Author's Note

This is the old prologue. It wasn't my first attempt at writing this story (Oh no, it was far worse than this and upon it's release garnered 5 straight downvotes). It has been tweaked several times since it's first publication.

The first title was "Voices Over Everfree" and it was 100% dialogue. I wanted to have the reader feel like that they were eavesdropping onto something that they shouldn't have heard. Plus, Porthos' accent was written out (it's Irish in my head) but some of the lines were quite unreadable.

Ye Olde Prologue: Voices Over Everfree (Revised 2-23-2015)

Over a forest floated a castle and the immediate grounds around it. Suspended by magic, the castle had a great view of the area surrounding it and everything around it for miles could see the castle. And it seemed to attract a lot of pegasi.

Two armored pegasi crashed through a window, fell out into the courtyard and frantically waved their legs around as they lay on the ground. They stood back up, took a running start towards the end of floating grounds and soared as fast as they could away from the death trap.

Two pairs of eyes watched the pegasi flee from the window they had just crashed through. One belonged to a short being that was clapping and cackling. The other pair belonged to a taller, classier one that crossed its arms and wasn’t as amused.

"HAHAHA! Look at them run!" cackled the short one in a nasally voice.

"Seriously, Your Highness, you have no class," said the taller one.

"What was that, Hauteclaire? I believe you are having a case of the 'jelly' from my serious scaring skills," said His Highness.

"No, Your pain-in-the-Highness, I'm not under the ill effects of any jealousy because of your *ahem* 'scaring skills'," retorted Hauteclaire.

"Then why are you pissing on my parade, you white, one-eyed weasel?"

"You have no class. You are nothing more than BOOM! POW! No buildup. No suspension. No anticipation. You're just like a firecracker."

"And what's wrong with that?"

"Well, for one, you're a king. You should at least have some understanding of class. Instead, you've been acting like an impulsive child with no patience, and time has done no favors in tempering your royal attitude or appearance," said Hauteclaire.

"Well, excuse me. Would you like to take over? I'm sure you'll do a lovely job," said the King.

"So be it. Hand over your crown, Your Highness." Hauteclaire extended his hand.

"I wasn't offering. Just asking. I'd rather throw you from the tallest tower.” The King smiled. “Again."

"Ugh... At times I find it difficult to believe that I followed you into eternity," said Hauteclaire with a roll of his eye.

"Don't roll your eyes at royalty, Hauty, you just might lose 'em. So, in what classy way would you have scared those last pegasuses?"

"I would have made small noises in the distance and moved the statues when they weren't looking. Little things. Let their imaginations take over as they slowly drive themselves mad. Anything they could imagine would be ten times more terrifying than just throwing things into their faces. And the plural is pegaSI, Your Highness." Hauteclaire crossed his arms and stuck his nose in the air.

The King dismissed the explanation with a wave of his hand. "Pffft! That's what you do when you're on a budget! Why do all that when you can screw with gravity, change the castle layout, have them puke bugs, or have millipedes crawl out their schnozes?"

Hauteclaire groaned.

"What's all this about schnozes, then?" A giant entered the room with arms wrapped around several buckets.

"Ah, Porthos! Welcome back. No problems getting any apples this time?" said the King in a sudden cheerful tone.

"No, sir. Only had to deal with a bunch of wooden doggies this time. And why would you have me get you apples? You could have magicked them up yourself.”

"Porthos, Porthos, Porthos. The love that goes into making apple pies makes them all the more delicious!"

"So, in this case, nothing of value is being contributed. Good to see you're making a difference around here, Porkos,” said Hauteclaire without trying to hide his sarcasm.

"I'd be careful if I were you, Hauteclaire,” said Porthos with a low rumble in his voice.

"What are you going to do, you big git? Sit on me like you did that workhorse on your first outing? Maybe I shall inform Godiva regarding how you hurt such an innocent creature protecting its home. Her favorite kind of creature at that."

"That was an accident, you little weasel."

"Oh, I'm so sure. Perhaps the King sent you for your exercise. Your grotesque physique is so heavy that you broke the poor beast's legs by simply falling on it," said Hauteclaire. The delight of teasing Porthos was evident in his voice.

"T'ain't fat, but muscle. Something you don't have, Haut," said Porthos, his voice becoming lower.

"Don't just sit there, Porthos! Take the offensive!" shouted the King.

