Author's Note

As a little warning, there is a flashback scene in this chapter that gets a bit dark.

Ch. 9 - School of Hard BONKS

When Hauteclaire received his new life by the King, he dreamed of becoming the bard that entertained royalty. Kings and queens, princes and princesses, counts and countesses, every royal of every status of every country would clamor over his works, beg him to perform in their halls and grace them with his presence. He didn’t see as the world as an oyster to be forced open, but as a lady to be wooed. Force and power could get you many things in life, but to be desired. To be wanted. To be adored. THAT was worthy of pursuit for a mouse such as Hauteclaire.

Unlike his brother, who flourished in mediocrity and had no drive for improvement or recognition, or Porthos, who was happy just drinking and laughing and farting all day, Hauteclaire had ambitions, and that put him above the rest. The King had aims like Hauteclaire-that was what was so captivating about him-but his obsessions had made him a nuisance that required every ounce of willpower to tolerate. Perhaps it was because of the fragmented state of his mind due to the curse or the loss of his kingdom and all he had worked for that had driven him mad. Maybe both. No matter the cause, the King was a madman, and Hauteclaire didn’t care much to think about him.

Hauteclaire remembered the day when the King bestowed upon Hauteclaire the life he had now and how, shortly afterward, he had made the decision of what to dedicate his life towards. Never would he have imagined being reduced to entertaining a bunch of school children. Well, at least he couldn’t sink any lower. He would much rather perform for the Sun Queen. Perhaps, if he played his cards right, the opportunity would present itself; the thought of what kind of hall a magical alicorn queen might have delighted Hauteclaire. Game or no game, he was going to get into that hall and at least try out the acoustics (before Porthos did the same thing with his butt trumpet).

But first, he would have to deal with these kids (or, as the ponies called them, “foals”).

Unfolding the crumpled-up letter again, Hauteclaire reread the second half.

The local schoolmarm, Ms. Cheerilee, has come to me and asked that we could educate the little ones about ourselves. It seems that the King’s impromptu (and unwise) deathmatch has left quite the impact on the children and has caused a few problems. The foals’ reactions to the display have left them unable to focus or concentrate in class. A few have even lost sleep from nightmares. It is our responsibility to set things straight and assure the foals and ponies that we are safe and that they have no reason to fear us.

So, Hauteclaire, it is up to you to answer all the questions they may have about where we come from and what we are. Just remember that these are their children, and much of what we may see as normal, like violence and death, are not the norm here, so please try to avoid all grim subjects and keep everything “foal-friendly,” both for the kids and the parents. All the other usual restrictions still apply, of course.

Cheerilee is expecting one of us after lunch, at 1:00. I have already sent Godiva to give Princess Twilight notice of your leave and make sure you get this letter.

Break a leg.

Your Loving Brother,

Marcus

The paper crinkled as Hauteclaire balled it up and stuffed it into his herigaut.

He looked up ahead of him, and there was the school; quite a crowd had gathered around the front entrance. Those can’t all be foals. Some of them are big enough to be adults! Oh wait, those are adults.

Great. It’s the kids and their parents.

A brown colt with a propeller beanie on his head walked into the classroom and sat at one of the empty desks. He looked around the somewhat large, single-roomed schoolhouse. Several foals were finishing up their lunches and gossiping about who their surprise guest would be, as did many of the adults that had lined up around the wall and crowded around the front entrance. It didn’t take much concentration for the colt to listen in on the three fillies sitting next to him, as they failed to control their volume in all their excitement.

“Oh wow, this is going to be so cool!”

“I can’t wait to see who is coming!”

“Who do you think it will be?”

“Well, I hope Godiva comes. She looks so cute in her dress; but Rarity said, ‘The poor dear, she is so nice, but she wears such a plain thing. I certainly must make her something more becoming. I can only imagine she must have made that thing herself.’”

The colt snorted as he covered his smile with a hoof.

“I hope Marcus comes. He is almost as cool as Rainbow Dash!”

The smile was gone.

“Well I hope Porthos comes. But he was at the farm this morning…”

“Porthos? Wasn’t he the big burping one?”

“The one who juggled us?”

“Yeah! And he’s really nice when you talk to him. You two should come over after school so you can meet him! Big sis doesn’t like him that much though and doesn’t like it when I talk to him.”

The colt rolled his eyes and groaned. Applebloom noticed this.

“You okay, Button?”

“Huh?”

“You’re groaning. Do you have another tummy ache?”

Button shook his head.

Scootaloo leaned over and peered at Button. “Yeah, I bet you drank too much juice. Ms. Cheerilee says that too much juice isn’t good for you.”

Sweetie Belle chirped in. “Yeah! And Twilight also says that some juices are a di- diur- uh… diaramic and make you have to tinkle a lot! That’s probably why you’re going to the bathroom so much!”

Button just shrugged.

A nasally voice rang out right behind Button’s ear. “I hope the King shows up! That would be cool, wouldn’t it, Button?”

“Huhuh, yeah! That would be cool,” said a slower, somewhat dimmer voice.

“He’s just as cool as the Great and… um, yeah. He’s cool!”

