A Game of Kings and Pretty Pony Princesses

by Lost_Marbles

Rating: teen
Tags: Main 6, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Original Character, Spike, Adventure
Length: 140749

When Twilight tells the Mouse King to "make himself at home in Equestria," she had no idea how literally he would accept her offer. In fact, he made a game out of it.

From far-off lands, the Mouse King and his knights infest the Everfree Forest and terrorize Ponyville. Twilight and company try to deal with them peacefully, and they don’t seem to be evil, even though they fight, steal, curse, and have no respect for public property.

They also keep whispering about “a game." Could this game spell trouble for the ponies?
Follow Hauteclaire, the Mouse King's bard and punching bag, as he puts up with his bizarre, sadistic, and diminutive King; Porthos, a drunk the size of a carriage; Marcus, his know-it-all and hack poet brother; Godiva, a violent pony-fanatic; and Knebryter, a pony head on a stick. Not to mention the nosy ponies, friendship, bad jokes, decapitation and pretty much everything else that pisses him off.

Mystery, Action, and "What in Equestria" moments await.

Story and art by Lost Marbles

Edited by the amazing AlicornPriest

Pre-readers:
QuillpenTheStoryteller
I'm looking for more pre-readers! PM me if you're interested.

Special thanks goes to:
YOU, the reader, for taking the time to read, comment, critique, and (I hope) enjoy my work. I'm always happy to hear what you think.
Daemon of Decay for proof-reading.
Abcron for editing and proof-reading.
TheWraithWriter for pre-reading
Ravencrofte for his advice/inspiration.
enti0 for their review
HapHazred for their review
The Dapper Guy for their review
Winter_Solstice for their review.
TheBandBrony for looking at the story.
Pusspuss for art advice.
The prereaders at Equestria Daily

Published 2014-12-23 05:10:06 UTC
Last updated 2016-04-05 01:10:35 UTC

Ch. 1 - A King, a Knight, and a Bard Walk Into Ponyville (Rewrite)

Author's Note

This is a rewrite of the original prologue and the original chapter one to address several criticisms that my early attempts of writing received.

If you read the original, you aren't missing anything in the rewrite except for a bit of foreshadowing.

Ch. 1 - A King, a Knight, and a Bard Walk Into Ponyville (Rewrite)

“Look at them go, Hauteclaire! Ha-haha~! That never gets old!”

“I’d be able to see them better if you’d reattach my head already.”

The short, plump, grey-furred monarch stopped his celebrations and turned his head away from the scenery on the other side of a round, broken window and smiled at the head he had placed on the floor next to him. The white, furry bowling ball with two large, saucer-shaped ears and a long, upcurved nose frowned back up at his diminutive king.

“Well, I’d hold your head up so you could see, but you’ve got a fat head, Hauteclaire! My arms’ll get tired,” said the Mouse King.

Hauteclaire rolled his one good pink eye and sighed. “You know… you could at least use your magic to teleport my body here. Then I could fix myself up.”

“Yeah, but then I’d miss watching these pegasuses run away!”

“It’s pegasi, Your Majesty, and they’re already gone.” Hauteclaire looked out of the corner of his eye at the mess of scattered suits of armor and the broken alicorn statue. The stone floor of the dark, arched-windowed hall they were in was scratched up from metal and stone hooves. The large alicorn statue, which had originally stood intact in front of the window, had been broken in half, broken off at the top of its hind legs. It had been used as a puppet to scare away the intruders, just like the many suits of armor. Its hind legs still stood tall in front of the window two pegasi broke through. “And seeing as how much of a show you put on with your magic scaring the ghost out of them, I doubt they’ll be coming back any time soon.”

The Mouse King put his hands on his fat hips and laughed. His round belly jiggled, and the fire-red rubies embedded in his stomach flared in the sunlight that came through the window. “Ha! They weren’t the first pegasi to come snooping along, and they certainly won’t be the last.”

Hauteclaire sighed. “Fine, whatever. Can you reattach my head now?”

The King tapped the small chin under his long, upturned nose and “hmmm”ed. “Welllllll.... No.”

“Oh, come on! Why not!?”

“You were careless, Haut. You let one of those pegasuses kick your head clean off! You should know better than to walk behind a spooked pegasus. I think that was the shortest life you’ve ever had in the game. You didn’t even last a day! Gotta punish you somehow.”

“It’s pegasi! And you were the one messing with the castle layout after you sent me to look for Marcus after he disappeared. You probably lined the pegasus up and made him kick my head off on purpose.”

The King scrunched up his large, triangular eyebrows underneath the small, chipped, golden colored crown. He reached up and grabbed it by the cheap red fabric that had been nailed into it on the inside, lifted it off his head and scratched the spot where it rested between his two large, round ears. “Gee, Haut, that’s quite the accusation. You know, most kings would execute anyone who claimed such things of their monarch. Usually by--” the King snorted “--beheading.”

Hauteclaire rolled his eye and groaned. Here we go.

“But I got to say, Haut, you’re ahead of me on that one!”

“That’s it, then? Are you done?”

Placing his foot on top of Hauteclaire’s head, the King bent down and looked him in the eye. He smiled wide from eye to eye. “Why, no, Haut. You could say that I’m--” With a push, Hauteclaire’s head was sent rolling on the stone floor-- “on a roll!”

The dismembered head rolled on the ground until it clanged against a suit of armor. Hauteclaire’s right eye kept spinning. This couldn’t get worse.

The King grabbed his belly and laughed. “Oh-ho-ho man, this reminds me of the time you pissed off Porthos and he flicked your head off your shoulders like a mosquito!”

A deep, rumbly voice answered from the dark hall. “Is somebody talking about me?”

Hauteclaire squeezed his eye shut and sighed. Fantastic. He’s back.

“Oh, what’s this, then?”

Large, dark grey sausages wrapped around Hauteclaire’s head and lifted it high up off the ground before turning him to be face to face with the most repugnant, unpleasant, and boorish member of the Mouse King’s court. Those large, unkempt eyebrows; the long, fat nose that sagged under its own weight; the dirty, scruffy hair that made his fat neck look fatter; those piggy eyes of his. It was a face only a mother could tolerate.

“What happened to you, Haut?” The big galoot chuckled, and those tiny ears of his flopped, as well as the long purple feather on top of his red and indigo striped skull cap and the flab on his cheeks and neck. “Has the King been playing any head games with you? Har-har-har!”

“Haha! That’s a good one, Porthos!”

Hauteclaire glared at Porthos. “Haha, yeah, you’re a real cut-up, aren’t you?”

Porthos let out a large belly laugh, and waves of repulsive rat breath pounded on Hauteclaire’s face. With his free hand, Porthos reached down under his brown belt and pulled up his indigo gambeson and blood red tabard, revealing many large scars that spread across his barrel of a chest and balloon of a belly. A few indigo gems embedded in his body reflected some sunlight directly into Hauteclaire’s eye, and he flinched, not that he wouldn’t have without the extra incentive. “You’ve got that right. Thank the heavens I’m thick-skinned.”

And thick-headed.

Movement at the edge of his sight caught Hauteclaire’s attention. There, next to two buckets full of apples, was a headless body dressed in a blue herigaut and a sky blue cotehardie with golden buttons and dark golden pants patting around on the ground, looking for its lost head. It was Hauteclaire’s body, moving around on its own, revived by the King’s magic.

Putting on as genuine a smile as he could muster without twitching, Hauteclaire looked back up at the giant rat. “Porthos, my dear lad, could you please return my head to my shoulders?”

The fat rat looked back at the body and then back to Hauteclaire with a smile. “Think you can catch?”

Hauteclaire opened his eye wide. “Porthos, no-”

Before he could finish, Porthos lobbed Hauteclaire’s head over to his body. It bounced off a shoulder and landed in one of the buckets.

“Damn it, Porthos!”

The halls echoed with the the goon’s guffaws and the King’s cackling. Hauteclaire could only grind his teeth as he watched his headless body guide its way over to him. Hands extended, the body felt around the contents of the bucket until it grabbed Hauteclaire by the nose. Found at last, the body lifted the head up from the hard contents of the bucket and back onto familiar shoulders.

With his head held in place with one hand, Hauteclaire rubbed his neck with the other, the flesh healing at his touch. Once he felt whole again, a few short turns of the head confirmed that he wouldn’t have to worry about his head falling or slipping off and dangling later on. Looking back at the two chuckleheads, Hauteclaire took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

Hauteclaire inspected the buckets that Porthos had brought in with him. “Well, Porthos, you’ve been gone for more than an hour and you brought only…” He ran his hand over a few apples before picking one up at random. “...two buckets of apples. Now, with the barbaric strength in those anacondas you call arms…” He picked up another apple and inspected it. He gave a quick polish on his cotehardie. “...I would have expected at least double this amount in half the time. Shouldn’t scaring peasants into handing things over be your specialty?”

Porthos stopped his laughing and sneered while pointing one of his sausage fingers at the belittling bard. “Oh, don’t be getting all high-and-mighty with me.”

Hauteclaire grinned. “What’s the matter, Porthos? Run into a bit of trouble at the apple orchard, did we? Could something out there have caused our mighty Porthos to yield in getting the King’s apples for his apple pies? Even if temporarily? We’re so famished, and the King hasn’t had Marcus’ apple pies for a very long time.”

The King stopped laughing and turned an open-eyed stare when he heard those stressed words before he rubbed his belly. “Hey, yeah. Messing with space and gravity has really made me hungry! Darn it all, Porthos! What took you so long?”

Hauteclaire bit into an apple and watched as the tides turned.

“Uh, sir, I ran into a pack of wooden doggies. Made of sticks and twigs they were! Bit me on the bum, so I gave them a good swat, and they stopped bothering me.”

The King stroked his chin. “Hmmm. Godiva never mentioned wooden wolves after her first run. Oh well. No biggie. We just started, anyway.”

Hauteclaire could feel the pinch in his cheeks. “So these wooden wolves, were they at the orchard, the one that is only a fifteen-minute stroll away, or did you meet them in the woods? Either way, those mossy mutts couldn’t have couldn’t have possibly held you up for so long, Porthos. What else was there?”

Before Porthos could open his mouth to respond, the King grabbed his tabard and pulled down. His magically-enhanced strength brought the giant mountain of a rat to his knees.

“Yeah, Porthos, I’ve been hungry. You didn’t run into any trouble, did you?”

Sweat collected on Porthos’ brow. “Sir, Your Majesty, I may have, uh…” Porthos’ eyes darted about. “...that is to say, I may have bumped into a someone on the way.”

Hauteclaire could smell fear on Porthos, and he didn’t stink of it often. Oh, he stunk of booze all the time, but fear was something Porthos didn’t apply often. Like soap. Hauteclaire forced his growing smile down to a smirk. He was going to give this rat a scrub down. “Porthos, when you bump into something, it usually breaks.”

Porthos jerked up, but whatever insult he’d had was knocked out of him when the King pulled him down to the ground with a thud. He pulled Porthos’ big face up to his, so close that his nose was bent up against the King’s chest. “You were seen?!”

“Sir! T’weren’t a person, but a pony! A pony charged me when I was collecting apples.”

Hauteclaire held the apple to his mouth as he snickered.

After hearing the news, the King loosened his grip on Porthos’ tabard. “Oh, well, if you were seen just by an animal, then that’s no big deal.”

Hauteclaire stopped his snickering, if only momentarily, as thoughts of armored, screaming pegasi danced in his head. And equine armor and statues. A whole castle of them, in fact.

Wait… Could it be possible that…?

Porthos got up and wiped the dirt of his wine-stained tabard.

“So…” the King said as he crossed his arms. “Tell me, did a little pony just charge you out of the blue? That’s why you didn’t bring so many apples and took so long?”

Porthos looked over at Hauteclaire before looking back down to the King. “Can I tell you later?” he whispered.

The King shook his head.

Porthos sighed and dropped his shoulders. “Well, you see, I was collecting apples and this pony with a harness comes up to me and starts making noises at me. I shoo it away, but it wouldn’t leave me alone. The little guy was persistent, so I flipped him on his back to scare him away.”

Hauteclaire smiled as he ate up all that Porthos was confessing.

Porthos bit his bottom lip. “Well, I grab a few more buckets of apples and I turn back for the castle. Then the little fella charged me in the back of my legs. I lost my balance and I… fell.”

The King lifted an eyebrow. “You fell?”

Porthos nodded. Both Hauteclaire and the King stood in place, watching Porthos as his eyes searched the ground for the story he had just dropped. After a bit of searching, he swallowed. “And I may have injured it.”

Globs of pre-chewed apple spewed from Hauteclaire’s mouth as he exploded into laughter. It mattered not that Porthos was glaring at him.

“Hahaha! You crushed Godiva’s favorite animal under your own fat ass?! Oh ho ho ho! She’ll murder you when she hears-”

A metal pony helmet clanged off his forehead and knocked him on his backside, where he lay and moaned.

The King was now doubled over, both hands wrapped around his chest as he cackled. “Hahaha! Phew… Okay, so what did you do next, Porthos?”

Porthos stood back up from his post-pitching pose and took a deep breath. “Well, when I got back up, the poor little guy was lying on the ground. The animal cried out when I fell on him and then another one in a hat came charging at me. I wanted to avoid getting caught by anyone else, so I grabbed two buckets and ran.”

The King crossed his arms again and stared at Porthos with half-lidded eyes. “So, if what you said is true, you should have been here early. Not late. You sure nothing else happened?”

“Uhhh… I ran deep into the forest first to make sure I wasn’t being followed?”

The King continued to glare at Porthos, who was fidgeting with his hands. Slowly, the frown on his face turned into a smile. “Don’t lead them back to the castle! Good thinking, Porthos. You’ve kept thinking on your toes.”

Groaning over by the apple buckets drew both their attention to Hauteclaire as he stood up rubbing his head. “Yeah, great thinking Porthos. If you had came straight here, they would have found our hidden fortress flying above the forest. Good job, genius.”

“Hmmph.” Porthos picked up another helmet, tossed it up and caught it in one hand. “Gee, Hauteclaire, you’re such the flatterer.”

The King put his hands on his hips. “Speaking of things being found, Hauteclaire, why haven’t you found your brother yet?”

“You’ve been searching for me, you have?” said a sing-song voice.

“Yoo-hoo! We’re baaaaack!” chirped another voice in response.

Hauteclaire, Porthos, and the King all turned to face the largest entrance to the hall. There stood Marcus and Godiva. Marcus was covered from oversized tricorne hat to grey-furred toe in dirt. The red feather on his hat was frayed, his brown vest was stained with chlorophyll, and his green shirt was smeared with mud. A few sticks were also sticking out of his short sleeves and hat. Despite possibly suffering from the worst whiplash ever, he still had that calm smile on his face. He reached up and adjusted the hat where it rested on the bridge of his nose, covering his eyes. “I’m terribly sorry for any inconvenience, I am. But Godiva and I have been doing some thinking, we have.”

The slightly shorter, armor-clad mouse next to him jumped with excitement. The coned visor at the end of her helmet flapped up and down, flashing the large, bright eyes underneath. Sticks stuck out from between pieces of her black knight armor, and there was some foliage stuck in the four curved horns on the top of her helmet. “Oh, oh, oh, Your Majesty! Please listen to what we have to say!” said Godiva. Her voice came out tinny from inside her helmet.

The King smiled. “You two are back! I hope you brought some great news. Also, Marcus, Porthos brought us some apples. I want you to…”

“Your Majesty, please! We don’t want to play the game any more!” blabbed Godiva. The way Godiva was shaking in her armor, she must have held back a whole second before speaking.

Marcus facepalmed, Hauteclaire and Porthos both froze and stared at the King; he just stared, his eyes bugged wide and his jaw hung loose, but only for a moment. His composure recaptured, he laughed. “Hahaha, whew. You really got me with that one, Godiva. For a second, I thought you were being serious.”

Marcus opened his mouth to speak, but Godiva beat him to it. “Oh, but your Majesty, I am. We should all take a vacation.”

Porthos backed away from the King without taking his eyes off of him.

The King sucked in a huge lungful of air and let it out slowly. “Godiva, this isn’t funny anymore. Do you even remember why we play the game, hmmm? It’s not just some silly job we can take a vacation from. No. It’s something we must do if we are EVER to go back.” The King crossed his arms and stared down his black knight, whose faltering resolve was as visible as her posture. “The answer is no. Now, what do you have to say?”

The armor-clad mouse took a step back from the King, and she brought her hands up to her chest. She twiddled her fingers and looked at the ground. Marcus stepped forward and in front of her. “My King, if I may have a word, if I may?”

The King turned his attention to Marcus.

The ever-prominent smile on his face didn’t falter. “My King, Godiva and I have been doing some thinking, and we have a proposition for you, we have.”

The King rolled his shoulders and puffed out his chest. In response, Marcus turned both hands up so that his palms faced up and towards the King. Even his knees bent slightly as Marcus tried to get on the King’s “level.”

“My King, we have been playing the game ever since we have regained conscious thought, we have. It has been so long. We believe it might be time to take a little time to enjoy ourselves; the world we have arrived in would serve us better for leisure, it would.”

The King cocked one of his thick, triangular eyebrows. “It ‘would serve us better for leisure?’ What do you mean by this, Marcus?”

Marcus took a step back and gave Godiva a light push on the back of her shoulder. “Godiva, please repeat what you told me earlier, please do.”

Godiva looked up through her visor. Her back straightened slightly as she spoke quickly. “Well, you see, Your Majesty. This world is inhabited by ponies! They are so small and so cute. They would be terrible at the game! We wouldn’t learn anything from them, and it would be a waste of time! Also, they’re-”

“A WASTE OF TIME!?”

The King’s voice stopped her rambling; the sudden fear Hauteclaire felt persisted long after the echoes ceased. Marcus threw himself in front of Godiva and tried to backpedal, but the King wouldn’t listen. Even the giant rat five times the size of the King took a few more steps away from the fuming monarch.

“Did you just call ‘the Game’ a ‘waste of time?’ Do you not remember what happened to us? What became of our dearest friends and loved ones? We are all that’s left, my ‘Little Miss Too Late.’ If you don’t realize how lucky you are to be standing here right now, you must not remember-”

Godiva shoved Marcus out of the way. “But I do remember, Your Majesty! I remember! The castle! The town! My stable! Philippides! Gregor! Aquinas! I remember-”

The King stomped forth and pushed his face against Godiva’s helmet. He reached out, lifted the visor and shoved his face into hers.

“Don’t you dare say that you remember him! You don’t even remember why you’re called-”

Marcus stuck a hand in between the two screaming mice and pushed them away from each other. The ever present smile on his face vanished as the King glared up at him.

“My King! Please listen-”

“I will have none of it!” the King hollered. “You have obviously let these ponies make you soft. Just like Hauteclaire.”

At that moment, Hauteclaire wished he was dead. The King held up an open hand in Hauteclaire’s direction, and an invisible force ripped Hauteclaire’s head clean from his shoulders. The body fell limp on the ground and his head soared into the King’s hand. He wasn’t able to focus much as the King shoved Hauteclaire’s face into Marcus’ and Godiva’s.

“If we don’t continue to sharpen our skills, you’ll end up weak. Just. Like. Hauteclaire. You think these ponies would be terrible opponents? A pony kicked Hauteclaire’s head off like a football only moments ago. If these ‘small and cute’ ponies still pose a threat to us, then we have much further to go if we are to even stand a chance of reclaiming our home!”

“My King! Please-” Marcus begged before Godiva shoved him aside.

“I don’t remember!? I remember how happy you were! You worked so hard for everyone! You were so happy. We all were. How do you think Aquinas would feel about you now, huh? Bullying poor Hauteclaire like that!”

The grip on the hair between Hauteclaire’s ears loosened, and his head fell to the ground. Before he could recover his wits from the fall, a new pair of cold, metallic hands snatched him from the ground. He found himself now looking up at Godiva and Marcus, both looking back down on him.

“It’s okay, Hauteclaire.”

“Are you alright, brother?”

“Hmph. I didn’t need your help.”

Godiva looked back to the King, and she turned Hauteclaire’s head around so he was now eye to eye with the King as well. His shoulders rose with every breath he took. His clenched fists shook at his sides. He raised one and extended a single finger. “Don’t you dare talk about him like that.”

An incredibly urge to flee tickled in the back of Hauteclaire’s brain, but the one holding on to his head took a step forward, bringing him closer to the cause of that tingle and only made it worse. “No, Your Majesty. He was your friend. And we are, too. He would not have liked it if he saw you picking on poor Hauteclaire like that.”

I’m right here, you know.

The King raised both fists over his head and opened his mouth wide, but something behind and above Hauteclaire caught his attention. “And what are you doing, Porthos!?”

Hauteclaire’s head swung around, and his nose smacked onto something hard and furry. It was a bit straining, but Hauteclaire could just roll his eye up enough to see that Porthos was standing right behind Godiva and had put a hand on both hers and Marcus’ shoulders.

“Sir,” he said very quietly and slowly. “You have done so much for us, and we can’t appreciate you enough for it, but I’m with Godiva and Marcus on this one. I’m tired of all the smashing and the like.”

“You too?…” the King huffed. “Have you all gone soft?”

A sudden tug on Hauteclaire’s nose ripped him from Godiva’s grasp. He found himself eye to eye with the furious king. Their noses were side by side, and if Hauteclaire had had a right eye, the King’s nose would have poked it out. “And what do you think, Hauteclaire?”

He bit his bottom lip. “Um… well…” Hauteclaire tried to look at anything else but the King to escape his demanding gaze, but his eye couldn’t roll far enough in any direction. “You see…”

His older brother spoke out. “My King, don’t pressure Hauteclaire, please don’t.”

“Yeah! Stop bullying Hauteclaire!” said Godiva.

If any blood ran through Hauteclaire’s veins, his mouth would’ve been full with it. The force he bit the inside of his cheek with after he heard his brother’s and Godiva’s voices was enough to rip the tissue. He squeezed his eyes shut and forced a lump down what was left of his throat. He opened his eyes and faced the King. “I… I believe, Your Majesty, that we can make do with practice…”

The King scowled and shook his head. “Et tu, Hauteclaire?”

Metal hands grabbed Hauteclaire by the ears and tugged his head free from the King’s grip with little resistance. Godiva took him back to his body and stuck his head back on his shoulders. Forced to look up, he saw both Godiva and Marcus look down on them. The cheerful expressions that they usually had were gone, replaced with ones of pity. Godiva’s eyes were teary, and Marcus was biting his bottom lip.

“You okay, Haut-sauce?”

“Easy now, brother.”

Hauteclaire felt the urge to spit in their faces. His head reattached and his body responding again to his command, he pushed them away and stood up. He dusted off his shoulders and turned around. The King had fallen onto his rump, and his head was in his hands.

“So, that’s it then? You’re tired of me being your king? Are you going to vote me out just like that?”

Too quickly, Godiva and Porthos jumped to his side. Godiva jumped down and hugged her monarch, but he didn’t return it. Porthos kept a short distance between the two, but had a hand out ready to snatch Godiva away at a moment’s notice.

“No, Kingy, we’re not going to vote you out just like that,” cooed Godiva.

The moping monarch pushed away Godiva, got up and turned his back to the court. “Then what? The game is all I have left. We can’t go home until we’re ready! What happens if we went back and weren’t prepared? Our friends, our family. They all would have died. For nothing!” At the last word, his fist ignited into a fireball. He threw it at the far wall, and it exploded upon impact, leaving a large, black-singed circle on the stone. Whatever demons he had tried to obliterate persevered as they perched on his shoulders and head, weighing them down.

“Sir,” whispered the giant Porthos. “Please don’t think so lowly of us. We respect you and your decisions. Without you, we’d be nothing. Dead. Gone and forgotten. We’ll remain sharp! We promise.”

Marcus walked up behind the King and placed a hand on the King’s right shoulder. “My King, we won’t vote you out just like that, we won’t. We just feel you’ve been running yourself and us ragged, we do.”

The King let out a long sigh and kept his back to everyone. “You promise you won’t get soft?”

“Yes, my King.”

“You bet, Your Majesty!”

“Yes, Sir.”

Hauteclaire grunted in agreement.

The King scratched behind one of his ears and pulled at the fur on the back of his head as he studied the ground at his feet. Then the roof. He turned around and faced his court. “Godiva, you said that they were ‘pushovers?’”

She nodded. “Yup. Knebryter and I totally won over that town with a few swings of a mace and just a few crocodile tears!” She patted the wooden hobby horse that hung from her side opposite her large, steel-grey mace.

The King chewed on his lip and looked to his left before looking back at Godiva from the corner of his eyes. “How advanced are these ponies?”

“They’re pretty medieval-ish. The worst they got is some armor and basic magic.”

A lump formed under the King’s lips as he rubbed his tongue around his teeth in thought. “So… we’re in a world inhabited by medieval ponies and other mythical creatures. And they would make poor opponents for the game...”

Godiva smiled and nodded again. “Yes, yes, yes!”

The King crossed his arms and looked back down at the floor. When he turned his face back up, he was smiling. “Okay. You can have your vacation.”

Godiva jumped and cheered. Hauteclaire, Marcus, and Porthos all let out a collective sigh.

“Thank you, Sir,” said Porthos.

“My King, it is great that-”

“But!” shouted the king and raised his hand. “You must practice every day and keep sharp. If you don’t keep this promise, the vacation is off. Got it?”

“Yes, Your Majesty!”

“Yes, My King.”

“Yes, Sir!”

Hauteclaire forced a “Yes, Your Majesty” out as well. Even though Hauteclaire thought he should be feeling happy that he and the rest of the court were finally relieved of that accursed game, this really couldn’t be happening. Could it? The King had been talked out of the one thing he lived for, and it was because Godiva found a bunch of ponies. Thoughts continued to race through his mind, but he pushed them all away and decided to let himself enjoy the moment.

“Well then,” the King said while rubbing his hands together. “We are going to have to learn how to speak Pony. Shall we ‘find’ a volunteer?”

Porthos pointed over his shoulder with a thumb. “There’s a bunch of books in a room somewhere in this castle. Why don’t we use those?”

Hauteclaire shook his head. “Those books must be ancient. We don’t want to sound like a bunch of antiquated loons.”

Porthos smirked. “Speaking like one may make you tolerable.”

Hauteclaire crossed his arms and rolled his eye. “Oh, haha, Porthos.”

“My King,” said Marcus. “There were some pegasi here before Godiva took me away, there were. You didn’t learn their language from them?”

The King smiled and pointed at Hauteclaire. “Well, I would have, but Hauteclaire ‘scared the ghost’ out of them.”

“Now hold on a-”

Godiva smashed Hauteclaire on the head with her mace. “Hauteclaire! How could you!? They’re just ponies!”

Hauteclaire grabbed his aching cranium. “Wait a minute, Godiva!”

Porthos put a hand to his chest and spoke in a tone hammed up with artificial sympathy. “Oh, it is true. Saw it with my own eyes. Sent the pegasuses running to their mums, he did.”

“Oh shut up, you lying piece of-”

Godiva smashed Hauteclaire on the head again.

“Damn it, Godiva, stop hitting me!”

Godiva pointed her mace at Hauteclaire. “Game or no game, I won’t let you scare defenseless ponies.”

“Didn’t you just claim that you took over a whole town of ponies, you hypocritical ditz!?”

Godiva retorted with her mace.

When Hauteclaire opened his eyes, he found himself staring up at the ceiling and Marcus smiling back down at him. “You did ask for that one, Brother, you did.”

Marcus extended a hand, but Hauteclaire slapped it away. Hauteclaire got up on his own and dusted himself off. No amount of dusting would brush off the cringes the King’s laughter gave him.

The King straightened his posture and cleared his throat. “Ahem, well, since we are not playing the game, I say we learn from a local volunteer instead of the usual ‘trap, zap, thankyou sap.’ Godiva, do you have any suggestions?”

“Oh, I know just the pony to help us! She’s super cute and the nicest of the bunch. Here, let me show you what she looks like.” Godiva reached into her armor and pulled out a piece of paper and a box of crayons. She dropped to the floor and doodled.

Hauteclaire rolled his eye. “Godiva wouldn’t it be quicker if you just told us what she-”

“Done!”

“...looks like.”

Porthos, the King, and Marcus all leaned over Godiva’s shoulders. Hauteclaire walked around the gawkers and looked at the drawing. It was a yellow pegasus with a very long pink mane and tail. Matching blue and pink smudges were on its posterior.

“Hey, it’s one of those pegasuses,” said Porthos.

“Pegasi.”

The King looked at Huateclaire and blew a raspberry.

“So, you’re sure this pony will help us, you’re sure?” asked Marcus.

“I’m certain she will! She was super nice and everything.”

The King snatched the paper from the ground and held it above his head. “Alright, Court of the Mouse King, this pony will teach us how to speak equine!”

Hauteclaire raised an eyebrow. “And how is she going to do that?”

The King poked the pony in the drawing. “She is going to lead us to the local library, of course!”

“Do ponies even have libraries? How would they even write a book?”

Godiva put her fists at her sides and leaned forward. “Duh! With their mouths, silly Hauteclaire.”

Hauteclaire threw his hands up in defeat. “Alright, whatever. Let’s just learn equine.”

The King pointed to Marcus. “Alright! Marcus! Porthos brought us some apples. I want a bunch of apple pies ready when I get back. You know how hungry I get when I process that much info!”

Marcus looked at the buckets. “I’m going to need more than just apples to make apple pies, I am.”

The King raised his hands above his head and shouted “Poof!” Pie tins, bags of flour, sugar, spices, and buckets of water appeared around the apples. “There, you have everything you need.”

Porthos scratched his chin. “Hey… you used magic to get everything he needed. Why did you send me out to get the apples when you could have just magicked them up?”

The King smiled. “My dear Porthos, the love and work that goes into making something makes it taste all the more sweeter! Oh, you have guard duty while we’re away.”

Hauteclaire groaned. The King turned around and pointed at him and Godiva.

“Godiva, Hauteclaire. You two are coming with me. We are going into town to find our volunteer.”

Outside the castle, Hauteclaire waited. Godiva had rushed off to get changed and the King was off somewhere. Standing at the edge of the floating castle grounds, Hauteclaire observed the sea of green that continued on forever in three ways. In front of him, the trees ended, and a small farming community began.

So, we are really on vacation, huh? Hauteclaire pulled out his dagger. There’s no way this is going to work. Well, might as well start this disaster off with a good first impression.

Hauteclaire looked at his reflection in the dagger. On the right side of his forehead was a large diamond. It hadn’t been there before he came to this world, nor was this the only diamond he had found. A search earlier this morning found several diamonds and patches of dirt filling in holes in his body. Must be a volcano nearby or something. That’s a big one.

The left side of his face, however, was not replaced with dirt or diamonds. The one blemish on his otherwise perfect face was completely intact, just like it was when he had received it the day of the “exile.”

Hauteclaire sheathed his dagger, kneeled down, and scooped up a handful of dirt. With his hands, he was able to morph the clump of dirt into clay. As he molded it to his liking, it changed into a golden color. Once he had the shape he liked, the material hardened with a thought, and he put on the mask. He pulled out his dagger once more to observe his work.

“A sun? Really? Seriously, Hauteclaire, a storm cloud is more your style. Mr. Gloomy.”

Hauteclaire turned and saw the Mouse King walking out from the castle gate.

“The sun is regal. Majestic. A symbol of power. Being a king yourself, one would think that you of all mice would understand that.”

The King grinned. “And you of all mice should know that I’m a king who plays by his own rules!”

The King raised a hand and tilted his head back. “Oh, but you see, all other kings do what they think kings ought to do. Me? I do what I choose to do.”

Hauteclaire rolled his eye. “Whatever, are you ready or what?”

“Coming!” shouted Godiva within the castle.

The King smiled. “Yup. Look out ponies, here comes the Mouse King!”

“So you’re telling me you had nothing to do with this?” Hauteclaire said, absolutely certain he knew what the real answer was.

“Nope. Not a clue! Maybe they don’t recognize me since I changed out of my armor.”

As soon as they had teleported into the center of town, they were greeted by screaming ponies. Now Hauteclaire had seen a lot of things in his ungodly long life: He’d seen face cream, he’d seen ice cream, but never had he seen ponies scream. It was so weird for him to see and hear something so un-equine come from equines. Even though he’d seen it earlier that morning, he still couldn’t get used to it.

The Mouse King was just smiling and enjoying the show. “It seems my reputation precedes me! Or they have never seen something quite as horrendous as Hauteclaire.”

Godiva’s mace knocked the King’s head to the side but didn’t stop his laughter.

Hauteclaire rubbed his temples as the King and the screaming continued to drill away at his ears and patience. “Now explain to us again, Godiva, exactly HOW you met this yellow pony.”

“Oh yeah! I…” Godiva began her answer but quickly stopped herself. She looked around for a few moments and scratched behind her ear. “...I, uh, smashed into a building full of them and was like--” Godiva swung her mace around and slammed it to the ground-- “‘Yo, yo, yo! I’m the Black Knight of the Mouse King army, and any one of yooz got a problem with that can just suck it--” She thrust her hips and grabbed her crotch, a gesture-threat combination she had learned from Porthos-- “Yooz see dis here mace, here? Well, it would be a shame if I were to, yooz knowz, smash up the town like I did dis door here.’ And then they were like, ‘Oh no! Please don’t do that!’ and the yellow pegasus came up to me and was like, ‘You can have your vacation here! Let’s be friends!’ And I was like ‘Aight. We coolz.’ And that was how I met the yellow pegasus,” Godiva finished with a huge grin flooding her face, obviously proud of the convincing lie she just weaved together.

Funny, Godiva’s presence alone used to have a deadly weight to it that was applied directly to the throats and knees of all those around her. Now, it’s like a kitten’s toe wrapped in sandpaper lightly caressing your eardrums. Funny or not, Hauteclaire could feel a major migraine coming. “That was the stupidest…”

“You really did that, Godiva? Oh, I’m so proud of you!” The Mouse King broke into applause. “I knew you were the toughest of my knights! You are my shining star, baby. Hauteclaire, you could really learn something from this one.”

No amount of magic or aspirin would make this go away. “What makes you think she’s telling the truth, Your Highness?”

“See for yourself,” replied the King smugly as he grabbed Hauteclaire by the chin and turned his head towards a building in the center of the town that had a huge hole in it. “Only my Godiva could cause so much damage.”

“Well, what about those crocodile tears you mentioned earlier, Godiva?” Hauteclaire said. Let’s see her lie her way through that one.

Godiva was taken aback. “I, uh, did I say ‘crocodile tears?’ I meant, uh, ‘crocodile sneers.’ Yeah! Crocodile sneers! You know! I threw off my helmet and went ‘GAAHHRRRRR’!”

“Wonderful! Wonderful!” The King kept on clapping.

Hauteclaire admitted defeat by facepalming. My life is hell. Hauteclaire brought down his hand and saw now that the streets were empty. “Great. Now how are we going to find this pony?”

“You’re too quick to give up, Hauteclaire,” the King said. “You should be more positive, like Godiva and me!”

“Hey! She’s coming this way!” Godiva cheered.

“See, what did I tell you?” the King said as he turned from Hauteclaire and towards the stampede that was heading their way.

A large herd of ponies and unicorns in armor supported by a swarm of armored pegasi came charging at the mice. At the head of the assault was a bouncing ball of cotton candy, a marshmallow and a flying stick of butter. Oh wait, those were ponies too. And from what Hauteclaire could tell from what little he saw of the flying stick of butter as it hid behind the marshmallow and cotton candy, Godiva’s drawing was dead-on, taffy stains and all. Now they just had to catch her. Simple enough.

Hauteclaire turned to Godiva. “I thought you said they wouldn’t chase us.”

Godiva shrugged. “Like I said, they probably don’t recognize me without my armor.”

“But didn’t you take off your…”

“Godiva, I’m so proud of you, I’ll take care of this for you.”

The Mouse King stood in front of Hauteclaire and Godiva and threw his arms open dramatically. He cried out, “All ye who dare challenge the Mouse King must be ready to face the thunder and kneel!” and clapped his hands together. A boom dispersed from his hands in all directions. The pegasi dropped like rocks, those earthbound slid to a halt, and they all fell to one knee. In a single act, the King had effortlessly disabled an entire town’s defenses. Even the ponies that were foolish enough to be within the blast radius had been forced to prostrate themselves to the diminutive monarch. All except for the flying stick of butter.

“Hahaha~. She was right. Just a bunch of pushovers.” The Mouse King put his hands on his hips and admired his work. He turned to Godiva and said, “Well, what are you waiting for? Get her.”

Ch. 10 - Hauteclaire and Lyra, Drinking Pop and Tea, T-A-L-K-I-N-G

Dirt crumbled, flowers flattened, and grass bent under Hauteclaire’s feet as he stomped through one of the many parks in Ponyville. Nothing was safe from his frustration; the poor butterfly that flew too close to Hauteclaire would be having nightmares of the vicious shoo-ing it had received.

Hauteclaire bared his teeth when something dared to impede on his vaguely determined path. Grabbing the unfortunate bench with both hands, he strained to tear the obstacle from its roots. The bench with its bolts in the ground thwarted his plans. Its refusal to move taunted Hauteclaire, giving proof that the world was against him, so much so that even this park bench would impede his path.

Oh, but that was where the bench was wrong. Hauteclaire hadn’t been around for so long because he fought fair. He bent down and used his magic, softening the ground around the bolts. Taking the bench by one of the armrests, he ripped it from the ground, spun it around, and sent the bench flying a whole two feet before it collapsed on the dirt path.

The bench, now on its back, was powerless before Hauteclaire. He straightened his back, threw back his shoulders, and gloated. The bench would no longer impede his journey to his destination. Still not satisfied, he took a step forward and gave it a good kick.

Pain shot up through his foot. “Stupid pain simulation!” screamed Hauteclaire as he limped away from the defeated bench.

Hauteclaire couldn’t do anything right. He couldn’t entertain a bunch of kids without it ending in a mess of tears, fears, and confusion, let alone conquer a park bench and walk away looking somewhat dignified. His eyes began to sting from the frustration as thoughts of all his past disappointments resurfaced. The town’s lackluster response to his play, the Mouse Army’s general lack of interest in the arts and respect for him, his failure to live up to his dream as a renowned bard. Remembering the King’s daily torments also didn’t help him. Why were the fates against him?

Why?

Hauteclaire looked up from his feet to see that he had an audience; if their expressions were any indication, he had been putting on quite a show. His outburst had generated stronger reactions than his play at the welcoming party.

The ponies all kept their distance, except for one. A guard pony stood about a meter away from Hauteclaire, hesitant to getting any closer.

“Is everything alright, sir?”

Why, yes, everything is alright. Can’t you see that I’m in complete control of the situation.

“Um… Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to cool your jets. We don’t need to make a scene here.”

Ah, but a scene has already been made! Can’t you see that my life up until now has been one big tragicomedy, and I’m the butt of it all?

“WAIT!”

A mint green unicorn mare shoved herself in front of Hauteclaire. “Officer, please, he has just been having a stressful time. Let me handle this.”

The guard was taken aback. “You’re with him?”

The mare turned around and looked at Hauteclaire. She was huffing and puffing like she had run a marathon as she searched Hauteclaire’s face for an answer; but Hauteclaire didn’t have one to give other than, Who are you?

The mare snapped her head back towards the guard. “Yes!”

The guard’s stiff face relaxed, having an unwanted burden taken off his back. “Fine, but let’s not have a repeat of this. And I’ll have to fine you for the bench.”

The mare flinched. “Oh-no-no-no-no! You don’t have to do that!” Her horn glowed and so did the bench before it floated softly in the air, was put upright, and set back to its original location. “See? All better,” said the mare as she put on a huge please-don’t-fine-me smile.

Looking back at the bench, then to Hauteclaire, then to the smiling mare, the guard shrugged and walked away. Once he was out of sight, the mare let out a huge sigh and put a hoof up to her chest. She turned around and looked up at Hauteclaire. “That was close! Bonnie would have killed me if I got fined! Are you alright?”

Hauteclaire nodded. He looked about and saw that most of the crowd had left, obviously disappointed that there was going to be no climactic explosion to Hauteclaire’s pent-up frustration before staring at the unicorn out of the corner of his eye. “Who are you, and why did you defend me?”

The unicorn perked up her head and smiled. “I’m Lyra! Lyra Heartstrings! It’s very nice to finally meet you, Hauteclaire!”

At that moment, the bench fell over with a thud. Lyra sprang at the noise and jogged in place as she looked about. “How about we talk somewhere else, hmm? Somewhere other than here.”

Some of the items didn’t sound very appetizing. Daffodil sandwiches? Hay fries? Tulip salad? Hauteclaire might have eaten a lot of strange things in his life (including horse, but that wasn’t something he was about to share with Lyra), but he wasn’t about to eat any of these. At least most of these items didn’t look like they were caked in sugar, like most of the other food he’s seen ponies eat up until now.

And he wasn’t a huge fan of sweets.

And he wasn’t a huge fan of sitting on piles of hay. The hay kept getting caught in his fur and made his bum itch. These ponies must have had rather insensitive backsides to find this comfortable. Lyra wasn’t scratching her bottom or readjusting herself whenever she thought no one was looking. (Or as the ponies say: “Nopony.”)

And seriously, they were sitting on food. What if these hay sandwiches used the same hay that they sat on? That would be disgusting, and probably unhealthy.

The waiter came and took their orders. A daisy sandwich and a soda for the lady and cucumber sandwiches with tea for Hauteclaire. Hauteclaire hoped the waiter got the order correct and wouldn’t bring him something stuffed with flowers, hay, or sugar. How could the waiter concentrate when he kept staring at Hauteclaire like that?

All of the other patrons had also been staring and gawking. Their whispers echoed loudly in Hauteclaire’s large ears. Hauteclaire wasn’t surprised that they were talking about him; he just hoped that this meeting wouldn’t end up with more frustration.

Hauteclaire turned his attention back to the ranting mare that sat in front of him. She was raging on about the stallion from earlier ever since the waiter left. “...and how he continued to ignore Cheerilee’s warnings? You know he just came to stir up trouble. I think that Ms. Cheerilee didn’t mean to offend you, but I wouldn’t know what to do if I was in her position either...”

Hauteclaire just sat there with his hands folded and nodded. Even before they arrived at this cafe, Lyra had started babbling on excitedly. She never did answer Hauteclaire’s second question.

“...so I don’t think it’s your fault that that happened! But, you should be able to handle heckling. You are a bard, afterall,” Lyra said with a flick of her hoof and a smile. “Heck, I sometimes get heckled at a few performances, usually where alcohol is involved, but I just ignore them and continue. I’m just curious, though, why did that make you so mad?”

Hauteclaire raised an eyebrow at Lyra. It took her a moment, but she flinched and tried to backtrack. “Oh, goodness! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to touch on such a sensitive subject. It was just upsetting to see you so, well, upset. The way you were stomping and sulking and...”

Hauteclaire raised a hand. “It’s alright. You didn’t know. Now, why did you step in? You had no reason to do so.”

Lyra let her hooves rest on the table and tilted her head down. “Well, I knew that something that stallion said really did upset you, and you didn’t deserve to get into trouble. I know that some ponies can be a bit… close-minded when it comes to species other than ponies. Even donkeys and zebras sometimes have a hard time here, even though they are very similar to ponies. That doesn’t sit right with me!” She slammed the table. “Oh! Sorry! I just thought that it wouldn’t be fair for you to get into trouble.”

Xenophobia even exists in a land of magical talking ponies. Who would have guessed?

Hauteclaire leaned forward. “Well, that was very nice of you.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Upon reflection, I may have let myself get a bit… dramatic. It was rather silly of me to get so wound up over such an incorrigible oaf.”

Lyra giggled. “Yeah. Some ponies can be like that. But most of the ponies here are very nice and welcoming. It’s just, when you live near a forest full of things that eat ponies, you tend to be careful of whatever comes out of it.”

“Well, we didn’t come from the forest. But we did run into some monsters on the way there.”

Lyra gasped and clopped her hooves together. “Oh! What did you see?”

Hauteclaire leaned back as he recalled the events before they wound up in the forest. “Well, we first were in the fire swamp. There we came across a chimera.”

Lyra was bouncing up and down. “Oh! A chimera! Those are very dangerous! What did you do?”

“Well, Godiva tried to hug it, but it scratched her, so Porthos klunked it on two of its heads.”

“Oh my! Was Godiva hurt?”

“She got over it, but that chimera didn’t give us any more trouble after that.”

“Oh, wow! You faced a chimera and only walked away with a scratch! Most ponies would never go hoof to hoof against a chimera; even ponies of the royal guard try to avoid them.”

“Well, after that, we walked in the direction of the nearest castle we found using” --Hauteclaire wiggled his fingers-- “magic, and along the way, we came face to face with... a manticore!”

Lyra jumped up and squealed a bit. “Oh my! What did you do!? Manticores are bigger and scarier than any chimera!”

Hauteclaire paused for a second, a grin slowly creeped onto his face. “Godiva gave it a hug.”

Lyra shook her head. “Wait - what!? Wasn’t she afraid of getting hurt or scratched or eaten or something?”

“Well, she did klunk it on the head first.”

Lyra busted out laughing, wrapping her forelegs around her torso as she guffawed, hooted, and hollered. “Oh. By. Celestia! You guys are just so interesting!”

A snort came from behind Hauteclaire. He turned around and saw the waiter who was obviously trying his best not to laugh. Upon being noticed, however, he snapped his head in a different direction and walked to the side of their table as if he had never stopped at all. “Your drinks.”

How long has he been standing there? Has he been snooping on us this whole time? Hauteclaire scanned the patrons around them. They all snapped from wide-eyed eavesdroppers and resumed earlier, non-existent conversations. Well, as long as they weren’t going to ask him about his mask, he didn’t mind. Hauteclaire rather enjoyed being the center of attention.

Still, he couldn’t call himself a gentleman (or gentlemouse or gentlecolt as these ponies were likely to say) if he only droned on about himself and never let his companion get a chance to shine. “So, after that, it was rather uneventful until we got to the castle. The King then used his magic to levitate the castle to keep us safe. So, Lyra, we’ve talked quite a bit about me, but what about you? I see you’ve got a harp as your cutie mark. Am I wrong to assume your special talent is with music?”

Lyra smiled while sipping on her straw. A little bit of soda seeped out of her mouth, and she wiped her chin with a leg. “Yup! I’m from a family of musicians. My family is actually very successful and has a looooong history with music. I got my cutie mark one day when I was playing around with the instruments in the back room after a concert by the Canterlot Orchestra. I played around with so many instruments and had so much fun, I didn’t even notice I had it until I walked out to the afterparty and my dad noticed I gained my cutie mark. My dad was the conductor and has given many performances that even Princess Celestia has attended!”

Hauteclaire straightened up a bit at the mention of the Sun Quee - Princess Celestia. “Your father performed for Princess Celestia?”

“Mmm-hmm! Many times!”

Hauteclaire had to find out more about this pony.

“That’s amazing!”

“Yup, my father is pretty cool. He’s traveled all over Equestria and beyond to study music from all over the world! He went to Zebrica once and brought me with him. That was such a huge experience for me because I’ve become so interested in the cultures of other beings. I find them so fascinating. There is one zebra here in Ponyville somewhere, and we even had a minotaur drop in some time ago. Did you know that in the land of minotaurs, they decide their president by wrestling!? It’s so fascinating! They even have hands instead of hooves on their forelegs, like you. They are able to play instruments much better than most ponies because of those hands. In fact, they looked a lot like those humans you talked about earlier! I’d love to learn more about them!”

“The minotaurs or the humans?”

“Both!”

Hauteclaire had struck gold. Not only had he learned about a person… pony he might be able to learn a few things from about being renowned, but he had found his daughter! And she was a pony who knew a pony who knew Princess Celestia! Already he was so close to his goal. He couldn’t let this opportunity slip away. Luckily for him, he had the perfect bait.

“Well, I might be able to get a few books on humans for you, if you like…”

A huge smile flooded Lyra’s face. “You can?! Thank you thank you thank you!”

Hauteclaire smiled in return. “You’re welcome. It’s always great to learn new things. Speaking of which, you wouldn’t happen to know if I could meet your father? I could share with him some of the music that humans play.”

Lyra clapped her hooves together. “Oh, I’m sure he would love that! But… Oh! The food’s here.”

But!? But what!? Hauteclaire turned to the waiter who was balancing a tray on his backside. You have impeccable timing, you know that?

The waiter took each plate with his teeth off the tray and placed them on the table and left them to their meal, but not before taking another glance at Hauteclaire. Lyra dug into her sandwich, taking huge bites as she gobbled her food. Well, at the rate she ate her sandwich, Hauteclaire wouldn’t have to wait long to hear what came after Lya’s “but.”

Hauteclaire took a cucumber sandwich and took a small bite.

Darn it! The suspense was killing him. He was supposed to be the one that kept others in suspense, not the other way around!

Lyra opened her mouth. Hauteclaire leaned in, dying to hear what she was going to say.

“BURP! ‘Scuse me.”

Lyra took another swig of her soda before taking another mouthful of her sandwich.

Settle down, Hauteclaire. You’ve lived for centuries waiting for an opportunity like this; you can wait a minute more.

Lyra swallowed her last mouthful, most likely without sufficient chewing. “Hey, Hauteclaire.”

Hauteclaire leaned forward and gripped the table’s sides. “Yes?”

“I love this place’s sandwiches! Don’t you? I’d eat here all the time if I could afford it.” Lyra shoveled the rest of the first half of her sandwich in her mouth.

Damn you, Lyra! Damn your “but.” Damn you Lyra and your big “but!” You tease! Your “but” is doing things to me that I cannot stand, Lyra! Your “but” is taunting me! You and your big “but” are going to ruin me and haunt me in my dreams! I’d never imagine going crazy over a pony “but,” but you have proved me wrong, Lyra. You and your monstrous, mocking, tantalizing “but!”

Lyra gulped down the last of her sandwich and sipped at her straw until slurping sounds came from the bottom of the glass. She tilted the glass with her magic, pooling the remaining soda on one side; and sucked on the straw again, producing more of the same sound. “Mmm-mmm. That was good! I only wish their sandwiches were a bit bigger. Hey, Hauteclaire, you alright? You seem a little tense.”

Releasing his death grip on the table and straightening up his posture, Hauteclaire wiped the perspiration from his brow. “I’m sorry, Lyra, I just had something on my mind, if you could please continue: ‘I’m sure he would love that, buuuuuuut…’”

She clapped her hooves together. “Oh yeah! But he is away right now studying the instruments used in the Crystal Empire to the north. He won’t be back home for several months.” Well, crap. “Even then, he lives in Canterlot, which is a bit far from here. You can see it from here, though.” She pointed at the mountain in the distance. Hauteclaire followed her hoof with his eyes and squinted.

“That’s Canterlot?”

“Yup! And you see that large castle? That’s where Princess Celestia and Princess Luna live!”

Great! Now Hauteclaire knew where she lived! Wait, who’s Princess…

“I must say, Hauteclaire, I was really impressed by your singing! It must be really cool when you can make copies of yourself. You could start your own orchestra!”

“Heh, That’s not a bad idea.” Hauteclaire took another dainty bite of a cucumber salad.

“So you write your own songs? What was the first song you ever wrote?”

“That’s a bizarre question to ask. Do you ask that to every musician you meet?”

“Well, yeah, actually.”

Hauteclaire washed down the sandwich with a sip of tea. “The very first song I wrote… that would have to be…”

“Hauteclaire! Hauteclaire! Ah! There you are. I see you’ve found your room!” The Mouse King walked through the door to a room that was full of extravagant paintings, a harpsichord, a large wooden cabinet that housed a variety of instruments, a shelf with several books upon it, and a desk that was littered with paper and other writing utensils. Against one wall was a large, luscious bed with silk sheets and feather pillows. In the center was Hauteclaire, his mouth hanging open as he gazed at the treasures before him.

“My… my room?”

“What, you don’t like it? I’m pretty sure Porthos might like it here.”

Hauteclaire spun around. “NO! I’ll take it! This is my room!” As soon as he said it, he flinched back. He had never yelled at the King before. “I mean, if it’s alright with you. You’re the King! Shouldn’t you get first pick?”

The King dismissed Hauteclaire’s concerns with a flick of the hand. “Nah! I already found a room with all that I need! And it’s the closest one to the grand hall and the throne room and the kitchen!”

He had found a room with all he needed? So there was a room greater than this one? “May I see your room?”

“Sure thing! Right this way.”

The King led Hauteclaire down the hallway with its Romanesque arches, arched windows, and lavish red carpet that took up the center of the hallway, down the stairs that led to the throne room that was still in a state of disarray, and into a little hallway hidden behind a curtain. A plain wooden door was pushed open, and the King led Hauteclaire inside. “Well, what do you think? It’s much nicer than what I had before.”

For the second time today, hell, for the second time in less than ten minutes, Hauteclaire found himself dumbfounded. “You are absolutely sure this is what you want?”

The King beamed. “Yes, I am! This has all that the world’s greatest king will ever need!”

The room was rather dark. There were no windows, but several places where candle holders hung. Several beds were cramped into the corners of the room. A single chest for belongings was pushed up under one of them. Two other doorways led out to different rooms in the castle, most likely the kitchen and the great hall. In the center of the room was a single wooden table. Hauteclaire leaned against it, and it wobbled.

“I can easily fix that,” said the Mouse King with a smile. “And maybe even install a book shelf! Oh man! This is great!”

Hauteclaire squeezed his forehead as he tried to wrap his mind around what his king was saying. “You Majesty! This room can’t possibly have everything you need to be a great king!”

“Au contraire, my Hauteclaire! You have no need to protest. I have a bed for me to rest. A table for work, I’ll do my best! A door to the kitchen, for chicken breast. A door to the hall, to meet my guest. For my belongings, a big brown chest. I assure you Haut, I do not jest. Everything I need is in this nest. And my brain can take care of the rest.” The King tapped his crown.

Hauteclaire rubbed his noggin while opening and closing his mouth. It took a few tries, but words eventually came out. “But don’t you feel that you deserve… more?”

The King huffed. “Deserve!? I don’t deserve anything!”

“But, you took this castle all by yourself!”

“No I didn’t, you helped. And if I remember correctly, you saved me from a couple of arrows with that voice trick of yours and helped leave a lasting impression on that spoiled duke! I must say, Haut, I should send you first to intimidate instead of me! They stopped their laughing once you opened that mouth of yours.”

“But… But…”

“So, in my opinion, you earned that room up there. Sure, Porthos, Marcus, and Godiva all did their part (and Godiva may have gone a bit overboard), but I assure you, without you, I might not be standing here right now. Well, with my head on my shoulders, anyway.”

Hauteclaire slunk in defeat. He had found what he wanted, and the King was just willing to give it to him. How could he in good conscience take a room when the one who deserved it slept on a bunch of hay in a flour sack on top of a wooden frame in a dark room?

“Hey, Haut! I forgot to show you these!” He jumped up on a bed with a hard thud of flesh against wood and pointed up to a row of bells that hung on the wall. “Each one of these bells is attached to a string in a different room! I can easily know who needs my help and where they are just by looking at which bell is ringing!”

“Help…?”

“Of course! A great leader looks after his people! Haven’t you been listening to me at all during our trip to get here?” The Mouse King jumped down from the bed and pulled Hauteclaire close. “I have a favor to ask you.”

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

“Listen Hauteclaire, a good king needs a good song. Now, I’m not planning on being a good king; I’m going to be a great king! So I’m going to need a great song to help rally my people and keep their spirits and hopes high. You see what I’m getting at?”

“You want me to…”

“I want you” --he poked Hauteclaire in the chest and hugged him tighter-- “my bard, Hauteclaire, to write me a song. My anthem, if you will. Can I trust you with such an important task?”

Hauteclaire felt his eyes begin to sting. “Yes, Your Majesty, I’ll work a miracle for you.”

“That’s the spirit! Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to start improving our numbers so we can get this place in shape for a great king. My brain is telling me that there are quite a few mice in the church and the garden. I’ll be there if you need me.” And with that, the King disappeared down one of the hallways.

Hauteclaire turned around and headed back towards his room. He was just complimented, recognized, asked to write a song, and given the most lavish chamber in the whole castle, so why did he feel so bad?

“...Mice of the Isle.”

Hauteclaire looked up and saw that Lyra was no longer in front of him. However, something was poking him on the side of his head. It was Lyra. He smacked away her hoof. “Just what are you doing?”

“Sorry! You spaced out a bit, for a second I thought you broke or something.”

Hauteclaire rolled his eyes. “I’m pretty much broken already.”

“Oh, you mean your face? OOP!” Lyra shoved a hoof in her mouth. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it that way! I just… you know… I’m very sorry! I didn’t mean it that way, I swear!”

Hauteclaire bit his lower lip and counted slowly. Probably something he should have done back in the school. “It’s… alright. I just remembered my first song. It is… was a very special song.”

Lyra was quick to follow the change of topic. “My first song was very special to me, too. I wrote it when I was still in elementary school. How old were you?”

Hauteclaire chewed on his tongue a bit. “Oooh… five months old.”

“Five months!? You must be some kind of prodigy!”

Hauteclaire could have corrected her, but he chose not to. It was more fun this way.

Lyra grabbed Hauteclaire’s hand between her hooves. “I must hear this song now! Please! I need to hear what you wrote!”

Hearing this mare plead for him to sing made Hauteclaire forget about all his troubles. “Please,” she begged. “I need to hear what you wrote,” she pleaded. He took a deep breath and felt himself be cleansed of all the trouble life had generously dumped on him. He opened his eyes and looked at Lyra in hers. “OK, I will sing it for you.”

Lyra bounced and cheered before rushing back to her little hay pile. Hauteclaire stood up, wiped some hay off his backside, and cleared his throat. All around him, the patrons and the staff of the cafe sat still. All of them. Even the waiter, who was in mid-serve of a plate, stopped with the plate still in his mouth and his eyes on Hauteclaire.

Hauteclaire was actually happy for this. He would gladly perform for them all this one song from a much happier time. He put a hand to his chest and began to sing.

“All ye brothers, stop your dreaming...”

These lyrics, almost completely forgotten to Hauteclaire through decades of being unsung, reemerged with renewed clarity. He sang of troubles brewing over the horizon and a call for battle, making all the ponies tense.

The song changed from a warning to a declaration of war for the greater good. Pride, power, and perseverance to stand for what is good welled up inside of him, and swooned all around him to his cause. The chorus followed, audibly illustrating a victory that was certain, boosting the confidence of all those listening, coaxing them into believing that they were unstoppable.

The following lyrics vaguely introduced the King, the driving force behind the power. The one who even made such a dream possible. The chorus repeated once more, cementing the claim to victory in the hearts and souls of his audience.

The next verse then stepped away from the King to a more universally personal and understandable motive for fighting in what one believed in. The ponies all around shed tears of liquid pride. One guard who was just passing by was bawling in the street.

And then came a final verse, a repeat of an earlier one, assuring the listeners that all would be well in the end.

“...Hearts pound strong, mice of the isle.

Never can we fail.”

Taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Hauteclaire felt shivers run down his back as waves of nostalgia overwhelmed him. It took bit before he could even register the applause that was given to him. All around him, ponies with damp cheeks stomped the ground and cheered. Lyra was among them. “Encore! Encore! Encore!”

Hauteclaire bowed and gave his thanks to the audience before sitting back down. The ponies at the tables around him burst to life, chattering about the performance they had just witnessed and the feelings it had stirred within them. No longer were they focused on Hauteclaire, but on what he had given to them.

Hauteclaire took another deep breath and smiled as he let it out slowly.

Lyra was bouncing on her hay pile. “That was amazing! You wrote that when you were only four months old!?”

“Yes, well, I did have a good source of inspiration.”

“I’d say! That is nothing like…”

“There you are, Lyra!”

Lyra jumped and fell back on to her rump. Her eyes were wide open, and a grimace grew on her face. “Oh crud, I forgot.”

An earth pony mare (the ones without horns or wings, Hauteclaire had learned not too long ago) with a pink and blue mane trotted up to them both. Lyra forced another smile on her face and turned to meet her. “Oh, hello, Bonnie. What are you doing here?”

Bonnie walked up to Lyra and poked her with a hoof. “You said you would help me wrap candies in the shop today after the presentation! Why are you…” Whatever question she was going to ask, she no longer needed to finish it because she turned towards the answer.

“Good afternoon,” said Hauteclaire.

The mare took a deep breath. “I’m sorry if my friend caused you any trouble. She just gets so excited when she sees foreigners. She just has to learn as much about them as equinely possible.”

“I assure you, she was no trouble at all.”

Lyra harrumphed. “Bon-bon! Stop treating me like a foal.”

Bon-bon glared at Lyra. “Well, I’ll stop treating you as one if you stop acting like one! You promised you’d help me with my stock and my shop then you’d go out with the mouse on your date.”

Hauteclaire choked on some of his tea.

“It’s not a date! I’m just trying to learn more about the world outside of Equestria!”

“Uh-huh.” Bon-bon turned to Hauteclaire. “I’m sorry, but I need to reopen my shop, and I’m going to need to take her from you. Would you…”

Setting down his tea, Hauteclaire shook his head. “No, no, it’s perfectly alright. We can always carry on our conversation another day.”

Bon-bon sighed. “Thank you. Come on, Lyra, let’s go.”

Lyra said her goodbyes, threw a couple of golden coins on the table and followed Bon-bon. Hauteclaire could hear some of her whining as she dragged her hooves behind her friend.

What a curious mare. Rather silly, but she does seem to have a deep passion for all things worldly. She will prove to be an excellent source of information and networking for meeting Princess Celestia. Oh! That’s right.

Hauteclaire jumped to his feet and rushed to meet the mares. “Wait up! I have one more question!”

Both mares turned their heads. One was overjoyed. The other wasn’t amused.

“You mentioned a ‘Princess Luna.’ Who is she?”

Bon-bon raised an eyebrow. Lyra giggled. “Why, she’s Princess Celestia’s little sister, silly! She is the princess of the night. She’s dark blue, and her mane looks like the night sky!”

Dark blue… Mane like the night sky? Princess Celestia’s sister?

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think I’ll be able to meet you again at 5:30. I’ll probably be still too busy at Bon-bon’s Bon Bons. But I’ll have much more time later! Feel free to stop by and try some of Bon-bon’s special delights! They are so good!”

Bon-bon glared at Lyra. “Don’t be thinking about handing out any more free samples again.”

The two said their goodbyes again before continuing on their way, bickering like sisters the whole time.

The waiter from earlier walked up and presented the coins Lyra left on the table. “Sir, our manager would like to thank you for your performance earlier. She says the meal for you and your guest is on the house. Sir… Sir?”

The waiter waved a hoof in front of Hauteclaire’s face when he didn’t get an answer.

“Sir? Are you feeling alright?”

After recovering his most of his wits, Hauteclaire finished his meal mostly in silence. He was only interrupted by the occasional patron who stopped by his table to thank him for the performance before they left. Their gratitude almost made Hauteclaire forget about the huge mistake he had made on the castle roof the other day.

Almost.

With lunch out of the way, and no more chores needed to be done, Hauteclaire walked around Ponyville for a bit more. However, he ran into several ponies that were at the school during his earlier meltdown; their eyes seemed to scream in fear as Hauteclaire passed by.

More whispers like yesterday followed Hauteclaire wherever he went, but unlike last time, where they chided him on his “cheap,” “dirty,” or “unfair” performance with his brother, these whispers were about his mask. Or more specifically, what was under it.

Hauteclaire ground his teeth in a forced smile as he dropped by Sugar Cube Corner to give Pinkie his thanks for the treats and introducing him to Lyra before turning around and heading straight back to the castle. There, he practiced “the game” until dinner time, working out all the pent-up rage the day had given him.

When he arrived at the kitchen for dinner, he was surprised to see only Godiva nibbling away on a sandwich. There was no sign of any other court member anywhere. He sat down at the furthest seat away from Godiva.

She looked up from her sandwich and smiled. “Hey, Haut! How’ve ya been?”

“Aren’t you still mad at me?”

Godiva shook her head. “Nah! It was just a little fight. You and your brother fight all the time. I know you’ll eventually make up. You always do.” She grabbed her glass of milk and drank in large gulps.

Why does everyone I know lack proper etiquette? “You’re not mad?”

Godiva put down the glass and wiped away her milk moustache on her sleeve. “Of course not! You were just moody, like you usually are, Haut-Sauce. I know you didn’t intend to make me feel bad. Besides, I had a great day! I finished most of the repairs with Time Turner today, and I got to go back to Goldie’s farm and do more work for her. I saw a picture of her little sister named Noi, and she is the cutest little thing! She goes to the school that you visited today.”

Hauteclaire gulped. Godiva still hadn’t heard yet, but it would only be a matter of time.

“So… where is everyone?”

“Well, Marcus and the King went somewhere for an ‘important discussion,’ and Porthos is playing cards with a bunch of new friends at Pokey’s restaurant!”

Hauteclaire got up from the table and went towards the refrigerator that the King had summoned with his brain a while back. He opened it only to a half-empty wine bottle and several apples. “Hey, where’s all the food?”

Godiva put down her sandwich. “Oh yeah, Marcus had the King return all the food that was stolen with his magic. If we want to eat anything, we’ll need to earn it from the ponies from now on.”

“Well, that’s hypocritical,” said Hauteclaire as he took an apple and shut the door. “Where do you think the gold coins we’ve been handing out came from?”

Godiva shrugged before returning to her sandwich.

Taking a bite of his apple, Hauteclaire realized that he would need to talk to his brother if they really wanted to make this thing with the ponies work. Sure, things may not have been going as smoothly as they hoped, but it was a welcome change of pace from “playing the game.” Especially now that there was hope for Hauteclaire to pursue his dream.

This meant he would have to own up to his failure at the school. Hauteclaire groaned as he descended the stairs to the organ room. After finishing the entire apple, core and all, he laid down on the bench and went to sleep.

“Wakey-wakey, Hauteclaire.”

Oh, what now? Hauteclaire opened his eyes. Above him wasn’t the roof he had seen before shutting his eyes, but the night sky full of stars. A slight wind ruffled his fur and gave him a slight chill. He turned to the side and saw Porthos’ fat head right at eye level.

“What do you want, fatty?”

Porthos snorted. “I heard what you did at the school today.”

“Yeah? So what?” Hauteclaire got up on his bench and tried to get off, only to find no ground beneath him. Upon further inspection, Hauteclaire realized that Porthos was suspending him and the bench over the edge from the roof of the tallest tower. At any moment, Porthos could let Hauteclaire plummet to his death. A threat that could really work if the victim wasn’t immune to death. “What are you going to do, drop me?”

“I’ll let go, but I want you to listen,” grumbled Porthos. “These ponies are good folk. They don’t need a worm like you scaring the daylights out of them or be revealing secrets that they have no need knowing.”

Hauteclaire crossed his arms. “I never expected to get a lecture from you, Porkos. And is that alcohol I smell on your breath? You were doing more than playing cards, I assume.”

“Don’t be playing Mr. Moral with me, Haut. Godiva is well aware I have had a few, but I didn’t scar the minds of innocent lasses with my face.”

“You’re right. All your hideous scars are under your tabard, but your face is still hideous without them.”

“You made Applebloom’s friend cry.”

“Is this what this is all about? How many women and children have you made cry? Remember how all the townsfolk were actually terrified of you when you thought…”

Porthos shook the bench. “Don’t you dare bring that up, Haut! I know damn well what I have done, and I don’t want to do it again! This is my chance to repent!” He pulled the bench closer, pressing his enormous nose against Hauteclaire’s. “And if you ruin this for me, I will make sure your life is a living hell.”

Hauteclaire grinned and pinched Porthos on the cheek. “I assure you, sweet Porkos, I’m in hell whenever you are around.”

“Glad we have an understanding.” Porthos let go of the bench.

When Hauteclaire opened his eyes again, he found himself in staring face to face with the King.

“Enjoyed your dirt nap, Hauteclaire?”

Hauteclaire pushed the King away. His face wasn’t one to see first thing when waking up. What Hauteclaire saw when he pushed the King away, though, made him think that he was still dreaming.

Above him where Romanesque arches supporting the castle roof, now hole-free. In front of Hauteclaire was a single wooden throne with red cushions; the wall behind it had three large stained glass windows. The stone grey walls to the side had balconies supported by pillars and doors that led to other parts of the castle. Red banners with golden tassels hung from the roof, and a matching rug leading from the front entrance to the throne laid under the Mouse King’s feet.

He couldn’t believe it. Was he home?

“Do you recognize this place, Hauteclaire?”

“This… this is your throne room.”

The King threw out his hands. “Bingo! What do you think, eh? I remember exactly how everything was!”

Still disoriented, Hauteclaire wasn’t sure exactly what was going on. “Did you build another castle near Ponyville?”

The King put his fingers together. “More like convert, actually. Take a look outside and you’ll see what I mean.”

Hauteclaire got up and walked down the rug through the large double doors. He passed through the great hall, with its staircases on either side of the large throne room doors, leading up to the balconies and upper levels. More red banners bearing “MK” in gold hung from the upper levels and roof and rippled in the light breeze that came through many of the arched windows.

In the front of the room were two large doors, with a smaller set of doors carved in them. To the side was a large pole and some gears to a locking mechanism. Hauteclaire pushed one of the small doors open and stepped outside into the sunlight.

The castle gate stood at the end of the expansive courtyard. The gate was drawn and Ponyville could be seen in the morning light, framed by the gate’s arch. The castle wall and the corner towers were all present, just like they were at home. To the right was the church, just as it had been before the exile. The roof lacked its hole and the windows were intact, just how Aquinas liked it.

“So? What do you think?”

Hauteclaire turned to the Mouse King.

“You… You’ve rebuilt our home?”

The King smiled. “Well, yes! I couldn’t sleep last night, so I changed that old pony castle we lived in into our new home. You wouldn’t believe how many booby traps I had to disarm.” The King chuckled. “I want to show Princess Twilight our home when she comes over for dinner in a few days.”

Why was the King in such a good mood? Why had he gone out of the way to change the castle into something that would most likely pull up painful memories? He usually hated to be reminded of home because it reminded him of all that he had lost. Could it have been something regarding that “important discussion” he and Marcus had had the night before?

“Oh, and that reminds me,” said the Mouse King as he pulled Hauteclaire close in a hug. “I want you,” --he poked Hauteclaire in the chest and hugged him tighter-- “my bard, to do something for me.”

Ch. 2 - Hooked on Ponies

“Is that a castle made entirely out of crystals?”

“I know, right? It’s so pretty!”

“It looks more like a poorly designed dollhouse.”

Hauteclaire, Godiva, the Mouse King, their guide, a yellow pegasus with butterflies on her rump that were not taffy stains, and her two friends were standing in front of a castle. Apparently, it was made out of crystals. There was also an entire town of gawking ponies and guards that kept their distance a safe “way the hell over there.”

“Wow. This place makes our new fortress look like just another hole in the wall,” the King said and nudged the pegasus with his elbow. “Eh? Get it? ‘Hole in the wall’? Because we’re mice!” The pony turned her head and smiled . Let’s see her do that when she can actually understand the bastard.

“Let’s just get this over with,” Hauteclaire said with an exasperated sigh.

“Why are you in such a hurry, Haut? Can’t wait to understand all the things they say about you?” the King said.

It wasn’t even lunch and Haut was getting close to his daily limit. “Oh, I’m sure they are going to be singing praises about you, Your Highness.” He didn’t even try to hide his sarcasm. “I’m just tired of talking in crayon.”

After the King’s bombastic and unnecessary display of power, Godiva ‘got’ the pony they came for. And by ‘got,’ she ran up to her, pointed to her own face, and shouted “Remember me? I’m the mouse you talked to, remember? I petted you on the ear, remember?” over and over. The poor thing either remembered Godiva or it was just too terrified to fly away. Probably both.

After fruitlessly yapping away at the pony, Godiva produced some crayons and paper and started to draw. Showing the pony a few pictures seemed to work, as the fear in its face began to morph into a more curious expression. Godiva, with quite a bit of help from Hauteclaire and his dirt-molding ability, was now able to communicate with the pony. Even so, it was very hard to say “We come in peace” with pictures and sculptures after all that had happened. Especially with crayons and dirt.

The pony took up a crayon and drew, too. And wouldn’t you know it, she used her mouth. Godiva was on a roll today. After a bit of drawing, deciphering, more drawing, and more deciphering, an agreement was worked out: she would help them find the nearest library and tell everyone to back off if the mice “unfreeze” the guards and her friends.

It would have been a lot faster had the King used his powers to just make the pony see a dream or an illusion or something, but he insisted that this was good critical- and analytical-thinking practice. Still didn’t stop him from dumping on all of Hauteclaire’s drawings. Thank goodness it was only figuratively.

This time.

Well, as soon as the ponies were free, they all kept their distance but kept following the group. The bouncing ball of cotton candy and the marshmallow were the only ones to stay close to the pegasus (a condition of the agreement) as the group made its way to their destination.

And the pink one yapped the whole way.

And it took Hauteclaire’s crayons.

The mice and the ponies walked through the doors of the new castle and were greeted by the many wide-eyed stares of those inside. They just watched silently as the mice, their guide, and her friends walked up many stairs and through several halls.

When they arrived at a particular set of doors in the middle of a long hallway lined with flower vases, the yellow pony made a gesture with her hoof, signalling that their destination lay behind these doors. She opened the doors up; beyond them were several rows of of book shelves and a few tables covered with what Hauteclaire considered to be an abysmal quantity of books in conditions ranging from poor to ruined. If this was a library, hopefully it was a temporary one.

Wait, they passed what looked like the burned remains of a building on the way here. Perhaps this was a temporary library and the old one had burnt down. Well, hopefully there was enough here for the King to do what he came to do.

Inside the library were more ponies, but the Mouse King would have none of that. What he was going to do required concentration, so with a flick of his wrist, all of the ponies in the room floated inches above the ground and left single file out the door and down the hallway. The guide and her friends didn’t seem too pleased about that.

The Mouse King, Godiva, and the pegasus walked in through the door. As part of the agreement, the yellow pony was to read aloud to the King so he could hear how their spoken language was represented on paper. After he had heard plenty, he would be able to do the rest of the learning on his own.

Hauteclaire followed with the other two ponies behind him, but was stopped with a push to the chest. “What do you think you’re doing?” the Mouse King asked. “I don’t want to be disturbed. You make sure no one comes in, got it?” He slammed the door in Hauteclaire’s face.

Miffed, Hauteclaire turned around and looked at the two ponies behind him. The white one had a face mixed with anger and confusion, while the pink one’s eyes inflated like balloons and were misty. “He has that effect on you,” Hauteclaire said with a scowl as he walked to the side of the door, crossed his arms, and leaned against the wall.

The white one tried to open the door and Hauteclaire would have stopped her, but he wanted to see someone else suffer for once. The white pony opened the door and could only get a word in before she was pushed back by an invisible force and the door was slammed in her face. After regaining her balance and fixing her hair, the white pony turned to the pink one and whined, one of her hooves pointed at the door and then to Hauteclaire, before taking off down the hallway and passing the many foolishly brave ponies that had taken up camp to rubberneck from the end of the hallway.

Bunch of gawkers, huh? Hauteclaire didn’t hesitate to take a step forward and snarl, the ponies at the end of the hallway jumped and screamed. Stupid, jumpy ponies. Does Godiva really think that these ponies would want to be our friends?

He turned his head back the other way and saw the pink pony was now lying on the floor, busy drawing with crayons. At least it wasn’t chattering any more. Hauteclaire took a moment to look at the hallway he was in. There were banners and vases, all of which were adorned with a purple and white insignia of some sort made up of several six-pointed stars. He leaned back again and focused his eyes on a spot beyond the wall in front of him as he just stewed in his own thoughts. The only sounds that could be heard were the muffled voices through the door, whispers down the hallway, and the pink pony’s humming.

After a few good, quiet minutes, the pitter-patter of a plump purple and green lizard passing quickly in front of Hauteclaire had snapped him back to the real world. He turned his head and saw the lizard eyeing him carefully as it reached a claw towards the door.

That one time with the white pony was excusable since the King didn’t have time to start his private lesson yet, but if the door was opened now, Hauteclaire was going to be punished, and he wasn’t about to find out what part of his anatomy the King would cut off and hide this time. With a quick shove, the little scaly beast fell on its tail. “You shall not pass, puny wyrm.”

The lizard picked itself up, pointed a claw at Hauteclaire, and spewed forth what was probably some foul insult. But Hauteclaire didn’t care. “Go slink under a rock.”

The lizard tried to make another charge for the door, but the pink pony stopped it and explained the situation to it. Or that was what Hauteclaire thought the pony was doing. He was so tired of not understanding what was being said around him.

If they had stuck with the game, the King would have “cheated” by plundering the minds of random victims, but he was too busy having fun scaring the pegasi to do that this time around before the game was called off. No one was hurt in the process, and the mice came out with a complete understanding of the language. This was so they’d start on an “even linguistic playing field” like they would when they got back home. Most of the time, however, the natives spoke one of the many languages the mice already knew. Pretty weird, but Hauteclaire never thought much of it after the fortieth or fiftieth time. But since there was no game, the King fell back to his stupid habits of doing things the hard way, because he could. “What reason is there for us to use magic for everything? We should learn to not rely on magic and to rely on ourselves because you never know when magic will be taken away,” he always said before the exile. It still didn’t stop him from using it for over-dramatic displays. Or learn the language of the ponies for that matter. He probably did it just to irritate Hauteclaire.

Well, the little lizard seemed to learn that it was not getting into the library anytime soon and started stomping down the hallway. It stopped and turned to Hauteclaire with a rotten look on its face. It was probably friends with that white unicorn from earlier and came with revenge on the mind or something. Well, whatever the reason, it made a big mistake: it stuck its tongue out at Hauteclaire and blew a puff of fire.

Oh, you’re not getting away with that. Time for you to learn some respect.

Hauteclaire turned to the lizard, took a deep breath, and released a huge burst of pent-up energy with a single puff. “POW!”

The energy rushed forth. Vases toppled and banners ripped from the wall. The lizard was sent tumbling backwards, and the gawkers further back had their manes tussled. When the lizard got up, it had a look of absolute terror on its face and ran off. Probably off to tell its mother. Little whelp.

A poke in his side brought Hauteclaire’s attention to the pink pony that was standing behind him. A very angry look was on its face, and it was yelling at him. Hauteclaire didn’t care. He was still reveling in his joy of wiping the floor with the smug reptile.

Hauteclaire just stood there as the pony continued to poke and yell at him before going down the hallway after the lizard, which was also now void of previous gawkers. If Godiva found out he just scared away and pissed off her new friend’s friends, he was going to get a mace to the face. More than once. He could hear her chattering wildly in the library, most likely trying to calm the pegasus after the commotion he caused. Hopefully, the chaos would have entertained the King more than it had upset him.

Hauteclaire resumed his sulking in the now-empty hallway. The joy of proving himself superior to dragon and pony didn’t stay with him very long as he began to get lost in thought again. He was alone. Just like he had always been before and after the exile. Back at home he was always ostracized for his love of culture and class. Well, he did have Philipides back then, but no one liked him. Not even Hauteclaire. Now he was stuck with the Mouse King, Porthos, Godiva, and Marcus for all eternity, and each one of them lorded over him in one way or another. And none of them had any class. He hated it.

As Hauteclaire’s eyes wandered the hallway, they came upon the drawing left behind by the chatty pink pony. His curiosity was piqued when he saw what was on the paper. He picked it up to get a better look.

The drawing was crude in technique, but still clear enough for Hauteclaire to make out its contents. On it were Hauteclaire and the pink pony. Both of them were smiling or laughing, and they appeared to be jumping for joy. Or in space. There were no shadows, how could he tell? Hearts and rainbows littered the background, and in the top center were several words. This was definitely a language they had forgotten, but none of it came back to him. He folded up the paper and stuffed it in his pocket. Once he deciphered the words’ meaning, he was going to think of how to next deal with the pink pony. He couldn’t shake the feeling that this pony was mocking him, especially since his depiction was so comical.

He leaned back to the wall and just waited as time passed. What little of the pegasus’ and the King’s voices that slipped through the doors started to lull him to sleep. After a while of absolutely nothing else, something occurred that caught his attention.

Down the hall, armored ponies stationed themselves and stood there unmoving. Every once in a while, a new guard would come and switch out with one of them. From the other side of the hall came a growing rumble of voices. Hauteclaire kept his eyes on the guards as he moved towards the other end of the hall and the rumble. Around the corner was an open window he wasn’t aware of. It would have been nice to have had something to stare at other than a blank wall for the past lord knows how long. He had a magnificent view of the town and the castle grounds, which was now covered completely with ponies. Lots and lots of armored ponies. Farther out were many more ponies that didn’t wear armor.

Farther beyond that was some kind of colorful serpent with legs that was sitting in a chair snacking on something. What kind of creature was that?

Accepting what he was seeing as a trick of the eye, he turned his attention to the sea of gold and white that now surrounded the castle. Godiva is not going to be happy if we have to fight our way out.

At that moment, the sea parted and made way for several ponies. Five of them. The five ponies, which included the pink pony and white pony from earlier, made their way into the front doors. It seemed like that ball of cotton candy and the marshmallow were friends with the big cheese around here. If Hauteclaire wasn’t careful, things could get really ugly. He returned back to the door and awaited what was to come.

In about a minute, the guards at the end of the hallway took a few steps back, turned, and saluted. Around the corner came the five ponies Hauteclaire had seen from the window. At the head was a purple pony with both wings and a horn. Flying next to her was a multi-colored pegasus, and on her other side was a regular pony with a cowboy hat. The marshmallow unicorn and cotton candy pony were right behind them. They all bore witness to the state of the hallway. It only made them all looked even more pissed than when they first came into the hall.

Hauteclaire was astounded by the presence of the purple hybrid. Never had he heard of such a creature that was a combination of unicorn and pegasus. It was an all-in-one mythical-horse creature. There had to be a word for it, like all-in-one-icorn. Screw it. He’d call it an alicorn.

The alicorn looked walked up to him and stopped. The ponies behind her were whispering. The rainbow-maned pegasus that kept to the air, however, wasn’t so concerned to hide its voice, which was dripping with hostility. Hauteclaire was ready for a fight. His hand at the ready to draw his dagger. Should any one of them make a sudden move, he had already planned out how he would take each one of them out. Each plan involved him gloating over them at the end. These ponies were about to learn the hard way not to underestimate Hauteclaire.

Hauteclaire was snapped out of his power fantasy by a gesture from the alicorn. It pointed to the door and seemed to be making a request. It seemed to be wanting to gain entry and gain an audience with the Mouse King. Hauteclaire studied her over and came to a not-so-surprising realization.

The mark on the alicorn matched that on the banners and vases that could be found all over the castle. This must be the Lady of the castle. She wanted to speak with the Mouse King? Fine. Let her.

Hauteclaire turned to the door and knocked two times without taking his eyes off the visitors. Instead of having the Mouse King answer in a booming voice like Hauteclaire expected, Godiva poked her head out the door. “Hey! Good timing. The King just finished with his lesson and…”

She cut herself off when she saw the ponies that stood in the hallway. “HEY! I remember you! You were there with Fluttershy at the building I crashed into! How’ya doing?” The ponies’ reaction to Godiva’s appearance wasn’t entirely positive, but it did seem to have a more positive impact than Hauteclaire’s presence. The mention at the name Fluttershy also seemed to throw them off their pissy attitudes.

“That pegasus is named Fluttershy? How did you know that?” Hauteclaire asked, stifling a laugh provoked by the weird name.

Godiva smiled widely and turned to Hauteclaire. “She told me! Well, she told the Mouse King and he told me. He’s just finished listening to her read and has just started his self-study. He is ready to let her go. She is just so cute! Did you know she likes animals? She is just so darling! I could eat her up. I gave her a nickname, would you like to hear it?”

“No, I…”

“It’s Flutterbutter! You know, because she’s yellow like butter. Like a big stick of butter! With wings! Oh! Her friends are cute, too! Did you know she…”

Hauteclaire cut short Godiva’s impassioned yammering and gestured to the ponies waiting. “Ok, Godiva, that’s enough! Fluttershy’s friends are here to see her.”

Godiva looked at the ponies in the hall. “Oh! That must be the princess!” She opened the doors widely and beckoned them in.

The ponies slowly approached the door, their eyes constantly shifting from mouse to mouse. Fluttershy came running out the door to greet them. The ponies nuzzled and hugged each other. Their reunion was so full of emotion that it made Godiva “aaaawww” and Hauteclaire gag. After their heartfelt display, the ponies barraged Fluttershy with questions while constantly giving glances at Hauteclaire and Godiva. The more Fluttershy spoke, the more the other ponies seemed to lower their defenses.

Hauteclaire leaned over to Godiva. “What was that about a princess?”

“Oh yeah! Fluttershy is friends with the princess! She is the pegacorn!”

“Pegacorn? That’s a stupid name.”

*BONK*

Hauteclaire was bopped on the head by Godiva. “It’s not stupid! You’re stupid.”

The bonk on the head only made the ponies in the room put their guards back up. So much for calming them down.

Hauteclaire watched the ponies slowly go back into their Q&A session with Fluttershy as he rubbed his head. So, horns and wings are status symbols? Or are they different races that are ruled by a class determined by birth? Are the ponies without either inferior in some way?

A cough came and interrupted both Hauteclaire’s thinking and the ponies’ conversation. There at the brim of their circle stood the Mouse King. Looking up at all the ponies (since the top of his head only came up to their eye level), he began to speak in their tongue without his usual style of big gestures and fluctuating volume. Instead he spoke like a perfect diplomat: slowly, with a few slight gestures to accentuate the really important parts. Hauteclaire was absolutely amazed at how quickly the King could make a complete 180 from acting like a kid with too much power to being a respectable diplomat. But then of course, Hauteclaire had lived with him for hundreds of years and knew full well that the King was fully capable of being tolerable. He just didn’t do it around Hauteclaire.

The King gestured with an upwards turned palm in the direction of Hauteclaire and Godiva, and the King and all the ponies laughed. Respectable diplomat, my ass.

The King turned back to the ponies, held out a hand, and asked a question. The ponies’ response was one of confusion, but Hauteclaire knew what was coming. He was going to pay Fluttershy for her service in his own special way. “No good deed should go unrewarded,” he would always say.

The white unicorn summoned up a bag with magic and pulled out a single gold coin and placed it into the King’s hand.

So the unicorns are capable of magic by using their horns? They must be the upper class.

The King held the coin up to his face and squinted as he studied every detail about it. He reached behind his back and under his cape and pulled out a sock.

Oh great. He’s going with the sock trick. That one NEVER gets old.

The King held up the sock and showed it to the ponies. He turned it inside out and even beat it against the table next to him. After thoroughly proving the sock had nothing special about it, he dropped the coin into it and handed it to the rainbow-maned pegasus, who was still in flight. Didn’t she ever get tired?

Well, she listened to the King’s instructions with a dumbfounded look on her face. The pegasi probably aren’t the smart ones.After a bit of leading on to follow said instructions, she shook the sock around like crazy. Slowly the sock became bigger in her mouth and a growing jingle came from within it. When the pegasus stopped, she let go of the sock and it fell to the floor, fat with coin and tearing at the seams with a huge thump. The ponies were left flabbergasted. Where did all this money come from? Well, if they really knew, odds were the Princess would be furious. She didn’t seem too happy with the King being able to summon coins out of thin air either way.

With that, the King excused himself and went back to the book pile that was on the table next to them. The ponies went out to the hallway, sock full of coins in tow. Hauteclaire followed them and went to shut the door behind him. It was only for a moment, but it caught his eye. On top of one of the bookshelves was an eye, sitting on a chair and eating popcorn. When it saw him, it vanished. What the hell was that?

Hauteclaire closed the door and turned back to the hallway. The ponies were now huddled together and whispering. Suddenly, the rumble of voices outside exploded into a large clamoring. A guard came running down the hallway and said a few words. The alicorn’s face betrayed some inner feelings of fear for only a brief second, but it was quick enough for Hauteclaire to notice before a flash of purple light made all of the ponies in the hall vanish.

And they are capable of teleportation, too. Did Godiva lie about their magical powers,too?

Left alone in the hallway, again, Hauteclaire leaned against the wall and drifted off into his own mind.

Another couple of minutes had passed and the crowd outside was still loud as ever. Whatever was happening out there must have been some big stuff. Perhaps Porthos, in a drunken rage, had started a rampage through the town. That would have been fun to watch. Hauteclaire had the best seat in the house... castle... dollhouse, whatever just down the hall.

There was the scuffle of hooves down the hallway, and Hauteclaire turned to see what was going on. The guards had dropped to one knee like they did with the Mouse King, but Hauteclaire wasn’t ready for what came next.

It was no Porthos, but it was almost as tall as him. Another alicorn, pure white with a mane and tail that flowed even though there was no wind. Its poise, its stature, its movements, all of them conveyed a message of royalty and respect, something Hauteclaire hadn’t seen in a long time. It slowly made its way down the hallway and was escorted by a few guards, the princess, and Fluttershy from earlier.

Hauteclaire could feel himself start to shake. Not out of fear. Oh no, he wasn’t scared. Not at all. It was the power this being exuded. He wanted it terribly. This is what a person of culture should look like. This is what a person of respect should feel like. Had they played the game, Hauteclaire would have studied her to no end.

This alicorn was much bigger than the ponies he had seen before. The ponies they had met before were mostly the same height as Godiva, a few stallions were as tall as Hauteclaire, and everyone of them was taller than the Mouse King by a good few inches or more, but this alicorn loomed over all three of them in stature and presence.

Ok, so he might have been a little intimidated, but this was still a pony, and he was about to show this pony that he was not to be trifled with or looked down upon.

The stopping of pony hoof clip-clops snapped him out of his thoughts. Only a few yards before him stood the being that caused him so much confusion. It wore a dainty smile on its face that in no way felt fake. Its eyes bore into his soul with warmth. Oh lord, how does she do that? He puffed out his chest and stood directly in front of the doors and crossed his arms. The alicorn didn’t budge or even blink at this display.

Hauteclaire struggled to break free from the hold the alicorn’s eyes had on his, and he sized her up. Tilting to one side, he looked at her flank. What he saw excited and delighted him to the point he almost felt giddy.

There, on this alicorn’s rump, was a sun. Just like his mask. Curvy rays and all. The only difference was that his mask was only a third of a sun with an eye molded in it. Her mark was a complete, unadulterated sun. The alicorn and he had something in common. How? It was wonderful and scary at the same time.

A guard stepped forward and barked an order.

Big mistake.

Hauteclaire quickly turned to the guard, took a big breath and… held it.

He wanted to smack this grunt down so badly, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Letting out his breath slowly, he turned and knocked on the door twice. Godiva poked her head out. “Hey! Perfect timing! The King just finished his studies and is taking his nap. He says you should…” She saw the alicorn in the hallway.

She started squealing uncontrollably and leapt towards the alicorn. The guards quickly crossed their spears and magic-grabbed Godiva by the tail. She fell face first into the ground and looked up. “Ow! That hurt. What’s the big deal? I want to pet the pretty pony.”

“Godiva, settle down. That’s the Queen.” I think.

“The Queen! Oooh!”

Godiva quickly hopped back up on her two feet. The guards readied their spears again. They were taken by surprise when Godiva didn’t attempt a second assault, but instead curtsied. “Your Majesty!”

Godiva turned to Hauteclaire. “Well, what are you waiting for? Open the doors, Hauty! Let her in!”

Bossy Godiva. Hauteclaire opened the doors, and Godiva ran in and beckoned the queen and her entourage to follow. The Mouse King greeted them in all his glory.

He was face down in an open book. His mouth was open and his tongue lolled out. Loud snores roared all over the room. A puddle of drool had ruined the book that he was reading.

Hauteclaire had never been so embarrassed by his King in all his life. This shining beacon of regality presented itself before Hauteclaire, and he had to show her the joke he served. If there was a god out there, it hated Hauteclaire.

The sun queen turned to the princess and started talking. Oh lord, even her voice was regal. Hauteclaire could do nothing but just stare. His mouth was losing its fight with gravity. On the other side of the room was Godiva, dancing in place and saying, “ohmygodohmygodohmygod” over and over again. The guards had their eyes trained on both of them the whole time.

After a couple of minutes of discussion between the queen, the princess, and Fluttershy, the queen left. Hauteclaire hated to see her go, but damn it all she looked good doing it. Even her exits were regal. Left behind was the princess and Fluttershy. They looked at each other and started to talk. Oh, if only the King had already taught Hauteclaire how to speak pony already. Hauteclaire turned to Godiva and asked, “Ok, what were you telling me before you got distracted again?”

“Hmm? Oh yeah! The King says you need to carry him back to the castle.”

Hauteclaire flinched. “What? Why me? You do it. You’re the fast runner.”

Godiva shook her head. “Nuh-uh. He told me I was to guard you as you carried him back.”

“That doesn’t make sense! If you carried him back, there would be no danger. You’d have him there faster than you can say pony three times.”

“PONYPONYPONY! Hmmm… Nope! Don’t think so. I probably could if it was seven times.”

Hauteclaire facepalmed. “Whatever, let’s.. let’s just go.”

The King was so good at humiliating Hauteclaire he could do it in his sleep. And he did. Hauteclaire fumbled with the King as he tried to make his way through the town as the princess, Fluttershy, their friends, their guards, and all of the town watched him.

Hauteclaire got so tired of hoisting the fat king around that he dropped him unceremoniously, formed a wheelbarrow out of dirt, plopped the King face-first into it, and wheeled him to the forest with his big posterior sticking up in the air. The whole town whispered behind his back, and he could hear it. It didn’t matter whether it was about the King or him. Either way, Hauteclaire had turned into a laughingstock.

And laugh many of them did. Whatever had happened, much of the fear had disappeared as the gap between gawker and mouse slowly faded away. If Hauteclaire had to choose between playing the game or be a laughingstock of a town, he’d choose the former. At least then he’d have an excuse to get away from the King, as the King was usually too busy playing to torment Hauteclaire.

Godiva was absolutely oblivious to all of this and was enjoying all of the ponies’ attention. And when they laughed, she laughed. Poor girl was so enveloped in her fantasies that she couldn’t tell the ponies were laughing at her and not with her.

Hauteclaire found some relief when they came to the forest border. Most of the ponies buggered off as they came close, and the rest of the town dared not to follow once Hauteclaire made his way into the trees. The little parade of shame continued through the forest without its audience.

The whole time Godiva tried to speak what little she had picked up from the Mouse King’s lessons. While she wasn’t able to get very far with any of the conversations, she was slowly winning them over. The pink one seemed to be having the most fun with Godiva. Oh lord, they even sounded alike.

When they finally got to the bridge that led to the castle, Godiva picked up the King, ran him across, and started shouting up to the castle for Marcus. Hauteclaire reached the other end of the bridge and was somewhat pleased with what he saw. On the ground was Porthos. The giant brown grey rat was lying face down, the amethysts that dotted his flesh shined in the sun. His indigo gambeson and blood red tabard were covered with hoof prints. Around him were a bunch of craters, bits of apple pie, and a half empty wine bottle. There was an arrow sticking out of the top of his head that pinned his indigo-and-red-striped skullcap to his head; its long, thin, indigo feather blowing in the light breeze like a flimsy grave marker. Hauteclaire laughed so hard that his sides hurt.

To see Porthos in such a state never would never cease to amuse Hauteclaire. The big brute Porthos was practically larger than life in any way possible. His stature, movements, and booming voice all had a largeness to them (well, except for his ears. They were tiny). Porthos towered over the entire court and was more than twice as tall as Hauteclaire; even on his stomach he was almost as tall as Hauteclaire. His arms were bigger around than Hauteclaire’s body; his nose was thicker than Hauteclaire’s neck, and it drooped down under its own enormous weight; his big, black bushy eyebrows expressed Porthos’ inner thoughts without a filter and always did so in a big way. His movements, while big like the King’s, weren’t done in exaggerated grandeur, but in clumsy swings and sways. The way his enormous hands, with their sausage-like fingers, swayed as he walked on his stubby tree trunks he called legs and showed no grace at all. No vase was safe when he walked down hallways, and no drink wouldn’t end up on his tabard. The sight of this mighty beast humbled by little ponies (even with some help from Marcus) was something Hauteclaire would treasure forever.

He turned around and wiped a few tears out of his eyes. The ponies behind him failed to see the humor in this.

“Marc-marc! We’re back! I can smell the apple pies! They smell goooooooood!”

A grey head covered in an oversized hat poked over the edge. “Oh, you’re back, you are? I’ll be down in a tic, I will.” And with that he jumped.

Gasps of shock came from the ponies behind them. They weren’t necessary. Marcus jumped from those heights all the time. When he landed, Marcus corrected his brown vest and adjusted the sleeves to his green shirt.

Unlike Porthos, the King, or Godiva, Marcus hardly moved, and when he did, it was always cool, calm, and calculated. The massive, three-pointed hat that he wore over his head covered up his eyes and rested on the bridge of his long nose and weighed down his large round ears, completely hiding any expression except for his small, permanent smile. He only stood a few inches taller than Hauteclaire, but he always gave off a feeling of being bigger, better, smugger than he really was. Even that quiet, sing-song voice of his had a presence that Hauteclaire couldn’t quite stand.

Marcus turned to see the King lying on the floor and snoring. “So he has learned the language, he has?”

“Yup! When he wakes up, we’ll be able to speak with Fluttershy!”

Fluttershy’s ears perked up at her name.

Marcus tilted his head. “Who?”

“The yellow pegasus behind us,” said Hauteclaire.

Marcus looked back, saw Fluttershy, and waved. “Hello, Fluttershy. It’s very nice to meet you, it is.” The pegasus ducked behind one of her friends and returned the wave very timidly.

Marcus turned to Godiva. She handed him the King. He held the fat imp in his arms, and jumped back up to the castle. “Ooh”s and “aah”s came from behind. Marcus jumped back down again and gave Godiva a piggy back ride up as well. Marcus jumped back down and offered Hauteclaire a lift back to the castle.

“I don’t need your help, brother. I am more than capable of getting up myself.”

Marcus shrugged and prepared to jump back up. Hauteclaire touched Marcus on the shoulder. “But before you go, brother. What happened to our dear Porkos?”

Marcus turned back to Hauteclaire. “He, umm, got a little excited, he did.”

“You mean he got drunk and attacked someone again?” Hauteclaire said with a grin.

“Yeah. He did. He actually attacked some of your new friends there, he did. The purple one, the flying one, and the one in the hat. I had to, uh, calm him down, I had to.”

Hauteclaire turned to look at the ponies behind them. Certain enough, the three that Marcus pointed out kept a more-than-watchful eye on the massive lump before them.

Hauteclaire laughed. And I thought today was going to be just another bad day. I can’t wait to rub this in his face.

Marcus waved to the ponies one last time, turned and jumped back up to the castle. Now it was Hauteclaire’s turn to show off.

Concentrating on the ground before him, he willed it to move. Dirt began to spiral up like a snake. It grew and grew until the head of the snake was even with the edge of the floating castle grounds. The back of the snake became more rigid as steps and an elegant handrail formed. When it was finished, he turned to the ponies, stuck his nose up, and blew out a puff of air, as if to say what he did was nothing. The reaction he got from the ponies wasn’t as great as it was with Marcus, but it still was enough to boost his ego.

Hauteclaire walked up the stairs until an idea hit him. He walked back down the stairs and gave a hard kick to Porthos’ side. Porthos started to move and moan. Hauteclaire ran up the stairs.

*Zap*

“Ow! You made that hurt on purpose!”

“Oh, stop your whining, Haut. Now you speak horsy. Are you never satisfied?”

Hauteclaire pulled the King’s finger out of his ear. “I’d be much happier if you had bothered to wash your hands before sticking your fingers in my ears.”

The Mouse King stared wide-eyed at Hauteclaire; both of his hands were already full again with apple pie. “And stop eating Marcus’ wonderful apple pies? NEVER!” He jammed another piece into his mouth.

No sooner had the King woken up from his “processing nap” than he ran off into the kitchen and started to scarf down pies. It took a lot of pleading from Godiva for him to put down the pies long enough to teach them all horsy. It took him five seconds. No joke.

Godiva was eating pies quickly too, but it wasn’t because of gluttony; it was what she was planning to do afterwards. “I can’t wait to write Flutterbutter and the princess a letter! Oh! What should I say? What should I say?”

Marcus put down his fork. “I believe we should write it together, we should. That way we can all give our best impressions, we can. We’ve already shot ourselves in the foot so many times as it is, we have.”

Godiva swallowed what was in her mouth without chewing. She started to gag, but Porthos, now sans-arrow, gave her a few pats on the back. “Whad’ya mean? The ponies love us!”

Hauteclaire saw it, and he couldn’t hold it anymore. Porthos was already looking at him, sweating. His eyes tried to be threatening, but Hauteclaire could see the fear behind them. Payback’s a bitch, Porthos.

“Porthos attacked the princess.”

Porthos’ hands were already around Hauteclaire’s neck, but it was too late and he knew it.

“HE DID WHAT?!”

What followed was the best dinner show Hauteclaire had ever seen. Although it was lunch. Ah, it didn’t matter. Porthos got the snot beaten out of him by a mouse one-fifth his size. Apple pie could never taste as good as this.

When the show was over, Hauteclaire remembered the drawing he had picked up. He took it out and unfolded it. The words written on it were instantly legible and recognizable.

“Let’s be friends! - Pinkie Pie to Mr. Sun”

Huh. Maybe Godiva wasn’t lying after all.

Author's Note

Next time on the exciting-est, thrilling-est, dramatic-est, heart-stopping-est, coolest-est AGOKAPPP:

The court writes a letter and somebody dies. No biggie.

Ch. 3 - One Mouse, Two Mouse, White Mouse, Blue Alicorn

Three mice and a rat sat around a wooden table covered in empty pie tins, bits of apple pie, paper, and crayons. One of them is busy scribbling away.

“Done!” Godiva announced, dropping the crayon and holding her work up for all to see.

“Ok. Please read the letter back to us, will you?”

“OK! *ahem*

“Dear Pretty Pony Princess,

Hello! My name is Godiva. You met me when I crashed into your building. Sorry about that.

My friends and I are travellers, and we have just arrived here. Everything is so new to us.

We realize that we may have done some bad things, but please believe me when I say we didn’t mean any of it! We just aren’t used to pony society.

We are asking for a chance to make amends and get to know pony society more. We are ready to help in any way to reverse any damage we have done.

There may be only five of us, but we can get a lot done!

I’m Godiva, the Black Knight. I like to run a lot. Nothing is faster than me!

Knebryter (pronounced Keh-NEE-BREE-ter) is my steed. You saw him when we first met. He is always by my side. He says he likes you. He loves tea parties, knitting, flowers, and gladiator fighting.

The big rat with stinky breath who attacked you is Porthos (the ‘s’ is silent). He didn’t mean it. He says that your friend hit him first. Either way, he says he’s really sorry and will apologize when we meet. He is really sweet and super strong.

Then there is Marcus! He is the one with the hat. He is really smart. He is really good with a bow and arrow. He and his brother, Hauteclaire, write songs and they are all lovely. Just don’t touch his hat! I know it looks cool, but he doesn’t like it when anyone touches it.

Then is our King! The Mouse King. He is funny and really good with magic. He used to be the king of a whole island, but a bunch of bad things came and took it away from him. We travel with him and wait for the day we can go home.

And last is Hauteclaire. He is the one with the sun mask. He can be a bit of a grump. He likes to write plays, plays lots of instruments, and can sing, too! But don’t talk about his face. He gets very touchy about that.

I know we caused a lot of trouble, and I am truly sorry. I really hope we can be good friends.

Included is a couple of extra sheets of paper. Write your response on any one of them and throw them out the window! It’s that easy! I can’t wait to hear from you.Sincerely,

Lady Godiva and the Court of the Mouse King”

Godiva put down the paper she was holding. “How was that?”

Hauteclaire was rubbing his temples. “That was absolutely horrible! Marcus! I thought you said we were going to write this thing together. Why is Godiva doing all the writing?”

Marcus leaned back in his chair. “Well, she is the only one who actually got along with the ponies, has had the most time with them, and the King ran off somewhere; so, it is much more likely that a letter from her would elicit a response, it is.”

Hauteclaire leaned forward over the table and pointed to the paper in Godiva’s hand. “OK, but that doesn’t mean we can send that garbage and cross our fingers. They’re going to think we’re a bunch of loons!”

*BONK*

*CRASH*

Godiva’s mace came down on Hauteclaire’s head, which crashed into the wooden table. The table split in two down the middle and collapsed under Hauteclaire. The stone floor cushioned his fall. Porthos clapped his hands and laughed like a circus seal.

Godiva huffed. “What’s wrong with my letter, Hauty? It doesn’t have enough big words for you?”

Marcus went to help his brother up, but Hauteclaire pushed him away. “There are ninety-nine things wrong with that letter, and word choice is one of them!”

Godiva crossed her arms. “What’s the other ninety-eight?”

Hauteclaire stood up and grabbed the letter from Godiva. “Well, one, why am I last? Two, why are you giving Knebryter his own paragraph? He’s a toy!”

Godiva shouted as she covered Knebryter’s ears, “He is not a toy! He has feelings, and you just hurt them!” She petted Knebryter between the ears. “He’s a good boy. Yes, he is, and mommy loves him very much.”

Hauteclaire was about to launch another attack, but Marcus stepped in. He said as gently as he could, “Godiva, we know Knebryter is important to you, we do. But he hasn’t spoken to us in at least five hundred years, he hasn’t. We don’t even know if he is actually able to hear us, we don’t. And since he doesn’t move or speak anymore, he looks like a toy to everyone around you who doesn’t know better, he does.”

Godiva eyes swelled up with tears. “He… He can too hear us.”

Marcus took a deep breath to calm his nerves. What he was about to say may cause the biggest Godiva hissy fit in history. “Godiva, the ponies may also be a bit... put-off, so to speak, by you carrying around a pony head on a stick, they may. You understand what I’m getting at, do you?”

Godiva’s eyes sunk to Knebryter, who was now laying in her lap. Sobs escaped her lips. “So… So I have to leave him here alone? He doesn’t... like to be alone. He can’t move. He can’t t-talk. He is defenseless. It scares him.” She hugged the toy. “It scares me.”

The room fell silent.

Silence was something none of the court were comfortable with. There was always a fight going on, somebody was always recounting highlights of previous games, music was a constant time-waster, and sparring was something they did almost daily. But to sit in absolute silence was something foreign to them.

In all their years together, they had never dove into very serious conversations. They did it to protect themselves from each other, as it was possible that at any moment, one of them could disappear and never return. Such was the nature of their existence. Knebryter was the first one to go long ago. His absence was a reminder of the endless silence that loomed ever over them.

Godiva curled up around Knebryter and continued sobbing. Marcus fidgeted his hat. Hauteclaire took a few steps back from his brother and looked around the room.

Porthos’ eyes darted between the mice and Knebryter. He slapped his knees and stood up. “Marcus, that’s the meanest thing you ever did say.” He walked over to Godiva and rubbed her on the cheek. “Godiva, lass, let me take Knebryter for you.”

Godiva’s tear-stained face turned up to Porthos. “Whu-Why would you do that?”

Porthos knelt down to be as close to eye level with Godiva as he could be. “Marcus here is saying that Knebryter may scare ponies. But you don’t want to leave him alone, do you?” Godiva nodded. Porthos stood up and threw out his arms. “Look at me! I’m a freaking monster! Look at how big I am!--” He tore off his shirt sleeve and pointed at his arm-- “Look at all these scars that cover my body. Imagine how terrified the ponies will be when they see me? What difference will Knebryter make if he were to come with me? They’ll be too busy looking at me, the rat who attacked their princess!”

A glimmer of happiness returned to Godiva’s eyes as she realized just what Porthos was saying. “Oh. Porthos… Thank you!” She threw her arms around his gigantic neck. Porthos returned the hug, took Knebryter from her, and slipped the wooden pony into his belt.

“Porthos, you’re such a suck up,” Hauteclaire said.

Porthos ignored Hauteclaire while he picked up the two table pieces and held them together. He ran a forefinger over the crack, and the table mended itself together. “Now, lass, we have a letter to write.” He turned to Hauteclaire, and his voice dropped an octave. “Right?”

The next hour was spent editing and rewriting the same letter over, and over, and over. After re-arranging introductions, cutting out any drawings of Fluttershy and mentions of Knebryter entirely, changing a few words, and writing the final draft with something other than crayon, the letter was ready to be sent. Godiva walked to the window with sheets of paper and the letter in her hands, and threw them all out into the sky. In the air, the paper sheets folded themselves into many swans and flew off towards the crystal castle in the distance.

Godiva was so happy, she was skipping and humming. “Yay! I can’t wait until we get a response! I’m going to town while we wait.”

Marcus had to stop her there. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, I don’t. We should wait here until we actually hear from them, we should.”

Godiva stomped her foot. “WHAT? Why~? I want to go talk to the ponies.”

Marcus shook his head. “I understand, I do, but they might not want to see us, they might. After all the hubbub you three caused over there, you might want to give them some time to recover their senses, you might. If they are angry with us, we should wait for them to cool down first, we should.”

Godiva stomped her foot and whined. “But I wanna see the ponies now!”

Porthos walked over to Godiva and put his enormous hand on her tiny shoulders. “Godiva, you shouldn’t let impatience ruin your potential friendships.”

“It won’t make a difference,” Hauteclaire huffed. “They’re not going to accept a letter of apology just like that. Friendship isn’t something you can win so easily.”

Godiva’s eyes watered at Hauteclaire’s comment. Marcus stepped forward to his brother. “Hauteclaire, surely you don’t believe that, you don’t.”

Hauteclaire refused to budge. He tried to tighten his grip to his pessimistic beliefs, but the proof that he kept hidden in his pocket was weakening his stance. He needed a distraction. “Hey, where is the King anyway?”

Hauteclaire’s question and wish were answered; he’d soon wish they weren’t. “HEY GUYS! I figured out the language we’d forgotten!”

The King ran into the room holding his CD player. The sight of it made Godiva forget the mean thing Hauteclaire said only seconds ago.

Hauteclaire shook his head. “No.”

“Oh, yes! I can finally sing my favorite songs again!” The Mouse King pushed the play button. Godiva and Porthos cheered.

“No.”

Oh, my god. Becky, look at her butt.

“No.”

“Yes!” The Mouse King had a huge smile on his face.

“No.”

“YES!”

“NO!”

“I LIKE BIG BUTTS, AND I CAN NOT LIE!”

“NO! DAMMIT! NO!”

“So it was English we forgot, was it? Something must have happened back at home to make us forget that, something must have,” said Marcus.

Porthos turned his head, and looked at his backside. "That must have happened the same time my tail disappeared." He gave the stump a little wiggle before turning his attention back to the singing and dancing fool that was his king. “Eh, I’m more of a tits guy, meself.”

“Tits? I have those!"

“Godiva, please don’t lift your dress like that. It’s very unlady-like.”

“...DEEP IN THE JEANS SHE’S WEARING! I’M HOOKED AND I CAN’T STOP STARING!...”

No amounts of facepalming would save Hauteclaire. He had been overjoyed when they forgot English. The King had stopped playing his mix CD since he could no longer sing along. Now Hauteclaire would have to put up with this for the next hundred years.

“Next track! BIG BOOTY BITCHES! BIG BIG BOOTY BITCHES! WOOH!”

Hauteclaire walked out of the room and to the top of the tallest tower.

And jumped.

When Hauteclaire opened his eyes again, he found himself in the throne room. So this is where he must have hidden his Brain.

He got up off the floor and stretched. His new body needed to be broken in. As he stretched and twisted himself, some of the dirt clumps in his skin cracked, and a few pebbles and small diamonds broke free. He shook out his cotehardie and his pants. Loose pebbles, diamonds, and dirt fell out of his shoes as he took them off and turned them over. As Hauteclaire smoothed the wrinkles out of his clothes, he thought, He always hidesit in the most conspicuously inconspicuous places. I bet it’s under one of those thrones.

The King always hid his Brain in weird places. First, he used to keep it in his crown; after that, he tried hiding it in his belly. Now he just hides it all over the darn place. Since Hauteclaire woke up in the throne room, it had to be nearby.

Hauteclaire looked up and saw the deteriorated banners of the sun and the moon that hung above the thrones. He recognized the sun from the queen’s flank, but there was another one with a moon. Must have been the king. Or a rival faction’s emblem. He’d find out later, either from the library or the ponies themselves. If they haven’t decided to chase us out, that is.

Hauteclaire walked outside and saw that the sun was setting. He must have been out for a couple of hours. He walked around the castle until he came to the base of the tallest tower. There lying on the floor was Hauteclaire, smashed against the stone floor. Diamonds and dirt were splattered everywhere. The alive Hauteclaire kicked the dead Hauteclaire and it crumbled into more dirt. Sifting through the remains, Hauteclaire pulled out a shining fragment about the size of his thumb. He threw it into his mouth and swallowed it.

This is why it was always a pain when he died. Not in any physical sense, it was just a hassle. Should he die, everything that wasn’t a part of him would be left behind, his fragment included. After dying, the “dead” Hauteclaire would eventually be revived by the King or his Brain in a new body, whichever got to him first. The first thing he had to do was recover his fragment from his old one. If he didn’t, the King would become infuriated. Hauteclaire never wanted to find out what the King would do if he ever failed to recover his fragment in a “timely manner.” To avoid this, Hauteclaire had developed a strategy to prevent that while playing the game.

Still, death was a great way to get away from reality for a few hours.

He took the mask next. It had survived the fall nicely; no cracks at all. He looked at what remained of dead Hauteclaire’s face. Oh, you used to be the envy of all the ladies. He stomped it into a pile of dirt. There was no satisfaction gained from destroying what he once considered his best, and now his worst, feature.

He was about to walk away when he remembered that there was one more thing to get. He dug through the remains again until he pulled out the drawing Pinkie Pie had given him. He gave it another look over. Did she really mean it?

“Had a nice nap, did you?”

Hauteclaire quickly shoved the drawing into a pocket. “Marcus! Don’t startle me like that!”

Marcus laughed. “I’m sorry brother, but we were looking for you, we were. We got a response from Princess Twilight Sparkle, we did.”

Hauteclaire’s eyebrows squished together. “Twilight what?”

“Twilight Sparkle. She was the purple pony that escorted you from the palace and the princess Porthos attacked, she was.” Marcus laughed even more. “Oh, you should have seen Godiva when she read the letter, you should have. She was so excited that she ran around the castle ceiling and couldn’t tell us what it said, she couldn’t. I had to shoot her with an arrow so we could read it, I had to.”

Hauteclaire was puzzled. “Did you really shoot Godiva?”

Marcus shrugged. “Well, the King was getting impatient, and he started lobbing fireballs at her, he did. So I had to stop her before the King destroyed the letter, I had to. At least Porthos enjoyed the show, he did. Godiva didn’t seem to mind, she didn’t.”

Hauteclaire chuckled. Not at the humorous story, but that Godiva irritated the King. “The King is such a buffoon. What did the letter say?”

“Tomorrow, at noon, they are holding a welcoming ceremony for us, they are,” Marcus said.

Hauteclaire took a few moments to repeat what he had just heard in his head. “You’re serious?”

“Always am, I am,” said Marcus.

Hauteclaire knew his brother was telling the truth, but that was too strange. “Wha- How? How could they just decide to hold a welcoming ceremony for us like that? Don’t they know how much damage we caused, how much we stole already? They probably aren’t aware of just how much we HAVE stolen.”

“You were there when we wrote the letter, you were. We explained that what we did wasn’t intentional and we would like a chance to make up for it, we did.”

Hauteclaire couldn’t process this. “And they believed it?”

Marcus’ smile disappeared from his face. Something that didn’t happen very often, even during the game. “What? Do you think that we were being dishonest? I know you don’t think so highly of the court, but you shouldn’t be like this, Hauteclaire. It isn’t healthy.” Marcus took a step back. “We are meeting them at noon at the edge of the forest tomorrow. You’d better fix those thoughts in your head before then, brother. I don’t want you messing this up for us.” He walked back into the castle.

His tic was gone. Something that told Hauteclaire that he had done something that very few were capable of doing: making Marcus mad.

When Marcus was out of sight and far enough away that he wouldn’t hear, Hauteclaire stomped his dead body beyond recognition.

The blasts of an organ echoed throughout the castle halls. Its fast melody wrapped around every turn and flooded the air with classy anger. Its first voice was accompanied by a second voice that repeated the first with a delay. The pace picked up as a third, more baritone voice entered the argument. The pace continued to quicken as the anger behind the music grew. The music built on itself in complexity until the third voice went immensely silent, followed by the second and first voices with a powerful vibrato and a final volley of chords signaling the end of the song, when applause would be acceptable. And expected.

Hauteclaire leaned back from the instrument in front of him. Playing music was his outlet, and because of how much venting he had to do, there was no better musician than him. He took pride in that.

His King had a wide appreciation for music, but he seemed to enjoy the novelty crap he found on his travels the most. The King did love the music that Hauteclaire and Marcus wrote together, but it was obviously because of Marcus’ lyrics and not Hauteclaire’s musical compositions. The King had the gall to refer to their work as his music, as in Marcus’. Not a collaborative effort, but something that Marcus came up with entirely. Like Hauteclaire just splattered ink on pages and called it music while Marcus slaved for greatness, when the opposite was closer to the truth. To even think that Marcus could consider himself a poet with the crap he splattered on paper was baffling. It was Hauteclaire that would polish these turds until they stank like gold. Gold that was still made of crap. Stinky, crappy gold. And Marcus never once corrected the King on who did all the hard work.

Hauteclaire laid down on the bench and closed his eyes. He wanted to stop thinking about that kind of stuff. A nap might do him good.

Or he could jump off the tower again.

Shortly after he settled down for a nap, he got a rude awakening. Something was digging around in his head. Hauteclaire opened his eyes and smirked. There was another way he liked to vent his frustrations. This way required a “volunteer.”

Hauteclaire made his way up onto the hole-filled roof of the castle under the moonlit night. Well, what little of it was left anyway. There, he came face to face with his new venting buddies.

On the other side of the roof stood several ponies with bat wings and dark blue armor. They surrounded a slightly larger pony with stars in her hair.

An alicorn.

This alicorn, however, didn’t strike Hauteclaire as much as the sun queen; even if he was in the mood, he didn’t think he would have been very impressed with her anyway. Where the sun queen was disarmingly warm, this one was cold and isolating.

He’d have fun taking her down a peg.

Hauteclaire threw open his arms. “Hey, big, blue, and batty. It appears to me that you failed to take proper care of yourself. Did you know you have lice the size of hail in your mane?” That got their attention. “I’d come over there and slap some sense into you, but I’m afraid of the putrid smell a horse like you with such poor hygiene may reek of. I bet the dead jump out of their graves just to escape your stench. You must be the life of the party at funerals.”

The bat guards remained stoic, but their eyes betrayed them. The alicorn herself got wide-eyed, if only for a fraction of a second.

A guard stepped forward. “Do you know just who you are addressing? It would be wise for you to…”

Hauteclaire cut him off. “Oh, I’m well aware of who I’m addressing. A couple of intruders who came to dig up some dirt. So it would be wise for you to bugger off before I dig up some dirt. For your graves.” Hauteclaire pulled out his dagger.

The bat ponies began to get restless. Hauteclaire enjoyed watching their inner turmoil surface. The alicorn’s horn glowed faintly, and that feeling came again in Hauteclaire’s head.

“So, you’re the dirt digger? Well, too bad!” Hauteclaire laughed at the looks on their faces. “That’s right! You’re powers are useless! You. Can’t. Read. My. Thoughts!” Hauteclaire tapped his head. “You can’t! You are incapable! There is nothing here! Nothing!”

It took a moment for Hauteclaire to realize what he just said. A quick mental kick got him back on track. “Go back to whatever hole you crawled from and cry in your filthy stable! I’m going to be the bigger mouse and let you go with just a slap on the wrist. If the King knew you were here, though, I don’t think he would have been so... forgiving.”

With a glow of its horn, the alicorn and bat ponies turned into shadows and whisked away into the darkness of the night. Hauteclaire relaxed his stance when he could no longer see them and sheathed his dagger.

Hauteclaire was satisfied, but he had really been hoping for a fight. He looked over to the edge of the roof where the intruders had stood moments ago. Up climbed another Hauteclaire. The new Hauteclaire looked over at the old Hauteclaire that had just driven away the intruders with his verbal assault.

Old Hauteclaire gave new Hauteclaire a look of satisfaction before collapsing into a pile of dirt: clothes, mask and all. The remaining Hauteclaire, the real one (and not his dirt double. They were quite useful for toying with others.), pulled out his dagger and slashed at the air. “Darn, I was so hoping for a fiAEEEYAAAH!”

A roof tile under Hauteclaire’s foot slipped, and he tumbled down off the roof onto the next one below him, rolled down the steep incline, and bounced against a stone gargoyle before hitting the ground with his face. Shingles rained on his noggin.

Hauteclaire picked himself up, his hand on his head as he fought off the dizziness. There was a bump on his head. He felt it out. It was the handle to his dagger. Hauteclaire sighed and pulled it out.

Almost as if summoned, Godiva came running around the corner. “Hauteclaire! You too?”

“What? What do you mean?” said Hauteclaire.

Godiva was running in place and constantly checking her surroundings. “I think this place is haunted! Strange things have been happening! Porthos fell through a trap door; a chandelier fell on Marcus, and a bookshelf, and a suit of armor, and Porthos; and the King’s bed flipped with him on it, and he was thrown out the window and landed on Marcus! What happened to you?”

That must have been that alicorn’s doing. Better not tell Godiva about that. “I fell from the roof.”

Godiva swapped her nervousness with confusion. “What were you doing on the roof? That’s not ghosts, that’s just stupid! You should know better, Haut-sauce. But be careful, I think we have angered something we shouldn’t have! Like the ghost of someone who used to live here.” She ran back around the corner she came.

Hauteclaire brushed the dirt of his clothes. “Oh, please. There is nothing I can’t...”

He was cut short by a stone gargoyle to the head.

Ch. 4 - Meet the Ponies

The King, Porthos, Godiva, and Hauteclaire all stood in a line outside the castle. In front of them stood Marcus. The sun was high above them, and the weather couldn’t have been any better. Especially from where the forest ended and where the town of “Ponyville” began. What a stupid name. It was like the ponies had made the weather just for today. It amazed Hauteclaire so much that he wasn’t really listening to Marcus’ lecture about manners, etiquette, grace, and other things that the other three lacked. “Brother.” Some more than others. He didn’t even need to be here; he was the definition of class and culture. “Hauteclaire.” Dammit, he was the only one that wore pants on a regular basis! Why should he be subjected to...

“Hauteclaire!” Marcus said. The volume this time snapped Hauteclaire out his silent rant.

“What!?” Hauteclaire snapped back.

Marcus dropped back down to his usual, calm voice. “I said that you will promise me you won’t be so nasty to these ponies, I said. I know how you get, I do, and I want everyone on their best behavior, I want. This is the first vacation we’ve taken since, ever, so I want the locals to like us, I do.”

“Yeah, Hauteclaire! I don’t want you yelling at any of the ponies!” said Godiva. “They’re our friends now, and friends treat each other nicely.”

Marcus turned to Godiva. “Now, Godiva, I have a few things to talk to you about, I do. These ponies are people here, they are. So no petting or touching them.”

Godiva stopped tugging at a wedgie. “What? But I want to play with the ponies!”

Marcus crossed his arms. “Godiva, these aren’t like ponies back home, they’re not. Who knows? Even scratching one of them behind the ear could be a social taboo, it could. So I don’t want you petting, hugging, mounting, or anything else of that nature, I don’t.”

Porthos snorted and the King chortled. “You said ‘mount’.”

Godiva shot them a glare before continuing her whining. “But they were all snuggly-wuggly with each other when they met Fluttershy!”

Marcus remained unmoved. “Between close friends things are different, they are.” He walked away from Godiva and didn’t see her stick out her tongue.

“Now, Porthos.” Marcus looked up at the rat that was twice as tall as he was. “No getting drunk.”

“I can’t make any promises,” said Porthos as he adjusted himself in his pants, like a true person of culture.

Marcus crossed his arms, again. “And only one drink.”

“OH, SOD OFF! I’ll drink as much as I want.”

Marcus didn’t flinch as he locked eyes with Porthos. Time stood still.

“Fine,” Porthos said, “I’ll meet you halfway. No more than fifteen.”

“One.”

“Twelve.”

“One.”

“Ten.”

“One.”

“Seven.”

“One.”

“OH, FOR THE LOVE OF PATRICK, LET ME HAVE FUN!”

“One.”

“FIVE!”

“One.”

“THREE!”

“One.”

“Two?... Please?”

Porthos' had his hands clamped together in a prayer of pity. He no longer towered over Marcus. At least figuratively.

“One.”

“DAMN YOU, YOU HAT-WEARING, POETRY-SPEWING, MOSS-BRAINED, SNAKE-SKINNED, SKINNY-ARMED, JELLY-BONED, LIMP-WRISTED, STICK-THROWING, DAISY-SNIFFING, CLOVER-PLUCKING, TEETOTALING, SHEEP-TWADDLING, ARSE-LICKING, SPINELESS, TASTELESS, GUTLESS GOBSHITE! LET ME DRINK!”

“One.”

“GAAAAH!” Porthos raised his fists above his head.

Godiva jumped in front of him. “Please, Porthos. Do it for me! You can drink after.”

“GRRRRAAAYAAAAAAAA!” Porthos continued to scream and holler as his fists shook about over his head. He ran up to the castle and punched a huge hole in the wall. It cracked and crumbled before him. A gargoyle fell from its perch and klunked him on his head. Porthos stood in place as his shoulders heaved. His breathing could be heard over the crumbling wall. “...Fine.” Slowly, he turned around. “One bottle.”

Marcus, now done with Porthos, turned to the King, who was rolling on the floor laughing his royal ass off. “My King, what have you done with your clothes, have you? You were looking so regal just a few minutes ago, you were.”

Still laughing, the King got up, wiped away a tear and pointed to a pile of fabric next to him. “I’m not wearing those! I’m perfect just the way I am.”

“My King, you should be dressed to impress, you should. This is our first time meeting with a people outside of the game in a long time, it is. We should take it seriously, we should,” Marcus said.

“None of the ponies wore clothes when we went to town! Even their princess runs around in the nudey! Why should I, a king, dress as well! I’m already more dressed than she is!”

As much as Hauteclaire hated to, he had to agree with the King. Princess Twilight Glitter ran around wearing nothing. Clothing was probably considered completely optional just like back home; well, for the Mouse King’s army, anyway. The people of the island weren’t too fond of their attitude about it, almost as much as Hauteclaire, but they were usually too busy lighting torches or running in fear to voice their concerns.

Clothes made the man, or in this case, mouse. The King had a regal purple suit with golden tassels and buttons, but he never wore it. Instead, he preferred to go out as he was now, completely nude except for his crown and red cape with white fur lining and a golden chain. Still, his entire wardrobe could never hide the King’s most prominent feature.

Hauteclaire walked up next to Marcus. “Marcus, the King is very proud of his body. It is like a poem. It is overflowing with so much purple prose and saccharine sentiments that he can’t help but share it with the world!”

“Hell yeah, Haut! I always knew you’d support me.” The King turned and grinned at Marcus. “The culture snob says it’s ok. What about you, Marcus?”

Oh, two for one. Today was starting off well.

Marcus stopped to think about it, but not before silently tut-tutting Hauteclaire for his “praise” of the King’s physique. He turned to the King. “You’re right, you are. Fine. You don’t have to wear your suit, you don’t.”

Porthos threw his hands up again. “WHAT IN THE BLOODY HELL WAS THAT!? He just says ‘No’ and you’re going to give up like that? How is that different from me?”

“He’d brought up a good point, he did. Can you?” said Marcus.

Porthos brought a hand up to his chin and stared at the sky. Hauteclaire could hear the gears grinding from where he stood. Any longer, and smoke might have started to come out of his ears. Porthos smiled and brought down his hand. “I’m more fun when I’m drunk.”

Marcus shook his head. “You also are a moody, murderous trainwreck, you are. Remember that time you ripped the arms off that statue before crying yourself to sleep in the park, do you?”

“It looked at me funny!” said Porthos.

Godiva nodded. “I remember that! He kept apologizing to it until he sobered up two weeks later.”

Hauteclaire smirked. “You heard it, Pork. No alcohol. Now stop your bellyaching.”

Porthos glared at Hauteclaire and Marcus. He reached down and adjusted himself. “Fine.”

Hauteclaire flinched in disgust. “You’re not going to keep touching yourself like that at the party, are you? That is disgusting.”

Porthos leaned over Hauteclaire. “I don’t like pants, Haut. They make me chafe.”

Marcus sighed. “You can take off your pants, Porthos, you can, and go as you usually are.”

Porthos smiled at this unexpected victory. “I’ll do that.” With a single motion, he grabbed his pants with both hands and ripped them off. The monstrous rip was followed by the sounds of clinking glass. Around Porthos’ feet were scattered several bottles of alcohol. “Oh yeah, I forgo…er, now, who put those in my pants?”

The time came to meet Princess Twilight Sparkle, Fluttershy, and their friends at the edge of the Everfree Forest. However, instead of walking down the path from the castle or teleporting, the King opted for a more dramatic entrance. So when the time came, the castle floated towards their destination. The King stood at the edge of the grounds and appraised the world below him. When they came to the edge of the forest, he stopped the castle.

The King turned around to see Marcus, Hauteclaire, and Godiva combing through Porthos’ clothes. Marcus found several occupied hiding places for flasks and bottles in Porthos’ red tabard. Hauteclaire checked the indigo gambeson Porthos always wore; it had a few bottles in the baggy portions around the upper arms of his striped sleeves. Godiva even found a small flask in his red and indigo-striped skullcap. The thin, long, purple feather on it had also been inspected. To everyone’s surprise, they found nothing.

Hauteclaire saw out of the corner of his eye the King silently laughing at the whole situation. Would this meeting really go off so well? How could a maniacal king, a giant alcoholic, a giddy knight, an incompetent poet, and a cultured musician get along with a society of ponies that they had already, unintentionally and intentionally, terrorized? The familiar, yet now rarely-seen, calm smile that spread from eye to eye on the King’s face told Hauteclaire all he needed to hear: "It's showtime."

“Knights, and Hauteclaire, front and center,” said the King. “We are going to meet the ponies.”

*BOOM*

The ground beneath Porthos cracked where he landed. Already a heavy beast on his own, Porthos was weighed down by the Mouse King on his shoulders, Marcus and Godiva under one arm, and Hauteclaire under the other. He placed down Marcus and Godiva and dropped Hauteclaire before reaching up and letting down the King.

Hauteclaire glared at Porthos while wiping dirt off himself before looking ahead. There in a row were six ponies. Their faces were still recovering from what must have been quite the dramatic entrance. Four of them were smiling. Some of those smiles were fake; Hauteclaire put on a fake one of his own.

The King walked forward to the princess. His head was still held high and chest pushed out, but nowhere near as much with his usual, exaggerated strut. The King stopped before the princess and bowed. “Good evening, Princess Twilight Sparkle. I am honored that you have given us a chance to meet again after such events."

The Princess bowed in return. “I am honored to meet you as well, Your Majesty.”

Before the Princess could continue, the King signalled to Porthos with a hand. Porthos walked up beside the King, took off his cap and kneeled. Even on one knee, Porthos was still double the height of the ponies. “I understand my knight, