side.”
“There's hardly much peace at the moment, though, if everything happening that Asinia's agent claims is happening. Surely now is the time for swift action?” said Greenhorn.
“Us taking a few minutes to talk amongst ourselves is hardly going to tilt the world's fate any particular way, dear. If it does, then we were probably doomed from the start.”
From the door, there came another knock and the guard clearing his throat. “The Capricious Crown of Capra.”
Burro, finding his prayers for the Crown's regrettable absence unanswered, permitted himself an unhappy grumble as he pulled the lever. An ibex trotted in through the opening door, richly dressed in multihued silk robes. Tassels and bells hung from his curving horns, which glittered with the use of magical energy.
Before him, suspended by his magic, there floated a richly-decorated crown.
The ibex set the crown down on the table, whereupon every jewel upon it flickered with an internal light and a rasping, tinny voice emerged from the crown's centre. “There's a good menial. Wander off and be insignificant somewhere else while the big people play. You'll be called if you're needed or I'm bored. Chop chop.”
The ibex turned and trotted off in a stately manner.
Burro didn't know how it was done, but he still somehow felt the Capricious Crown's attention settle across him, like a spider crawling onto his back. “Ah. And how is everyone?”
“Tolerably well, up until now,” Gellert replied. “You got the same message as the rest of us, then?”
“Oh yes. Celestia vanished, Nightmare Moon returned, darkness everlasting, and Equestria in no small amount of chaos. Exciting.”
“And you know you've been called here along with everyone else to come up with a measured and appropriate response to the situation.” Burro's teeth were already on edge. His precious reserves of sanity were going to be taxed severely, he could tell.
“I know what you want from this meeting, certainly. But that's the fun thing about meetings like this. Everything's up for discussion.”
One day, Burro told himself, he would die, and he would pass into the unknown Hereafter. If he'd been a good donkey, or at least striven to do good, he'd walk along the right trails within it, and he would get to meet whatever forgotten soul had decided that forging a sentient artefact to serve as a wise and unbiased head of state would be a good idea.
And then he would get to kick them to a second death, and it would be wonderful.
“Well, that can wait until the Fire Queen gets here,” said Fairy Floss. “She's the last one we're waiting for, I believe -”
Speak of the devil, and he knocked upon the door. “The Fire Queen's delegate,” called the guard.
Burro pulled the lever for the last time, and the door opened to admit a dragon.
It was a young drake, no larger than Greenhorn, who crept in on all fours. His scales were black and glossy, his horns forward-curving, his hide tight across his muscles and the prominent bones of his skull. Dark eyes skittered across each member of the company, and he flinched as the door slammed shut behind him. “Um,” he started. “Is this the right place? I'm from the Queen.”
“You're in the right place, dear. Let her speak,” said Fairy Floss.
The drake nodded and closed his eyes. Smoke trickled out the corner of his mouth, and he murmured to himself in some draconic tongue. A full-body shudder ran through him and he whimpered softly to himself. He held still for a moment. A sudden wind shivered through the room.
His lips parted, and glistening teeth were bared. Red light churned deeply and distantly behind them. His eyes opened, and they were pure fire.
“Shall we begin?” rasped the Fire Queen, in a voice that was part screaming echo, part roaring volcano.
“Honestly, dear,” said the Tyrant, “You could at least try to speak with us in person one of these days.”
“I would have to split the walls of my caverns and scatter my hoard to fly freely now. Besides, this one amongst my kin was near, and this method is hastier.” The two points of fire bored into Burro, and he shrugged off the urge to shiver. He'd endured many meetings with the Fire Queen through her delegates. “Haste is what the situation requires, I think.”
“No question there,” purred the Crown, the emeralds on its monde gleaming with a calculating light. “How long can plants endure without sunlight, does anyone know? I'm sure the farmers will be all-too delighted to inform us in short order.”
“Bovaland's granaries stand well-stocked,” announced Greenhorn. “Should deprivation loom, they will always stand open to those we name allies.”
