A Game of Kings and Pretty Pony Princesses

Dirt crumbled, flowers flattened, and grass bent under Hauteclaire’s feet as he stomped through one of the many parks in Ponyville. Nothing was safe from his frustration; the poor butterfly that flew too close to Hauteclaire would be having nightmares of the vicious shoo-ing it had received.

Hauteclaire bared his teeth when something dared to impede on his vaguely determined path. Grabbing the unfortunate bench with both hands, he strained to tear the obstacle from its roots. The bench with its bolts in the ground thwarted his plans. Its refusal to move taunted Hauteclaire, giving proof that the world was against him, so much so that even this park bench would impede his path.

Oh, but that was where the bench was wrong. Hauteclaire hadn’t been around for so long because he fought fair. He bent down and used his magic, softening the ground around the bolts. Taking the bench by one of the armrests, he ripped it from the ground, spun it around, and sent the bench flying a whole two feet before it collapsed on the dirt path.

The bench, now on its back, was powerless before Hauteclaire. He straightened his back, threw back his shoulders, and gloated. The bench would no longer impede his journey to his destination. Still not satisfied, he took a step forward and gave it a good kick.

Pain shot up through his foot. “Stupid pain simulation!” screamed Hauteclaire as he limped away from the defeated bench.

Hauteclaire couldn’t do anything right. He couldn’t entertain a bunch of kids without it ending in a mess of tears, fears, and confusion, let alone conquer a park bench and walk away looking somewhat dignified. His eyes began to sting from the frustration as thoughts of all his past disappointments resurfaced. The town’s lackluster response to his play, the Mouse Army’s general lack of interest in the arts and respect for him, his failure to live up to his dream as a renowned bard. Remembering the King’s daily torments also didn’t help him. Why were the fates against him?

Why?

Hauteclaire looked up from his feet to see that he had an audience; if their expressions were any indication, he had been putting on quite a show. His outburst had generated stronger reactions than his play at the welcoming party.

The ponies all kept their distance, except for one. A guard pony stood about a meter away from Hauteclaire, hesitant to getting any closer.

“Is everything alright, sir?”

Why, yes, everything is alright. Can’t you see that I’m in complete control of the situation.

“Um… Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to cool your jets. We don’t need to make a scene here.”

Ah, but a scene has already been made! Can’t you see that my life up until now has been one big tragicomedy, and I’m the butt of it all?

“WAIT!”

A mint green unicorn mare shoved herself in front of Hauteclaire. “Officer, please, he has just been having a stressful time. Let me handle this.”

The guard was taken aback. “You’re with him?”

The mare turned around and looked at Hauteclaire. She was huffing and puffing like she had run a marathon as she searched Hauteclaire’s face for an answer; but Hauteclaire didn’t have one to give other than, Who are you?

The mare snapped her head back towards the guard. “Yes!”

The guard’s stiff face relaxed, having an unwanted burden taken off his back. “Fine, but let’s not have a repeat of this. And I’ll have to fine you for the bench.”

The mare flinched. “Oh-no-no-no-no! You don’t have to do that!” Her horn glowed and so did the bench before it floated softly in the air, was put upright, and set back to its original location. “See? All better,” said the mare as she put on a huge please-don’t-fine-me smile.

Looking back at the bench, then to Hauteclaire, then to the smiling mare, the guard shrugged and walked away. Once he was out of sight, the mare let out a huge sigh and put a hoof up to her chest. She turned around and looked up at Hauteclaire. “That was close! Bonnie would have killed me if I got fined! Are you alright?”

Hauteclaire nodded. He looked about and saw that most of the crowd had left, obviously disappointed that there was going to be no climactic explosion to Hauteclaire’s pent-up frustration before staring at the unicorn out of the corner of his eye. “Who are you, and why did you defend me?”

The unicorn perked up her head and smiled. “I’m Lyra! Lyra Heartstrings! It’s very nice to finally meet you, Hauteclaire!”

At that moment, the bench fell over with a thud. Lyra sprang at the noise and jogged in place as she looked about. “How about we talk somewhere else, hmm? Somewhere other than here.”

Some of the items didn’t sound very appetizing. Daffodil sandwiches? Hay fries? Tulip salad? Hauteclaire might have eaten a lot of strange things in his life (including horse, but that wasn’t something he was about to share with Lyra), but he wasn’t about to eat any of these. At least most of these items didn’t look like they were caked in sugar, like most of the other food he’s seen ponies eat up until now.

