Author's Note

This is a rewrite of the original prologue and the original chapter one to address several criticisms that my early attempts of writing received.

If you read the original, you aren't missing anything in the rewrite except for a bit of foreshadowing.

Ch. 1 - A King, a Knight, and a Bard Walk Into Ponyville (Rewrite)

“Look at them go, Hauteclaire! Ha-haha~! That never gets old!”

“I’d be able to see them better if you’d reattach my head already.”

The short, plump, grey-furred monarch stopped his celebrations and turned his head away from the scenery on the other side of a round, broken window and smiled at the head he had placed on the floor next to him. The white, furry bowling ball with two large, saucer-shaped ears and a long, upcurved nose frowned back up at his diminutive king.

“Well, I’d hold your head up so you could see, but you’ve got a fat head, Hauteclaire! My arms’ll get tired,” said the Mouse King.

Hauteclaire rolled his one good pink eye and sighed. “You know… you could at least use your magic to teleport my body here. Then I could fix myself up.”

“Yeah, but then I’d miss watching these pegasuses run away!”

“It’s pegasi, Your Majesty, and they’re already gone.” Hauteclaire looked out of the corner of his eye at the mess of scattered suits of armor and the broken alicorn statue. The stone floor of the dark, arched-windowed hall they were in was scratched up from metal and stone hooves. The large alicorn statue, which had originally stood intact in front of the window, had been broken in half, broken off at the top of its hind legs. It had been used as a puppet to scare away the intruders, just like the many suits of armor. Its hind legs still stood tall in front of the window two pegasi broke through. “And seeing as how much of a show you put on with your magic scaring the ghost out of them, I doubt they’ll be coming back any time soon.”

The Mouse King put his hands on his fat hips and laughed. His round belly jiggled, and the fire-red rubies embedded in his stomach flared in the sunlight that came through the window. “Ha! They weren’t the first pegasi to come snooping along, and they certainly won’t be the last.”

Hauteclaire sighed. “Fine, whatever. Can you reattach my head now?”

The King tapped the small chin under his long, upturned nose and “hmmm”ed. “Welllllll.... No.”

“Oh, come on! Why not!?”

“You were careless, Haut. You let one of those pegasuses kick your head clean off! You should know better than to walk behind a spooked pegasus. I think that was the shortest life you’ve ever had in the game. You didn’t even last a day! Gotta punish you somehow.”

“It’s pegasi! And you were the one messing with the castle layout after you sent me to look for Marcus after he disappeared. You probably lined the pegasus up and made him kick my head off on purpose.”

The King scrunched up his large, triangular eyebrows underneath the small, chipped, golden colored crown. He reached up and grabbed it by the cheap red fabric that had been nailed into it on the inside, lifted it off his head and scratched the spot where it rested between his two large, round ears. “Gee, Haut, that’s quite the accusation. You know, most kings would execute anyone who claimed such things of their monarch. Usually by--” the King snorted “--beheading.”

Hauteclaire rolled his eye and groaned. Here we go.

“But I got to say, Haut, you’re ahead of me on that one!”

“That’s it, then? Are you done?”

Placing his foot on top of Hauteclaire’s head, the King bent down and looked him in the eye. He smiled wide from eye to eye. “Why, no, Haut. You could say that I’m--” With a push, Hauteclaire’s head was sent rolling on the stone floor-- “on a roll!”

The dismembered head rolled on the ground until it clanged against a suit of armor. Hauteclaire’s right eye kept spinning. This couldn’t get worse.

The King grabbed his belly and laughed. “Oh-ho-ho man, this reminds me of the time you pissed off Porthos and he flicked your head off your shoulders like a mosquito!”

A deep, rumbly voice answered from the dark hall. “Is somebody talking about me?”

Hauteclaire squeezed his eye shut and sighed. Fantastic. He’s back.

“Oh, what’s this, then?”

Large, dark grey sausages wrapped around Hauteclaire’s head and lifted it high up off the ground before turning him to be face to face with the most repugnant, unpleasant, and boorish member of the Mouse King’s court. Those large, unkempt eyebrows; the long, fat nose that sagged under its own weight; the dirty, scruffy hair that made his fat neck look fatter; those piggy eyes of his. It was a face only a mother could tolerate.

“What happened to you, Haut?” The big galoot chuckled, and those tiny ears of his flopped, as well as the long purple feather on top of his red and indigo striped skull cap and the flab on his cheeks and neck. “Has the King been playing any head games with you? Har-har-har!”

