Liberté

The die is cast, what's done is done- Gaius Julius Caesar

After a long and largely quiet walk, punctuated by the occasional joke or comment, the two stallions arrived at their destination. Jean had to hand it to Thibaut, he had found the classiest, most upstanding establishment in Mareseilles' Old Port; unfortunately, that simply meant the place had a few more windows intact and smelt a little less like urine. When they came to the entrance, they had to step over some poor vagrant who'd fallen asleep in the doorway, propped up against a wall. The mare was in a sorry state, her orange fur was matted and hung heavy with filth, and her neon blue mane, once bright and eye catching, had fallen out in clumps, revealing bald patches of raw, painful flesh. Jean was overcome with a huge feeling of pity and guilt. How could he enjoy himself when ponies were suffering like this? The landlord would probably end up asking her to move, though Jean doubted the poor wretch had the strength to stand. On closer inspection, he noticed the mare was a leg short at the back, wore a dark blue uniform similar to his own (though her's was threadbare and coated with grime), and carried a piece of paper that bore a message in barely legible Prench: Lost a leg fighting Gryphons, need money for bread.

A soldier. Jean thought. That made it personal. He dropped a coin into the hat that lay by the mare's side, who on sensing the presence of somepony looming over her, awoke slowly, and smiled groggily, revealing a mouth full of brown, jagged teeth. Jean returned the smile sadly, and with a heavy heart walked inside. Thibaut, on the other hand, simply stepped over her without a moment's thought. Jean turned to him. If looks could kill, Thibaut would have been obliterated.

"What?" he asked, unsure, and fidgeting slightly under the other stallion's scornful gaze.

"Why didn't you help her? You didn't even bat an eye." Jean whispered.

"No point" Thibaut stated, looking rather ashamed with himself despite the conviction in his tone. Good, he should be. Jean found himself thinking.

"And why, 'Monsieur' Beauchene, is that?" Jean muttered angrily, worried that the mare might have overheard his friend's fatalistic remark.

"Because she doesn't have the strength to move. If some scumbag doesn't bump her off  to get at the money in that hat, then the cold will probably take her."

Jean tried to find a fitting reply, struggled, and found none. How? he wondered. How did this happen? While he and his wealthy friends were planning nights out and going about their regular business, ponies were getting stabbed over small change and lynched over loaves of bread.

"How did this happen, Thib?" Jean muttered sadly, "how did it end up like this?"

"I don't know." Thibaut stated, placing a hoof on his friend's shoulder. "The war with the Gryphons nearly bankrupted the economy, and seeing as the wealthy pay no tax, the poor had to foot the bill. Couple that with a string of poor harvests and a population boom, and...well...ponies suffer."

"I thought you said you didn't know?" Jean said, turning to look at him.

        "Yeah, well, I probably just read it somewhere." Thibaut said, running a hoof through his spiky, blue mane.

After a moment of silence, the pair crossed the threshold and opened the door to the inn. As soon as they did, they were hit by a wall of heat and noise. Ponies of all types were crammed into the canteen area, each in varying states of coherence and intoxication. A group of three particularly rowdy customers had commandeered the piano in the far left corner, and were singing some half intelligible song about a shepherd doing unspeakable things to a sheep. The walls would once have been red, but had a sickly yellow hue to them now, due to the lighting and years of exposure to pipe smoke. The wooden floorboards were faded and sticky to the touch, and many of the round tables that dotted the canteen were wobbling under the weight of their often paralytic occupants.

"Jean! Thibaut! Over here you pair of rogues!" A voice sounded above the din.

Jean turned to face the sound, and found his eyes drawn to a table near the corner that was occupied by a pair of stallions. One of them, the older of the two, and a good few years Jean's senior, wore the night blue uniform of the Prench guards, though unlike Jean this officer was a Lieutenant. His tan coloured fur was showing signs of greying, and his night black mane was twisted into a short ponytail which hung out from underneath the battered old tricorn hat he wore, and a horn jutted out from it's front. The mark on his flank was that of a sabre; the stallion was an accomplished sword's pony, a fact that Jean could testify to first hoof. The second stallion, the youngest of the four of them, wore the uniform of a Prench navy privateer; white with red cuffs and a crimson tipped collar that drew almost level with the earth pony's eyes. His cutie mark was a sexton and spyglass, illustrating his talent for navigation. On the face of it, the sailor seemed almost laughable; he looked more like a child who'd found his father's uniform than a hardened mariner, but alas, the pale white stallion's appearance was deceptive. Jean recognised the pair instantly, and smiled broadly.

