Canterlot. The capital of all of Equestria. The hub of everything pony. The ideal metropolis overseeing all from its mountain perch. Home of Canterlot Castle. Home of Princess Celestia.

Celestia.

The regal Sun Diarch whom Hauteclaire met on his first day in Ponyville after “asking” Fluttershy for her services to learn Pony-speak.

“Hauteclaire.”

To think that only a week had passed since then; already he and the rest of the Court had been given Twilight’s blessing to provide the Princess of the Sun an audience. It was a matter of hours before Hauteclaire would be standing before her in her majestic halls.

“Yo, Hauteclaire, you listening to what I’m saying?”

It was finally happening! Hauteclaire would finally have a chance to perform for royalty deserving of his talents. This was too good to be true. He needed to pinch himself.

A sharp pain stung at his cheek as something snagged him and shook his face around.

“Damn it, Haut! When your king speaks, you listen! You can go back to your inner monologuing when I’m finished talking!”

Hauteclaire smacked the King’s chubby hand away from his cheek and rubbed the sore spot. “Fine, fine. What was it you were saying, my King?”

The King huffed and marched back up to his throne--a simple wooden throne five feet tall with plump red cushions on the seat and the back with a matching ottoman. The old throne room of the Two Sisters had been completely renovated to resemble the King’s old one. The door to the grand hall, a wooden door with metal reinforcements, was wide open, letting in a strong breeze. A single large carpet of red with golden trimmings covered the ground from the main door to the throne. A few matching banners and flags of solid red with gold borders hung from the walls, two on each side of the throne, separated from the wall by only a few feet. The banners whipped in the wind coursing through the castle. Behind them hid the entrances to the servants’ quarters and the kitchen. There were two other doors, one on each side halfway between the throne and the main entrance, that went to the North and South halls and to the private quarters.

It was all rather bland and at times seemed to make the castle feel empty or under-furbished. The King wasn’t much for luxuries, art, feng-shui, or personal hygiene, but he was all about function. His throne room could quickly become another dining hall, a ballroom, or a meeting room in a moment’s notice without extra clutter getting in the way.

The breeze ruffled Hauteclaire’s fur and blew his herigaut up against his back while it whistled in his ears. The feathers on Marcus’ and Porthos’ hats also blew about. Godiva was sitting down because she was tired of her dress blowing up from under her - the same black and gold dress she received from Rarity as a gift to wear for the dinner with Twilight. Unlike the rest, the King was rather enjoying the strong breeze, as it blew up his cape and made him look bigger and more impressive, like he was a superhero from one of those comics Spike had.

The posing King smiled as his cape fluttered behind him. “As I was saying: Despite the near disaster at the dinner, we have gotten Twilight’s permission to visit Canterlot and the Princesses! She has even scheduled a meeting for us this afternoon. I’m sure you’re all excited about that.”

Porthos and Hauteclaire nodded, as did Godiva, only with much more vigor. Marcus raised a hand with a finger extended. “Excuse me, my King, but--”

A thud echoed through the main hall into the throne room and interrupted Marcus. After a moment of silent confusion, Marcus continued. “My King, I’m very happy that we are meeting the royalty here, I am. This would be an excellent chance for us to finally make amends for all the damage we’ve done at the top level, this would be. I’m certain that word of us has spread throughout all of Equestria by now and we’ve built up a pretty poor reputation, we have. But you never--”

Another thud echoed through the castle and cut off Marcus. Porthos looked out into the grand hall but saw nothing out of place and shrugged.

Marcus continued, “But you’ve never told me anything about planning to go see Princess Celestia and Princess Luna, you haven’t.”

The King crossed his arms and laughed. “Hahaha! Well, you were so busy, my most trusted advisor, keeping us on good terms with the citizens of Ponyville and practicing for ‘The Game’ that I assumed you wouldn’t need the extra stress.” The King threw out his arms wide. “Besides, we’re all on vacation!” He pulled his arms down and put his hands on his waist. “Well, as long as you keep your end of our promise.”

Marcus nodded, but only after a slight pause. Porthos turned back to look at the grand hall once more before doing the same.

Godiva nodded at such a speed, her head would probably snap off. “Yup-yup-yup! Been practicing. Just like you asked! I’ve been working on my swinging, and uh, running! Yeah. I’ve been doing a lot of running about! And uh…”

Another thud echoed through the castle and interrupted the court.

“Uh… Yeah. I’ve been practicing.”

The King smiled. “Well, as long as you’ve kept your word, nothing bad will happen. Speaking of bad things happening, I’ve figured out how the cockameme got into the castle.”

Hauteclaire looked back at Porthos and saw him chewing on his bottom lip.

“Porthos, come over here,” said the King.

Porthos plodded up to the King while fidgeting with his hands. Even standing at the top of three stairs, the King was only at eye-level with Knebryter, who was still hanging in Porthos’ belt.

The King looked up at him without losing his smile. Porthos tried to smile back, but it was obviously forced and didn’t match the tightness in his brow. Hauteclaire sneered as he watched the building tension underneath the giant lummox’s skin.