“Haha! That’s a good one, Porthos!”

Hauteclaire glared at Porthos. “Haha, yeah, you’re a real cut-up, aren’t you?”

Porthos let out a large belly laugh, and waves of repulsive rat breath pounded on Hauteclaire’s face. With his free hand, Porthos reached down under his brown belt and pulled up his indigo gambeson and blood red tabard, revealing many large scars that spread across his barrel of a chest and balloon of a belly. A few indigo gems embedded in his body reflected some sunlight directly into Hauteclaire’s eye, and he flinched, not that he wouldn’t have without the extra incentive. “You’ve got that right. Thank the heavens I’m thick-skinned.”

And thick-headed.

Movement at the edge of his sight caught Hauteclaire’s attention. There, next to two buckets full of apples, was a headless body dressed in a blue herigaut and a sky blue cotehardie with golden buttons and dark golden pants patting around on the ground, looking for its lost head. It was Hauteclaire’s body, moving around on its own, revived by the King’s magic.

Putting on as genuine a smile as he could muster without twitching, Hauteclaire looked back up at the giant rat. “Porthos, my dear lad, could you please return my head to my shoulders?”

The fat rat looked back at the body and then back to Hauteclaire with a smile. “Think you can catch?”

Hauteclaire opened his eye wide. “Porthos, no-”

Before he could finish, Porthos lobbed Hauteclaire’s head over to his body. It bounced off a shoulder and landed in one of the buckets.

“Damn it, Porthos!”

The halls echoed with the the goon’s guffaws and the King’s cackling. Hauteclaire could only grind his teeth as he watched his headless body guide its way over to him. Hands extended, the body felt around the contents of the bucket until it grabbed Hauteclaire by the nose. Found at last, the body lifted the head up from the hard contents of the bucket and back onto familiar shoulders.

With his head held in place with one hand, Hauteclaire rubbed his neck with the other, the flesh healing at his touch. Once he felt whole again, a few short turns of the head confirmed that he wouldn’t have to worry about his head falling or slipping off and dangling later on. Looking back at the two chuckleheads, Hauteclaire took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

Hauteclaire inspected the buckets that Porthos had brought in with him. “Well, Porthos, you’ve been gone for more than an hour and you brought only…” He ran his hand over a few apples before picking one up at random. “...two buckets of apples. Now, with the barbaric strength in those anacondas you call arms…” He picked up another apple and inspected it. He gave a quick polish on his cotehardie. “...I would have expected at least double this amount in half the time. Shouldn’t scaring peasants into handing things over be your specialty?”

Porthos stopped his laughing and sneered while pointing one of his sausage fingers at the belittling bard. “Oh, don’t be getting all high-and-mighty with me.”

Hauteclaire grinned. “What’s the matter, Porthos? Run into a bit of trouble at the apple orchard, did we? Could something out there have caused our mighty Porthos to yield in getting the King’s apples for his apple pies? Even if temporarily? We’re so famished, and the King hasn’t had Marcus’ apple pies for a very long time.”

The King stopped laughing and turned an open-eyed stare when he heard those stressed words before he rubbed his belly. “Hey, yeah. Messing with space and gravity has really made me hungry! Darn it all, Porthos! What took you so long?”

Hauteclaire bit into an apple and watched as the tides turned.

“Uh, sir, I ran into a pack of wooden doggies. Made of sticks and twigs they were! Bit me on the bum, so I gave them a good swat, and they stopped bothering me.”

The King stroked his chin. “Hmmm. Godiva never mentioned wooden wolves after her first run. Oh well. No biggie. We just started, anyway.”

Hauteclaire could feel the pinch in his cheeks. “So these wooden wolves, were they at the orchard, the one that is only a fifteen-minute stroll away, or did you meet them in the woods? Either way, those mossy mutts couldn’t have couldn’t have possibly held you up for so long, Porthos. What else was there?”

Before Porthos could open his mouth to respond, the King grabbed his tabard and pulled down. His magically-enhanced strength brought the giant mountain of a rat to his knees.

“Yeah, Porthos, I’ve been hungry. You didn’t run into any trouble, did you?”

Sweat collected on Porthos’ brow. “Sir, Your Majesty, I may have, uh…” Porthos’ eyes darted about. “...that is to say, I may have bumped into a someone on the way.”

Hauteclaire could smell fear on Porthos, and he didn’t stink of it often. Oh, he stunk of booze all the time, but fear was something Porthos didn’t apply often. Like soap. Hauteclaire forced his growing smile down to a smirk. He was going to give this rat a scrub down. “Porthos, when you bump into something, it usually breaks.”

Porthos jerked up, but whatever insult he’d had was knocked out of him when the King pulled him down to the ground with a thud. He pulled Porthos’ big face up to his, so close that his nose was bent up against the King’s chest. “You were seen?!”

“Sir! T’weren’t a person, but a pony! A pony charged me when I was collecting apples.”

Hauteclaire held the apple to his mouth as he snickered.

After hearing the news, the King loosened his grip on Porthos’ tabard. “Oh, well, if you were seen just by an animal, then that’s no big deal.”

Hauteclaire stopped his snickering, if only momentarily, as thoughts of armored, screaming pegasi danced in his head. And equine armor and statues. A whole castle of them, in fact.

Wait… Could it be possible that…?

Porthos got up and wiped the dirt of his wine-stained tabard.

“So…” the King said as he crossed his arms. “Tell me, did a little pony just charge you out of the blue? That’s why you didn’t bring so many apples and took so long?”

Porthos looked over at Hauteclaire before looking back down to the King. “Can I tell you later?” he whispered.

The King shook his head.

Porthos sighed and dropped his shoulders. “Well, you see, I was collecting apples and this pony with a harness comes up to me and starts making noises at me. I shoo it away, but it wouldn’t leave me alone. The little guy was persistent, so I flipped him on his back to scare him away.”

Hauteclaire smiled as he ate up all that Porthos was confessing.

Porthos bit his bottom lip. “Well, I grab a few more buckets of apples and I turn back for the castle. Then the little fella charged me in the back of my legs. I lost my balance and I… fell.”

The King lifted an eyebrow. “You fell?”

Porthos nodded. Both Hauteclaire and the King stood in place, watching Porthos as his eyes searched the ground for the story he had just dropped. After a bit of searching, he swallowed. “And I may have injured it.”

Globs of pre-chewed apple spewed from Hauteclaire’s mouth as he exploded into laughter. It mattered not that Porthos was glaring at him.

“Hahaha! You crushed Godiva’s favorite animal under your own fat ass?! Oh ho ho ho! She’ll murder you when she hears-”

A metal pony helmet clanged off his forehead and knocked him on his backside, where he lay and moaned.

The King was now doubled over, both hands wrapped around his chest as he cackled. “Hahaha! Phew… Okay, so what did you do next, Porthos?”

Porthos stood back up from his post-pitching pose and took a deep breath. “Well, when I got back up, the poor little guy was lying on the ground. The animal cried out when I fell on him and then another one in a hat came charging at me. I wanted to avoid getting caught by anyone else, so I grabbed two buckets and ran.”

The King crossed his arms again and stared at Porthos with half-lidded eyes. “So, if what you said is true, you should have been here early. Not late. You sure nothing else happened?”

“Uhhh… I ran deep into the forest first to make sure I wasn’t being followed?”

The King continued to glare at Porthos, who was fidgeting with his hands. Slowly, the frown on his face turned into a smile. “Don’t lead them back to the castle! Good thinking, Porthos. You’ve kept thinking on your toes.”

Groaning over by the apple buckets drew both their attention to Hauteclaire as he stood up rubbing his head. “Yeah, great thinking Porthos. If you had came straight here, they would have found our hidden fortress flying above the forest. Good job, genius.”

“Hmmph.” Porthos picked up another helmet, tossed it up and caught it in one hand. “Gee, Hauteclaire, you’re such the flatterer.”

The King put his hands on his hips. “Speaking of things being found, Hauteclaire, why haven’t you found your brother yet?”

“You’ve been searching for me, you have?” said a sing-song voice.

“Yoo-hoo! We’re baaaaack!” chirped another voice in response.

Hauteclaire, Porthos, and the King all turned to face the largest entrance to the hall. There stood Marcus and Godiva. Marcus was covered from oversized tricorne hat to grey-furred toe in dirt. The red feather on his hat was frayed, his brown vest was stained with chlorophyll, and his green shirt was smeared with mud. A few sticks were also sticking out of his short sleeves and hat. Despite possibly suffering from the worst whiplash ever, he still had that calm smile on his face. He reached up and adjusted the hat where it rested on the bridge of his nose, covering his eyes. “I’m terribly sorry for any inconvenience, I am. But Godiva and I have been doing some thinking, we have.”