Button turned around to see two colts right behind him leaning on the back of his chair, one short and fat, the other tall and lanky, both too close for comfort. “Uhhh, sure. But what if Hauteclaire came? He certainly is cool.”

Both colts flinched. “Eh, really? But earlier you said you were hoping the King would come so he could put you in an arcade game!”

“Yeah! Or give us all cool mustaches.”

Sweetie Belle crossed her front hooves and huffed. “Really? Is that all you think about, Button?”

Button turned back to Sweetie and shrugged again.

“What are you doing in my seat?” Button turned around to see a filly who looked as unpleasant as she sounded.

Button remained unphased. “Which mouse do you think will show up?”

“What do I care? They’re all ugly.”

“Yeah, they’re ugly,” parroted the grey filly behind her.

Button sneered. “Hey now. They’re not ugly. They’re just…”

A pink hoof shoved Button off the seat before he could finish. “I don’t care. Daddy says they’re thieves and can’t be trusted.”

“Yeah, they’re thieves,” said the grey parrot.

Applebloom jumped up from her desk. “They’re not thieves! They’re just misunderstood! You wouldn’t know because you haven’t met them.”

“Pfft, whatever.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

The pig with fur and jewelry sat at her desk, if only for a second, before jolting out of her chair. “Ewewewew!” Her rump and tail were covered in dirt and mud, and the mess was only made worse as she tried to wipe it off. “Darn it, Button! You got dirt all over my desk! Ms. Cheerilee! Ms. Cheerilee!”

Ms. Cheerilee came to the pig’s squeals as quickly as the crowd would allow her. “What is the problem, Diamond Tiara?”

“Button got mud all over my seat!”

“Yeah!”

After taking a long hard look at the mud on the desk, Cheerilee took another questioning look at the accusing filly. “Are you sure it was Button?”

“Yuh-huh! He was sitting in my seat, and when I sat down after him, there was mud all over my seat!”

“Yeah! Mud all over her seat.”

Cheerilee took another look at the seat before looking around the room. “Did this happen recently?”

“Yeah! Just now!”

“Yeah!”

Cheerilee sighed and rubbed her forehead. “I’m sorry, Diamond, but I find that hard to believe.”

Diamond, Apple Bloom, Sweetie Belle, Scootaloo, Shortround, Stretch and Yeah Parrot all let out a gasp. “What, why?”

“Yeah, why?”

Cheerilee pointed outside through the crowd of ponies in the back of the classroom. “Well, I have been talking to Button Mash and his mother for the past five minutes. They’re still outside now, and I don’t see Button anywhere in the classroom.”

Sure enough, Button was nowhere to be seen. It was like he had vanished into thin air.

“But.. but.. He was here a second ago!”

“I’m sorry, Diamond. Now, please get a new, clean chair from the closet and meet me in the back so we can wash you up before our guest arrives.”

Diamond Tiara skulked away, and Yeah Parrot trailed behind her.

Sweetie Belle scratched her head. “I could have sworn Button was here a second ago. Hey, what’s wrong with you, Scootaloo?”

Scootaloo was blinking a lot and rubbing her face with a foreleg. “Is it me or does it feel like that dirt pile is watching us?”

Applebloom giggled. “Diamond Tiara is going to get the hose!”

All of them laughed. Except for Scootaloo, who kept her eye on the dirt pile.

Hauteclaire walked around the school to avoid the crowds. In the back, he saw who he was looking for: Ms. Cheerilee. She was spraying a pig wearing a tiara in the rear with a hose before wiping it dry with a towel. Hauteclaire couldn’t help but grin at the filly’s plight as he walked up to the expecting teacher.

Because she was expecting him. Not that she was with child. Well, she was with a child, just… Oh, nevermind.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Cheerilee.”

Cheerilee turned with a smile. “Oh, good afternoon. I’ll be with you just a minute.”

After wiping the pink filly dry, Cheerilee instructed her to go back inside and make an announcement to everyone to get ready for the guest. Once the filly was on her way, Cheerilee turned back to Hauteclaire. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting. So you are the one that Marcus sent? If I remember correctly, you are his brother, correct?”

“That is correct, Ms. Cheerilee. I understand that I am here to educate the children, er, foals about us.”

“Yes, please. I see that you have already been told everything. The foals are very excited to finally get to meet with you and have so many questions they’d like to ask! But I have a special request, if you don’t mind.”

“What may that be?”

Cheerilee tensed up a bit before continuing. “It’s about that, er, rather graphic play that you and your brother performed.” Oh boy. “I have a student, Twist, that has been having nightmares ever since she saw it. That bit with the organs was too much for her. She’s one of my best students, but because of the nightmares, she has been losing sleep and dozing off during class. I’m very concerned for her. Do you think you could try to help her?”

The King could zap-fry her brain. THAT would get rid of her nightmares. “I’ll do what I can. How will I know which one is Twist?”

“She sits in the center of the front row. She has a curly red mane and two candy canes for a cutie mark. You can’t miss her.”

Hauteclaire stopped to repeat the words in his head. “I’m sorry, a what?”

“A cutie mark.”

“What, if I may, is a cutie mark?”

So, Cheerilee gave Hauteclaire a quick 20-second course in Cutie Mark-ology, using her own as an example.

Huh, I thought those were brandings. Guess they kind of are, in a strange, predestined, magical-pony way. “Well, it seems the foals are not the only ones learning new things today. I have two more questions before we begin: How old are the foals?”

Cheerilee answered him.

Hauteclaire just shook his head. “Ok, that was a stupid question. That number doesn’t help me at all. Mice reach maturity at four months. Ponies are just… different.”

“Oh, I’m sorry about that. So you’re, um, only a few months old?”

Hauteclaire shook his head. “Nope. I’m 736 years old.”

Cheerilee just stared. “Umm... Wow.”

Hauteclaire chuckled. “Yes, but I don’t feel a day over eight months. Now, my next question: Why are there adults here, too?”

Cheerilee took a moment before shaking her head and fixing her eyes back on Hauteclaire. “Oh, this isn’t just for the foals. Many ponies have taken some time off to learn about you. You’ve been quite the talk of the town; rumors have been spreading like wildfire. Everypony here is probably going to want to ask you what is true and what is a rumor. Some of them are quite ridiculous! Did you hear the one about the King forcing his way into the emergency room, pushing some surgeons aside, and performing a successful emergency c-section operation in less than two minutes? While singing?” Cheerilee giggled as she recalled the rumor.

“That wasn’t a rumor,” deadpanned Hauteclaire.

“Oh…”

“Hey, it could have been worse. He could have named the poor thing, too.”

More eyes than Hauteclaire cared to count stared at him. As soon as Ms. Cheerilee stepped in front of them and announced the guest had arrived, the school children cheered, the adults stopped their chatter, and everyone (or as they said it, “everypony”) lined up against the back and side walls. Some sat on the floor. Some stood behind those sitting. Some poked their heads in from the windows. There were also a couple of pegasi that brought in a cloud and lay down upon it, their heads almost touching the roof (How they managed to bring it in was still a mystery to Hauteclaire. Could the pegasi move clouds? Well, if their use of one as a couch was any hint, then yes. Yes, they could.)

Hauteclaire didn’t even need to count heads to know that there were much more adult ponies here for them to all be parents as Hauteclaire first expected, but that didn’t matter. He’d just answer the questions, tell some stories, and get his community service over with so he could get out of there.

This shouldn’t be too hard.

“What’s under the mask!?” said a voice of indeterminate origin.

Or not.

Cheerilee gave a little ‘ahem.’ “Now, before we start asking questions…”

“Do you eat ponies!?”

Some of the foals shrieked and adults whispered to each other.

No, but I have had horse, and if they are similar, you’d make great sashimi.

Cheerilee stomped a hoof. “As I was saying, before we ask ANY questions, let us give our guest, Sir Hauteclaire” --Oh, how nice, she thinks I’m a knight, too-- “a chance to introduce himself and the place he came from. Please be respectful and hold all questions until Hauteclaire says it’s OK. Understood?”

“Yes, Ms. Cheerilee,” said the students.

Cheerilee turned to Hauteclaire and stepped back. Hauteclaire stepped forward. “Mares” --Hauteclaire held out one hand towards one side of the room-- “Gentlecolts” --He held out the other towards the other side-- “future rulers of Equestria” --He brought both hands in front of him, gesturing to the foals, some of who giggled at the title-- “allow me to introduce myself. I am the bard of the Great Mouse King, the teller of tales, the weaver of words, the magician of music. I am” --He picked up a piece of chalk, turned back to the crowd, and touched it against the blackboard behind him-- “Hauteclaire.”

The ponies collectively dropped their jaws as white letters grew into existence across the board. The chalk in Hauteclaire’s hand disappeared in a fading cloud of white, leaving “HAUTECLAIRE” written in a large, fancy font. The crowd “ooh”ed and clopped their hooves.

After waiting a few moments to build up the dramatic pause, Hauteclaire continued. “We, the Court of the Mouse King, have traveled for centuries, waiting for our chance to go and reclaim our home.

“Where is our home? Well, even if I could point you in the right direction, it is so far you wouldn’t make it there if you walked 100 miles, everyday, for the rest of your lives.

“Our home is not very big. In fact, it’s quite small; from what I can tell, you could fit one hundred of our homes in Equestria, and still have plenty of room left over for another small kingdom!”

As Hauteclaire continued, the chalk on the board began to change, turning into a map before the group’s eyes.

“Our home is an island. There are both beaches and cliffs that line the sea that surrounds us. Upon the highest cliff, overlooking both land and sea, rests our castle. Our fortress! Our home. From where it lies, you can almost see both sides of the island from the top of the tallest tower! Yes, it truly is small when compared to Equestria.”

The chalk on the board changed quickly into a detailed picture of a castle. Unlike the castles Hauteclaire had seen in the books in the makeshift Ponyville library and in Spike’s comics, this castle was rather plain. No high spires adorned its towers. Its walls were mostly bare except for the windows and murder holes throughout. The castle was very square, surrounded by the outer walls, and each wall only adorned with the occasional large banner. Each corner of the outer wall also had a tall, thick tower with slightly wider flat, open peaks. The tops of the walls themselves were uncovered, leaving the parapet walks and battlements exposed to the elements. In the front wall was a large double gate leading into the courtyard and the castle.

The castle itself, pushed to the back, wasn’t much taller than the walls that encased it and only had a few banners as decoration. It was a far cry from the fantastical standards these ponies were probably accustomed to. Even by Hauteclaire’s world’s standards, it was a plain thing, as it was likely built in haste.

Behind the castle, mostly out of sight, was the garden. Its hedge maze was the only thing visible from this angle. The stable was completely hidden by the castle.

The only thing that probably stood out to the ponies was the chapel with its stained glass windows, its single large bell tower, and its towering spires adorned with crosses. A symbol likely alien to the ponies as well.

“This is our castle. It was built not for beauty, but for defense. The castle overlooks most of the island and serves as a great lookout for watching the sea, from which most of the dangers come.”

Hauteclaire looked down at the front row and saw in the center a curly, red-maned filly. This must have been Twist. While her eyes glimmered with excitement, the way she bunched herself up as Hauteclaire approached informed him about the filly’s inner turmoil. Hauteclaire knelt down and rested an elbow on the desk and looked the filly right in the eyes. Alright, I have to agree with Godiva. The little ones can be cute.

“But don’t fret, little ones. The dangers we faced are nowhere near Ponyville. This is the safest place we have ever visited.” He stood back up and watched the filly carefully. Her shoulders began to relax, a good sign. Still wouldn’t be enough to rid her of her nightmares involving throat-gouging or gut spilling, but it was a start. Marcus would be better at clearing this up anyway. Looked like Hauteclaire was going to have to talk to him. Oh right, the presentation.

Hauteclaire looked back up to the crowd. “Yes, dangers. In times of danger, the humans in the town down the hill would retreat into the castle walls. There, the Mouse King and his army would protect them.”

Murmurs broke out through the crowd. “Humans?” “Did he just say humans?” “What are humans?” One familiar-looking unicorn in the back became quite excited. Made sense. Hauteclaire hadn’t seen a single human since he’d arrived in this world.

“I see, so you are unfamiliar with humans. Well, much like this world, we have many beasts. Dragons that breath flames and soar through the sky; gorgons, hideous serpents that hide in caves; tiny fairies, spirits that inhabit the woods and trick travelers out of their trinkets; but they all pale in the destructive power that is.. the human!”

At that moment, dirt came scurrying in through the door and windows and amassed into a giant pile next to Hauteclaire until it formed a ball. Details, notches and grooves formed on the ball until it took the form of a squatting, two-legged creature. It stood up, towering over Hauteclaire and the ponies. The dirt-brown human began to move slightly as it surveyed the ponies. It reached out with a hand at some ponies standing too close, who quickly pushed back against those behind them, squishing them against the wall. The dirt-human pulled its hand back and stood up straight. Its gaze continued to wander as Hauteclaire continued with a slight chuckle.

“The human. The most prevalent creature from our world. It is both the weakest and the strongest in the world, as it is both fodder for monsters and the bane of their existence. The human, unable to use natural magic, fly, and lacking in physical strength, more than makes up for its weaknesses with its one incredible strength: the power to think.

“Their creativity and productivity are unmatched in our world. A human can be more deadly than a pack of wolves, a chimera, or even a dragon. As long as a human has a safe place to think and tools to tinker with, the human is an unstoppable machine!”

The crowd “ooh”ed and “ahh”ed at the display. But one filly raised her hoof. It was Twist. Certainly, questions were supposed to come afterwards, but one relevant question wouldn’t hurt. Hauteclaire gestured to the filly. “Yes?”

“Um, excuthe me, thir, but if humanth are tho thcary, why do you protect them?”

The lisp caught a Hauteclaire a bit off guard, but not as much as how well-thought out the question was. Hauteclaire put on a genuine smile, but what came next made him grimace.

“Thtupid Twith. Cheerilee thaid no questionth. Maybe thhe thhould get hearing aidth to go with her glatheth,” whispered Diamond Tiara. The grey parrot laughed. Cheerilee didn’t catch it between all the murmuring of the other ponies, but it was loud enough for Twist to hear. The comment extinguished that twinkle in her eyes that pierced Hauteclaire’s stone heart. Which was more likely made of diamond, but Hauteclaire could check later.

Hauteclaire cracked his knuckles before throwing up his hands, demanding silence. “That was a most excellent question, Ms. Twist” --Twist bounced back from her dejection and was just as excited as she was surprised that Hauteclaire knew her name-- “and for your curiosity and sharp listening, I think you deserve a treat.”

All of the foals went berserk. Except for Diamond Tiara and her friend, whose jaws would need to be reattached to their skulls.

Hauteclaire turned his back to the audience, something he wasn’t keen on doing, but he didn’t want them to see what he had planned. He pulled out a small bon-bon from under his cape before reaching into his chest and pulling out his fragment. Reacting to Hauteclaire’s thoughts, a miniscule piece of the fragment, no bigger than a grain of sand, broke off and fell onto the candy and disappeared into it. The Mouse King would probably be furious if Hauteclaire was found out, but he didn’t care. In fact, if he was found out, the King would quite literally have to steal candy from a baby (the fact that she would have already eaten it wouldn’t, and couldn’t, stop him), and as sadistic as he was, Hauteclaire knew that the King still had some moral limits and would at least do it when she was sleeping. He could live without a head on his shoulders for another year if it made this filly happy. Or was he doing this to spite the pig? He wasn’t sure anymore.

Hauteclaire turned around to Twist. “Twist, open your mouth and close your eyes.”

She did, and he tossed the bon-bon into her mouth. Thank goodness for his magically enhanced aim, or else if he had missed, these foals might scramble for the fallen sweet (and Hauteclaire wouldn’t come off as super cool as he did now).

The moment the bon-bon touched Twist’s tongue, her mouth snapped shut. She smiled as she chewed on the sweet. Hauteclaire could see all the foals looking on with envy. Ms. Cheerilee was a bit of a tougher read. Hauteclaire might have broken a “no sweets during class rule.” Whatever. Hauteclaire could get enough for everyone if she was going to be anal about it.

Twist swallowed the treat and licked her lips. She didn’t need to be reminded by her teacher to remember her manners. She deserved another treat for that.

“Thanks, Mister Hauteclaire!”

It took a second, but the reaction from the foals and Ms. Cheerilee was priceless. The foals started squealing and shouting and jumping around Twist’s desk. Cheerilee herself was flabbergasted. It took her more than a moment to recollect herself and start herding the students back to their seats. The crowds themselves were quite slow to pick up on what happened, but once one of them realized what happened, the clamor became deafening. “He cured her lisp!?” “They have magical healing candy!?” “So this means the c-section rumor was true!?”

The one who took the longest to catch on was Twist herself. But when she did, she couldn’t stop talking. Hauteclaire couldn’t help but smile as he looked at Twist. Hauteclaire smiled more as he eyed the little pink monster’s dumbfounded gaping, but it didn’t give him as much pleasure as he had originally anticipated it would.

Once Cheerilee managed to get the foals to settle down and restore order (which was a feat worthy of respect; ruling a small kingdom was probably nothing compared to maintaining order in a classroom full of children), she turned to Hauteclaire and gave him the floor again. Her annoyance barely seeped through her mask forged with patience and kindness. Hauteclaire would have to give her something nice afterwards as an apology for stirring up so much chaos.

Hauteclaire turned to the crowd. “To answer your question, Twist, despite what I said about humans earlier, most of them try to live peaceful lives and spend much of their time farming. We protect them so they may grow food for us. Thank you, you have been a most wonderful audience. Any questions?”

Order never stood a chance.

Some students raised their hoof and shook them eagerly while shouting, “Pick me! Pick me!” Some just started tossing forth questions, their excitement blinding them. It wouldn’t have been so bad, but some adults got swept up in it too. The rest started spitballing ideas for questions with the others next to them. It was total chaos.

Something in this pony air must have been causing Hauteclaire to hallucinate, because he saw the multi-colored, horned serpent that had been shadowing him slinking between the adults’ legs and underneath some of the students’ desks in the back of the classroom. How was it that none of the ponies noticed? It was looking directly at Hauteclaire with a huge, toothy grin and two bulbous, yellow eyes. A somewhat euphoric and sinister expression was fixed on its face.

“Please raise your hoof and wait to be called on for a question!”

Hauteclaire blinked, and the serpent was gone.

He turned and looked back at Cheerilee. A few strands of her mane had popped out of place, but her smile stayed the same as if she wasn’t stressed at all. You have the patience of a saint.

Most of the questions were pretty simple yes or no questions, particularly the ones about the many rumors that had spread in the short time since the Court’s arrival. A good chunk of them had to do with the source of their powers. Those were dismissed as a secret, which disappointed many ponies hoping to learn how such creatures were able to perform such magic. A few questions had to do with the Mouse King’s shenanigans on the first day when he had scared away a bunch of guards and curious pegasi that dared to wander into a floating castle.

One of them was in the crowd.

“Yes, hello, my name is Thunderlane. I was in your castle just the other day, because… well… a friend dared me to do it. Why is your castle filled with living statues and moving armor?”

The crowd, as they had after every question, got riled up with excitement. Hauteclaire had to project his voice to make sure he was heard. Luckily, Marcus had already come up with a few believable excuses for these questions at their first morning meeting.

“Think of it as a magical home security system. The statues and armor move to scare away intruders. They are harmless, and the spells have been removed from the castle.”

“Oh, OK.”

Heh, he bought it.

“So was it the same spell that made me puke bugs?”

Oh crud, we forgot that one. “Uh… Yes. Thankyouforyourquestion.Next,youmiss.”

“What was your home called?”

“Ellan Lugh. The Isle of Mouse. Yes, you sir.”

Hauteclaire pointed at a grey unicorn stallion with a black mane in the back. He stood out from the rest because his horn was a different color from the rest of his body. The stallion put down his hoof and smiled.

“Hauteclaire, who do you think would win in a magic duel? The Mouse King or Princess Celestia?”

The crowd all gasped at once, as if this stallion had just stated something incredibly taboo. It didn’t stop them from turning to the pony next to them and gossiping wildly afterwards though. Poor Cheerilee did her best to hush the crowd.

“I’m sorry, who is Princess Celestia?”

Again, gasps and gossip.

“You don’t mean to tell me you don’t know who Princess Celestia is?” The stallion laughed. “You’ve met her!”

Hauteclaire dug around in his memory. He had only met one princess, and that was Twilight. The other beings closely resembling her were the alicorn on the roof and the Sun Queen, but they were much bigger, more regal, and certainly more than princesses (or at least the Sun Queen was). “I’m sorry, I think you’re mistaken.”

The stallion rolled his eyes. “Here’s a hint. She’s white like a swan, big as a barn, and her sun shines where others don’t.” He got quite a few nasty glares from the other ponies.

Wow, this stallion is awfully crass… White, big, sun… oh. “The Sun Queen... is Princess Celestia?”

The stallion laughed. “Bingo! Oh, that is great… you thought she was a queen, oh-ho-ho! So, who would win in a fight? Her or your king?”

The crowd went silent and stared at Hauteclaire, eagerly anticipating an answer. Saying the wrong thing now would be disastrous; as Marcus had pointed out many times during the morning meetings, these kind of questions were to be avoided at all costs. But he didn’t need to tell Hauteclaire that. “I refuse to answer the question, next…”

“Oh, come on. Your king may be able to raise a castle, but Celestia raises the sun every day! You can’t possibly think your Mouse King can defeat our dear Princess Celestia!”

She raises the sun!? “I’m not answering that question. Yes, you...”

“But that is what you think, isn’t it?”

“I will not answer your question, sir.”

“You can be honest! You believe the Mouse King can defeat Celestia, don’t you?”

The crowd was now going hysteric. Half of them were offended by the very notion this stallion was suggesting, while the other half went into full-speculation mode and debated which of the two powerful entities would come out victorious in such a contest.

Things were getting out of hand, if Hauteclaire didn’t do something now, he might inadvertently cause a riot in a school! Sure, it might have been entirely this stallion’s fault, but who were the King, Godiva, and Marcus going to blame?

“Sir, if you don’t stop with that question, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave!” Every pony in the room stopped their chattering to Cheerilee’s authoritative tone, the kind that can be developed only with years of dedication as a teacher. Even the annoying stallion flinched.

“Ok, fine. I’ll drop the question. But, answer me this then: Why do you wear that mask?”

All of the ponies in the room suddenly leaned closer to Hauteclaire, their gazes fueled with a burning curiosity as to the purpose of the golden mask that covered a third of Hauteclaire’s face.

Hauteclaire balled up his fists behind his back and ground his teeth together before taking a deep breath and answering, “I wear it because I like it.”

The unicorn shook his head and made a tsk-tsk noise. “That’s not a good answer. You’re covering most of your face! You can’t possibly see through that thing, can you? There has to be something more. Was it a gift from a long-departed lover? Does it mean so much to you that you must have it on all the time?”

The ponies leaned in even closer to Hauteclaire, whispering to each other their own theories about Hauteclaire’s mask.

“I wear it because I like it,” said Hauteclaire through clenched teeth.

The pony shook his head. “Why, is it even really gold? For all we know, it’s just a bunch of dirt. You have shown us that you can manipulate dirt and can make copies of yourself using dirt. Why, what if you yourself were nothing but a pile of filthy, filthy dirt?”

“Sir! You are being very rude! I’m sorry, but you must leave now!” Cheerilee said, not trying to hide her anger. The ponies close to the rude unicorn did their best to distance themselves from him, giving Hauteclaire a clear look at his cutie mark - A tornado. Hauteclaire burned it into his memory. When I next see you, you’re a dead pony.

The unicorn wiggled his head. “Oh, I’ll leave once he answers my question. Why do you wear that mask? You’re hiding something, aren’t you? Hiding some imperfection? Is it something you’re ashamed of? Or are you just ugly?”

“SIR! LEAVE IMMEDIATELY!”

“You want to know? FINE. Take a good look!” Hauteclaire reached up and ripped off the mask.

Covered in sweat and blood, Hauteclaire raced up the spiral staircase to the tower. The stairs were made for humans at least two feet taller than he was, so each step required extra strength for him to climb, and he tripped on them at least once in his frantic flight. He reached the top and rammed himself into the door to the top room. It gave way under his weight, as it wasn’t bolted, and he tumbled into the watchout room.

As he stumbled to get back on his feet, the metal footsteps of his pursuer grew louder and closer. He slammed the door shut, reached up and fastened the bolts. This wouldn’t keep him safe for long, but it would buy him time to find a way out.

Looking around the room, he saw no good hiding places. There were a few arched windows, a wooden table with a book on it, three wooden chairs, a simple bed, a pile of dry hay, and a ladder leading up to the roof of the tower. Nothing else was present in this dull, grey room that was tinted red by the raging fires outside. Hauteclaire took a quick breather to get his wits about himself. What could he do? What should he do?

The cracking of the wooden door behind him shook his concentration and urged him to make a decision. He ran for the ladder. He was able to close the trapdoor to the roof behind him just before the door splintered and his pursuer made its way into the room.

Hauteclaire was stranded. There was no way down from here, on top of the tallest tower. Below him, he could hear the smashing of wood as the monster below tore the room apart looking for him. He knew it would only be a matter of seconds before it ran out of hiding places to smash and came looking up here. Whatever few seconds Hauteclaire had left, he’d need to make them count.

Taking a deep breath of smoke-filled air, Hauteclaire rubbed his aching sides and coughed violently. He would have to come up with some strategy, as he had used up just about all of his magic defending himself from the demons and monsters that had invaded.

Hauteclaire trudged over to the battlements and looked below. Much of the castle was on fire. The front doors were blasted open, littered with the corpses of rats, mice, men, crows, and other beings that Hauteclaire had never seen before. Flashing lights and explosions came from inside the great hall as the Mouse King, the Shield Bearer, and the Rat King duked it out.

Ahead of him was the chapel, the safe haven for the humans was on fire. There was a hole in the roof, and the door was smashed in. No screams of women, children, and the elderly came through the broken stained glass windows. He prayed their god had granted them a quick death.

A large behemoth covered in black, mangy fur soaked in blood and ash was impaled and crushed under the steel castle gates, and a large, bloody rodent was dragging himself away from the body. Hauteclaire tried to make out the figure, but then the being fell down face-first and didn’t get up.

Looking up further, Hauteclaire studied the land outside the castle walls. The town below was on fire. Further past the town was where the land ended. The castle and the town were both suspended high in the sky, a defensive maneuver by the King, hoping to give everyone more time to prepare for the coming onslaught. Past the edge of the floating grounds, not too far away, was another army waiting for its turn to demolish what was left over after the Rat King’s invasion.

There was no way Hauteclaire was getting out of this. He probably should have done what Philippides had done and ran away, but now it was too late. There was no escaping this.

Hauteclaire looked up to the sky. Even the heavens seemed blocked off by all the black smoke from the fires of Hell below.

Why did Hauteclaire have to end up in a situation like this? It was because he was caught in a middle of a game of kings. The Mouse King had a great source of power, the Rat King wanted it, the king across the sea whose relative was a relative of the duke was furious...

A powerful hissing sound came from behind Hauteclaire. He turned around to see a yellow cloud slowly phase through the stone floor beneath him. As it passed through, it began to reform into a humanesque creature. Taller than any normal human; yellow, sickly, scaly skin; long, black nails on its fingers that dripped with venom; gangly arms and legs; a weedy torso; an elongated head with no nose or ears; a flicking, forked tongue. This demi-human, the perverted product of one of the many self-proclaimed gods and goddesses that had come to lay siege on the Mouse King’s castle, was one of many like it that came with the second siege of the Rat King.

The spawn of Hell bared its long fangs and rushed at Hauteclaire. He quickly dove out of the way, but the creature turned and leapt upon him. Reaching in his belt, Hauteclaire drew his dagger and thrust up at the creature, impaling the creature in the neck as it came down. It struggled and thrashed about briefly before succumbing to its wounds and falling limp on top of Hauteclaire. He pushed it off and withdrew his dagger from the corpse.

Resting against one of the battlements, Hauteclaire shook some of the blood off his dagger. Some of it had spattered his cotehardie, but he had stopped caring long ago. He almost lost his grip on the dagger. Looking down, he saw his hands were shaking; the dagger shivered in his cold hands and slipped through his icy fingers. He slid down against the battlement, and his rump hit the ground with a thud.

He closed his eyes.

Why was he here? He had never done anything wrong. He hadn’t even killed before the Rat King showed up.

The sound of the trapdoor splintering echoed in his ears.

Sure, he was a bit of a jerk at times. He may have been more than a bit mean to Philippides. Sure, he was annoying and a whiner, but he didn’t deserve to be picked on.

Metal clanking on wood, the pursuer was climbing up the ladder.

Hauteclaire wanted to be loved. He wanted to be great. Ever since he’d had this life thrusted upon him, he had done nothing but deal with the stress of expectations. The King kept going on about all the great things great people had done. Every day, even before he’d seized had this castle, ever since Hauteclaire had met the King, he would dive into that brain of his and pull out amazing stories about great leaders and the great expectations that were laid upon them by their people. Hauteclaire envied that about the King so much, his fortitude and integrity. The King could handle being under pressure, in his own bizarre way, sure, but Hauteclaire felt he could not. The King would get up, no matter how much he had been knocked down. Hauteclaire… he was afraid to fall, because he was never sure if he would be able to get back up.

“I’ve finally found you, bard.”

Hauteclaire opened his eyes. Climbing out of the trap door some twenty feet away from him was the familiar form of his pursuer - The Executioner.