And he wasn’t a huge fan of sweets.

And he wasn’t a huge fan of sitting on piles of hay. The hay kept getting caught in his fur and made his bum itch. These ponies must have had rather insensitive backsides to find this comfortable. Lyra wasn’t scratching her bottom or readjusting herself whenever she thought no one was looking. (Or as the ponies say: “Nopony.”)

And seriously, they were sitting on food. What if these hay sandwiches used the same hay that they sat on? That would be disgusting, and probably unhealthy.

The waiter came and took their orders. A daisy sandwich and a soda for the lady and cucumber sandwiches with tea for Hauteclaire. Hauteclaire hoped the waiter got the order correct and wouldn’t bring him something stuffed with flowers, hay, or sugar. How could the waiter concentrate when he kept staring at Hauteclaire like that?

All of the other patrons had also been staring and gawking. Their whispers echoed loudly in Hauteclaire’s large ears. Hauteclaire wasn’t surprised that they were talking about him; he just hoped that this meeting wouldn’t end up with more frustration.

Hauteclaire turned his attention back to the ranting mare that sat in front of him. She was raging on about the stallion from earlier ever since the waiter left. “...and how he continued to ignore Cheerilee’s warnings? You know he just came to stir up trouble. I think that Ms. Cheerilee didn’t mean to offend you, but I wouldn’t know what to do if I was in her position either...”

Hauteclaire just sat there with his hands folded and nodded. Even before they arrived at this cafe, Lyra had started babbling on excitedly. She never did answer Hauteclaire’s second question.

“...so I don’t think it’s your fault that that happened! But, you should be able to handle heckling. You are a bard, afterall,” Lyra said with a flick of her hoof and a smile. “Heck, I sometimes get heckled at a few performances, usually where alcohol is involved, but I just ignore them and continue. I’m just curious, though, why did that make you so mad?”

Hauteclaire raised an eyebrow at Lyra. It took her a moment, but she flinched and tried to backtrack. “Oh, goodness! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to touch on such a sensitive subject. It was just upsetting to see you so, well, upset. The way you were stomping and sulking and...”

Hauteclaire raised a hand. “It’s alright. You didn’t know. Now, why did you step in? You had no reason to do so.”

Lyra let her hooves rest on the table and tilted her head down. “Well, I knew that something that stallion said really did upset you, and you didn’t deserve to get into trouble. I know that some ponies can be a bit… close-minded when it comes to species other than ponies. Even donkeys and zebras sometimes have a hard time here, even though they are very similar to ponies. That doesn’t sit right with me!” She slammed the table. “Oh! Sorry! I just thought that it wouldn’t be fair for you to get into trouble.”

Xenophobia even exists in a land of magical talking ponies. Who would have guessed?

Hauteclaire leaned forward. “Well, that was very nice of you.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Upon reflection, I may have let myself get a bit… dramatic. It was rather silly of me to get so wound up over such an incorrigible oaf.”

Lyra giggled. “Yeah. Some ponies can be like that. But most of the ponies here are very nice and welcoming. It’s just, when you live near a forest full of things that eat ponies, you tend to be careful of whatever comes out of it.”

“Well, we didn’t come from the forest. But we did run into some monsters on the way there.”

Lyra gasped and clopped her hooves together. “Oh! What did you see?”

Hauteclaire leaned back as he recalled the events before they wound up in the forest. “Well, we first were in the fire swamp. There we came across a chimera.”

Lyra was bouncing up and down. “Oh! A chimera! Those are very dangerous! What did you do?”

“Well, Godiva tried to hug it, but it scratched her, so Porthos klunked it on two of its heads.”

“Oh my! Was Godiva hurt?”

“She got over it, but that chimera didn’t give us any more trouble after that.”

“Oh, wow! You faced a chimera and only walked away with a scratch! Most ponies would never go hoof to hoof against a chimera; even ponies of the royal guard try to avoid them.”

“Well, after that, we walked in the direction of the nearest castle we found using” --Hauteclaire wiggled his fingers-- “magic, and along the way, we came face to face with... a manticore!”

Lyra jumped up and squealed a bit. “Oh my! What did you do!? Manticores are bigger and scarier than any chimera!”

Hauteclaire paused for a second, a grin slowly creeped onto his face. “Godiva gave it a hug.”

Lyra shook her head. “Wait - what!? Wasn’t she afraid of getting hurt or scratched or eaten or something?”