The slightly shorter, armor-clad mouse next to him jumped with excitement. The coned visor at the end of her helmet flapped up and down, flashing the large, bright eyes underneath. Sticks stuck out from between pieces of her black knight armor, and there was some foliage stuck in the four curved horns on the top of her helmet. “Oh, oh, oh, Your Majesty! Please listen to what we have to say!” said Godiva. Her voice came out tinny from inside her helmet.

The King smiled. “You two are back! I hope you brought some great news. Also, Marcus, Porthos brought us some apples. I want you to…”

“Your Majesty, please! We don’t want to play the game any more!” blabbed Godiva. The way Godiva was shaking in her armor, she must have held back a whole second before speaking.

Marcus facepalmed, Hauteclaire and Porthos both froze and stared at the King; he just stared, his eyes bugged wide and his jaw hung loose, but only for a moment. His composure recaptured, he laughed. “Hahaha, whew. You really got me with that one, Godiva. For a second, I thought you were being serious.”

Marcus opened his mouth to speak, but Godiva beat him to it. “Oh, but your Majesty, I am. We should all take a vacation.”

Porthos backed away from the King without taking his eyes off of him.

The King sucked in a huge lungful of air and let it out slowly. “Godiva, this isn’t funny anymore. Do you even remember why we play the game, hmmm? It’s not just some silly job we can take a vacation from. No. It’s something we must do if we are EVER to go back.” The King crossed his arms and stared down his black knight, whose faltering resolve was as visible as her posture. “The answer is no. Now, what do you have to say?”

The armor-clad mouse took a step back from the King, and she brought her hands up to her chest. She twiddled her fingers and looked at the ground. Marcus stepped forward and in front of her. “My King, if I may have a word, if I may?”

The King turned his attention to Marcus.

The ever-prominent smile on his face didn’t falter. “My King, Godiva and I have been doing some thinking, and we have a proposition for you, we have.”

The King rolled his shoulders and puffed out his chest. In response, Marcus turned both hands up so that his palms faced up and towards the King. Even his knees bent slightly as Marcus tried to get on the King’s “level.”

“My King, we have been playing the game ever since we have regained conscious thought, we have. It has been so long. We believe it might be time to take a little time to enjoy ourselves; the world we have arrived in would serve us better for leisure, it would.”

The King cocked one of his thick, triangular eyebrows. “It ‘would serve us better for leisure?’ What do you mean by this, Marcus?”

Marcus took a step back and gave Godiva a light push on the back of her shoulder. “Godiva, please repeat what you told me earlier, please do.”

Godiva looked up through her visor. Her back straightened slightly as she spoke quickly. “Well, you see, Your Majesty. This world is inhabited by ponies! They are so small and so cute. They would be terrible at the game! We wouldn’t learn anything from them, and it would be a waste of time! Also, they’re-”

“A WASTE OF TIME!?”

The King’s voice stopped her rambling; the sudden fear Hauteclaire felt persisted long after the echoes ceased. Marcus threw himself in front of Godiva and tried to backpedal, but the King wouldn’t listen. Even the giant rat five times the size of the King took a few more steps away from the fuming monarch.

“Did you just call ‘the Game’ a ‘waste of time?’ Do you not remember what happened to us? What became of our dearest friends and loved ones? We are all that’s left, my ‘Little Miss Too Late.’ If you don’t realize how lucky you are to be standing here right now, you must not remember-”

Godiva shoved Marcus out of the way. “But I do remember, Your Majesty! I remember! The castle! The town! My stable! Philippides! Gregor! Aquinas! I remember-”

The King stomped forth and pushed his face against Godiva’s helmet. He reached out, lifted the visor and shoved his face into hers.

“Don’t you dare say that you remember him! You don’t even remember why you’re called-”

Marcus stuck a hand in between the two screaming mice and pushed them away from each other. The ever present smile on his face vanished as the King glared up at him.

“My King! Please listen-”

“I will have none of it!” the King hollered. “You have obviously let these ponies make you soft. Just like Hauteclaire.”

At that moment, Hauteclaire wished he was dead. The King held up an open hand in Hauteclaire’s direction, and an invisible force ripped Hauteclaire’s head clean from his shoulders. The body fell limp on the ground and his head soared into the King’s hand. He wasn’t able to focus much as the King shoved Hauteclaire’s face into Marcus’ and Godiva’s.

“If we don’t continue to sharpen our skills, you’ll end up weak. Just. Like. Hauteclaire. You think these ponies would be terrible opponents? A pony kicked Hauteclaire’s head off like a football only moments ago. If these ‘small and cute’ ponies still pose a threat to us, then we have much further to go if we are to even stand a chance of reclaiming our home!”

