Another night passed, and Porthos didn’t come home. It wasn’t unusual for one of the court members to be gone for days while playing the game, but the game wasn’t on. Porthos’ absence wouldn’t have bothered Marcus so much if Porthos wasn’t supposed to be helping the Apple family with their farm work as restitution. When Hauteclaire passed by Marcus looking out one of the windows overlooking Ponyville in one of the halls during night patrol, he caught a glimpse of Marcus scratching his head under his hat, which was unusual since he lacked any sensation above the ears.

Even Godiva seemed to have been a bit off. She couldn’t sleep, so she power-walked through the halls and never took her eyes off her feet. She kept muttering about Knebryter and hoping that he and Porthos weren’t lost. A little pressure from Marcus once he got her cornered got her to spill her guts.

Porthos had requested Godiva to meet him in front of the Ponyville toy store and take him to a city called Manehatten three days ago, the same day he’d had the King turn him into a pony. She didn’t remember why, but he had said that he would whistle for her again when he needed to be picked up. Of course, being in pony form, Porthos no longer had those sausages called “fingers” to use to whistle any more. Godiva had spent much of the night prior running all around Manehatten, looking for Porthos. A glance at the paper headlines the next morning read, “Grey Ghost Flies Along Skyscrapers. Hundreds of Windows Broken.”

Marcus pinched his nose and asked Godiva to avoid running on any walls for a while.

It was the afternoon of the dinner between the King and Princess Twilight Sparkle. The large dining hall once full of two long rows of wooden tables and benches had been completely refurbished. A long rug of royal red with gold trimmings had been laid flat, matching banners had been strung up on the wall, and a stage had been erected on one side of room. The musicians were all on or near the stage, testing their equipment and instruments.

While busy with the final touches in the dining hall, Hauteclaire heard the clumsy clops of a huge behemoth behind him. He didn’t even have to turn around to know who it was; there was only one being heavy enough to cause earthquakes with his steps.

“The roaming rat returns. And wouldn’t you have guessed? He reeks of liquor.”

“Oh, blow it out your backside, you knife-swinging loon.”

“Watch your tongue, you brute. There are ladies present.”

“Haut, just because you dress like one doesn’t make you a lady.”

Giggling came from behind Hauteclaire. He squeezed his fists and bit the inside of his cheeks as he felt his self-control slipping away. Once he grabbed the slippery bastard by the scaley tail, he slowly turned around to the musicians behind him.

“Mares and gentlecolts, allow me introduce you to Porthos, the King’s sheriff and bodyguard.”

Octavia, Vinyl, Toe-Tapper, and Lyra all said their hellos to the giant rat-turned-pony. Porthos took off his hat and bowed. The hobby horse Knebryter, still strapped in Porthos’ belt, bobbed with him.

“Pleasure. I’d love to stay and chat, but I’m afraid I have much to do.” As he headed on, Hauteclaire noticed a large burlap sack hanging from one side. Whatever was in it, it was about the size of one of those foals following him the other day.

“Porthos, what’s in the sack?”

“Nothing to be concerned about. The King is looking for me, no doubt,” Porthos mumbled without turning to Hauteclaire.

Hauteclaire waited until Porthos was out of sight before he went back to checking over the dining hall for any last-minute changes. The large hall once full of two long rows of wooden tables and benches had been completely refurbished. A long rug of royal red with gold trimmings had been laid flat, matching banners had been strung up on the wall, and a stage had been erected on one side of room. The musicians were all on or near the stage testing their equipment and instruments.

Vinyl’s things took up most of the stage, leaving only the front half open for other musicians. “Heh, lady,” she chuckled as she inspected her system.

Octavia was warming up on her cello on one side of the stage while Toe-Tapper and two other ponies, Big Macintosh and Torch Song, were practicing a few songs. Their fourth, Rarity, was currently in the kitchen with Hauteclaire and Pinkie Pie. It turned out she was pulling double duty. Triple, actually: she was quite intent on taking the responsibilities of decorating away from Hauteclaire. She brought a specially-made white tablecloth embedded with diamonds for the round table the royalty would be dining at and even had a few ideas regarding gems and suits of armor. If she hadn’t been spread thin between performing and cooking as well, Hauteclaire might have had to fight her off.

Speaking of revelations, Big Mac, as it turned out, was the pony that Porthos fell on. The big fellow walked slowly for a pony with such big legs. He was especially slow in sitting down and climbing stairs. The King’s magic might have healed his flesh and mended his bones, but there was still a bit of recovering his body required before he would be back to one-hundred percent.

When Hauteclaire first saw in what condition Porthos’ weight had left such a sturdy and strong workhorse, he had to hide his smile. This would provide plenty of fuel for fat-related insults for decades to come.

Seeing Godiva openly weep at the sight of Big Mac’s limping might also prove beneficial if he ever needed her swing vote in the future.

“Excuse me, Hauteclaire?”

Hauteclaire blinked away his fantasies of convincing Godiva to vote with him to ban the use of alcohol in the court to prevent further pony-related injuries. That and him calling Porthos a fatty-fat-fat. “Yes, what is it, Lyra?”

“So you said earlier that you had a special job for me?”

“Ah, yes! Before the dinner, the King will give the princess a tour of his royal garden. You are to provide the atmosphere. I have a place set up for you in the gardens where your music will be heard throughout the whole garden. Come. I’ll show you.”

“Oh, wow! This is so pretty!”

Indeed it was. In fact, it was almost as if Gregor was still with them.