"By Celestia's beard! If it isn't Matthieu Dubois and Roland Fontaine! What are you two doing here?"

"What do you think, you fool? We're here to drink to your promotion!" Roland, the Privateer piped up.

"And let's not forget his imminent proposal to the lovely Maria de Laval." Matthieu, the older stallion said with a wink.

"You told them?" Jean asked Thibaut as they sat down next to their friends. "Wait, how is that even possible when I only told you on the way here?"

"Well Jean," Thibaut began, "you're not exactly an enigma."

Am I really that predictable? Jean wondered, Only 25 and I'm already losing my touch.

"Besides, we're here to celebrate your luck at getting that promotion." Matthieu stated before Jean could reply to Thibaut's criticism, his low, rumbling tone somehow carrying comfortably over the sound of the bar around them. "You're a lucky stallion Jean, there you are, 25 and a captain, and I'm 37 and still stuck as a Lieutenant." Matthieu stated, his voice dripping with barely concealed bitterness.

"Quit being so negative, Matt." Roland interjected. "If you've got nothing productive to say, then get the cider in, this round's on you anyway." Roland's falsetto voice, despite being amiable, carried a certain steel to it. With a grumble, Matthieu pulled himself to his hooves and walked slowly towards the bar. Thibaut turned to Roland as Jean watched the older officer order in the drinks, and argue with a bar mare about the going prices of cider; saying something about how crooks like her deserved to take a long drop from a short rope in the Chateau de Saint Thomas.

"So Roland." Thibaut started, "How were things in Equestria?"

"Typically uneventful." Roland put simply, "though it's been a while since we left Manehattan, so anything could be happening there right now. Had to drop off a shipment of contraband in the Zebrahara afterwards." Roland stated, almost absent mindedly referring to a journey which, in reality, encompassed half the globe and involved a great deal of risk.

"You were in Equestria?" Jean inquired, joining the discussion.

"Yes, indeed." Roland said, warily. Then, on realising what his friend had meant by the question, he swiftly added: "I couldn't swing by to see you I'm afraid, you know how it is, deadlines and the like." He paused to sip his drink. "And besides, I could hardly interrupt you while you were busy defending our Equine brethren from the Old Enemy."

Jean nodded understandingly, then brought his own mug to his lips, an aura gripping the handle and lifting it from the table's heavily stained and well worn surface. The Equestrians had called upon it's allies, the nations of Saddle Arabia and Prance to help defend it's northern frontiers from increasingly common Gryphon incursions, and Jean, like many others, had answered the call.

"How's Maria?" Jean remembered all of a sudden, his thoughts of war and politics replaced by infinitely more desirable ones involving his lover.

"Beautiful as always..." Roland whispered wistfully under his breath.

"Sorry, didn't catch that."

"Oh, sorry, was miles away." Roland quickly replied, "She is well, and is eagerly awaiting your return." he added after a brief pause, the certainty returning to his voice.

"Hark! The valiant hero returns!" Matthieu's voice boomed happily as he clapped Thibaut and Jean affectionately on their shoulders. "You wouldn't believe how much I had to pay for this miserable lot." He added grumpily as he used his magic to place the tray down on the table. "There may be a crisis going on, but the bill for this was ridiculous!"

"If Matt could stop being a grumpy old sod for a second, I'd like to propose a toast!" Thibaut said, rising to his hooves. He leaned forward so that he stood with one foreleg on the table, his back legs planted on the inn's floor, and his mug held in an outstretched hoof. His friends all followed suit.

"To Jean d'Albert! A good pony..." he said, turning to look at Jean, a small smile on his face"... and a better friend."

"To Jean!" Roland echoed merrily.

"To Jean!" Matthieu bellowed.

Four mugs of cider clattered against each other; four friends laughed merrily, and from their table inside the tavern, the whole world seemed to shine.