“My King! Please-” Marcus begged before Godiva shoved him aside.

“I don’t remember!? I remember how happy you were! You worked so hard for everyone! You were so happy. We all were. How do you think Aquinas would feel about you now, huh? Bullying poor Hauteclaire like that!”

The grip on the hair between Hauteclaire’s ears loosened, and his head fell to the ground. Before he could recover his wits from the fall, a new pair of cold, metallic hands snatched him from the ground. He found himself now looking up at Godiva and Marcus, both looking back down on him.

“It’s okay, Hauteclaire.”

“Are you alright, brother?”

“Hmph. I didn’t need your help.”

Godiva looked back to the King, and she turned Hauteclaire’s head around so he was now eye to eye with the King as well. His shoulders rose with every breath he took. His clenched fists shook at his sides. He raised one and extended a single finger. “Don’t you dare talk about him like that.”

An incredibly urge to flee tickled in the back of Hauteclaire’s brain, but the one holding on to his head took a step forward, bringing him closer to the cause of that tingle and only made it worse. “No, Your Majesty. He was your friend. And we are, too. He would not have liked it if he saw you picking on poor Hauteclaire like that.”

I’m right here, you know.

The King raised both fists over his head and opened his mouth wide, but something behind and above Hauteclaire caught his attention. “And what are you doing, Porthos!?”

Hauteclaire’s head swung around, and his nose smacked onto something hard and furry. It was a bit straining, but Hauteclaire could just roll his eye up enough to see that Porthos was standing right behind Godiva and had put a hand on both hers and Marcus’ shoulders.

“Sir,” he said very quietly and slowly. “You have done so much for us, and we can’t appreciate you enough for it, but I’m with Godiva and Marcus on this one. I’m tired of all the smashing and the like.”

“You too?…” the King huffed. “Have you all gone soft?”

A sudden tug on Hauteclaire’s nose ripped him from Godiva’s grasp. He found himself eye to eye with the furious king. Their noses were side by side, and if Hauteclaire had had a right eye, the King’s nose would have poked it out. “And what do you think, Hauteclaire?”

He bit his bottom lip. “Um… well…” Hauteclaire tried to look at anything else but the King to escape his demanding gaze, but his eye couldn’t roll far enough in any direction. “You see…”

His older brother spoke out. “My King, don’t pressure Hauteclaire, please don’t.”

“Yeah! Stop bullying Hauteclaire!” said Godiva.

If any blood ran through Hauteclaire’s veins, his mouth would’ve been full with it. The force he bit the inside of his cheek with after he heard his brother’s and Godiva’s voices was enough to rip the tissue. He squeezed his eyes shut and forced a lump down what was left of his throat. He opened his eyes and faced the King. “I… I believe, Your Majesty, that we can make do with practice…”

The King scowled and shook his head. “Et tu, Hauteclaire?”

Metal hands grabbed Hauteclaire by the ears and tugged his head free from the King’s grip with little resistance. Godiva took him back to his body and stuck his head back on his shoulders. Forced to look up, he saw both Godiva and Marcus look down on them. The cheerful expressions that they usually had were gone, replaced with ones of pity. Godiva’s eyes were teary, and Marcus was biting his bottom lip.

“You okay, Haut-sauce?”

“Easy now, brother.”

Hauteclaire felt the urge to spit in their faces. His head reattached and his body responding again to his command, he pushed them away and stood up. He dusted off his shoulders and turned around. The King had fallen onto his rump, and his head was in his hands.

“So, that’s it then? You’re tired of me being your king? Are you going to vote me out just like that?”

Too quickly, Godiva and Porthos jumped to his side. Godiva jumped down and hugged her monarch, but he didn’t return it. Porthos kept a short distance between the two, but had a hand out ready to snatch Godiva away at a moment’s notice.

“No, Kingy, we’re not going to vote you out just like that,” cooed Godiva.

The moping monarch pushed away Godiva, got up and turned his back to the court. “Then what? The game is all I have left. We can’t go home until we’re ready! What happens if we went back and weren’t prepared? Our friends, our family. They all would have died. For nothing!” At the last word, his fist ignited into a fireball. He threw it at the far wall, and it exploded upon impact, leaving a large, black-singed circle on the stone. Whatever demons he had tried to obliterate persevered as they perched on his shoulders and head, weighing them down.

