What did Hauteclaire ever do to deserve this? Oh yeah, he used “unnecessary force” against a dragon whelp.

OK, Hauteclaire had to admit that it was unnecessary, but the little whelp asked for it.

“You missed a spot.”

And it was asking for seconds, but Hauteclaire didn’t think his pride could take much more punishment. Hauteclaire groaned and scrubbed the mop on the crystal floor of the throne room harder.

The dragon coughed. “Ahem, I couldn’t hear you.”

Hauteclaire rolled his eyes. “Yes, Mr. Spike the Dragon.”

“That’s more like it. You may continue.” Spike turned a page in the comic book he was reading as he lounged on one of the several crystal thrones.

This was his punishment, and it hurt his pride more than anything else. Hauteclaire had been reduced to being the errand boy of an errand boy. He was to do Spike’s chores for a week and repair all the vases he damaged.

Oh, Hauteclaire had experienced far worse. He had been executed, exiled, excommunicated, exorcised, excoriated, and even execrated, but none of those were as humiliating as exculpating himself in this exceptionally embarrassing manner. Whenever he had been put on display before his punishment, he’d had a chance to say something witty or cool, usually in Latin, then they’d chop off his head, electrocute him, gut him, whatever, he would “die” and get back in the game. Here, the punishment just dragged on and tore at him internally (Oh, how the mighty have fallen). His pride was all but exterminated.

Well, it wasn’t an entire loss. He’d beaten his brother in a spar, for once, and had actually gotten on the King’s good side, for once. The King had even said good morning to him that morning. A first in a long time, if ever.

Still, he hadn’t forgiven his brother.

“Hauteclaire.”

Hauteclaire didn’t open his eyes as he laid on his makeshift bed: the bench to the organ in the basement.

“Hauteclaire, get up, please, will you?”

Hauteclaire rolled over away from the source of the noise and mumbled something.

“Brother, please don’t be like this, please don’t? Are you seven days old or seven centuries, are you?”

Hauteclaire lifted his tail and farted in Marcus’ direction.

“Brother, you are being immature, you are. Please stop this foolishness right now, please do. It’s time for the morning meeting, it is.”

Hauteclaire put two fingers in his mouth and blew a loud whistle. Godiva zipped into the room with a huge smile on her face. “You whistled?”

Hauteclaire waved over to Godiva. “Godiva, tell Marcus I’m not talking or listening to him.”

Godiva turned to Marcus. “Marcus, Hauteclaire says he’s not talking or listening to you.”

Marcus sighed and crossed his arms. “Brother, really? This is stupid, even for you, it is.”

“I don’t think he’s listening, Marc-Marc.”

“You’re right, Godiva. I need to tell him what the Princess, the King and I have decided would be a fair punishment for Hauteclaire, I need to, but he won’t listen, he won’t,” explained Marcus.

Godiva nodded her head. “Oh yeah! That’s right, he did something bad, didn’t he? I forgot. What did he do again?”

Uh oh.

The smile in Marcus’ voice could be heard, he knew just as well as Hauteclaire what was coming next. “He used his voice against the Princess’ number one assistant.”

Hauteclaire scrambled to get off the bench, but it was too late. Godiva’s mace smashed down on Hauteclaire stomach. “GAHO!” The wind and more got knocked out of him. The bench beneath him cracked and he fell to the ground, holding his gut and coughing up a lung. If Godiva had hit him any harder, that would have been literal.

“So that was what that racket was in the hallway that scared Flutterbutter! Hauteclaire, I’m ashamed of you! Marcus, tell Hauteclaire I’m not talking to him until he tells that cute little dragon he’s sorry!” Godiva huffed and stomped out of the room.

Marcus gave a little laugh. “Well, brother, I’d tell you that Godiva won’t be speaking to you, but I’m afraid you won’t listen to me, you won’t. Would you like me to fetch Porthos to be our interpreter, would you?”

“Go clean up some more puke, Marcus,” Hauteclaire managed to say between hacking fits.

“Ah, yes, the King did make me clean up all that puke last night because I lost to you, he did. Well, I’d hate to see what he’d do to you because you pissed him off by not showing up to the morning meeting, I would,” Marcus said before he left the room.

Crap, he was right. Hauteclaire had finally gotten into the King’s good graces, and he didn’t want to screw that up. He picked himself up and wiped the wrinkles out of his clothes before inspecting himself in a full-length mirror he made. One of the rays on his mask had broken off from his fall off the bench. No problem, just a little touch of magic and… nothing was happening.

Hauteclaire stuck one hand underneath his herigaut and felt around inside his chest. It’s not there!

Hauteclaire darted about his sleeping area. Where could’ve it gone!? I am sure it was… Hauteclaire looked up. There, sticking out of the roof like a thorn in a lion’s paw, was Hauteclaire’s fragment. Godiva must have hit him harder than he thought. Hauteclaire climbed up on the organ to extract the gem from its new home, but his reach wasn’t long enough.

Hauteclaire wrapped his tail around one of the pipes on the organ and pushed up with his legs; he was so close, just a few more inches. The pipe bent under his weight. Hauteclaire slipped and fell on the keyboard. The organ blast could be felt throughout the whole castle and was probably waking up all of Ponyville. Hauteclaire tried to stand up, hitting many more keys as he stumbled about. The organ continued to blare in Hauteclaire’s ears, already giving him his first (of possibly many) headaches for the day. Hauteclaire jumped down from the keyboard, but his tail got snagged in the bent pipe and pulled him back. Hauteclaire’s upper body was thrown ahead as he fell and landed on his chin. His butt landed on the keyboard and resumed the earlier blaring. Hautclaire pushed away from the organ with all his might; he felt his tail pull free with a loud crack. He turned around and got an organ pipe to the face.

Today was going to be a good day.

Godiva zipped into the room. “The King’s chair threw him out the window, Marcus disappeared behind a revolving wall, and a suit of armor kicked Porthos in the no-no’s. The King told me to tell you that the meeting will be held outside now. I’m still not talking to you.”

“Godiva, wait! I need you to...”

Godiva was gone.

This was going to be an excellent day.

And for the most part, Hauteclaire was right. Surprisingly, the ponies believed that everything yesterday was all a performance (even though the ending bit might have been a tad bit over the top for them) and seemed to welcome them both as he and the King walked down the street.

The King continued his rare good treatment of Hauteclaire, smiling and patting him on the back as he waved to ponies and called them all out by name.

“Good morning, Mr. Turner! Don’t worry about that clock tower! It’ll be fixed by the end of tomorrow!”

“Ah, Roseluck! You’re looking magnificent this morning.”

“Hello, Bon Bon. I can’t wait to stop by and try some of your sweets! Pinkie Pie has told me all about them.”

The ponies all seemed to welcome the King and his huge smile with one of their own. This was still a bit much for Hauteclaire to believe. He had been by the King’s side for years, and now perhaps because he had a distraction from the game for the first time in almost a millennium, he was actually bearable to be around, just like the old days before the exile.

The sound of a train whistle interrupted both Hauteclaire’s thoughts and the King’s greeting to a pony with two dolphins on her butt.

“Am I hearing things, or was that a train whistle?”

“Oh that? That’s the Friendship Express! It’s a train that can take you all over Equestria!” said the pony with a smile.

“You have trains here in Equestria?”

“Why yes we do!” The mare giggled and walked away after saying her goodbyes.

The King dropped his smile and stared down and to the side. His sudden silence worried Hauteclaire.

“Your Highness, is everything alright?”

The King shook his head and quickly put back on his smile. “Why, no, Hauteclaire. It’s nothing. HEY! Here’s where we split! Now, you do what that dragon tells you. I’m heading off to the hospital. Going to go fix that pony in the hospital’s legs, then have a little chat with the Princess.”

The King grabbed Hauteclaire by the shoulder, pulled him close and looked at him in the eye with a warm smile. “And Hauteclaire, I’m so glad you’re finally taking this seriously and are improving. There’s hope for you, and us, yet. I’m so proud of you.”

The King gave Hauteclaire a hug and made his way back down the crowded morning street, greeting every pony he passed.

Hauteclaire just watched him go.

“Hey, Hauteclaire.”

Hauteclaire snapped out of his flashback. “Huh, what?”

“I was trying to tell you that you cleaned that spot enough, and we’re ready to move on to the library.”

“Oh, right.”

Hauteclaire put the mop back into the bucket and picked it up as well as the rest of the cleaning supplies. He turned to follow the dragon to his next destination and noticed that the dragon had slipped his comic into a clear plastic sleeve before leading him out of the throne room. As they made their way to the library, Hauteclaire couldn’t help but relive that moment with the King over and over. “I’m so proud of you,” the King had said. Was winning a spar all it took for the King to get off of Hauteclaire’s back? There had to be more to it, but Hauteclaire didn’t care. The King was giving Hauteclaire less to roll his eyes about and was acting more like he did before the exile.

“OK, you can start by reshelving all the books on the tables.”

Hauteclaire set down the cleaning supplies in the corner of the library and started on the closest table that had several piles of books in poor condition piled on top of it. Hauteclaire saw Spike sit at the table next to him and pulled out the comic again and continued his reading. Motivated by his reminiscing of the best morning he’d had in decades, he thought about trying something new. “So, what is that comic you’re reading?”

This caught the dragon off guard. “Power Ponies issue #42: ‘The Maniac’s Manic Mane Marinator.’”

Hauteclaire knew almost nothing about comics, but that didn’t stop him from trying to continue the conversation. “So, are you an enthusiast of the visual storytelling medium?”

“I do like comic books, if that is what you mean.”

“You’re the assistant to the Princess, yes? I imagine you have a sizable collection worthy of boasting.”

Spike smiled and pushed out his chest. “Well, I used to have a lot. I had the biggest collection in Ponyville! I would spend a good chunk of my allowance on comics, but now--” Spike dropped his smile, and those green things on the side of his head also drooped-- “it’s mostly ruined because of Tirek.”

“I’m sorry. What?”

“You saw the burnt tree in the middle of town? That was the library that I used to live in. This big bully named Tirek blew it up and destroyed most of Twilight’s and my stuff.”

Hauteclaire thought about all his works that had been destroyed in the fire or left behind during the exile. “It is painful to have something you worked on destroyed or taken from you.”

The conversation stopped there and was replaced by an uncomfortable silence. The dragon focused on the comic he held in his claws, and Hauteclaire looked about the library.

Then, an idea hit him.

“Hey, Spike, do you still have some of your comics that have been ruined?”

Spike looked up from his comic at Hauteclaire. “Um, yeah. Why?”

Hauteclaire looked away from Spike as he twirled his hand around in the air, hardly believing what he was doing himself. “Let’s say that there is a way that I can restore your collection to a state that better resembles its former glory. Would you be interested?”

Spike opened his eyes wide, and the green things on the side of his head perked up. “Are you saying you can fix my collection?”

Hauteclaire smiled. “I know what it is like to lose what you have worked so hard for. I cannot guarantee that it will completely replace what you lost, but it may help lessen the loss. What do you say?”

Spike nodded enthusiastically. “That would be great!”

OK, now comes the hard part, but seeing as how things are progressing, it may be worth it. Hauteclaire swallowed his pride as he put his fingers to his lips and whistled. In a few seconds, Godiva popped in through the nearest window. Her arms were crossed, and she glared at Hauteclaire.

“Have you apologized yet?”

“I’m getting to it! Spike--” Hauteclaire got down on one knee to be at eye level with him-- “do you accept my apology?”

Spike smiled and opened his mouth, but Godiva quickly cut him off. “Apology for what?”

OK, this is going to be harder than I thought. Hauteclaire took a deep breath and forced his pride farther down his throat. “The other day, I was unnecessarily rough with you, and for that, I apologize.”

“Not good enough! Say the word.”

Hauteclaire looked down and mumbled.

“Say it!”

Hauteclaire took another deep breath.

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

“I’m sorry I used my voice against you.”

“Louder, Hauteclaire, I don’t think he can hear you!”

Of course he can’t because you’re screaming in my ear.

Hauteclaire gave up all hope of getting away with this with any dignity intact.

“I’m sorry I was a bully!”

Godiva nodded and smiled. She turned to look at Spike, who was somewhat amused by what happened. “Well, Spike, do you accept Hauteclaire’s apology?”

Spike nodded. “I do.”

Godiva jumped up and down in celebration. “This is great! See, Hauteclaire, that wasn’t so hard!”

Speak for yourself.

Godiva turned to go back through the window. “That was very nice of you, Hauteclaire. I must go back to Goldie’s garden now. She is so nice! She gave me some carrot juice while I was working out in the field. After lunch, I’m going to rebuild her fence. This is turning out to be such a wonderful day!”

Hauteclaire grabbed Godiva’s tail and pulled her close. “Oh, Godiva. Before you go, I have a favor to ask of you.”

“Hmm?”

Hauteclaire leaned in and whispered into her ear. Godiva pulled away and looked at Hauteclaire. “Really? Why is it there? That’s not a good place to hide it, Haut-sauce!”

Oh, you should know damn well why it’s there. “It doesn’t matter. Just go get it for me.”

Godiva giggled and jumped out the window, ran down the side of the castle and towards the floating castle that was hovering just over the outskirts of Ponyville.

“She is weird,” said Spike after he recovered from his shock of watching a mouse willingly jump out a window several stories in the air.

You have no idea.

The next hour was spent around a box of singed and torn comics. With his magic and some paper, Hauteclaire was able to restore burnt edges, tears, and faded colors just by running his fingers over the damaged areas. Of course, there was a limit to what could be done. He wasn’t able to replace missing pages or chunks if there was nothing left to go on. However, what he was able to do pleased Spike immensely.

As Hauteclaire repaired Spike’s comics, he talked with Spike about numerous things. They shared adventures that they both had been on and reminisced about the good things they had. Hauteclaire also learned that this land, Equestria, was overrun with princesses. He was more interested in learning about the Sun Queen, but it would be rude for him to interrupt Spike as he was in the middle of telling a tale.

“...and then I climbed down the castle with the crystal heart and used it to banish King Sombra! There is even a statue of me in the Crystal Empire made entirely of crystal!”

“Well, how do you like that? I bet you get the hero’s treatment every time you go there.”

“Oh, I do! I even got to light the torch at the Equestrian Games!” Spike smiled, but then he frowned and shivered, as if shaking away a bad memory.

Hauteclaire put down the comic he was holding and stood up, preparing to tell one of his own grand tales. “That reminds me, there was this one time before our exile where our King was captured by the enemy! Our castle had been completely overrun with the duke’s army, and he was taken away across the sea and was going to be executed.”

Spike gasped and covered his mouth. “What did you do?”

“Well, some of us went across the sea on the backs of crows to rescue the King, but I stayed behind. Do you know why?”

Spike shook his head.

“Well, I single-handedly took back our home from an entire army!”

Spike crossed his arms and smirked. “With an army of you?”

Hauteclaire laughed and smirked a smirkier smirk than Spike. “Oh no, little dragon, that would never have worked! I did something a little more ingenious.”

Hauteclaire stopped, waiting for the suspense to build and for Spike to take the bait. “Well, what did you do?” Gotcha.

“I dressed up as the King and marched into the castle. As soon as the duke’s army saw me, they all soiled their armor and retreated.”

“No way! You look nothing like him! And why would they run away and not fight? An entire army versus one king? That doesn’t make sense.”

“Well, the only one who could defeat the King was across the sea overseeing the execution. And our King was known far and wide for being able to overthrow kingdoms and stopping armies on his own. And as for my disguise…”

Hauteclaire clapped his hands and his body began to shrink, his belly bloated, rubies popped up on his belly, his fur turned from white to grey, and his clothes vanished and were replaced by a crown and a red cape. “The King” threw out his hands. “Ta-da!”

Spike applauded. “Wow! That is amazing!”

Hauteclaire bowed. “Thank you, thank you. You’ve been a wonderful audience.”

“Wow! You even sound like him! How do you do it?”

Hauteclaire put up his hands and wiggled his fingers. “Magic.”

“Can you do me?”

Hauteclaire transformed back into himself. “I don’t know… perhaps if you cut my sentence down, I may consider a private performance.”

“Nice try, but that isn’t my decision. You’ll have to talk to Twilight about that.”

Damn.

Spike put the restored comics back into a box labeled ‘Spike’s Comics.’ “Come on, we’ve fallen behind. We need to get this room and the next few clean before lunch.”

“On it.” Hauteclaire snapped his fingers, and dirt came flying in through the windows, clumped together in the air and formed several more Hauteclaires that went off in every direction to clean and organize.