“Porthos, I know that--”

Another thud echoed throughout the castle and Porthos jumped slightly.

“Ahem. Porthos, I know that it was you that brought the cockameme--”

“But, sir, I--”

“Ababababababa! Porthos, I know you brought in that cockathingy in here by mistake thinking it was a simple chicken. You nearly ruined my dinner with Princess Twilight! This is the second time you’ve screwed up since we’ve got here, and it’s the second time you’ve endangered Princess Twilight.”

Hauteclaire fought the sudden urge to laugh. A wheeze slipped through his lips as he held a hand up to his mouth. He still shook a bit from the internal giggling. Finally! You big brute. Your unruliness has caught up with you.

“I mean, honestly, you’re my number one bodyguard! Sheriff. Favorite drinking buddy. The funniest rat I know! That kind of screw-up is something I’d expect from Hauteclaire.”

Hauteclaire stopped snickering. Porthos on the other hand chuckled at that last line.

“Besides, you’ve taught us something valuable: this world is full of medusa birds. That’s something good to know.”

Porthos let out a sigh, slumped his shoulders and let down his fidgeting hands. Hauteclaire raised a hand and tried to interject, but he just couldn’t find the words. Godiva rubbed her neck and looked around the throne room, probably upset that her performance as scout had begun to show cracks. Marcus just stood where he was and watched everyone else.

Another thud echoed throughout the castle.

The King jumped down the three steps to his throne and stormed into the grand hall. “What the hell is making all that racket!?”

The court followed the King as they walked through the grand hall to the main entrance. He threw open the small wooden door built into the larger ones. A sudden gust of wind blasted through the door and smacked the court in their faces. One by one, they fought the wind, climbed through the door and out into the courtyard.

Clouds were flying by the castle. No longer was Ponyville visible through the castle gates, but instead was the ever-approaching city of Canterlot. The wind roared in Hauteclaire’s ears as he looked around.

With his free hand that wasn’t holding his hat to his head, Marcus pointed up at the front of the castle. “Up there!”

Everyone looked up. Smacked against the wall were a bunch of pegasi and--

“Hey! Get me down from here, you dweebs!”

--an angry looking gryphon.

The King laughed. “Will do. Just watch out for flying castles next time!”

He reached behind his back under his cape and whipped out a spatula, then handed it to Porthos. “Here you go. Your punishment is to get those pegasi down.”

Porthos took the spatula and looked up at the unfortunate souls who had got in the way of a flying castle on autopilot. “Sir, how am I going to get up there?”

The King extended a hand. “Give me your shard.”

With a finger on one side of his enormous schnauz, Portho blew. A purple shard slightly bigger than Hauteclaire’s shot out of his nostril and into the King’s hand. The King held up the shard and concentrated on it.

“Bing! Done. You can walk on walls now like Godiva for an hour. Now, get them down before we get to Canterlot. We don’t want anyone in Canterlot seeing this when we show up.” The King gave Porthos his shard back and turned to go back into the castle. The wind caught his cape and pushed between his legs, causing him to lose balance and tumble inside the castle.

“Stupid wind!”

Marcus shook his head and followed him in. Godiva slowly inched her way into the castle to prevent the same happening to her in her black dress.

As Hauteclaire followed, he took one final look up at the slumping giant. The corners of his mouth were weighed down. Misery had always been a constant companion with Hauteclaire, but for once it was quite refreshing to see her spend more time with someone more deserving. Like a giant brute of a rat.

Porthos sighed and looked down from the disoriented pegasi to the spatula before turning to see Hauteclaire looking at him. Hauteclaire put on the biggest, snarkiest grin he could. “I say, Porkos, this giant flying castle is almost as dangerous as you. Hurts everything that crosses its path.”

The big brute began to tremble. His chins under all that messy fur bunched together and his shoulders moved exaggeratedly with each slow breath. Hauteclaire didn’t take his eyes off the rat until he shut the door to the castle behind him.

He had arrived. Canterlot.

The castle stopped just outside the city border. They could have gotten closer to Canterlot Castle, if not right next to it, or above it, but Marcus nagged the King to park the castle farther away. He didn’t want to upset the population, as no one could possibly predict how the city would react to a giant castle soaring through the sky straight towards their diarchy. Besides, they had arrived plenty early enough to walk through the city. It would give the court a better understanding of pony culture to witness their capital up close instead of flying over it.

As soon as the court stepped foot off of the floating grounds onto Canterlot, they were greeted by a group of royal guards that knew just where to find them. As if Celestia had been watching them through a telescope and told the guards where to go.

Nah, that’d be silly.

Well, the welcoming was short and to the point. They welcomed the Court of the Mouse King to Canterlot and told them that the Princesses would be ready in a few hours and to take their time to enjoy what Canterlot had to offer.

So the Court decided to do just that, and made their way into Canterlot with their escorts.

The city rested on top of a plateau shelf on the opposite side of the castle and slightly lower down the mountainside, completely hidden from Ponyville by the mountain. The shelf itself seemed to be at a slant that slowly worked its way up the mountain to Canterlot Castle. The further up you went, the more expensive the neighborhoods became. The lower suburbs were quite grassy and spacious, sort of like Ponyville, but with more towers and stonework. Once you got into the city, however, everything was made of polished white stone and decorated with gold and jewels. The roads became narrower, and buildings touched each other.

Here in the more expensive part of town was where the city was at its liveliest. Streets were full of vendors with a wide variety of goods; stores had large windows displaying the latest fashion; and alleyways opened up to darkened corners that most likely were home to bars and restaurants that catered to the nightlife. And no matter where you were in this district, if you looked up and to the west, the towers of Canterlot Castle could be seen peeking over the rooftops.

It was here that the escorts left and the court decided to split ways before meeting up at the castle gates. Godiva scampered off into the nearest fashion store. Marcus went in the direction of the Canterlot Library. The King returned to his castle because he needed to “check some things” before the meeting. As for Porthos, he slinked into the nearest dark alley. It wasn’t even lunch, and he was already looking to get drunk.

Of course.

Hauteclaire, being a mouse of class and culture, went in the direction of the Canterlot Center of the Arts.

On his way, he noticed Canterlot was in many ways very different from Ponyville. For one, unicorns. Unicorns everywhere. While Ponyville had a mix of the three races, Canterlot was predominately a unicorn utopia.

Also, the ponies here were much more inclined to wear clothing. While pants were still non-existent, to be among others who understood that what you wore spoke much about you made Hauteclaire feel more at home.

And then there was the general disinterest in the local population. Perhaps being the capital, Canterlot was much more accustomed to visitors from foreign lands of different species. That didn’t mean there weren’t stares and whispers, just much less than before.

The Canterlot Center of the Arts was just as he imagined it--a large building of white stone and gold decorations. Signs of coming attractions and future performances were posted everywhere in the cafés and stores that surrounded the wide, round opening in front of it. In the center of the clearing was a statue of Princess Celestia, standing on a single hind hoof as she was ascending to the heavens. Her regal features were captured marvelously in the marble, and every feather of her magnificent wings was etched in meticulous detail. Even the sun high in the sky seemed to be aligned with the statue, shining down on it to accentuate the statue’s presence, radiance, and majesty.

If the wonderful statue was of any significance, Hauteclaire was really going to love the Canterlot Center of the Arts. He passed by a small group of ponies gathered around a stage just outside the center and walked up the white stone steps to the wooden door. He reached out, grasped the golden door handle and pulled.

Locked.

Hauteclaire gave another pull, but the door didn’t budge. He took another look at the door and saw a sign. Closed for cleaning--Will open again at 4:00 p.m.

“Well, drat.”

Change of plans. Hauteclaire would busy himself elsewhere and come here after he’d met with the Princesses. There were plenty of cafés around. Maybe a pony that worked at one could tell him more about the Center.

Going down the stairs, he passed by the crowd again, but something he heard caught his attention.

“And now, the Great and Powerful Trrrrrixie shall perform a feat, the likes of which you’ve never seen before! Behold!”

There was a blinding flash of light and the clap of fireworks. Hauteclaire missed what had happened, but judging by the crowd’s reaction, it must have been a decent feat. With nothing else to do, he stopped where he was and turned to face the performer.

A light blue unicorn mare in a wizard’s hat and cape performed on a collapsible stage connected to a covered wagon. Spinners swirled and flameless fireworks flashed after each big trick. Hauteclaire must have come in late to the show, since it seemed she was reaching the climax, or this mare was in love with over-the-top theatrics, like a certain monarch he knew.

Then a thought hit him--a magician in a world where magic was not only real, but common? That was a bit strange. Practically her entire audience was capable of magic. What made her different? Well, she had the guts to go on stage in front of everyone and put on a show. Sure, the way she kept referring to herself in third person was a bit weird; if it wasn’t part of the act, she might be obnoxious or suffering from a superiority complex.

Hauteclaire was proud that he was neither.

Turning his attention to the audience, he noticed that the meager crowd mostly consisted of mothers and their foals. The foals were much more entertained by the act than the mothers. Well, those that didn’t notice Hauteclaire. The ones that did completely lost all interest in the magical mare and stared at the mysterious mouse.

Once the final trick was performed, involving a volunteer, a saw, a mirror, and a rubber ducky, the Great and Powerful Trixie let out one more final volley of magical fireworks before passing around her upturned hat. Several ponies threw in a bit or two, and some mothers gave their foals bits to put in the hat.

When the bits were collected, the mare bowed again and put up a sign on the stage that said, Next performance of the Great and Powerful TRIXIE in 1 hour before retiring into her wagon.

While Hauteclaire’s main drive was to perform, he loved to support performers just as much. He felt it a duty--no--an obligation to support others who pursued the arts just as fervently as he did. Unlike his brother, who made a mockery of poetry, this mare had obviously put time and effort into her work. It would be rude if he didn’t show his appreciation, even if she was a street performer.

She never even brought the hat close enough so Hauteclaire could throw in a few bits. Not that he was really standing close to the crowd. He didn’t want his presence to steal the show from her. And what did the dozen or so ponies from before gave her? Like ten bits? That would hardly buy her lunch here! Hauteclaire could easily give her double that and still have plenty to buy an overpriced sandwich at the nearest café.

Hauteclaire walked up to the side of the cabin and knocked on the door that had a crescent moon painted on it. The top half of the door swung open. “The Great and Powerful Trixie charges three bits for--”

Trixie paused and the grin fell from her face when she opened her eyes and saw what stood on her doorstep.

“--autographs.”

I’d charge at least twenty bits for mine, and that’s being generous.

“Good day, O Great and Powerful Trixie. I saw your performance, and it was quite thrilling.”

Without moving her head, Trixie glanced to both sides before setting her eyes back on Hauteclaire. She threw her head back, closed her eyes and put on a reserved smile. “Why, yes! Trixie’s performances are something you don’t see everyday. You were certainly lucky to catch Trixie in the act, so to speak.”

Still in character, huh? “Indeed. In all my travels, I haven’t seen anyone as great or as wonderful as you, Trixie.”

Trixie let her smile grow bigger and stuck her chest out even further. “Thank you. Trixie certainly is great--”

Hauteclaire let himself smile. Praising her proved to be more entertaining than her show. “And it can’t possibly be easy. I imagine such magical displays and feats take a lot of practice and dedication.”

Trixie’s ego inflated, swelling inside her chest and stretching her smile wider, if only for a second. “Thank you, but… um... “ She raised an eyebrow and pointed a hoof up to Hauteclaire’s face. “Trixie must ask: you’re not a diamond dog, are you?”

A diamond dog? What is-- is she calling me ugly!? Why you rude, bigoted-- oh, wait…

There was a large diamond embedded in Hauteclaire’s forehead. He pointed to the protrusion on the right side of his forehead. He also did have a rather long snout like a dog. Still... “You mean this?”

Trixie slowly nodded.

“No. There is a diamond in my forehead, but I am no ‘diamond dog.’ I have never heard of such a thing until now. Why do you ask?”

Trixie sighed and relaxed her posture a bit. “Oh, no reason. Trixie just has had some *ahem* things with diamond dogs before. It’s not important. May Trixie ask why you have summoned her?”

Hauteclaire reached up under his herigaut and took out his coin purse. “I just wanted to be a good patron is all.”

The shine in Trixie’s eyes were almost as radiant as Celestia, but it only lasted for a moment. “Trixie thanks you for your generosity.”

With the purse open, Hauteclaire dipped his hand inside and pulled out a handful of bits and held them out to Trixie, who took them with her telekinesis. She seemed very pleased with the seven or so bits floating in front of her as she stacked them on the lower half of the door. Hauteclaire couldn’t stop himself from grinning when she saw him dip his hand in a second time and offered more bits. He had to repress laughter the third time.

The emotions bubbling inside her surfaced, gently melting away the facade she was trying so hard to maintain. Trixie put the bits aside. “Thank you very much. You have been quite generous to Trixie. If there is anything Trixie can do to repay your kindness, you need only to--”

“Do you know a good place for lunch?”

The cup of tea dropped down on the table with a thud as Trixie coughed, spilling some of its contents onto the white patio table. She hacked and spat as the tea went down the wrong tube. If only she had known what was coming, she would have waited before taking a sip. Hauteclaire leaned back in the fancy, cushioned chair he sat on at the table and laughed. The few other lunch patrons at the overpriced café all turned their ears and peeked out of the corner of their eyes in the direction of the noisy pair.

Hauteclaire didn’t care. He was having fun with a like-minded individual.

“I… I can’t believe he wrote that! That is just so bad,” Trixie said after finally catching her breath.

Sometime during their lunch, Trixie swapped over from describing herself in the third person to speaking like a normal person--er, pony. It didn’t happen at once. At first, Hauteclaire thought it was a slip, but the more they shared and talked, the less frequently Trixie referred to herself as “Trixie.” Odd, but it must have been a sign that the lunch was going well.

“Oh, it gets even worse. Are you familiar with haikus? Marcus writes those, too. Here’s my favorite of his ‘masterpieces.’

As my own father

breathed his last on his deathbed,

I ripped a big one.”

Trixie beat on the table with her hoof, rattling the half-empty cups and plates covered in crumbs. “Oh Celestia, that is just… where does he come up with these?”

“Talking about your brother behind the lad’s back? That’s not very nice, Haut.”

The low, rumbling voice startled Trixie and Hauteclaire. They were so caught up in their merriment that they didn’t notice the eight-foot-tall rat walk through the clearing up to their table, or from whatever direction the brute stumbled in from. His shadow loomed over the two seated patrons, and it looked like he wasn’t going to go anywhere anytime soon.

“And what would you know about being nice?” Hauteclaire shot back.

“I know you don’t talk bad about someone behind their back--”

“Right. You talk bad about them in front of them.” Hauteclaire crossed his arms and huffed.

In a manner that was totally predictable, Trixie was leaning away from Porthos. Without taking her wide eyes off of him, she asked Hauteclaire, “A... friend of yours?”

“More like a ‘barely-tolerable acquaintance.’ What do you want, Porthos?”

Porthos pulled back from Hauteclaire’s snappy tone. “Oi, that’s not nice, Haut. What’s got your panties in a knot?”

“You, Porthos. Or did you forget because of all the alcohol. In fact--” Hauteclaire leaned in and took a whiff “--You’ve been drinking again, haven’t you?”

Porthos rubbed the back of his head. “Okay, I may have had a drink or two--but that’s not important--I just want to talk to you for a moment.”

The tension in the air grew too much for Trixie. She slowly edged herself off her seat. “Ummm… well, Trixie thanks you for your generosity, Hauteclaire, but she must be off now…”

Hauteclaire turned to Trixie. “Wait. This will be just a second.” He turned back to Porthos. “Fine, but make it quick.”

“Why do you hate me, Haut?”

Answers rushed immediately to mind, but they were quickly overshadowed by two questions. Hauteclaire turned his head in thought and looked at Porthos out of the corner of his eyes. “You… Are you serious? You really don’t know?”

Porthos nodded.

“Trixie has a show to prepare--”

“You really don’t know? I can name a couple of reasons right now. You’re a brute. You’ve been dropping me, throwing my head around, throwing bottles at me. You’re a dullard. I hate being around you. Whenever you’re around, everything goes wrong. You take every opportunity to make me suffer. Remember how you left me hanging from the roof at the dinner yesterday?”

Porthos held his hands together in front of him. “Yeah, I’m terribly sorry about that.”

Hauteclaire jumped out of his seat, nearly toppling it over. “Sorry? Sorry?! Oh, well that makes it all better then. As if none of it ever happened. What about all the other torments you’ve forced me to endure these past few centuries? Are you sorry for those, too?”

Taking a step back, the giant rat’s shoulders rose and he brought his hands closer to his stomach. “Haut, I… I never knew how much you’ve hated that. I thought we were just horsing around. You know, like the King and you have always done.”

Hauteclaire jabbed a finger in Porthos’ belly. “What? The King hates me! Why would think that?”

“Well, you’ve always been the King’s favorite, so I assumed…”

“Favorite!? What ever would have put that idea into your thick skull? You’re his favorite!”

“But he used to go on about the music you and Marcus wrote. He gave you the nicest chamber in the castle. He--”

“Ever since the exile, the King has been riding my ass. How could you not see it?”

By now Trixie had slipped away, and all of the other ponies at the café, the neighboring shops, and in the plaza stopped what they were doing to see the fight coming to a boil. The manager of the café tried to confront the troublemakers, but seeing Porthos, his confidence vanished. He stood by and hoped that the situation would sort itself out.

Hauteclaire couldn’t care less. Right now the source of so much anger was in front of him. And vulnerable. He was going to bring this monster down and show them all what a brute he really was. Hell, crowd or no crowd, Hauteclaire had been dying for an excuse to rip Porthos a new one, do as much damage as he could. Maybe then Porthos would leave him alone.

“Haut, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know!? You knew damn well knew what you were doing. Or are you really that stupid? Like back on the island before the exile?”

No longer fidgeting, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. His breathing deepened and slowed down. “Hauteclaire, I didn’t--”

“Know. You didn’t know. Sure. You were the sheriff. The tax collector. All you had to do was go into town and collect the taxes. That’s it. You didn’t know how much to take. You just stood at their door with a big stupid smile on your face as they gave. They gave and gave until you left. You didn’t know they thought you were a monster. You didn’t know they smiled back at you because they were terrified of you.”

“Hauteclaire,” Porthos whispered. “Stop.”

“They thought you were a monster.”

Was… was that what Hauteclaire thought he was? He took a closer look at the trembling giant’s face. His eyes. There were tears building up in those piggy little eyes of his. Hauteclaire found his button, and he was going to push it until it broke.

“You’re a monster.”

A large finger poked Hauteclaire in the chest. Porthos leaned down into Hauteclaire’s face and grumbled, “Take. That. Back.”

Hauteclaire leaned forward and put his hands on his hips. With clear enunciation and a loud voice, he smiled and said, “How many starved that winter because of you?”

A large fist smashed into Hauteclaire’s ribs and sent him flying backwards, toppling over chairs and seats and through the café’s front window. The shattering of glass was followed by screams. Ponies scattered from the café and huddled up a safe distance from the giant rat.

He hit me. He HIT ME!? Oh, that does it.

Shards of glass crunched under his feet as Hauteclaire stood up. He drew his dagger and charged. Porthos held out his hands palms forward. “Haut! I’m sorry! I’m-”

Hauteclaire was having none of his excuses. He lunged at the brute and slashed Porthos’ chest. The dagger sliced through his tabard, but his thick gambeson took most of the edge off of the attack, only leaving a small scratch on him. With swift hands, Porthos snatched Hauteclaire in a tight grip.

“Will you just--AAAAAAARGH!”

His exposed wrist was cut. With his uninjured hand, Porthos flung Hauteclaire to the side. He hit the ground hard near some frightened ponies. They jumped away from the mouse, screaming for guards and help. Hauteclaire got up charged again.

Porthos rubbed his injured wrist. The magic coursing through his fingers healed the wound that Hauteclaire had managed to inflict through his thick hide. His attention was split between that and the ponies around him, screaming all manner of things, including, “Monster.”

“I am not a monster!” bellowed Porthos. “I am not a-- Gah!”

He fell to his knees as a sharp pain ran up his spine. He turned around and saw that Hauteclaire had sunk his dagger into the side of his lower back. Hauteclaire pulled out the dagger and stabbed him again. Porthos bellowed in pain and knocked Hauteclaire over with his elbow. Before Hauteclaire could recover, Porthos brought both fists down on him, crushing the bard into dust.

A copy.

The ponies screamed at the sight. Cries of murder, monster, and masacre rang loudly in Porthos’ and Hauteclaire’s ears. Porthos only was able to get up on one knee before another blur of white, blue, and gold lunged towards him in a corner of his eye. He lashed out and swatted the blur with the back of his hand, knocking it to the ground with a sickening thud. The screams went silent as Porthos turned to see what he hit.

On the ground was a royal pegasus guard with white fur, a blue mane and tail, and golden armor. The pony writhed in agony on the ground, kicking its legs and moaning.

“No!” Porthos ran up and kneeled at the pony he just injured.

More ponies cried. “Monster!”

“Get away from him!”

“Somepony help!”

Porthos looked up from the pony. “Ponies! Stop, please! I am not a mons-- GAAAAHH!”

His pleas were interrupted by a knife to his fat neck. In shock, Porthos fell back away from the pony, but there was no pony. In its spot lay Hauteclaire, giving the meanest, angriest glare he could.

“Monster,” he uttered.

Porthos raised his fists and roared in fury, bring them down on Hauteclaire, who just rolled out of the way in time. The paved street cracked under his fists, revealing small patches of dirt. Before Porthos could get up and take another smash at Hauteclaire, an arm and dagger sprouted up from the dirt and slashed at his leg.

Ignoring the pain, Porthos ripped the appendage from the ground and threw it aside. He stomped the ground, moving the loose pavement back into place to cover up exposed earth. Looking back up, Porthos saw that Hauteclaire had retreated back towards one of the cafés. In front of the café was a large potted plant.

Within reach was a chair. Porthos grabbed it and hurled it at Hauteclaire. The force of the chair slamming into Hauteclaire’s back sent him tumbling over more chairs and tables.

Trapped in a tangled mess of fancy chairs, Hauteclaire struggled to free himself. The ground shook beneath him and the sound of crunching wood as tables and chairs mixed with the screams of horror as Porthos charged through the furniture, crushing everything under his weight.

After getting his ankle free from the intertwined chair legs, Hauteclaire struggled to get to the pot only a few yards ahead of him, but he was too slow. A sharp tug on his left arm ripped it free from his body. He screamed in pain as the force pulled him backwards. Looking straight up from the ground, he saw Porthos with his stolen arm. One foot was raised and ready to stomp Hauteclaire into oblivion. Hauteclaire threw his dagger up at Porthos; the sudden flash of steel cutting his cheek knocked Porthos off balance, and his foot missed its target.

Hauteclaire rolled away and got up before Porthos could recover, made it to the pot and grabbed a handful of soil. It transformed into a dagger in his hand, which he threw at Porthos and reached for another. The dagger hit his chest, cutting through his thick clothing and piercing his enormous body. Then another hit him on the stomach. Then another.

Ignoring the daggers, Porthos charged. Hauteclaire knocked the pot over and kicked it towards Porthos. He didn’t change his path and would have stomped on the pot, but it exploded right in front of him; clay shards flew all over the place as another Hauteclaire copy jumped out of the explosion, daggers drawn, eyes locked on Porthos’ neck.

Before the copy could reach its target, Porthos snatched it in his large hands, lifted it up over his head, and tore it in half. The copy vanished into a cloud of dirt.

Cries. Shrieks of horror filled the clearing as ponies continued to watch the gruesome fight.

Porthos scanned the area and found Hauteclaire running to the next nearest source of dirt: an exposed patch of ground for a small garden. He charged at him, intent on trampling him underfoot. Hauteclaire saw him coming. Despite his big size, Porthos moved faster than him. If Hauteclaire couldn’t come up with something, he was dead.

A flash of light behind Porthos knocked him slightly off balance. He turned around and saw several unicorn and pegasi guards. The unicorns’ horns were glowing and pointed at him, and the pegasi swooped around over head.

“You are under arrest. Lie down and place your hooves on your head!”

“I’m not a monster!” bellowed Porthos.

They shocked him with another spell.

Hauteclaire would have stopped to watch the show, but he too got a zap. Pushed to the side, he saw unicorns and pegasi guards had surrounded him as well.

“You are under arrest. Lie down and place your hooves on your head!”

Hauteclaire pointed at Porthos with his remaining hand. “Me? He’s the one that started it! He ripped off my arm!”

Another zap knocked him back.

“Paralyzing spells aren’t working!”

“Use the constricting spell!”

Lassos made of magic snaked out of the unicorn horns and flew at Hauteclaire. He rolled to the side and dodged them.

In the corner of his eye, he saw Porthos wrapped up in several magical lassos. The unicorns and pegasi struggled to bring him down, but Porthos dragged them around with ease. With a roar, Porthos broke the lassos holding him and made another charge at Hauteclaire.

Hauteclaire turned to run, but a blue light blinded him, and he found himself bound in several magical lassos. Pulling and struggling did no good, and the more he struggled, the tighter they became. He was stuck. The ground underneath him shook as Porthos approached.

A punch from Porthos broke the bonds that held him and sent him careening into the base of the statue of Celestia. Disoriented by the blow, Hauteclaire didn’t see Porthos continuing his assault until he was right in front of him. A fist came passing by his head, ripping off part of his ear as he rolled to the side.

The crack of stone rumbled in his ears as the statue base crumbled. Hauteclaire pushed with his feet, trying to avoid the falling statue.

He failed.

The statue landed on top of him, and the immense weight crushed his chest. His senses were failing. Breathing was impossible. He could no longer hear anything clearly. Sounds became muddy and his vision blurred.

The last thing he could make out when he looked up was a kneeling, weeping Porthos and the guards closing in on him.

Everything went black.

Dying sucked.

Dying at the hands at Porthos sucked even more.

How did Hauteclaire know he was dead? Because the King’s Brain of Atlantis had found him. It must have been close by.

Welcome back user: Hauteclaire.

Wait… the Brain found him? The King must be clo- oh crap. The King was going to kill him.

Again.

But he wasn’t the one that had started the fight! It was Porthos. He punched Hauteclaire through the window. He was the one who ripped off Hauteclaire’s arm. He was the one that put the ponies of Canterlot in panic. He’d been nothing but trouble since the very beginning.

He had been defending himself. That was all. Besides, it was Porthos’ own damn fault if he couldn’t take what he regularly dished out.

Ugh, I need a distraction. Stupid Porthos.

All he could see was blue. In the center of his vision was a picture of him cropped in a small circle with “Hauteclaire” next to it. It wasn’t even a good picture, either. He was pouting and sneering. Couldn’t the King change that image? Below that, a list of options was listed.

What would you like to do?

Sign-in

Log-off

Shut Down [Administrator]

“Sign in,” he said. Well, he didn’t really say it. It was more like he thought it and the Brain understood his intentions.

Please enter password: ______________

Sign in Cancel

Hauteclaire thought out the password, and the blank line filled with asterisks, then signed in. The blue faded away, and a picture came to view. It was of a castle. The King’s castle, overlooking the Irish Sea, perched on top of a cliff at the coast. The castle took up much of the top right of the picture, and on the bottom left, the budding port town of the aptly named Castletown could be seen.

It was home.

He really wished he could change that image.

He wanted to sigh and turn away--the sight of home made his stomach turn. Was it really home? Or was it something else that bothered him?

Well, he was going to have to worry about a really angry king in a few moments. He was going to be pissed that Hauteclaire ruined his visit with Princess…

Oh, Hauteclaire. You have really screwed up this time.

Hauteclaire had to distract himself. Despite being dead and back in the brain, he was still vulnerable to stress.

Focusing his attention to the upper left corner, he saw several icons--many of which were of manila folders. Each of them had some text below them. One icon was of a castle; the text underneath said “VR_Home.” The one below it was a picture of a white chess piece on top of a globe--the king to be more precise--and the text below it said, “Game_of_Kings.exe.” Below that was a round ball, representing the Brain of Atlantis, labeled “Brain_Explorer.” The remaining were several folders, one of them labeled “Hauteclaire.”

Might as well relive some of his finest memories before his execution. Hauteclaire focused on the folder, and it opened. A white box spread out in front of him. More labeled folders appeared: “Body,” “Hauteclaire’s_Documents,” “Memory [view only],” and “Magic [administrator only].”

Hauteclaire focused his thoughts on the “Memory [view only]” folder, and it opened. Many more folders appeared, all listed by dates. If only there was a way for him to rearrange these files, it would be so much easier for him to organize his memories. After a long while of travelling from world to world, it became pretty easy to lose track of where he was at what date. Well, instead of going through the many folders looking for his memories, he’d just find something more recent. The past few days up until now had had their ups. That would be a good place to start.