"You talk tough, but that's because you have your brother to hide behind."

Hauteclaire snapped. "Shut up! I do not hide behind my brother!"

Porthos chuckled. "Oh, do you now? What's gonna stop me from throwing you off the top of this here castle? That little toy you call a dagger?"

Hauteclaire screamed even louder. "Porthos! Shut up! I'm warning you, go slink back to the bottom of the nearest beer keg from which you came!"

"Fight! Fight! Fight!" chanted the King.

"Shut up, Your Highness!"

Porthos raised his head and rubbed his chin while looking around. "Speaking of, where is your brother? I'd hate to have him witness his little brother getting what's coming to him. Again."

The King stopped chanting. "Hey, yeah. Where is Marcus? He should be here starting on my apple pies."

"Why don't you just use your 'magic sense' to find out where he is?" said Hauteclaire.

Now it was the King’s turn to speak to Hauteclaire in a snooty tone. "Nah. That would be an invasion of his privacy. I'm above that, Hauty, as I hope you would be, too."

"Godiva has taken him off somewhere during your last 'scare performance,' Your Highness.”

The King smiled. "Really? Godiva's back from scouting already? Wow, she is getting good at the game."

Hauteclaire sighed. "Your Highness, I really do not like how you call it a game."

A grin spread across Porthos’ face. "Sorta like how I call 'Whoopin' Yer Arse' a game?"

Hauteclaire whipped out his dagger. "Porthos, my brother is not here, so as God as my witness if you are not careful I will end you here and now!"

"There we go! Put up your dukes. You've had this coming a long time. Again."

A calm, sing-song voice broke through the chaos. "I can't be gone for more than a minute, can't I?"

A chirpy voice followed. "Pork-Pork! Have you been picking on Haut-sauce again?"

"Great. Fight's over,” said the King, all the excitement drained from his voice.

Porthos, too, had all the threatening tones stolen from his voice. "I... *groan* Sorry, lass. I've let meself go again."

"The mighty Porthos, folding like paper to the tut-tuts of a lady," said Hauteclaire with a sneer.

Godiva zipped over to Hauteclaire and brought down her mace on Hauteclaire's head, making an audible clunk that echoed through the castle halls.

"OW-oh-ho-ho-ho! That hurts!" said Hauteclaire, rubbing his head.

"You seem to forget this 'lady' has a mace and isn't afraid to use it," said “the lady” covered in head to toe in black armor as she waved a large, heavy black mace over her head.

"Brother, you need to stop starting fights, you must," said the calm voice that belonged to Hauteclaire’s brother, Marcus.

"He started it!"

Porthos flinched at the accusation. "I did not. He called me fat and useless."

"Stop it, you two, or I'll make you stop, I will,” said Marcus, his voice not raising at all.

Hauteclaire resigned his will to fight. "Yes, brother.”

"Well then, my little 'Miss Too-Late', what do you have to report?" said the King cheerfully.

The scout, Little ‘Miss Too-Late,’ also known as Godiva, answered happily. "Your Majesty! You will not believe this, but this land is populated by *gasp* PONIES!"

"Really? Explains all the statues and armor in the castle and pegasuses we've been getting," said the King.

"Pegasi," corrected Hauteclaire.

The King huffed. "Whatever. I thought they were like this world's pigeons or something. Explains why some of them wore armor. Hehe. Warrior pigeons. Hey, that might not be a bad idea..."

Godiva cut the King’s train of thought. "Your Majesty! Please! I beg of you! This world is a push-over! Let's not play the game this time!"

Everyone but Godiva and Marcus gasped. Marcus resisted the urge to facepalm and sighed.

The King’s smile disappeared. "Not play the game? You can't be serious. No."

Godiva didn’t give up so easily. "Oh come on, Your Majesty! This place is not worth it! And it's full of ponies! Please?"

"No."

"Pretty please?" Godiva asked, her voice slightly more girly.

"No."

"Pretty please with chocolate filling and a cherry on top?"

"Hauteclaire, what time is it?" asked the King.

Hauteclaire looked out the window to the sun. "It's about..."

"Thank you, Hauteclaire: it's half past NO," said the King.

Marcus stepped forward. "My King, I too think it would be good to give the game a rest, it would."

The King was taken aback. "Marcus? Do my ears deceive me? Are you siding against me?"

"Sir, I too would like a break from all the smashing and the like," grumbled Porthos.

The King’s yelling continued to grow in volume. "Porthos! What is going on here?” The King turned to Hauteclaire and shoved him in the chest. “HAUTECLAIRE! Tell them why this is a stupid idea!"

Hauteclaire gulped as he shook. "Ummm. Uhhh."

Marcus got between the King and Hauteclaire. "Don't force my brother to side with you, will you? I'm sure he is tired just like the rest of us, he is."

"Yeah, Kingy! Stop bullying him." Godiva chipped in.

The King gave them all his death glare. "Bully? Bully? Do you remember why we are here in the first place? What has been TAKEN from us? What did this to us? Do you remember how much we lost? How do you expect to honor their memory by taking back what is ours if you all get sloppy and wimpy just like Hauteclaire! Now, Hauteclaire, tell them why we must play the game!"

Godiva moved next to Marcus and Hauteclaire. "Kingy! Look at you pushing Hauteclaire and the rest of us around! What would Aquinas think if he was here to see this?"

The King snarled and pointed at Godiva. "Don't you DARE bring him up!"

Godiva stood strong and hugged Hauteclaire. "Hauty, go ahead. Tell Kingy how you really feel."

"Go on, brother."

Hauteclaire forced himself to talk. He stammered. "Actually, Your Highness, I believe that we can keep our minds and skills sharp with daily practice. Some rest might actually be good for us."

The King looked on in disbelief as his arms fell to his sides. He turned his back to them. "Et tu, Hauteclaire? The game isn't something you get good at with practice! You have to be completely involved! No amount of practice can ready you for the real deal!"

Godiva took a step towards the King. "Lay off him, Kingy! We promise we won't get soft!"

Marcus moved to better shield Hauteclaire. "Leave my brother alone, will you? We all feel the same, and we all think a little time off won't hurt, don't we?"

The King spun back to the group. "And if I say 'No'? Will you vote me off? YOU'LL VOTE ME OFF, WON'T YOU!?"

Marcus remained calm. "My King, we would do no such thing, we would."

"Sir, please don't think so lowly of us," said Porthos timidly.

Godiva continued to keep a positive tone. "Your Majesty, we promise to remain sharp and ever ready! Please, let us have this just this once! We haven't asked you of anything like this for hundreds of years!"

The King stopped to think for a moment. "You promise not to get soft?"

"Yes!" said Godiva.

The King’s breathing slowed. "...You promise to be ever ready for our return?"

"Yes, Your Majesty!" said Godiva.

The King stared at the ground. He counted the stones that made up the floor. He spoke quietly. "And these ponies, they're complete pushovers that offer no challenge whatsoever?"

Godiva was quick to answer. "All they have are spears and incredibly basic magic! This country's tech is very middle-age-y, and I was even able to sway a whole building of them with a few crocodile tears!"

The King continued to count stones. After a long silence, he said softly, "Fine. The game is off."

Godiva jumped and cheered. "YAY! Thank you, Your Majesty!"

Porthos let out a breath he had been holding. "That was awfully nice of ye, sir."

The King’s head shot up and so did a finger. "...on the condition that you all remain sharp and I feel you're not getting soft on me. Is that clear?"

Godiva jumped to the King and lifted him up in a hug. "Yes, Your Majesty! Thank you thank you thank you!"

"Yes, sir," said Porthos.

"Yes, My King," said Marcus.

"Yes, Your Highness," said Hauteclaire.

The King rolled his tongue around in his mouth and made some popping noises. "So, if we are to have our, uh, vacation here, we need to speak the local lingo. Godiva! What language do they speak in this world?"

Godiva put down the King. "I don't know, your majesty, but it does sound familiar."

"It sounds like a language we once knew but have yet to recover, it does," said Marcus.

The King raised an eyebrow. "Do they have books?"

"I'm pretty sure they do." Godiva said with a nod.

Porthos pointed behind him. "There are plenty of books in the room down the corridor. Why not use those?"

"Those books could be hundreds of years old, they could. We need something a little more current, we need. Don't want to sound like a bunch of fools, we don't,” Marcus said.

Hauteclaire, having somewhat recovered from the argument, scrunched his face in thought. "How do these equines even use books when they have no digits to hold or to write with?"

"Duh, they use their mouths! Silly Haut-sauce,” said Godiva with a laugh.

The King clapped his hands together. "Alright. We need a local to take us to a library! Got any suggestions, Godiva, or should we find an unwilling volunteer?"

Godiva’s smile grew much larger. "I know just the pony to help us! Kindest of the bunch! Cutest, too!"

The King straightened his back and put his hands to his hips. "Alright, let's just see what she looks like."

"OK! Let me get my crayons!" said Godiva as she disappeared out the door.

Hauteclaire shouted after her. "You're going to draw? It would have been faster had you..."

"DONE!" Godiva ran back into the door holding up a completed picture.

"...taken a photgraph."

The King took it from her and inspected it. "So that's our guide?"

Porthos looked down over the King’s shoulder. "It's one of those pegasuses."

Hauteclaire peeked from around Porthos’ enormous arms. "Pegasi. They came in pink and yellow, too? What colors don’t they have?"

Marcus shook his head. "You wouldn't believe the colors we've seen, you wouldn't."

The King slapped the paper back into Godiva’s hands. "Alright! That settles it. Godiva, Hauteclaire, get ready to move out."

"Wouldn't you and Godiva be enough?" Hauteclaire whined.

The King looked over his shoulder at Hauteclaire and grinned. "I'm not going to leave you here to continue to scare the daylights out of ponies now that we are staying here for our vacation."

"YOU'VE BEEN SCARING THE POOR PONIES!?" shouted Godiva.

"I have not! It was..."

"Oh, it was him alright. Makin' the poor things run cryin' for their mum." Porthos wiped away an invisible tear.

"HAUTECLAIRE!"

*BONK*

"OW! Stop it!"

Marcus pulled at the mace in Godiva’s grip. "That's enough picking on him, it is."

"Whatcha gonna do? Write a song about it if we don't?" taunted the King.

Marcus didn’t blink. "My King, you love my songs, you do."

The King’s smile vanished and he blinked. "Oh yeah, you're right. Well, write another one! But before you do that, take these apples and make me some pies!" With a wave of his hands, several buckets of apples floated towards Marcus.

"Why not just magic up some pies, why not?" Marcus asked while picking up a barrel.

The King smiled. "Why? Because the love you put into the pies makes them taste all the better!"

Marcus smirked. "So nothing of value is added, is it?"

The King’s chest swelled with pride. "Oh Marcus, I know you guys love me. If you didn't, we wouldn't be here together. Plus, you're the only one of us who can cook apple pies the way I like ‘em!"

Marcus looked at the rest of the buckets around him. "I'm going to need more than just apples if I'm going to make apple pie, I will."

The King waved his hands in the air."Poof! Here you go!” A bunch of ingredients appeared in thin air and fell in the bucket Marcus was holding. “I want my apple pies with extra cinnamon!"

Porthos crossed his arms and sulked. "Oi, so you just magic up everything else up for him, then?"

The King waved off Porthos’ complaints. "Oh pipe down, Porthos. I'm no longer in the mood. You've got guard duty while we're away. Hauteclaire! Godiva! Let's go! We've got an escort to find and a language to learn-slash-possibly relearn!"

Godiva jumped up with excitement and ran after the King. "Yes, Your Majesty!"

Hauteclaire followed behind slowly and grumbled, "Yes, Your Highness."

Marcus put down a bucket of apples and ingredients in the kitchen. "That was scary, it was."

Porthos came in behind him, carrying the rest. "Aye. I was afraid he was going to lose it there."

"To think he's changed so much, he has."

Porthos nodded. "Aye, and the lass has, too. I need a drink. Something', eh, 'medicinal' to calm my nerves."

Marcus bent down and picked several ingredients for sorting. "You know Godiva's been trying to get you to stop, don't you?"

Porthos sighed. "She's a good lass. Sometimes I wish we were restored, and other times I don't."

After a bit of silence, Marcus spoke up. "I only hope the King keeps his promise, I do. What do you think, Porthos?"

"I don't rightly know, Marcus, but it would be grand if he did.” Porthos stopped and remembered why Godiva asked to call the game off in the first place. “So is it true, then, that the ponies are more than just animals here?"

"That it is, Porthos, it is. Why do you ask?"

Porthos sighed as he wiped a hand across the side of his face. "No reason. Here,--” Porthos placed a bottle on the counter-- “mix some of this hard cider in mine."