“Dear, you can't feed a whole continent indefinitely,” said Fairy Floss with more than a touch of grandmotherly patience. “And besides, it won't come to that. Not if those gathered in this room have any say in the matter.”
Burro cleared his throat. “Indeed. We know how to deal with it, in any case. The source is this Nightmare Moon. You all can gather that we're dealing with a similar entity to Celestia herself, another alicorn.”
“The other alicorn,” said the Fire Queen. “I did wonder when Princess Luna would return from imprisonment. Celestia never spoke much on the matter with me.”
“Princess Luna? But she's merely a myth,” said Greenhorn.
“Gosh. It must have been a very substantial myth that negotiated the end of the Draconic Wars with me, then. I defer to Your Highness's obvious vast experience on the matter.”
“But -” started Greenhorn, his face colouring.
“Peace and less withering sarcasm at the table, everyone,” said Burro. “We can agree at least on the formidability of the opponent we face in her closeness to Celestia. The question we ought to concern ourselves with is how we remove her and free Celestia.”
“Putting the latter consideration to one side, we all have armies, don't we?” said the Crown, rubies twinkling at their depths. “March across the border with as much haste as is seemly, and apply spears until Nightmare Moon is too full of holes to offer much by way of eternal night. Everything beyond that basic thrust is just hammering out the fine details. Personally, if Asinia was willing to offer Capra military access across the Marches, I could have ten thousand marching in under three days. More than that, should time become less of a luxury.”
“That could work, inelegant as it is,” mused Fairy Floss. “Celestia isn't a god, she has been injured and brought low before. The same surely applies to Nightmare Moon. Of course, if she is truly equal or greater in power, we would be looking at casualty counts in the hundreds, if not thousands.”
“A cheap price for existence,” said the Crown, shrugging as the lights in its rows of jewels briefly rose. “There are always more soldiers.”
“Before we so blithely commit to the land invasion of the greatest power in Ungula, maybe we ought to hammer out more of the fine details,” said Gellert dryly. “What will Equestria's internal situation be?”
“Panicked. Chaotic. Some sort of fullscale rebellion against Nightmare Moon will erupt, I shouldn't wonder.” Fairy Floss tapped one hoof against the table, her expression thoughtful. “In fact, considering their own Equestrian Guard, I shouldn't be surprised if the ponies resolve the whole situation for us before we can so much as cross the border. They'll organise, and they'll organise quickly if their nation is on the line.”
“The ponies love their harmony, their stability and prosperity, and they'll react badly to the loss of one of their fundamental pillars,” said Burro. “But you're right. They'll fight like wolves in a pit to get Celestia back, no matter how many of their own they have to climb over to reach Nightmare Moon's throat.”
“Small wonder,” murmured the Fire Queen. “Their land is bordered by burning desert and arctic waste and threaded through with eldritch forest and dark beasts. Warring for harmony isn't novel to them.”
“Let's not leave that to chance, shall we?” said the Crown. “Nightmare Moon has ample opportunity to tear apart the remains of their peace. Were I her, I'd already be doing so.”
“Indeed. It seems to me that if Nightmare Moon truly is the long-lost Luna, then the Equestrians will hardly work to our advantage. They may even meet any forces we send in open battle,” said Greenhorn.
Silence fell across the table. “Walk us through that one, lad,” said Gellert.
“If she is Princess Luna, Celestia's own kin, then she is owed Equestria's fealty in Celestia's absence. Whether or not by fair means or foul, if she is the closest royal kin when the old sovereign departs, then she assumes the mantle of rightful leadership. The ponies will serve her, even if with not the best will in the world. The proper bonds of royalty and subject within a nation demand it.”
Burro sighed. “Not to cast aspersions upon your antiquated and barbaric model of hereditary rule – no offence intended, lad – but Equestria doesn't work that way. Not like Bovaland. They've known nothing but Celestia for a thousand years. The mechanisms of royalty and feudal rule don't mean squat to them. They'll fight for Celestia, no matter who's on the throne and waving legalese at them.”