Looking at the title bar at the top of the white box, he “poked” the header “date,” and all of the folders rearranged from newest to oldest. Picking one folder from the past week, he opened folder “08-13-01901.” The white box refreshed, its contents changing to a list of memories in pictures, video, audio, and text format. Beside each file name was a bunch of details. Unimportant details. Ignoring those, he chose one memory random and a black box popped up--the media player.

“Well, this is familiar,” said Hauteclaire. He was back behind the castle practicing on copies of Marcus. The exertion, the grass between his toes, the dirt he scooped up and turned to knifes. He could feel it all as if he was reliving it. The only difference was he had no control over his actions.

This was right before Pinkie Pie jumped out from the corner and--Eeyup. She nearly took a knife to the gut. She almost gave Hauteclaire a heart attack! In fact, he felt the sudden sharp pains in his chest again, just as he did the first time. But… she shook it off and smiled up at Hauteclaire.

Wow. If Hauteclaire had lips, he’d be chewing on them. She was such a cheerful pony to be around. She let nothing get her down and seemed incapable of holding a grudge. Sure, a bit much at times, but she wasn’t all that bad.

Hauteclaire backed out of the memory, opened another folder and played a memory file that also had Pinkie Pie in the clip.

He was in Sugar Cube Corner again. The sensations came rushing to him again. The smell of cinnamon wafted in the air, boiling water gurgled in pots on the stove, and his ribs were still a sore from a bearhug from Pinkie.

Marcus had just finished telling the story of Porthos and his bumbling yet successful attempt to break the King out of the dungeon. Pinkie Pie and Rarity were engrossed in the tale and rather seemed to be enjoying the brothers’ company.

Like they were welcomed.

The memory played through, and Hauteclaire chose another one, this one involving Lyra and Bon Bon at their sweet shop. Lyra tried to sneak a sweet into Hauteclaire’s pockets while Bon Bon wasn’t looking, but she had little luck finding pockets, to the point that she mumbled, “What the hay, is this a dress? Where are the pockets?”

The comment, while certainly innocent in nature, still miffed Hauteclaire a bit at the time, but in reliving the moment, it actually made him laugh. On the inside, of course. He couldn’t act out in his memories, only experience them again and again.

When the memory ended, Hauteclaire went to the next one. Oh, it was the one with Porthos as a pony with those fillies following him. That was not a memory he wanted to look at. Looking to the right of the file, he noticed something. “8/19/01901/10:24:37 by E.”

Hauteclaire saw it again. “8/19/01901/10:20:22 by E.”

And again.

And again!

Hauteclaire checked the top of the screen. This column was labeled, “Last viewed.”

Somebody had been peeking at his memories, today. Just a little more than an hour ago. And he knew who.

User “E” was the Mouse King.

Sure enough, many of his memories had been viewed by the King. Why would he do this? What would cause him to abuse his power to invade Hauteclaire’s privacy? He’d never done this before, and Hauteclaire was on his good side.

Well, he wouldn’t be once he learned about what had transpired between Hauteclaire and Porthos in the middle of Canterlot.

Could it be that the King didn’t trust him anymore? Did he only peek in Hauteclaire’s memories? What would he be looking for? Could it be… that the King was looking for an excuse to start the game?

The promise! He said if the court didn’t keep it, the game would be back on! That was it! The King had been hoping for this all along!

The dinner with Twilight. He just wanted to get here, the capital of the Equestria.

[Being revived by E 23%]

She was just a pawn! And what about the other court members? Were they tricked as well?

[Being revived by E. 57%]

Did he really have that little faith in the court? No. His promise had been vague. “Don’t get weak.” “Practice everyday.” After that, he had hardly brought up the conditions again. Was that intentional?

[Being revived by E. 89%]

No. The King he had died for would never do this. The King he had first met was focused, stubborn, and driven, but he cared about others. This King was not the King from before. He was still stubborn and driven, but fractured, suffering from severe tunnel vision.

[Revive complete. Signing out.]

“Wakey wakey, Hauteclaire.”

Sensations rushed through his cloudy mind. As if waking from a sleep, Hauteclaire felt his body slowly awaken. He stretched out his limbs as feeling returned to him.

Hauteclaire lifted his chin up off the ground and was face to face with the King. In one hand, he held up the the statue of Celestia that had crushed Hauteclaire. The other was resting on his knee as he squatted in front of Hauteclaire.

“I hope you enjoyed your dirt nap. We need to have a little chat.”

Author's Note

Whelp, there you have it. This is only the tip of the iceberg, but it turns out everything you know is wrong! The next few chapters will dive further into the implications of what this means and expand on it greatly as the plot continues to thicken.

What do you think this revelation will mean? What is going to happen next? By all means, let me hear it!(Just be sure to use the spoiler bars!)

Be ready for the next chapter, the first of the final and epic act of "A Game of Kings and Pretty Pony Princesses!" Chapter XVI - Porthos (or the Unexpected Benefits of Ignorance).