“Sir,” whispered the giant Porthos. “Please don’t think so lowly of us. We respect you and your decisions. Without you, we’d be nothing. Dead. Gone and forgotten. We’ll remain sharp! We promise.”

Marcus walked up behind the King and placed a hand on the King’s right shoulder. “My King, we won’t vote you out just like that, we won’t. We just feel you’ve been running yourself and us ragged, we do.”

The King let out a long sigh and kept his back to everyone. “You promise you won’t get soft?”

“Yes, my King.”

“You bet, Your Majesty!”

“Yes, Sir.”

Hauteclaire grunted in agreement.

The King scratched behind one of his ears and pulled at the fur on the back of his head as he studied the ground at his feet. Then the roof. He turned around and faced his court. “Godiva, you said that they were ‘pushovers?’”

She nodded. “Yup. Knebryter and I totally won over that town with a few swings of a mace and just a few crocodile tears!” She patted the wooden hobby horse that hung from her side opposite her large, steel-grey mace.

The King chewed on his lip and looked to his left before looking back at Godiva from the corner of his eyes. “How advanced are these ponies?”

“They’re pretty medieval-ish. The worst they got is some armor and basic magic.”

A lump formed under the King’s lips as he rubbed his tongue around his teeth in thought. “So… we’re in a world inhabited by medieval ponies and other mythical creatures. And they would make poor opponents for the game...”

Godiva smiled and nodded again. “Yes, yes, yes!”

The King crossed his arms and looked back down at the floor. When he turned his face back up, he was smiling. “Okay. You can have your vacation.”

Godiva jumped and cheered. Hauteclaire, Marcus, and Porthos all let out a collective sigh.

“Thank you, Sir,” said Porthos.

“My King, it is great that-”

“But!” shouted the king and raised his hand. “You must practice every day and keep sharp. If you don’t keep this promise, the vacation is off. Got it?”

“Yes, Your Majesty!”

“Yes, My King.”

“Yes, Sir!”

Hauteclaire forced a “Yes, Your Majesty” out as well. Even though Hauteclaire thought he should be feeling happy that he and the rest of the court were finally relieved of that accursed game, this really couldn’t be happening. Could it? The King had been talked out of the one thing he lived for, and it was because Godiva found a bunch of ponies. Thoughts continued to race through his mind, but he pushed them all away and decided to let himself enjoy the moment.

“Well then,” the King said while rubbing his hands together. “We are going to have to learn how to speak Pony. Shall we ‘find’ a volunteer?”

Porthos pointed over his shoulder with a thumb. “There’s a bunch of books in a room somewhere in this castle. Why don’t we use those?”

Hauteclaire shook his head. “Those books must be ancient. We don’t want to sound like a bunch of antiquated loons.”

Porthos smirked. “Speaking like one may make you tolerable.”

Hauteclaire crossed his arms and rolled his eye. “Oh, haha, Porthos.”

“My King,” said Marcus. “There were some pegasi here before Godiva took me away, there were. You didn’t learn their language from them?”

The King smiled and pointed at Hauteclaire. “Well, I would have, but Hauteclaire ‘scared the ghost’ out of them.”

“Now hold on a-”

Godiva smashed Hauteclaire on the head with her mace. “Hauteclaire! How could you!? They’re just ponies!”

Hauteclaire grabbed his aching cranium. “Wait a minute, Godiva!”

Porthos put a hand to his chest and spoke in a tone hammed up with artificial sympathy. “Oh, it is true. Saw it with my own eyes. Sent the pegasuses running to their mums, he did.”

“Oh shut up, you lying piece of-”

Godiva smashed Hauteclaire on the head again.

“Damn it, Godiva, stop hitting me!”

Godiva pointed her mace at Hauteclaire. “Game or no game, I won’t let you scare defenseless ponies.”

“Didn’t you just claim that you took over a whole town of ponies, you hypocritical ditz!?”

Godiva retorted with her mace.

When Hauteclaire opened his eyes, he found himself staring up at the ceiling and Marcus smiling back down at him. “You did ask for that one, Brother, you did.”

Marcus extended a hand, but Hauteclaire slapped it away. Hauteclaire got up on his own and dusted himself off. No amount of dusting would brush off the cringes the King’s laughter gave him.

The King straightened his posture and cleared his throat. “Ahem, well, since we are not playing the game, I say we learn from a local volunteer instead of the usual ‘trap, zap, thankyou sap.’ Godiva, do you have any suggestions?”

“Oh, I know just the pony to help us! She’s super cute and the nicest of the bunch. Here, let me show you what she looks like.” Godiva reached into her armor and pulled out a piece of paper and a box of crayons. She dropped to the floor and doodled.