Hauteclaire had led Lyra into the central “room” of the hedge maze. It wasn’t much of a maze--more like a compartmentalized garden built within walls of hedge. In the center of the “maze” was the largest garden. At the center stood a statue surrounded by many flowers Hauteclaire could only guess the names of. The flower beds sitting in the corners of the square garden were a soothing mix of gold, magenta, and crimson flora against walls of green. The sweet smell of the flowers filled the air like the air itself was made of honey.

Lyra trotted ahead, the crisp grass crunching under her hooves, and stood in front of the statue. She looked up and squealed. “It’s a human female! A wo-man, right? You can tell because of the enlarged mammaries on the chest.”

The bard nodded and pointed to a bench in front of the statue. “That is correct. And this is where you will be playing, as long as the statue isn’t too distracting for you.”

Lyra recoiled, shook her head and flailed her front hooves about. “Nonono! It’s okay!”

Hauteclaire chuckled. “Alright. Now, when the time comes, you are to come here and play until Princess Twilight and the King have made their once-through. I’ll come to relieve you then. Questions?”

“Okay, got it!” Lyra turned back and studied the statue again. “Hey, Hauteclaire, is this thing life-sized?”

He looked up at the statue. “It’s a little bigger than a real human. I think maybe a foot or two taller than the norm.”

“And what happened to its arms?”

“The Shield Bearer.”

Lyra gasped. “You mean the one from the song?! But the Shield Bearer’s not here, is he?... She?... It?”

Hauteclaire shook his head. “He, and it’s nothing to worry about. The King loved the this garden so much, he recreated it with all its beauty and blemishes intact as it was right before the exile. In fact...” Hauteclaire walked behind the statue. “Lyra, come here.”

Lyra followed him. Hauteclaire reached down and pushed on a rock at the base of the statue. The rock slid aside and uncovered a small wooden latch. He grasped the latch and pulled. The dirt next to the latch shifted and the rocks fell to one side as a small trap door opened to reveal a hole in the ground with a stone staircase. A cold rush of air blew out from the hole, carrying the smell of dampened earth and clay. “Well, I’ll be. He really did recreate everything.”

“Oh my gosh! Is that a secret tunnel!?”

Hauteclaire stood up and wiped the dirt off his sleeves. “Indeed. It may be a tight fit, but it may be easier for you to just use this tunnel to get here. Just be sure to smooth out the dirt and replace the rocks when you get out.”

“That is so cool! Is this castle filled with more secret tunnels?”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but no. This is the only secret tunnel on the castle grounds. It leads to the cellar. The King never got around to building more.”

“Ooooh. I got’cha! That Shield Bearer used it, huh?”

Hauteclaire closed the lid and smoothed out the dirt. “Yes. When Gregor--he was our gardener, a giant of a mouse--found the Shield Bearer snooping around his garden, he grabbed that statue and used it as a club. The arms came off during the fight, and he unknowingly uncovered the secret passage. That’s how we learned about it.” He spread the rocks around. “Quite unlike him, actually. Gregor was quite the peaceful fellow. I’m certain if the Shield Bearer hadn’t been harassing his little brother when he found him, he wouldn’t have flipped.”

After getting off of his knees, Hauteclaire gave his sleeves another wipe down and turned to Lyra. “So, the Princess should be here in less than an hour. Are you ready?”

“You bet!”

Lyra skipped out of the center garden and Hauteclaire got up to follow, until something sharp hit him on the back of the head. “OW! What the-?” Hauteclaire turned around with clenched fists. Next to the statue was Discord.

He dropped a rock and pointed at the armless statue. “She did it.”

The statue harrumphed at the accusation and blew a raspberry.

Hauteclaire blinked. Discord was gone, and the statue was back to normal.

Her Highness arrived in a very humble manner. Certainly her clothes were regal: an orchid dress that flowed over and covered up much of her body with a cream-colored sash; a golden tiara and golden horse boots, all with her cutie mark; and a white train with a hemline so low it dragged on the floor behind her. She looked the part, but her mannerisms were stilted, and at times she seemed uncomfortable, like she was no longer in her own skin.

Instead of arriving in a fancy carriage, surrounded by other niggling nobles, an entourage of elite and coattail catchers, she just showed up with her friends. Perhaps “showed” wasn’t the right word.

She walked to her dinner.

A princess.

Walked more than a mile for her dinner.

It took Hauteclaire a few moments to wrap his mind around it. To envision it. If he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, he wouldn’t have believed it.

Royalty, no matter the world they’d been to, had always put on a show of their class. To be escorted and followed around was par when you were royalty. Twilight was certainly followed by a small platoon of paparazzi, but no fancy carriages, flag bearers, obedient servants, mane dressers, hoof buffers, tail brushers, taste testers, bodyguards, whipping colts, or schedule setters. Just a gracious Fluttershy, a bored Rainbow Dash, and an irate Applejack.

How was it that this was a pony that held the same title as Princess Celestia? She was a pony who exemplified all that Hauteclaire imagined greatness could be. Twilight looked like she just stumbled out of a costume ball.

He couldn’t imagine Celestia walking or flying to a place on her own. She’d be escorted on a carriage of solid gold, pulled by the best guards she had.

Maybe this world had different levels of princesshood. Well, be that as it may, he would have plenty of time later to question his beliefs and expectations after the dinner.

Besides, he had to keep an eye out for that darn Discord.

After she and her three friends walked up to the floating castle and flew up to the edge of the floating rounds just outside the rebuilt walls, they were greeted by the King, Porthos and Godiva. The King had put on his purple outfit from before: a deep purple cape draped over his shoulders, the white fur trimming thicker than his typical red cape, and held together in the front with a golden clasp instead of a golden chain, covering most of the light purple pleat underneath. His shirt underneath, maroon with a golden-checkered pattern on his chest. The threads of his shirt struggled to keep in his belly that he hadn’t had before the exile. His maniacal grin was hung up, and he wore his politician’s smile well enough to fool anyone.

Even the boozehound Porthos had cleaned himself up and was back to his usual behemoth self. All of the stains in his usual get-up had been removed. He remained silent and followed the group at the back. But just like the King and Godiva, he didn’t wear pants.

Unlike the former two, Godiva had an excuse to go pantsless. She wore an evening gown Rarity had made for her, a slimming black dress with gold thread embroideries starting at her neck and spiralling around down her waist. Rarity claimed to have made it with inspiration by some famous dress worn by some Prench duchess many years ago that caused a revival of revivalism. Or something like that. While the King led the tour, Godiva stayed close to his side. After the initial greetings, she had remained mostly quiet and stayed close to the King. As the tour dragged on, she tapped her toes, wrung her hands, and chewed on her lips. Her passing glances at the ponies and in their dresses slowly turned to long stares. The poor thing.

After the formalities, the King led the group through the castle and started the tour. That was when Hauteclaire started the music. As the tour went on, Hauteclaire swapped out musicians as the mood required. When the King directed the tour down towards the gardens, Hauteclaire grabbed Lyra and took her through the secret passage through the cellar. Once the King and his group made it back, Hauteclaire sent a double to relieve Lyra. Since he had hidden eyeballs all over the castle, he could observe the tour’s process without actually taking part in it. Not only was he able to watch the tour, but he was also able to listen in on it as well, since they weren’t just ordinary eyeballs lying around. But that wasn’t why he’d set them up.

All in all, Hauteclaire was too busy keeping an eye on things to pay much attention to what was being said, but from what he could pick up, it seemed that Twilight was rather new to being a princess, although this wasn’t her first time ever working officially as an ambassador.

That explained so much.

That, and that the King withheld from telling bad jokes or removing somebody’s (or somepony’s) body parts for shock value. He was the perfect diplomat, for the time being.

Still, that didn’t explain the absence of a certain uninvited guest. Hauteclaire was on edge when it came time for the dinner.

The group came into the dining hall, and still no sign of Discord. The Mouse King led Twilight to her seat and pull it out for her like a true gentlemouse. Godiva did the same for Fluttershy, and Porthos tried to do the same for Rainbow Dash and Applejack, but even then the apple farmer glared at him and insisted that she “ain’t a namby-pamby princess” and could do it herself. “No offense, Twilight,” she added.

Twilight was probably thinking bringing Applejack was a bad idea at that moment. Hauteclaire couldn’t have agreed more. Why were her friends here anyway? Outbursts like that could be political suicide; if Twilight had any sense in her, she would never take Applejack with her on important meetings ever again.

Then again, Hauteclaire had verbally assaulted Princess Celestia’s sister. If he ever got the chance, he had 1001 excuses made up, all of which would hopefully repair any damage to mouse-pony relations he had unknowingly caused.

Speaking of interspecies relations, Applejack must have been a stubborn xenophobic bore--working at Applejack’s orchard for most of a week didn’t seem to have closed the gap between rat and pony. Porthos always liked to associate himself with the bottom feeders of society in pubs and the like, so he should have gotten along just fine with the farmer. After that outburst, though, he slumped back to a corner near the entrance to the dining hall and stood quietly, staring out a nearby window.

After everyone was seated, Marcus came out with Pinkie and Rarity at his sides. Pinkie was pushing a cart of covered dishes. Once the cart was in place, Rarity distributed the covered appetizers as Marcus announced the dinner plans. The mares ‘ooh’ed and ‘ahh’d at some of the names of the dishes they were about to be served. Except for Applejack.

“...and for dessert, we have emplumeus--a hot apple dish made with the freshest apples available grown locally by the Apple family in Sweet Apple Acres--with vanilla ice cream--made special by my assistant chef and local baker, Pinkie Pie.”

Applejack smirked and threw her head up at the mention of her crop. It was short-lived, though. She dropped her chest and went back to eyeballing the King, Godiva, and Porthos. She then leered at the appetizer in front of her and watched her friends eat before she forced a bite for herself. Whatever was in front of her, she probably couldn’t pronounce it, but judging by the look on her face, it no doubt tasted wonderful. She lowered her shoulders and stared off into space as she chewed. After swallowing, she dove face-first into her plate for another bite, but she pulled herself back, drawled “It’s alright,” and continued to take large mouthfuls while alternating between scowling and smiling with every chew.

Enjoy it while you can, you hick.

As Octavia finished another solo, Hauteclaire got ready to step up on the stage and perform a quartet with copies of himself. However, one of his many hidden eyes caught movement. In one of the hallways on the second floor, a pegasus and earth pony had climbed in through one of the windows. It looked like one of them had a camera.

Hauteclaire sighed and walked over to Porthos, who was standing in his corner and gawking up at the roof.

“Porthos, we’ve got two intruders in the second floor hall on the east side. A pegasus and an earth pony with a camera. Deal with it,” he whispered.

Porthos looked at the roof again, sighed, and walked away.

What was he even looking - !

There he was. Up on the ceiling. Upside down. Next to the glass and gold chandelier. Waving down with a smile. Discord, the spirit of chaos, had his own table. He wasn’t alone, either. At the table sat a baby alligator, a a stack of rocks, a bucket of turnips, a bag of flour, and a ball of lint. Everything at the table wore a party hat. Discord plucked the party hat from the pile of rocks sitting next to him, took the top rock with his other hand, placed the hat back, and then pointed at the rock.

Then right below where he was sitting.

Where Twilight sat, laughing at one of the King’s stories.

And let go of the rock.

What the f--! No time for swearing! Hauteclaire ran at Twilight and tackled her out of her seat. Ponies and mice jumped out of theirs. The music stopped.

“Princess Twilight! Look out! There’s a--”

Hauteclaire didn’t get a chance to finish before an orange hoof kicked him in the kisser, knocking him clear of Twilight. “What in tarnations are you doing!?”

Applejack spat as she yelled. Fluttershy was holding her hooves over her mouth. Rainbow Dash jumped out of her seat and was hovering over the table. The glass Godiva held in her hand shattered under her grip while she reached around with her other hand for her mace she conveniently didn’t have. “Hauteclaire! You’ve got some explaining to do!”

Hauteclaire pushed himself up off the floor and pointed up. As did his nose. “But-but-UP THERE!”

Everyone at the table looked up at the chandelier.

“What? I don’t see anything,” said Applejack.

“Ummm… the chandelier? What about it?” said Twilight.

“No!” Hauteclaire got up off the ground. “Right next to it! There’s-”

A lion’s paw came out from under the tablecloth with a match. It struck the match against the table and dropped the lit match on Twilight’s long train behind her. Instantly, her dress was engulfed in flames.

“No!” Hauteclaire shoved Applejack aside, ran to the table, grabbed a pitcher of water and threw its contents at the flaming princess.

The flames disappeared, but no amount of water would put out the fire in Applejack’s or Rainbow’s eyes. Well, unless he had enough to drown them like unwanted puppies. Twilight stood in place, her mane and dress completely soaked and her mouth half open. Fluttershy fidgeted at the table, muttering, “Oh goodness” over and over. Godiva remained still at the table, her hands gripping the side of the table; it groaned under the extreme pressure as her fingers sunk into the wood. She ground her teeth together with enough pressure to turn them into calcium dust.

The King wasn’t happy either. He stomped up to Hauteclaire and pulled him down to eye level by his herigaut. “Hauteclaire, you have three seconds…”

“There was a rock!”

Rainbow looked around and snorted. “What rock?”

“Her dress was on fire!” Hauteclaire pointed at Twilight. Everyone, including Twilight, looked at her dress. There was no sign of any fire damage anywhere on it.

The King pulled Hauteclaire closer and whispered, “Another outburst like that, and I’ll call off the vacation. Understood? Don’t go near the princess again.”

Hauteclaire swallowed and nodded. The King continued to lock eyes with him a moment longer before letting him go. He put on a smile and turned to the ponies. “I’m so sorry. Did I tell you how much my bard Hauteclaire did to prepare for this dinner? Between his daily routine at the castle helping your assistant and this, he hasn’t had any sleep in two days! I believe he’s starting to see things.”

The King slapped Hauteclaire on the back. “Go take a short nap and get back here! We still haven’t heard any of our music yet. Oh, and Twilight?”

“Yes?”

The King swayed one hand and a light breeze blew through the room. Twilight’s mane and dress waved slightly in an invisible cyclone. Warm air caressed her fur and dress as well as those standing near her. After a few seconds, her fur and dress were dry again, and there wasn’t a wrinkle to be found.

The King clapped his hands together. “Again, terribly sorry about that. The main course should be here any moment.”

Hauteclaire tried to avoid eye contact with everyone as he left the room. He looked up at the stage and saw Octavia staring at him, but she snapped away and continued playing when she saw him. The door to the kitchen was also ajar with both Pinkie and Rarity peeking out. Hauteclaire sighed and left room through the kitchen door.

Even with his head down on the table, surrounded by a bunch of ponies munching on food, Hauteclaire could hear the pots gurgling on hot stoves. The air in the kitchen was much warmer than the cool dining hall. The scent of cinnamon, vanilla, and apples hung in the air. Just because his nose was broken didn’t mean he couldn’t smell. It also made it easier for him to lay his face flat on the table and try to hide from the world.

Try as he might, someone always dragged him back in.

“Hey Haut, your brother is an awesome cook!” said Vinyl with a mouthful of food, sitting next to him at a special table in the kitchen for the musicians. Hauteclaire peered up at the oblivious DJ and mumbled into the wooden table. The Pony Tones and Lyra all nodded and continued to drag Hauteclaire up from the dumps.

Lyra leaned forward. “Hey, cheer up Haut! We all make mistakes sometimes.”

“Eeyup,” said Big Mac.

“Well, yeah, the pressure really can get to you. Still, the dinner hasn’t been cancelled, so it wasn’t a complete disaster,” said Toe-Tapper.

Big Mac looked at Toe-Tapper and shook his head.

“Hey, no need to get worked up all that, sugar!” said Torch Song. The chubby mare took another bite of her food. “We all get that stress when performing. Why, I almost didn’t want to get out of bed today because of how nervous I was! I mean, performing for royalty and all, I mean whew! There’s pressure, and then there’s pressure. Why, I remember one time when my sister followed me back stage to one recital because I was so nervous, and--”

Sister…? THAT’S IT! Hauteclaire jumped up from his seat. “My brother. Where is he?”

The ponies pointed to a back corner of the kitchen. Marcus was bent over, nose-deep in one of several cupboards.

Hauteclaire rushed over to him. “Brother, come here!”

Marcus turned his head from the cupboard. “Brother, have you seen the cider, have you? I need it for--hey!”

Hauteclaire shoved a hand up under Marcus’ hat. He grabbed one of his eyes and plucked it out of the socket then jammed it into his hat, pointing it upwards and hiding it next to the feather. He shoved his brother next to the door. “Go out there. Now. Just ask them if everything is going well or something and get back in here. GO!”

Marcus stared at his brother for a second with his mouth open before obeying his brother’s command. Hauteclaire ran a hand through the fur on his head and on the back of his neck once before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

When he opened them, he saw all of the ponies looking at him with their mouths hanging open.

Rarity and Pinkie approached him. Rarity brought a hoof to her chin. “Is something troubling you? You’ve been acting rather… strange.”

“Yeah! I heard that you tackled Twilight and got her wet! I mean, I’ve heard of music fans tackling musicians, but never the other way around!”

Hauteclaire shook his head. “It’s nothing.” He looked away from the two and saw the brown burlap sack Porthos had brought in earlier next to the pantry. He looked over and saw that Rarity and Pinkie were still looking at him. One corner of Rarity’s mouth was scrunched up, and an eyebrow was cocked. Pinkie just continued to stare at him with an uncomfortably large and carefree smile.

At that moment, the door to the kitchen opened, and Marcus walked in.“Rarity, it’s about time to take out the main course, it is. Could you and Pinkie make sure the cart is ready, could you?”

“Certainly.” Rarity took her eyes off her Hauteclaire and walked away, albeit hesitantly. Pinkie skipped along behind her.

Marcus motioned Hauteclaire to follow him to the back of the kitchen. On the way, both brothers reached up and tugged at their ears.

“Well, what was it I was supposed to be looking for, what was it?” said Marcus in a tongue foreign to ponies. He reached up, plucked the eye from his hat, and stuck it back where it belonged. He was no longer smiling.

Hauteclaire pointed at the door. “You didn’t see it, brother? The serpent is here! It’s a harbinger of chaos and everywhere it goes, something bad happens.The thing I told you about earlier.”

Marcus chewed on his bottom lip. “So that is what all the commotion is about earlier, was it? Has anyone else seen it, have they? Does it plan to ruin the dinner, does it?”

“No, that thing is here to watch the Princess. Or at least that’s what it CLAIMED the other day. It dropped a rock AND set the princess’s dress on fire! She would have been hurt if I hadn’t intervened!”

Marcus leaned in closer. “No one else saw this, did they? It spoke to you, it did? Did it say anything else, did it?”

Hauteclaire looked around the room once. There was no sign of Discord, but the ponies at the table all jumped when they were caught eavesdropping. “Not much other than his name: Discord.”

Marcus crossed his arms. “Hmmmm…. Well, I think I’ve heard that name before, I have, but I don’t remember where, I don’t.”

Pinkie bounced up alongside the brothers.“Hey, Marcus! The cart’s ready! What’re you two talking about?”

Marcus put on his smile again and tugged his ear. “Just a little concern over the dinner, it was. My brother can get worked up sometimes, he can.”

Pinkie gasped and grabbed her cheeks with her hooves. “Oooooooh! I know what that’s like! You’re nervous-cited aren’t you?! Well don’t worry, Hauteclaire! Even though you screwed up, no one’s going to laugh at you. Well, even if they do, it’s not like they mean it. Even if you make the teensy-tiniest mistake. I’ve thrown many parties before, and even though not all of them turned out perfect, they were still good! So you shouldn’t--”

Hauteclaire tugged on his ear. “Yeah, right. Got it. Thanks for the motivational support. You should be a inspirational speaker.”

“Really!?”

“Yeah, believe me.”

“Pinkie,” said Marcus, “I’ll be the one to push out the cart, I will. Would you like to be the one to announce the main course is ready, would you?”

“REALLY!? Alright!” She turned away and bounced towards the cart. “Mares and Gentlecolts, dinnerrrrrrr is served! No-no-no. Maaaaares and Gentlecolts, dinner… is… served! No, hmmm…”

Marcus chuckled as he watched her walk away. “Well, for the time being, let’s just keep an eye out, let us. If anything should happen, I’m certain we can handle it, I am.”

Marcus wiped his hands on a towel and threw it over his shoulder before walking away towards the cart. Hauteclaire followed and in the corner of his eye spotted the burlap sack again. Curious, he bent over and saw that it was tied at the top. He reached to untie the knot on the top and take a peek.

“Hauteclaire,” whispered Marcus.

Hauteclaire turned and saw Marcus shaking his head. He tugged his ear once. “Don’t open that. Porthos caught a chicken out in the forest on his way here, he did. We don’t want the ponies to see THAT now, would we?” With another tug of his ear, Marcus walked over to Rarity and Pinkie Pie over by the kitchen door.

Hauteclaire shrugged and followed behind them to prepare for his performance. Pinkie opened the door and bounced ahead of Rarity and the cart. Hauteclaire looked up through the door and saw Discord again, pointing and snickering at him.

Snatching his brother by the tail, he pulled him back into the kitchen.

“Brother, I need to you get me Godiva’s shard. I don’t care how you do it. I need it, now.”

Marcus shook his head. “Brother, please think about what you’re--”

“No. I won’t let Discord ruin this dinner. Get it for me or I’ll steal it from her myself.”

Marcus sighed. “Nothing good will come of this, nothing good.”

Who ordered the knife to the neck? No... Listen here, you miserable excuse for a myth. I hope you’re pleased as punch, because… No, that won’t do. How would you like your carcass? Medium or well done? Damnit, that sounds stupid, too.

With both his and Godiva’s shards, ‘Hauteclaire A’ slinked up along the wall while ‘Hauteclaire B’ did his best to attract everyone’s attention to the stage, turning their eyes away from Hauteclaire A. It stunk, but Hauteclaire’s shard wasn’t programmed to let him walk up walls. Godiva’s, on the other hand, was, and it also gave him super speed and a boost of strength. Super speed didn’t mean super-sneaky, so he had to pace himself to prevent being discovered. Discord, back at his party table on the ceiling, was busy watching Hauteclaire B playing on a grand piano.

You know what? Forget the insults. I’ll just sneak up behind him, put a knife to his neck whisper, “I hope you enjoyed your meal, because it was your last.” Yeah, that’ll work.

Hauteclaire A was now up on the roof and closing in on Discord, who was buttering a piece of toast. He raised his talon and snapped his fingers. There was a flash of light followed by a brief sense of disorientation. Before he knew it, Hauteclaire A was standing next to the table on the ceiling, and Discord was looking right at him. “Oh, garçon! Garçon!” he called.

Hauteclaire A reached for his dagger. “I hope you enjoyed your meal, because it was your--uh…” He continued to grope about, but couldn’t find his dagger’s handle. A quick glance proved that his dagger had vanished.

“Excuse me, garçon, but this knife is no good.” Discord waved Hauteclaire’s dagger in the air with his eagle claw. In his other hand was a tray of butter. “See? This knife can’t even cut through warm butter!” He pushed the dagger on the stick of butter, and it didn’t budge.

“Oh, let me sharpen it for you!” Hauteclaire snatched at the dagger, but Discord pulled it away.

“I don’t know, let me try again. Maybe I forgot to turn it on.” Discord put the dagger on the chain holding up the chandelier and began to saw. The dagger slipped through the metal chain like it was a stick of butter. “Well, what do you know? I was probably just using the wrong side. Oh, silly me.”

The chandelier chain snapped. Hauteclaire dove off the ceiling and caught the chain connected to it with one hand and grabbed hold of the chain still hanging from the roof. He pulled as much as he could, but he couldn’t pull the chain ends closer to attach them with magic.

Godiva’s fragment didn’t give him extra strength? She was actually that strong on her own?

Oh, crap.

He was stuck.

Discord roared with laughter. How the mice and ponies below didn’t hear him, he might not live to find out if his grip slipped.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got things to do.” Discord picked up the baby gator with a party hat on from its seat. “Could you look after Gummy for me? He tends to get lonely. Thanks!” In a flash of light, Discord and his table vanished just as a sharp pain shot through Hauteclaire’s spine. Gummy had clamped his jaws on his tail.

Smooth move, Hauteclaire, smooth.

Hauteclaire A looked down and saw that Porthos had returned to his corner and was staring right at him with a grin. His shoulders bobbed as he snickered.

“HELP ME!” mouthed Hauteclaire.

Porthos shook his head.

Oh, you are so dead when I get down from here.

The ivories jingled effortlessly under Hauteclaire B’s fingertips, filling the room with jovial melodies that could all but wash away the fresh memories of Hauteclaire’s embarrassment. The princess seemed to have forgiven him, but Applejack and Rainbow kept a wary eye out for any sudden movements from Hauteclaire B.

None of them even noticed the chandelier suddenly jiggle above them, nor the struggling bard keeping it from falling onto the table below as they ate and talked. Hauteclaire B couldn’t even hear any commotion coming from the roof. He already knew what had been said because of the link the Hauteclaires shared, but he had heard nothing outside the link.

Was Discord capable of creating magical invisible sound bubbles? Hauteclaire might have underestimated what Discord was capable of, and now Hauteclaire A with BOTH shards was stuck and Hauteclaire B was defenseless. If Discord were to act now, Hauteclaire B wouldn’t be able to react. He focused back on the song he was playing and…

Speak of the devil.

Standing right above the grand piano, at the size of a mouse, was Discord. He was swinging his fingers about like a little conductor along with the music.

You’re not getting away from me this time! Hauteclaire B slammed a fist down on the piano, but missed as Discord escaped into the interior of the piano. Hauteclaire stood up while continuing to play and looked inside the piano. Discord had disappeared amongst the hammers and strings of the interior of the piano.

Sitting back down, Hauteclaire continued to play. He looked over his shoulders and even snuck a peek under his stool and piano, but he saw no sign of the disorderly devil. Even Hauteclaire A from his vantage point couldn’t pick up anything.

SLAM!

Pain shot up through Hauteclaire’s fingers and he bit his tongue, holding back a scream. The piano’s fallboard had slammed down on his fingers. On top of it was Discord, laughing his little tail off. Hauteclaire pulled back his aching hands and grabbed the slippery devil.

No, really, he slipped through his grip like soap and ricocheted off Hauteclaire B’s face before falling back into the piano.

His fingers still stinging, Hauteclaire wrapped them in his armpits, trying to soothe them from being flattened. The piano still continued to play music without its musician. The keys depressed as they would normally, but without fingers pressing them. Hauteclaire stood up and looked inside the piano again. Discord was dancing on the strings, playing a song with his feet.

Hauteclaire ripped a random hammer from the instrument and bopped Discord on the head. His dancing stopped, and a large lump grew on his head. He started jumping about, shaking his fists and screaming insults, but another swing of the hammer sent him flying against the back of the soundboard, colliding with a satisfying thud. Finally having gotten a solid strike in, Hauteclaire snickered. He snickered so hard he didn’t notice Discord kick out the lid prop.

The grand slam on Hauteclaire B’s noggin took off his head. Even without his head attached, stuffed away in the interior of a dark piano, he still knew that the ponies and mice at the table were staring at him.

Because Hauteclaire A saw (and felt) it all.

The headless Hauteclaire B got up from his stool, bowed, and walked off stage.

He missed the first step.

Discord had vanished. There was no sign of him or any of his guests anywhere, not even Gummy after the piano fiasco, but that didn’t mean he was gone. If anything, his absence only made Hauteclaire A check with his surveillance more often. Hauteclaire B ran out of juice a short while afterwards and collapsed into a pile of dirt in front of a bunch of confused musicians. Although they were probably were no more confused when Hauteclaire B came stumbling into the kitchen without a head.

Other than that and Applejack’s initial aggressiveness, and the hell Hauteclaire had been through, the rest of dinner went smoothly. It seemed that the King and Twilight had already shared much with each other before the dinner. Hanging from the roof, Hauteclaire A listened as Twilight shared her adventures with the King while he did the same. Funny enough, the ponies, despite being living embodiments of the elements of friendship, were as prone to use violence to solve their problems as the mice used friendship to overcome theirs. Twilight and her friends had beaten the snot out of a bugbear, and the King and Marcus were able to peacefully convince the Shield Bearer to become their ally.

The other ponies and Godiva began to talk more and more, and by the time dinner was finished, everyone was relaxed and slouched over, bellies filled with food, tongues tired from telling tales, and sides sore from laughing.

“So,” said the King while dabbing the corners of his mouth with a napkin, “tell me more about Canterlot, Twilight. It sounds like an amazing place.”

Twilight’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, Canterlot is an amazing place. It is the capital of Equestria, and it was built back in…”

Twilight listed of facts and information about her hometown like she was some sort of encyclopedia. It sounded like she’d read more than a few. None of it was rather interesting, but the King was able to nod on without nodding off. The only thing that really caught Hauteclaire’s interest was that Princess Celestia and her sister, Princess Luna, lived there.

“...so to sum up: yes. Canterlot is an amazing place.”

The King smiled and clasped his hands together. He leaned forward even more than when he was listening to Twilight. “You make it sound like I would be missing out on something incredible if I weren’t to go.” Unfolding his hands, the King turned up his palms and spread out his arms. He tilted his head down and looked up at Twilight. “Oh, but I’ve already caused you enough trouble already. Who knows how all of Equestria would react if my court and I were to show up unannounced in Canterlot?”

Twilight placed her front hooves on the table and pushed herself forward. “Oh, that shouldn’t be a problem. I can tell Princess Celestia you are coming!”

Hauteclaire jerked in surprise. So did Applejack.

The King threw out his hands in joy. “Oh, Princess Twilight! You’d do that for us? That is much too kind of you. No land we’ve ever visited before has given us such a warm welcome.”

Applejack got up out of her seat and walked next to Twilight and whispered something in her ear.

Twilight turned to the King. “I’m sorry, could you excuse me for a second?”

The King nodded. “Certainly.”

Twilight got up from her seat and followed Applejack towards the door. That was, until Pinkie came running in from the kitchen screaming.

“Aaaaaaah! Run! Cockatrice! Cockatrice in the kitchen!”

All of the other musicians followed. Even poor Big Mac was limping as quickly as he could.

Rarity came after them and stopped next to the table. Her pupils were pinpricks, and her mane was disheveled. “Everypony, we must leave immediately! There is a cockatrice in the kitchen. It’s gotten Marcus!”

Twilight flared her wings and ignited her horn. “What!?”

Out of the open kitchen doors came rushing a clucking ball of feathery fury into the dining hall. Ponies either ran out of the dining hall or fell to their bellies, covering their faces with their hooves. The court responding quite differently. Porthos thrusted his gigantic frame between the ponies and the menace. Godiva threw herself in front of the ponies as well. If she’d had her shard, that chicken thing would have been smashed into chicken gravy.

The King stomped up to the little monster. The snake-chicken hybrid jumped up at his face and screeched. It squawked in pain when the King wrapped his hands around its neck.

Twilight and Fluttershy ran up to the King. “Your Majesty!”

“Stop! What do you think you’re doing!?”

The King choked the chicken in front of the princess and shook it about violently. Its wings flapped, and its long, scaly tail wrapped around one of the King’s legs. “I swear! Why is it so hard to just have one stinking dinner?”

Fluttershy ran up to the King and tried to pry his death grip off the foul serpent. “No, please! Don’t hurt it! It’s just as scared of you as you are of it!”

“Your Majesty, stand back!” Twilight fired a blast of magic from her horn and hit the cockatrice. Its struggles ceased, and it fell into a deep sleep.

The King dropped the cockatrice and took a deep breath. “Well, that’s one way to take care of a problem. What was that?”

Another trick of Discord’s, no doubt.

“A cockatrice is a creature that can turn you to stone with its gaze. It looks like a chicken with a long serpentine tail,” she said.

Wait… chicken? CHICKEN!? Hauteclaire looked down at Porthos. His little piggy eyes were wide, and his hands trembled. He happened to glance up in Hauteclaire’s direction. Hauteclaire put on a large smile, big enough for Porthos to see. Oh, you are so dead, Porkos.