With his magic back, it took Hauteclaire a fraction of the time to complete the whole day’s chores. As he did more, he found himself to be actually enjoying it, much to his surprise; in fact, this whole day was full of surprises. The ponies were friendly, despite there being a bit of reservation from some of them (but that was to be expected), and it was all most likely thanks to the King’s and Marcus’ people, er, pony skills. The sob story of being exiled that had also been spoon-fed to the ponies also helped win a few sympathy points.

Most surprisingly, the little dragon was not such a spoiled little brat that Hauteclaire had expected him to be. Darn it, Hauteclaire would go as far as to say that the little guy had a few things about him that were likeable. But Spike’s stature was the only thing that matched a certain mouse that he initially reminded Hauteclaire of.

So, after Hauteclaire finished his chores for the day shortly after lunch, he waved goodbye to Spike and spent the rest of his day just walking around town. Ponies greeted him, some avoided him, he could have sworn a few whispered “cheater” under their breath (hey, when you were in a fight to the death, there was no such thing as cheating), and a few even offered Hauteclaire thanks in the form of food for something that Marcus or the King had done. It turns out Marcus was working overtime, handing out monetary compensation for damages and finding ways that the court could use their magic to better the lives of the ponies. Always the brown-noser.

The King himself had also left another huge impression on the ponies. From what Hauteclaire had been told, he had not only healed Big Mac’s legs (though it would still be a while before he could go back to work), but also helped most of the patients that had some form of physical ailment or easy-to-cure disease. The hospital was almost empty by the end of the day. It seemed as if his brain’s portion on equine anatomy and biology was completely intact.

As Hauteclaire walked about the town, he couldn’t shake the feeling he was being followed. A little pony he made in secret to do his lookout for him confirmed this. A light mint-green unicorn mare with a harp on her flank had been tailing him. When he turned around to confront this mare, however, she was being dragged away by another cream-colored pony with a blue and pink mane.

Well, it was getting late. Hauteclaire decided to get back to the castle.

Marcus was running around as fast as he could. He jumped to the side and did a roll. He got up and tried to jump again, but it wasn’t fast enough. A dagger sunk into the side of his head, and he collapsed into a pile of dirt. Another Marcus met the same fate shortly after. One more Marcus was able to avoid one dagger that flew through the air, but a second one that followed snubbed any hope of escape.

While the small group of Marcuses did their best to survive this deadly game of “dagger-dodge,” Hauteclaire stood several meters away from them, grabbing handfuls of dirt that turned into daggers in his grasp to continue his deadly barrage. Behind the floating castle was an excellent place to practice away from prying pony eyes, though Hauteclaire couldn’t shake the feeling that he was still being watched.

Hauteclaire had learned from experimenting that, with the extra boost he’d gotten from his recent “raise,” he now had enough extra energy to spare to change the direction of his daggers mid-flight. This would give him a little bit more of an edge for the next sparring match, although he would still heavily rely on trickery to win. He picked up another handful of dirt and threw the newly-formed dagger at the last remaining Marcus that had his back against the castle wall.

A pink blur popped in from around the corner and jumped in front of Marcus. “Heya, Marcus! What’cha up to?”

“GAH! LOOK OUT!”

It was too late; the dagger sunk into Pinkie’s side and knocked her off her feet. She let out a squeak as she fell to the floor.

Oh lord, no. Hauteclaire ran over to the pony on her side. The dagger had sunk into a bag that hung off her back and on her side. From the cut, something red and sticky was seeping out. “Oh heaven help us, Pinkie! Just lay still. I’ll get the King and he’ll take care of it; just don’t move!”

Pinkie stared wide-eyed at the dagger sticking out of her side and tried to wiggle about. Hauteclaire held her in place. “No! Don’t move! You may open the wound and make it worse!”

Pinkie smiled and looked up at Hauteclaire. “I’m fine! Really Haut! Sorry to scare you.”

Hauteclaire looked on dumbfounded as Pinkie reached over, gripped the dagger in her teeth and pulled it out of her side. Despite the blade drenched in a sticky red liquid, she seemed to be fine. “The jelly donuts I brought for you, however, may need to see the doctor, and STAT!” She let out a giggle.