Hauteclaire rolled his eye. “Godiva wouldn’t it be quicker if you just told us what she-”

“Done!”

“...looks like.”

Porthos, the King, and Marcus all leaned over Godiva’s shoulders. Hauteclaire walked around the gawkers and looked at the drawing. It was a yellow pegasus with a very long pink mane and tail. Matching blue and pink smudges were on its posterior.

“Hey, it’s one of those pegasuses,” said Porthos.

“Pegasi.”

The King looked at Huateclaire and blew a raspberry.

“So, you’re sure this pony will help us, you’re sure?” asked Marcus.

“I’m certain she will! She was super nice and everything.”

The King snatched the paper from the ground and held it above his head. “Alright, Court of the Mouse King, this pony will teach us how to speak equine!”

Hauteclaire raised an eyebrow. “And how is she going to do that?”

The King poked the pony in the drawing. “She is going to lead us to the local library, of course!”

“Do ponies even have libraries? How would they even write a book?”

Godiva put her fists at her sides and leaned forward. “Duh! With their mouths, silly Hauteclaire.”

Hauteclaire threw his hands up in defeat. “Alright, whatever. Let’s just learn equine.”

The King pointed to Marcus. “Alright! Marcus! Porthos brought us some apples. I want a bunch of apple pies ready when I get back. You know how hungry I get when I process that much info!”

Marcus looked at the buckets. “I’m going to need more than just apples to make apple pies, I am.”

The King raised his hands above his head and shouted “Poof!” Pie tins, bags of flour, sugar, spices, and buckets of water appeared around the apples. “There, you have everything you need.”

Porthos scratched his chin. “Hey… you used magic to get everything he needed. Why did you send me out to get the apples when you could have just magicked them up?”

The King smiled. “My dear Porthos, the love and work that goes into making something makes it taste all the more sweeter! Oh, you have guard duty while we’re away.”

Hauteclaire groaned. The King turned around and pointed at him and Godiva.

“Godiva, Hauteclaire. You two are coming with me. We are going into town to find our volunteer.”

Outside the castle, Hauteclaire waited. Godiva had rushed off to get changed and the King was off somewhere. Standing at the edge of the floating castle grounds, Hauteclaire observed the sea of green that continued on forever in three ways. In front of him, the trees ended, and a small farming community began.

So, we are really on vacation, huh? Hauteclaire pulled out his dagger. There’s no way this is going to work. Well, might as well start this disaster off with a good first impression.

Hauteclaire looked at his reflection in the dagger. On the right side of his forehead was a large diamond. It hadn’t been there before he came to this world, nor was this the only diamond he had found. A search earlier this morning found several diamonds and patches of dirt filling in holes in his body. Must be a volcano nearby or something. That’s a big one.

The left side of his face, however, was not replaced with dirt or diamonds. The one blemish on his otherwise perfect face was completely intact, just like it was when he had received it the day of the “exile.”

Hauteclaire sheathed his dagger, kneeled down, and scooped up a handful of dirt. With his hands, he was able to morph the clump of dirt into clay. As he molded it to his liking, it changed into a golden color. Once he had the shape he liked, the material hardened with a thought, and he put on the mask. He pulled out his dagger once more to observe his work.

“A sun? Really? Seriously, Hauteclaire, a storm cloud is more your style. Mr. Gloomy.”

Hauteclaire turned and saw the Mouse King walking out from the castle gate.

“The sun is regal. Majestic. A symbol of power. Being a king yourself, one would think that you of all mice would understand that.”

The King grinned. “And you of all mice should know that I’m a king who plays by his own rules!”

The King raised a hand and tilted his head back. “Oh, but you see, all other kings do what they think kings ought to do. Me? I do what I choose to do.”

Hauteclaire rolled his eye. “Whatever, are you ready or what?”

“Coming!” shouted Godiva within the castle.

The King smiled. “Yup. Look out ponies, here comes the Mouse King!”

“So you’re telling me you had nothing to do with this?” Hauteclaire said, absolutely certain he knew what the real answer was.

“Nope. Not a clue! Maybe they don’t recognize me since I changed out of my armor.”

As soon as they had teleported into the center of town, they were greeted by screaming ponies. Now Hauteclaire had seen a lot of things in his ungodly long life: He’d seen face cream, he’d seen ice cream, but never had he seen ponies scream. It was so weird for him to see and hear something so un-equine come from equines. Even though he’d seen it earlier that morning, he still couldn’t get used to it.