Porthos swallowed. He shifted his hands about from his neck to his waist, as if he was looking for a place to hide in them. “You don’t say…”

The King looked down at the unconscious beast. “A medusa bird, huh? Porthos!”

Porthos snapped to attention, ran up to the King, and stopped with a salute.

“Porthos, go into the kitchen and fetch Marcus.”

With a nod Porthos bounded into the Kitchen. Looking back down at the room below him, Hauteclaire saw that with the bird incapacitated, much of the panicking had died down, with Godiva trying to soothe everyone. Next to the King, Hauteclaire saw Fluttershy tending to the unconscious bird while Twilight spewed forth a swarm of apologies.

“I’m so very sorry about Marcus. I really am. Just give Fluttershy and me some time and we can reverse the curse. I’m so--”

The King waved off her apologies. “Twilight, Twilight. Please. We’ve dealt with much worse. I know Marcus will be alright.”

Fluttershy cradled the bird in her front hooves. “But I don’t get it. How did a cockatrice get up here? They’re unable to fly. Their bodies are too heavy.”

The King stroked his chin. He heard a loud thud next to him. “I’ve got Marcus, sir. The lad’s been turned to stone.”

And so he was. Bent over on one knee with an open sack in his petrified hands, Marcus was now an unmoving hunk of stone with a few glistening emeralds. His clothes were normal, but everything else was the same rocky grey, a shade darker than he naturally was. Ponies gasped at the sight, and a mare wept. Was that Pinkie?

The King turned to see Marcus, but he had some trouble moving his feet. He lost his balance and fell backwards, his feet still planted on the floor. Twilight and Fluttershy gasped. The King pushed himself back up and looked down.

“Huh.” The King rubbed his chin.

Twilight was hyperventilating. She was pointing at the King. “Oh goodness! I’m sorry! Don’t worry. I can fix this. We can fix this! Don’t panic!”

The King tilted his head. “What are you talking ab-”

The King pushed his stomach to the side and looked down again. His feet had turned to stone, and so had his legs. It had already spread to his belly, and the magic was quickly working his way up. “Well, I’ll be. The little thing got me.” He snickered.

His sunny disposition to petrification unnerved Twilight and Fluttershy. “Wha- Why are you laughing!? Aren’t you scared?”

The King pulled away his stone hand from his mouth. “No! And because… This isn’t my first time getting stoned!” He threw his head back as far back as his body would allowed and roared with laughter until he laughed no more.

Darn. He couldn’t have held it in for a few more seconds.

Several moments of silence passed as the passed as the ponies collected their wits. Twilight set about directing the ponies around and planning with Fluttershy about how to cure the King and Marcus. It was touching that she cared, but it was completely unnecessary.

The sounds of cracking startled the ponies. Cracks grew on the King’s stone body.

Twilight’s panicking worsened. “He’s cracking! Why is he cracking? Fluttershy, we need to--”

Godiva rushed up to and hugged two ponies, wrapping their necks in her arms. “It’s alright. It’s alright. Sssshhhhh.”

Twilight struggled out of Godiva’s grasp. “What do you mean, ‘It’s alright’? He’s breaking apart! If we don’t act soon, we won’t be able to save him!”

Godiva shook her head and pointed at the King. “The King is in no danger. Look.”

The ponies watching in amazement as one by one, the King’s fingers and limbs moved until the King was walking and talking like nothing happened. Except he was completely stoned.

“Wha-wha-but how!? How are you capable of such a thing?” said the princess with a gasp.

“Because, my princess,” --the King smiled and threw out his chest. His cape waved behind him-- “I’m the Mouse King!”

After using his magic to return his and Marcus’ bodies back to normal and giving the unconscious cockatrice to Fluttershy, the King rushed to end the dinner and escort the guests out. The dining hall was now empty.

Except for one white mouse, quite literally left hanging by his king. Hauteclaire was more than confused when he felt a tap on his shoulder, but whoever it was, it was going to be someone he didn’t want to see.

He proved himself correct when he turned his head and saw Discord floating on a pink cloud.

“I must say, Hauteclaire, that was the funnest dinner I’ve ever been to in ages! Ol’ sunbutt never has dinners as interesting as this. We must do this again. Real soon. But next time” --Discord pointed at a bandage on his head-- “let’s have a selection of music that doesn’t promote violence, hmmm? It’s been a blast, Hauteclaire! Ta-ta!”

With a click of his fingers, Discord and his pink cloud disappeared in a flash of light before Hauteclaire could tell him his mind. He felt the pressure build up in his head like it was about to burst.

Just then, the dining hall doors swung open and the Mouse King walked in followed by Porthos. He had a huge smile plastered on his face and was rubbing his hands together. It was obvious to Hauteclaire, who was still hanging from the chandelier chain, how the King felt the dinner went. As the King walked closer, so did the lumbering rat behind him.

Hauteclaire pulled the chandelier and swung.

Just a few more steps, come on, you big lug.

The King stopped, and so did Porthos. The King clapped his hands together. “Knights, pack your bags! We’re going to Canterlot!” He then looked up at Hautecliare swinging the chandelier.

“What are you doing up there, Hauteclaire?” The King snorted. “Are you a swinger?”

Hauteclaire let go of the chandelier.

Author's Note

Wow. This chapter has been in the works for quite some time. It is much better than it was in the first draft which after going over it with my editor, it was compared to "flat soda."

The next chapter is the second act finale! What will happen, well, if the first act finale (chapter 6) was any indication, something big is going to happen.

I'm so happy to finally have this out. This chapter was in the works for at least two months. I hope you enjoyed it and I'd love to hear what you think.