“Well, she did klunk it on the head first.”

Lyra busted out laughing, wrapping her forelegs around her torso as she guffawed, hooted, and hollered. “Oh. By. Celestia! You guys are just so interesting!”

A snort came from behind Hauteclaire. He turned around and saw the waiter who was obviously trying his best not to laugh. Upon being noticed, however, he snapped his head in a different direction and walked to the side of their table as if he had never stopped at all. “Your drinks.”

How long has he been standing there? Has he been snooping on us this whole time? Hauteclaire scanned the patrons around them. They all snapped from wide-eyed eavesdroppers and resumed earlier, non-existent conversations. Well, as long as they weren’t going to ask him about his mask, he didn’t mind. Hauteclaire rather enjoyed being the center of attention.

Still, he couldn’t call himself a gentleman (or gentlemouse or gentlecolt as these ponies were likely to say) if he only droned on about himself and never let his companion get a chance to shine. “So, after that, it was rather uneventful until we got to the castle. The King then used his magic to levitate the castle to keep us safe. So, Lyra, we’ve talked quite a bit about me, but what about you? I see you’ve got a harp as your cutie mark. Am I wrong to assume your special talent is with music?”

Lyra smiled while sipping on her straw. A little bit of soda seeped out of her mouth, and she wiped her chin with a leg. “Yup! I’m from a family of musicians. My family is actually very successful and has a looooong history with music. I got my cutie mark one day when I was playing around with the instruments in the back room after a concert by the Canterlot Orchestra. I played around with so many instruments and had so much fun, I didn’t even notice I had it until I walked out to the afterparty and my dad noticed I gained my cutie mark. My dad was the conductor and has given many performances that even Princess Celestia has attended!”

Hauteclaire straightened up a bit at the mention of the Sun Quee - Princess Celestia. “Your father performed for Princess Celestia?”

“Mmm-hmm! Many times!”

Hauteclaire had to find out more about this pony.

“That’s amazing!”

“Yup, my father is pretty cool. He’s traveled all over Equestria and beyond to study music from all over the world! He went to Zebrica once and brought me with him. That was such a huge experience for me because I’ve become so interested in the cultures of other beings. I find them so fascinating. There is one zebra here in Ponyville somewhere, and we even had a minotaur drop in some time ago. Did you know that in the land of minotaurs, they decide their president by wrestling!? It’s so fascinating! They even have hands instead of hooves on their forelegs, like you. They are able to play instruments much better than most ponies because of those hands. In fact, they looked a lot like those humans you talked about earlier! I’d love to learn more about them!”

“The minotaurs or the humans?”

“Both!”

Hauteclaire had struck gold. Not only had he learned about a person… pony he might be able to learn a few things from about being renowned, but he had found his daughter! And she was a pony who knew a pony who knew Princess Celestia! Already he was so close to his goal. He couldn’t let this opportunity slip away. Luckily for him, he had the perfect bait.

“Well, I might be able to get a few books on humans for you, if you like…”

A huge smile flooded Lyra’s face. “You can?! Thank you thank you thank you!”

Hauteclaire smiled in return. “You’re welcome. It’s always great to learn new things. Speaking of which, you wouldn’t happen to know if I could meet your father? I could share with him some of the music that humans play.”

Lyra clapped her hooves together. “Oh, I’m sure he would love that! But… Oh! The food’s here.”

But!? But what!? Hauteclaire turned to the waiter who was balancing a tray on his backside. You have impeccable timing, you know that?

The waiter took each plate with his teeth off the tray and placed them on the table and left them to their meal, but not before taking another glance at Hauteclaire. Lyra dug into her sandwich, taking huge bites as she gobbled her food. Well, at the rate she ate her sandwich, Hauteclaire wouldn’t have to wait long to hear what came after Lya’s “but.”

Hauteclaire took a cucumber sandwich and took a small bite.

Darn it! The suspense was killing him. He was supposed to be the one that kept others in suspense, not the other way around!

Lyra opened her mouth. Hauteclaire leaned in, dying to hear what she was going to say.

“BURP! ‘Scuse me.”

Lyra took another swig of her soda before taking another mouthful of her sandwich.

Settle down, Hauteclaire. You’ve lived for centuries waiting for an opportunity like this; you can wait a minute more.

Lyra swallowed her last mouthful, most likely without sufficient chewing. “Hey, Hauteclaire.”

Hauteclaire leaned forward and gripped the table’s sides. “Yes?”

“I love this place’s sandwiches! Don’t you? I’d eat here all the time if I could afford it.” Lyra shoveled the rest of the first half of her sandwich in her mouth.

Damn you, Lyra! Damn your “but.” Damn you Lyra and your big “but!” You tease! Your “but” is doing things to me that I cannot stand, Lyra! Your “but” is taunting me! You and your big “but” are going to ruin me and haunt me in my dreams! I’d never imagine going crazy over a pony “but,” but you have proved me wrong, Lyra. You and your monstrous, mocking, tantalizing “but!”

Lyra gulped down the last of her sandwich and sipped at her straw until slurping sounds came from the bottom of the glass. She tilted the glass with her magic, pooling the remaining soda on one side; and sucked on the straw again, producing more of the same sound. “Mmm-mmm. That was good! I only wish their sandwiches were a bit bigger. Hey, Hauteclaire, you alright? You seem a little tense.”

Releasing his death grip on the table and straightening up his posture, Hauteclaire wiped the perspiration from his brow. “I’m sorry, Lyra, I just had something on my mind, if you could please continue: ‘I’m sure he would love that, buuuuuuut…’”

She clapped her hooves together. “Oh yeah! But he is away right now studying the instruments used in the Crystal Empire to the north. He won’t be back home for several months.” Well, crap. “Even then, he lives in Canterlot, which is a bit far from here. You can see it from here, though.” She pointed at the mountain in the distance. Hauteclaire followed her hoof with his eyes and squinted.

“That’s Canterlot?”

“Yup! And you see that large castle? That’s where Princess Celestia and Princess Luna live!”

Great! Now Hauteclaire knew where she lived! Wait, who’s Princess…

“I must say, Hauteclaire, I was really impressed by your singing! It must be really cool when you can make copies of yourself. You could start your own orchestra!”

“Heh, That’s not a bad idea.” Hauteclaire took another dainty bite of a cucumber salad.

“So you write your own songs? What was the first song you ever wrote?”

“That’s a bizarre question to ask. Do you ask that to every musician you meet?”

“Well, yeah, actually.”

Hauteclaire washed down the sandwich with a sip of tea. “The very first song I wrote… that would have to be…”

“Hauteclaire! Hauteclaire! Ah! There you are. I see you’ve found your room!” The Mouse King walked through the door to a room that was full of extravagant paintings, a harpsichord, a large wooden cabinet that housed a variety of instruments, a shelf with several books upon it, and a desk that was littered with paper and other writing utensils. Against one wall was a large, luscious bed with silk sheets and feather pillows. In the center was Hauteclaire, his mouth hanging open as he gazed at the treasures before him.

“My… my room?”

“What, you don’t like it? I’m pretty sure Porthos might like it here.”

Hauteclaire spun around. “NO! I’ll take it! This is my room!” As soon as he said it, he flinched back. He had never yelled at the King before. “I mean, if it’s alright with you. You’re the King! Shouldn’t you get first pick?”

The King dismissed Hauteclaire’s concerns with a flick of the hand. “Nah! I already found a room with all that I need! And it’s the closest one to the grand hall and the throne room and the kitchen!”

He had found a room with all he needed? So there was a room greater than this one? “May I see your room?”

“Sure thing! Right this way.”

The King led Hauteclaire down the hallway with its Romanesque arches, arched windows, and lavish red carpet that took up the center of the hallway, down the stairs that led to the throne room that was still in a state of disarray, and into a little hallway hidden behind a curtain. A plain wooden door was pushed open, and the King led Hauteclaire inside. “Well, what do you think? It’s much nicer than what I had before.”

For the second time today, hell, for the second time in less than ten minutes, Hauteclaire found himself dumbfounded. “You are absolutely sure this is what you want?”

The King beamed. “Yes, I am! This has all that the world’s greatest king will ever need!”

The room was rather dark. There were no windows, but several places where candle holders hung. Several beds were cramped into the corners of the room. A single chest for belongings was pushed up under one of them. Two other doorways led out to different rooms in the castle, most likely the kitchen and the great hall. In the center of the room was a single wooden table. Hauteclaire leaned against it, and it wobbled.

“I can easily fix that,” said the Mouse King with a smile. “And maybe even install a book shelf! Oh man! This is great!”

Hauteclaire squeezed his forehead as he tried to wrap his mind around what his king was saying. “You Majesty! This room can’t possibly have everything you need to be a great king!”

“Au contraire, my Hauteclaire! You have no need to protest. I have a bed for me to rest. A table for work, I’ll do my best! A door to the kitchen, for chicken breast. A door to the hall, to meet my guest. For my belongings, a big brown chest. I assure you Haut, I do not jest. Everything I need is in this nest. And my brain can take care of the rest.” The King tapped his crown.

Hauteclaire rubbed his noggin while opening and closing his mouth. It took a few tries, but words eventually came out. “But don’t you feel that you deserve… more?”

The King huffed. “Deserve!? I don’t deserve anything!”

“But, you took this castle all by yourself!”

“No I didn’t, you helped. And if I remember correctly, you saved me from a couple of arrows with that voice trick of yours and helped leave a lasting impression on that spoiled duke! I must say, Haut, I should send you first to intimidate instead of me! They stopped their laughing once you opened that mouth of yours.”

“But… But…”

“So, in my opinion, you earned that room up there. Sure, Porthos, Marcus, and Godiva all did their part (and Godiva may have gone a bit overboard), but I assure you, without you, I might not be standing here right now. Well, with my head on my shoulders, anyway.”

Hauteclaire slunk in defeat. He had found what he wanted, and the King was just willing to give it to him. How could he in good conscience take a room when the one who deserved it slept on a bunch of hay in a flour sack on top of a wooden frame in a dark room?

“Hey, Haut! I forgot to show you these!” He jumped up on a bed with a hard thud of flesh against wood and pointed up to a row of bells that hung on the wall. “Each one of these bells is attached to a string in a different room! I can easily know who needs my help and where they are just by looking at which bell is ringing!”

“Help…?”

“Of course! A great leader looks after his people! Haven’t you been listening to me at all during our trip to get here?” The Mouse King jumped down from the bed and pulled Hauteclaire close. “I have a favor to ask you.”

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

“Listen Hauteclaire, a good king needs a good song. Now, I’m not planning on being a good king; I’m going to be a great king! So I’m going to need a great song to help rally my people and keep their spirits and hopes high. You see what I’m getting at?”

“You want me to…”

“I want you” --he poked Hauteclaire in the chest and hugged him tighter-- “my bard, Hauteclaire, to write me a song. My anthem, if you will. Can I trust you with such an important task?”

Hauteclaire felt his eyes begin to sting. “Yes, Your Majesty, I’ll work a miracle for you.”

“That’s the spirit! Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to start improving our numbers so we can get this place in shape for a great king. My brain is telling me that there are quite a few mice in the church and the garden. I’ll be there if you need me.” And with that, the King disappeared down one of the hallways.

Hauteclaire turned around and headed back towards his room. He was just complimented, recognized, asked to write a song, and given the most lavish chamber in the whole castle, so why did he feel so bad?

“...Mice of the Isle.”

Hauteclaire looked up and saw that Lyra was no longer in front of him. However, something was poking him on the side of his head. It was Lyra. He smacked away her hoof. “Just what are you doing?”

“Sorry! You spaced out a bit, for a second I thought you broke or something.”

Hauteclaire rolled his eyes. “I’m pretty much broken already.”

“Oh, you mean your face? OOP!” Lyra shoved a hoof in her mouth. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it that way! I just… you know… I’m very sorry! I didn’t mean it that way, I swear!”

Hauteclaire bit his lower lip and counted slowly. Probably something he should have done back in the school. “It’s… alright. I just remembered my first song. It is… was a very special song.”

Lyra was quick to follow the change of topic. “My first song was very special to me, too. I wrote it when I was still in elementary school. How old were you?”

Hauteclaire chewed on his tongue a bit. “Oooh… five months old.”

“Five months!? You must be some kind of prodigy!”

Hauteclaire could have corrected her, but he chose not to. It was more fun this way.

Lyra grabbed Hauteclaire’s hand between her hooves. “I must hear this song now! Please! I need to hear what you wrote!”

Hearing this mare plead for him to sing made Hauteclaire forget about all his troubles. “Please,” she begged. “I need to hear what you wrote,” she pleaded. He took a deep breath and felt himself be cleansed of all the trouble life had generously dumped on him. He opened his eyes and looked at Lyra in hers. “OK, I will sing it for you.”

Lyra bounced and cheered before rushing back to her little hay pile. Hauteclaire stood up, wiped some hay off his backside, and cleared his throat. All around him, the patrons and the staff of the cafe sat still. All of them. Even the waiter, who was in mid-serve of a plate, stopped with the plate still in his mouth and his eyes on Hauteclaire.

Hauteclaire was actually happy for this. He would gladly perform for them all this one song from a much happier time. He put a hand to his chest and began to sing.

“All ye brothers, stop your dreaming...”

These lyrics, almost completely forgotten to Hauteclaire through decades of being unsung, reemerged with renewed clarity. He sang of troubles brewing over the horizon and a call for battle, making all the ponies tense.

The song changed from a warning to a declaration of war for the greater good. Pride, power, and perseverance to stand for what is good welled up inside of him, and swooned all around him to his cause. The chorus followed, audibly illustrating a victory that was certain, boosting the confidence of all those listening, coaxing them into believing that they were unstoppable.

The following lyrics vaguely introduced the King, the driving force behind the power. The one who even made such a dream possible. The chorus repeated once more, cementing the claim to victory in the hearts and souls of his audience.

The next verse then stepped away from the King to a more universally personal and understandable motive for fighting in what one believed in. The ponies all around shed tears of liquid pride. One guard who was just passing by was bawling in the street.

And then came a final verse, a repeat of an earlier one, assuring the listeners that all would be well in the end.

“...Hearts pound strong, mice of the isle.

Never can we fail.”

Taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Hauteclaire felt shivers run down his back as waves of nostalgia overwhelmed him. It took bit before he could even register the applause that was given to him. All around him, ponies with damp cheeks stomped the ground and cheered. Lyra was among them. “Encore! Encore! Encore!”

Hauteclaire bowed and gave his thanks to the audience before sitting back down. The ponies at the tables around him burst to life, chattering about the performance they had just witnessed and the feelings it had stirred within them. No longer were they focused on Hauteclaire, but on what he had given to them.

Hauteclaire took another deep breath and smiled as he let it out slowly.

Lyra was bouncing on her hay pile. “That was amazing! You wrote that when you were only four months old!?”

“Yes, well, I did have a good source of inspiration.”

“I’d say! That is nothing like…”

“There you are, Lyra!”

Lyra jumped and fell back on to her rump. Her eyes were wide open, and a grimace grew on her face. “Oh crud, I forgot.”

An earth pony mare (the ones without horns or wings, Hauteclaire had learned not too long ago) with a pink and blue mane trotted up to them both. Lyra forced another smile on her face and turned to meet her. “Oh, hello, Bonnie. What are you doing here?”

Bonnie walked up to Lyra and poked her with a hoof. “You said you would help me wrap candies in the shop today after the presentation! Why are you…” Whatever question she was going to ask, she no longer needed to finish it because she turned towards the answer.

“Good afternoon,” said Hauteclaire.

The mare took a deep breath. “I’m sorry if my friend caused you any trouble. She just gets so excited when she sees foreigners. She just has to learn as much about them as equinely possible.”

“I assure you, she was no trouble at all.”

Lyra harrumphed. “Bon-bon! Stop treating me like a foal.”

Bon-bon glared at Lyra. “Well, I’ll stop treating you as one if you stop acting like one! You promised you’d help me with my stock and my shop then you’d go out with the mouse on your date.”

Hauteclaire choked on some of his tea.

“It’s not a date! I’m just trying to learn more about the world outside of Equestria!”

“Uh-huh.” Bon-bon turned to Hauteclaire. “I’m sorry, but I need to reopen my shop, and I’m going to need to take her from you. Would you…”

Setting down his tea, Hauteclaire shook his head. “No, no, it’s perfectly alright. We can always carry on our conversation another day.”

Bon-bon sighed. “Thank you. Come on, Lyra, let’s go.”

Lyra said her goodbyes, threw a couple of golden coins on the table and followed Bon-bon. Hauteclaire could hear some of her whining as she dragged her hooves behind her friend.

What a curious mare. Rather silly, but she does seem to have a deep passion for all things worldly. She will prove to be an excellent source of information and networking for meeting Princess Celestia. Oh! That’s right.

Hauteclaire jumped to his feet and rushed to meet the mares. “Wait up! I have one more question!”

Both mares turned their heads. One was overjoyed. The other wasn’t amused.

“You mentioned a ‘Princess Luna.’ Who is she?”

Bon-bon raised an eyebrow. Lyra giggled. “Why, she’s Princess Celestia’s little sister, silly! She is the princess of the night. She’s dark blue, and her mane looks like the night sky!”

Dark blue… Mane like the night sky? Princess Celestia’s sister?

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think I’ll be able to meet you again at 5:30. I’ll probably be still too busy at Bon-bon’s Bon Bons. But I’ll have much more time later! Feel free to stop by and try some of Bon-bon’s special delights! They are so good!”

Bon-bon glared at Lyra. “Don’t be thinking about handing out any more free samples again.”

The two said their goodbyes again before continuing on their way, bickering like sisters the whole time.

The waiter from earlier walked up and presented the coins Lyra left on the table. “Sir, our manager would like to thank you for your performance earlier. She says the meal for you and your guest is on the house. Sir… Sir?”

The waiter waved a hoof in front of Hauteclaire’s face when he didn’t get an answer.

“Sir? Are you feeling alright?”

After recovering his most of his wits, Hauteclaire finished his meal mostly in silence. He was only interrupted by the occasional patron who stopped by his table to thank him for the performance before they left. Their gratitude almost made Hauteclaire forget about the huge mistake he had made on the castle roof the other day.

Almost.

With lunch out of the way, and no more chores needed to be done, Hauteclaire walked around Ponyville for a bit more. However, he ran into several ponies that were at the school during his earlier meltdown; their eyes seemed to scream in fear as Hauteclaire passed by.

More whispers like yesterday followed Hauteclaire wherever he went, but unlike last time, where they chided him on his “cheap,” “dirty,” or “unfair” performance with his brother, these whispers were about his mask. Or more specifically, what was under it.

Hauteclaire ground his teeth in a forced smile as he dropped by Sugar Cube Corner to give Pinkie his thanks for the treats and introducing him to Lyra before turning around and heading straight back to the castle. There, he practiced “the game” until dinner time, working out all the pent-up rage the day had given him.

When he arrived at the kitchen for dinner, he was surprised to see only Godiva nibbling away on a sandwich. There was no sign of any other court member anywhere. He sat down at the furthest seat away from Godiva.

She looked up from her sandwich and smiled. “Hey, Haut! How’ve ya been?”

“Aren’t you still mad at me?”

Godiva shook her head. “Nah! It was just a little fight. You and your brother fight all the time. I know you’ll eventually make up. You always do.” She grabbed her glass of milk and drank in large gulps.

Why does everyone I know lack proper etiquette? “You’re not mad?”

Godiva put down the glass and wiped away her milk moustache on her sleeve. “Of course not! You were just moody, like you usually are, Haut-Sauce. I know you didn’t intend to make me feel bad. Besides, I had a great day! I finished most of the repairs with Time Turner today, and I got to go back to Goldie’s farm and do more work for her. I saw a picture of her little sister named Noi, and she is the cutest little thing! She goes to the school that you visited today.”

Hauteclaire gulped. Godiva still hadn’t heard yet, but it would only be a matter of time.

“So… where is everyone?”

“Well, Marcus and the King went somewhere for an ‘important discussion,’ and Porthos is playing cards with a bunch of new friends at Pokey’s restaurant!”

Hauteclaire got up from the table and went towards the refrigerator that the King had summoned with his brain a while back. He opened it only to a half-empty wine bottle and several apples. “Hey, where’s all the food?”

Godiva put down her sandwich. “Oh yeah, Marcus had the King return all the food that was stolen with his magic. If we want to eat anything, we’ll need to earn it from the ponies from now on.”

“Well, that’s hypocritical,” said Hauteclaire as he took an apple and shut the door. “Where do you think the gold coins we’ve been handing out came from?”

Godiva shrugged before returning to her sandwich.

Taking a bite of his apple, Hauteclaire realized that he would need to talk to his brother if they really wanted to make this thing with the ponies work. Sure, things may not have been going as smoothly as they hoped, but it was a welcome change of pace from “playing the game.” Especially now that there was hope for Hauteclaire to pursue his dream.

This meant he would have to own up to his failure at the school. Hauteclaire groaned as he descended the stairs to the organ room. After finishing the entire apple, core and all, he laid down on the bench and went to sleep.

“Wakey-wakey, Hauteclaire.”

Oh, what now? Hauteclaire opened his eyes. Above him wasn’t the roof he had seen before shutting his eyes, but the night sky full of stars. A slight wind ruffled his fur and gave him a slight chill. He turned to the side and saw Porthos’ fat head right at eye level.