“I say, for a little guy, you can sure run fast. Let’s see how fast you run with your head chopped off!” She lifted the battle axe over her head and swung. Hauteclaire rolled to the side as the axe smashed where he had just been. Looking back at the Executioner, he saw that the axe had grown in length, but she was still able to swing it about with ease, even with the black armor she wore.

“You won’t escape from me this time. There is no Black Knight or your little friend here to save you now!” She swung the axe again, and Hauteclaire rolled out of the way. The axe crashed into the floor right next to him, clanging loudly in his ears. Several more slow swings came at Hauteclaire, but he evaded each one. Hauteclaire wasn’t sure if he was lucky or if she was playing with him.

The Executioner pointed and laughed at Hauteclaire. “The way you roll, you look like a dog on fire!” The axe shortened in her grip and she continued to guffaw and wheeze as she closed in on Hauteclaire. Hauteclaire saw the trap door was gone; if he could jump into it, he might be able to escape this lunatic after all! Maybe he might even be able to set up an ambush. He got up and made a mad dash for his escape, but the axe cut off any hope of escape.

“Uh-uh-uh. I’m not letting you get away that easily.” She ran towards the door and swung her axe at Hauteclaire, keeping him away. Once she was standing over the door, she held her growing axe over her head, looked at the dead snake demon, and sunk her axe into its flesh. The axe shrank and dragged the body over to her. She stuffed the body into the trap door, all the while disturbing Hauteclaire with her wicked hackling. She was enjoying this far more than the usual psychopath would. She went an extra step further and chopped off one of the hands and rubbed the axe blade underneath the toxic black nails before throwing the severed limb over the edge. “I’m going to make you suffer.”

Hauteclaire took a deep breath. If this was where he had to end, he would go out with his head held high. “I shall take you with me,” he calmly declared.

Howling with laughter, the Executioner could barely stand straight. “Oh, you are so worth my time! I’ll remember this for the rest of my days!” She lifted up her axe and swung. Doing his best to get close to the large rat, Hauteclaire weaved and bobbed as fast as his shaky legs and adrenaline would allow him.

When he got close, he slashed his dagger at her, missing intentionally. The Executioner, too excited to be fighting than to bother about anything else, backed up and took another swing at Hauteclaire. Hauteclaire was able to keep up the slashing and dodging until he had her right where he wanted her, right against the battlements and the edge of a long fall down. Now was the time to strike! Hauteclaire jabbed his knife at the Executioner’s legs. He got her right above the knee, but before he could push her, she smacked him with a metal gloved hand and knocked him down. She shoved the bottom end of the axe handle into his shoulder and pushed. The handle extended and dragged Hauteclaire across the stone floor until his head hit the battlement on the other side of the roof. Hauteclaire fumbled about as he tried to get to his feet again.

“YOU LITTLE BASTARD! You will pay for what you have done!” The Executioner raised her axe and swung it straight down.

Hauteclaire didn’t have time to avoid it.

The blade of the axe tore through the left side of his face with little resistance. For a moment, he didn’t feel a thing, as if her strike missed, but a sudden rush of searing pain and the feeling of blood flowing out of his head and over his mouth proved he was done for. Hauteclaire lost his balance and the strength to stand. His vision turned red, and his head light; Hauteclaire could barely stand. It must have been the last of the magic in the fragment that was keeping him alive. He could feel the warmth of the fragment slowly die within him, as he would soon too.

Forcing himself to stand, he got up once more, ignoring his body’s protests, and stared in the direction of the Executioner with his one good eye. She was readying up for her final swing. Hauteclaire threw his dagger at the Executioner. The blade didn’t hit its target, but it did what it needed to do--it distracted her for a second and interrupted her swing, long enough for Hauteclaire to summon the last of his strength and bolt towards the Executioner.

The poison in the wound burned, his legs felt as as if they were made of pudding, and his hands could barely make a fist. All of these sensations began to fade as Hauteclaire closed in on his tormentor.

She had just turned her head back to her prey, only to see the cornered mouse lunge at her. Slamming into her, they both toppled over the edge and fell towards the ground below.

Hauteclaire never felt the ground.

“OH GODDESSES! How is he still alive?!”

“EWWWWWW!”

“I can see the bone!”

“He’s a zombie, I tell you! A zombie!”

“You can see inside his head!”

“Oh, sick! Is that his eye just hanging there?”

Hauteclaire stood still, his good eye focused on the unicorn.

“Are you happy now?”

The unicorn watched the chaotic reactions of the disgusted adults and the screaming foals with a huge grin. “Quite.” He vanished in a flash of light.

Taking a deep breath, Hauteclaire looked at his mask, then past his mask to a terrified, crying, red-headed filly. “Oh! Oh lord! I’m terribly sorry!” He put his mask back on and knelt down to try to comfort the terrified Twist, but she wiggled out of her desk and ran away. Hauteclaire turned to Cheerilee; in his 700 years of afterlife, he had never had to deal with anything like this before. The look on her face was a hard one to receive.

“Hauteclaire, I’m afraid you should go now.”