“Minos's blood, the whole world's mad,” muttered Greenhorn. “Though I suppose the lack of loyalty to Nightmare Moon is at least a point in our favour.”
“Let us not become attached to the prospect of the Equestrians handily solving the whole problem themselves,” said the Crown. “An existential threat doesn't seem like the time or place for a gamble, fond as I am of them otherwise. Let me send my regiments, let Asinia send its Merchant Fleet, let the Fire Queen send a full flight of her more implacable servants in Equestria's direction. Whatever sets the prospect of Nightmare Moon's survival at zero percent. Let us be sure.”
“Astonished as I am to hear the words pass my lips, the Capricious Crown has a point,” said Fairy Floss. “We can't leave something like this up to chance.”
“We'd also be doing ourselves a disservice,” continued the Crown, “If, having unseated Nightmare Moon, we then didn't take advantage of our position. Equestria will never be so easily brought to heel as it is now.”
A second silence fell, hollow and echoing.
“Be exceedingly careful about what is said in sealed meeting chambers,” growled Burro. “But since you've started, you may as well make yourself plain. What new travesties are you about to suggest, Crown?”
“Manehattan's just a day's sailing away from Asincittà, is it not? A fine new potential jewel for your trading empire, a fine new font of tariffs and coin. Fire Queen, the jewels grown in Equestria's rock farms are legendary, and yet not nearly enough find their way to your hoard. Chieftain Gellert, consider the griffon tribes of the western Greycairns and their current loyalty to Celestia. How fine it would be to bring more under your banner as vassals! Bullwalda and Tyrant, you would be amazed by how favourable trade agreements can be made with a spear to the throat of your negotiating partner. If Corva goes to war with you again, and it shall before the decade's out, then you'll want all the coin you can get.”
“When I called this meeting to order, twisting the knife in an ally while they were down was not what I had in mind.” Kicks had been thrown in these meetings before, but Burro restrained himself with difficulty; all it would avail him against the Crown would be a pain in his hoof and a peal of metallic laughter. “You think Celestia wouldn't make a point of melting you down for scrap once she returned if you tried it? You think she wouldn't have help?”
“Who says we have to return her?”
Silence again. “You are mad, or getting daft in your dotage. Sympathies if it's the latter,” said Fairy Floss. “The whole point of this meeting is to get the sun back. Has this slipped your mind?”
“The unicorns raised and lowered the sun and moon, we are told, in the days before alicorns were even thought of,” said the Crown. “That seems like it would be much less likely to result in this sort of silliness. I have my ibexes to venture their own magic towards such a task. Greenhorn has his longhorns. You have your black sheep, do you not, Fairy Floss? And even if the arts are simply beyond us, we will have a captive population of unicorns to use as we will.”
“Golly,” said Gellert. “Usually it takes us at least twenty minutes in a meeting before we start trading personal insults and discussing mass enslavement. Keep up the good standards, everyone. But self-indulgent wit aside, you're mad. I've made the world a slightly more redundant place for stating that.”
“I'm talking about giving all of us here a little more breathing space,” said the Crown. “To make Equestria the humble partner it should be rather than a superpower with demigods controlling our sun at its helm. Cut the old enemy down to size, once and for all!”
“Your old enemy!” shouted Burro, leaning across the table. “Not ours!”
“What, are you worried about your precious grain imports? Your military shield at land from mad, expansionistic Capra?” The Crown's agates gleamed. “Take an expanse of farmland, enough to feed that fat city of yours. Cosy up to the King of Zebrica, or whoever else might give you the time of day. Think about everything you can gain with Equestria at your mercy. Think it as the result of exceedingly cunning diplomacy, if that's not too much of a stretch for you.”
Burro did kick the Crown then. It sailed off the table, rang off the wall, and clattered upside-down on the floor.
“Ow! I mean, goodness, that might have impacted on my nerve endings. If I had them.” The Crown lay still. “Yes, cunning diplomacy would definitely be a stretch.”