“What do you want, fatty?”

Porthos snorted. “I heard what you did at the school today.”

“Yeah? So what?” Hauteclaire got up on his bench and tried to get off, only to find no ground beneath him. Upon further inspection, Hauteclaire realized that Porthos was suspending him and the bench over the edge from the roof of the tallest tower. At any moment, Porthos could let Hauteclaire plummet to his death. A threat that could really work if the victim wasn’t immune to death. “What are you going to do, drop me?”

“I’ll let go, but I want you to listen,” grumbled Porthos. “These ponies are good folk. They don’t need a worm like you scaring the daylights out of them or be revealing secrets that they have no need knowing.”

Hauteclaire crossed his arms. “I never expected to get a lecture from you, Porkos. And is that alcohol I smell on your breath? You were doing more than playing cards, I assume.”

“Don’t be playing Mr. Moral with me, Haut. Godiva is well aware I have had a few, but I didn’t scar the minds of innocent lasses with my face.”

“You’re right. All your hideous scars are under your tabard, but your face is still hideous without them.”

“You made Applebloom’s friend cry.”

“Is this what this is all about? How many women and children have you made cry? Remember how all the townsfolk were actually terrified of you when you thought…”

Porthos shook the bench. “Don’t you dare bring that up, Haut! I know damn well what I have done, and I don’t want to do it again! This is my chance to repent!” He pulled the bench closer, pressing his enormous nose against Hauteclaire’s. “And if you ruin this for me, I will make sure your life is a living hell.”

Hauteclaire grinned and pinched Porthos on the cheek. “I assure you, sweet Porkos, I’m in hell whenever you are around.”

“Glad we have an understanding.” Porthos let go of the bench.

When Hauteclaire opened his eyes again, he found himself in staring face to face with the King.

“Enjoyed your dirt nap, Hauteclaire?”

Hauteclaire pushed the King away. His face wasn’t one to see first thing when waking up. What Hauteclaire saw when he pushed the King away, though, made him think that he was still dreaming.

Above him where Romanesque arches supporting the castle roof, now hole-free. In front of Hauteclaire was a single wooden throne with red cushions; the wall behind it had three large stained glass windows. The stone grey walls to the side had balconies supported by pillars and doors that led to other parts of the castle. Red banners with golden tassels hung from the roof, and a matching rug leading from the front entrance to the throne laid under the Mouse King’s feet.

He couldn’t believe it. Was he home?

“Do you recognize this place, Hauteclaire?”

“This… this is your throne room.”

The King threw out his hands. “Bingo! What do you think, eh? I remember exactly how everything was!”

Still disoriented, Hauteclaire wasn’t sure exactly what was going on. “Did you build another castle near Ponyville?”

The King put his fingers together. “More like convert, actually. Take a look outside and you’ll see what I mean.”

Hauteclaire got up and walked down the rug through the large double doors. He passed through the great hall, with its staircases on either side of the large throne room doors, leading up to the balconies and upper levels. More red banners bearing “MK” in gold hung from the upper levels and roof and rippled in the light breeze that came through many of the arched windows.

In the front of the room were two large doors, with a smaller set of doors carved in them. To the side was a large pole and some gears to a locking mechanism. Hauteclaire pushed one of the small doors open and stepped outside into the sunlight.

The castle gate stood at the end of the expansive courtyard. The gate was drawn and Ponyville could be seen in the morning light, framed by the gate’s arch. The castle wall and the corner towers were all present, just like they were at home. To the right was the church, just as it had been before the exile. The roof lacked its hole and the windows were intact, just how Aquinas liked it.

“So? What do you think?”

Hauteclaire turned to the Mouse King.

“You… You’ve rebuilt our home?”

The King smiled. “Well, yes! I couldn’t sleep last night, so I changed that old pony castle we lived in into our new home. You wouldn’t believe how many booby traps I had to disarm.” The King chuckled. “I want to show Princess Twilight our home when she comes over for dinner in a few days.”

Why was the King in such a good mood? Why had he gone out of the way to change the castle into something that would most likely pull up painful memories? He usually hated to be reminded of home because it reminded him of all that he had lost. Could it have been something regarding that “important discussion” he and Marcus had had the night before?

“Oh, and that reminds me,” said the Mouse King as he pulled Hauteclaire close in a hug. “I want you,” --he poked Hauteclaire in the chest and hugged him tighter-- “my bard, to do something for me.”