The Mouse King was just smiling and enjoying the show. “It seems my reputation precedes me! Or they have never seen something quite as horrendous as Hauteclaire.”

Godiva’s mace knocked the King’s head to the side but didn’t stop his laughter.

Hauteclaire rubbed his temples as the King and the screaming continued to drill away at his ears and patience. “Now explain to us again, Godiva, exactly HOW you met this yellow pony.”

“Oh yeah! I…” Godiva began her answer but quickly stopped herself. She looked around for a few moments and scratched behind her ear. “...I, uh, smashed into a building full of them and was like--” Godiva swung her mace around and slammed it to the ground-- “‘Yo, yo, yo! I’m the Black Knight of the Mouse King army, and any one of yooz got a problem with that can just suck it--” She thrust her hips and grabbed her crotch, a gesture-threat combination she had learned from Porthos-- “Yooz see dis here mace, here? Well, it would be a shame if I were to, yooz knowz, smash up the town like I did dis door here.’ And then they were like, ‘Oh no! Please don’t do that!’ and the yellow pegasus came up to me and was like, ‘You can have your vacation here! Let’s be friends!’ And I was like ‘Aight. We coolz.’ And that was how I met the yellow pegasus,” Godiva finished with a huge grin flooding her face, obviously proud of the convincing lie she just weaved together.

Funny, Godiva’s presence alone used to have a deadly weight to it that was applied directly to the throats and knees of all those around her. Now, it’s like a kitten’s toe wrapped in sandpaper lightly caressing your eardrums. Funny or not, Hauteclaire could feel a major migraine coming. “That was the stupidest…”

“You really did that, Godiva? Oh, I’m so proud of you!” The Mouse King broke into applause. “I knew you were the toughest of my knights! You are my shining star, baby. Hauteclaire, you could really learn something from this one.”

No amount of magic or aspirin would make this go away. “What makes you think she’s telling the truth, Your Highness?”

“See for yourself,” replied the King smugly as he grabbed Hauteclaire by the chin and turned his head towards a building in the center of the town that had a huge hole in it. “Only my Godiva could cause so much damage.”

“Well, what about those crocodile tears you mentioned earlier, Godiva?” Hauteclaire said. Let’s see her lie her way through that one.

Godiva was taken aback. “I, uh, did I say ‘crocodile tears?’ I meant, uh, ‘crocodile sneers.’ Yeah! Crocodile sneers! You know! I threw off my helmet and went ‘GAAHHRRRRR’!”

“Wonderful! Wonderful!” The King kept on clapping.

Hauteclaire admitted defeat by facepalming. My life is hell. Hauteclaire brought down his hand and saw now that the streets were empty. “Great. Now how are we going to find this pony?”

“You’re too quick to give up, Hauteclaire,” the King said. “You should be more positive, like Godiva and me!”

“Hey! She’s coming this way!” Godiva cheered.

“See, what did I tell you?” the King said as he turned from Hauteclaire and towards the stampede that was heading their way.

A large herd of ponies and unicorns in armor supported by a swarm of armored pegasi came charging at the mice. At the head of the assault was a bouncing ball of cotton candy, a marshmallow and a flying stick of butter. Oh wait, those were ponies too. And from what Hauteclaire could tell from what little he saw of the flying stick of butter as it hid behind the marshmallow and cotton candy, Godiva’s drawing was dead-on, taffy stains and all. Now they just had to catch her. Simple enough.

Hauteclaire turned to Godiva. “I thought you said they wouldn’t chase us.”

Godiva shrugged. “Like I said, they probably don’t recognize me without my armor.”

“But didn’t you take off your…”

“Godiva, I’m so proud of you, I’ll take care of this for you.”

The Mouse King stood in front of Hauteclaire and Godiva and threw his arms open dramatically. He cried out, “All ye who dare challenge the Mouse King must be ready to face the thunder and kneel!” and clapped his hands together. A boom dispersed from his hands in all directions. The pegasi dropped like rocks, those earthbound slid to a halt, and they all fell to one knee. In a single act, the King had effortlessly disabled an entire town’s defenses. Even the ponies that were foolish enough to be within the blast radius had been forced to prostrate themselves to the diminutive monarch. All except for the flying stick of butter.

“Hahaha~. She was right. Just a bunch of pushovers.” The Mouse King put his hands on his hips and admired his work. He turned to Godiva and said, “Well, what are you waiting for? Get her.”