The Fire Queen remained silent. “Some upheaval would be interesting, at least,” she mused. “And my hoard seems ever-smaller as the years go by. Some swelling of it would not go amiss.”
“You would dice with the fate of everything living on the world for an expansion in your gem-pile?” said Gellert.
“Yes,” said the Fire Queen. “And why not? It is all that matters in the end, at the final tally. I won't meet the Last Dark ashamed if we never see sunlight again. So long as my hoard stands. So long as it grows.”
“Well, that's just excellent,” said Burro, breathing heavily. “But for the sake of those who want to be sure of seeing dawn again, how do each of you plan to conquer Equestria, even between your own efforts? One fully mobilised Guard Legion at all times, even in these peaceful days. Twenty thousand pegasi, unicorns, and earth ponies, ready to turn your respective worlds to a hell of thunderbolts, fire, and ballista shot. How many more Legions do you think they'll mobilise in a time like this?”
“Not enough,” rasped the Fire Queen. “Not if they are hit swiftly, and hard. Not that I'm committing to this course of action, you understand. We should consider our options, though. There are many jewels to be seized from Equestria, and if there were no threat of reprisal ...”
“Let's not establish a precedent of tearing at every open wound whenever one of our number is brought low, shall we?” said Fairy Floss, her eyes points of bright steel behind the spectacles. “That sort of thing can ever-so-regrettably rebound.”
“Agreed. This is unseemly, besides,” said Greenhorn. “Equestria has ever been a staunch and worthy presence on Ungula; it profits us little to tear it apart. Far less to dice with the potential of losing the sun. Let us return to our original plan of simply slaying Nightmare Moon and undoing Celestia's own imprisonment, however that may be done.”
“Trembling at the prospect of a little chaos, are we?” sneered the Crown. “Pathetic, when there is so much to gain. So many little and larger unspoken shackles to let loose. My armies will march, and they won't march with trembling cowards in command. Fire Queen, will a flock of your own fly alongside them?”
“Oh,” mused the Fire Queen. “Why not?”
“A fascinating proposal, considering I decline to give you passage through the Marches,” snarled Burro. “Will you force an entrance, then?”
“Do you think Capra would so much as break sweat doing so?”
“Well, that depends,” said Gellert. “Under the terms of my alliance with Asinia, how many griffons do you think I'll need to peck your soldier's bones dry? I'm inclined towards a low estimate, but why don't I just play it safe.”
“Dears, we've nearly gone a full century since the last continental war. Don't break a good record,” said Fairy Floss wearily. “Calm yourselves. We still have a crisis to resolve, remember? Co-operation and teamwork will be needed -”
“And as for you!” Burro rounded on the Fire Queen. “Send a flight across the Sea of Smoke in aid of Capra, and you'll find the Merchant Fleet in your dragon's paths. What does the term 'Cantilevered steel-wired ensorcelled repeating ballista' mean to you?”
“Handled with ineptitude, I imagine it means impalement and death. With a bit of skill?” Lips peeled back from daggerlike teeth. “Kindling.”
“How we've nearly managed that century, I'm not so sure of,” muttered Fairy Floss.
The flurry of shouts and hooves hitting the table rose then, Fairy Floss's shrill tone striving to pierce through the volume like a spear. Greenhorn joined in, lest his vital contribution to the noise be missed. Words in an old draconic tongue were spat, the brays and chirps from Burro and Gellert competed hotly with the chiming and dark laughter from the Crown.
A knock on the door flattened the hubbub like a lead weight. The assembled world leaders settled back into their chairs, and Burro cleared his throat and tried to clear his mind.
“Princess Celestia of Equestria,” announced the guard.
Burro slowly pulled the lever. The others craned to peer at the figure emerging through the door.
Long legs. A coat that gleamed like snowfall. Bands of gold on her hooves, neck, and brow. A mane that flowed behind her like a section of the dawn sky itself. Gentle, ancient, fathomless eyes.