Hauteclaire fell back on to his rump. If Hauteclaire had injured an innocent, then there was no telling how mad the King would get. (Though it would probably pale in comparison to the hell Godiva would bring.) But that wasn’t the first thing that rushed through his mind; he was concerned that he had injured the one pony that cheered for him during the spar. That would have been a terrible way to end the best day he had in years: with the murder of an innocent pony.

Pinkie took off her bags and looked at her side. “It’s OK! See? Not a scratch!” She looked around at all of the piles of dirt. “Hey, where did Marcus go?”

“That wasn’t Marcus. That was just a double I created for practice.”

“Practice? What were you practicing?”

Hauteclaire picked up the dagger and pointed to it. Pinkie got the message. “Why are you practicing with daggers? Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Yes it is, Pinkie, but it is important.”

“Why?”

Hauteclaire had to think for a moment on how to answer this delicately. “Because I’m practicing how to kill” wasn’t exactly something one should say when they were trying to make friends. Heh… Friends. Hauteclaire hadn’t had friends in a long time. Perhaps not since Philippides could he say he had ever had friends.

Well, he could tell her the truth, but focus on the good. “Because, Pinkie, we are planning to go back home. However, our home is very dangerous. We will need to be able to protect ourselves and others if we are to go back home.”

“You’re going back home? But you just got here!”

“No, Pinkie, not yet, but soon. Whenever our minds and bodies are completely restored or when the King feels we are ready, will we go home. Even then, though, it may be a while before…” Hauteclaire stopped himself. He had probably already said too much. “Well, it’s another story for another time. Say, how did you get up here? Did you have one of your pegasus friends bring you up here?”

Pinkie bounced over to the corner of the castle wall and pointed. “Check it out!” Hauteclaire followed and peered around the corner. There was a helicopter that looked like it was made of candy canes. Huh.

“OK, so what brings you to our humble abode?”

“Well, three things: One, I heard about all the help the five of you have been doing around town, so I baked up a bunch of goodies as a way from me to you to say, ‘Thank you for all the help from Ponyville,’” and I decided to deliver it personally!” Pinkie flipped open the satchel, and inside was a variety of goods with all the colors of the rainbow. Hauteclaire had to bite his tongue to prevent him from bleching at the display. He could only handle so much sugar at once, and just seeing this display alone was giving him diabetes. “Um… wow, thank you, Pinkie.”

“Two: I came to see if you got a very warm welcome to Ponyville. Was everypony very nice to you today?”

“Why, yes they were. I’m still surprised by how nice everyone was.”

“WONDERFUL! Third: I’ve got a friend who really wants to meet you! She plays instruments like you, and I think you two would get together wonderfully! She would like to meet you tomorrow afternoon if you have time! How does tomorrow at 5:30 at Sugar Cube Corner sound?”

A fellow musician? That might be nice. “Thank you, Pinkie. I look forward to meeting a new acquaintance.”

Pinkie bounced around, each time producing the quirkiest ‘sproing’ noise. “EXCELLENT! Oh, she will be so excited to hear that you said yes! I can’t wait to see her face when I tell her she made a new friend! Gasp! OH NO! What’s the time? I need to check on Pound and Pumpkin for Mr. and Mrs. Cake! Sorry, Hauteclaire, gotta go! See you tomorrow!”

And with that, Pinkie shoved the bag of sweets into Hauteclaire’s arms, jumped on the candycopter and took off towards Ponyville.

Hauteclaire dropped the bag and groaned when he saw all the jelly that had stained his cotehardie, but that only soured him for only so long as he thought about just how pleasant this day had been so far. As crazy as it was, this vacation in Ponyville was the best thing to happen to him.

Speaking of crazy, here comes the King. He’s got a big grin on his face that says he’s done something horrible. What has he done this time?

“Hey, Hauteclaire, I’ve got a date with the Princess.”

Oh, the poor dear.

Author's Note

Oh my! A date!? But there is no romance tag!?

WHAT IS GOING ON!?

I've been a bit busy and haven't been able to finish the chapter art. It'll be uploaded when completed.

And I can't wait to share the next chapter! It's full of sugary goodness that will have you salivating for more! (And jelly. It will have lots and lots of jelly.)