A smile crept onto her expression. “Apologies for gatecrashing like this. I fear I didn't receive an invitation.”
The Crown said, “What in the actual -”
“The dawn today is particularly lovely, if I do say so myself,” said Princess Celestia. “Shall we discuss events in a more open chamber? There's one with wide-open windows on the upper storeys of this building that I do like.”
The night had fled, the sun had turned in the sky, and now night had drawn like a great veil over the world once again. Stars glimmered amongst its folds like jewels, patterns picked out to describe the sweep of constellations. They shone more brightly than they had done in a long time.
In the tallest tower in Canterlot's palace, Alloy trotted up a flight of stairs, a tray with Celestia's evening tea borne in his teeth. His staff uniform, the same as he had worn that morning, was turned smartly out; he was the very image of a footman in the Royal Household.
The day had dawned again, though thanks to these new Elements of Harmony rather than any outside effort. No shame on his brow, though; he had discharged his duty and would do so again when it was required. Asinia would always need that bit of illumination; especially amidst a neighbour as large and orderly and chaotic and divided and unified and bizarre as Equestria.
He knocked twice on the great door leading to Celestia's office, and was greeted with, “Enter, Alloy.” He shouldered the door open – no mean feat while keeping the tray steady, absent unicorn magic – and trotted up to Celestia's desk. She sat there, scribing paper after paper, the bright night sky streaming in through a window at her back.
“Your tea, Your Majesty,” he said, placing the tray down before her.
“Thank you, Alloy,” said Celestia, putting the papers aside and pouring herself a steaming cup. She leaned back where she sat upon the floor, too tall for any chair to hold her. “An exciting day, wasn't it?”
“Undoubtedly so, Your Majesty.”
“Luna's settled in now. I'll meet her after I'm finished here, to discuss however much we have to,” Celestia said quietly, sipping from her cup. “Twilight Sparkle's residence has been sorted out in Ponyville. I look forward to her letters. They'll be a respite from all the other cares of state.”
“I'm sure your royal sister and your student will bring you much joy, Your Majesty,” said Alloy.
“Quite,” said Celestia. Her expression crinkled in a sudden smile. “Meeting the other leaders earlier was quite enjoyable, though. Trading jibes with Fairy Floss always brightens my day. Young Greenhorn's too much fun to tease. And you should have seen the Capricious Crown when I informed them my sister had returned and the Elements of Harmony had awoken. I didn't know it even had purple gemstones, but all of them managed to blaze at once.”
She sipped from the cup again. “My thanks, incidentally, for letting the Arch-Minister know about the … situation.”
Alloy froze. “I … to what do you refer, Your Majesty?”
“Twilight Sparkle may have failed at the last. It was good that our allies were informed. Burro Delver and Fairy Floss could have cracked the skulls of the others together into something approaching sense, given time. Equestria would not have been left alone, I'm sure.”
“But -”
“I've got a thousand years head start on you, Alloy, and on Damasque and Burro Delver for that matter. I've learned to notice these things, to deal with them when they prove threatening and to use them to best effect when they're not. For what it's worth, it was quite hard to confirm your second set of masters. And you are an exceptionally capable footman. I'll leave you be.”
Alloy's mind was in full revolt. “Why, Your Majesty?”
“Because I heartily doubt this will be the last crisis Equestria will face, and I would as soon not see us face future ones alone if I can help it. If you do find some piddling secret within my court that threatens Asinia, however unlikely that is, then it's a cheap price to ensure Equestria's allies are informed as quickly as possible about any calamities that befall us. Friends abroad are worthy things to have, and ought to be kept in the know, don't you think?”
Alloy stood silent.
“We'd do the same for any of them, rest assured. Tell your master that if you wish.” Celestia drained the cup. “Go on then. You'll want some rest after today. I'll deal with the pot and cup myself.”
Alloy found his voice. “Yes, Your Majesty.” He bowed stiffly and turned to depart.
“Sleep well,” said Celestia at his back. “The world will keep spinning. It can scarcely do much else.”
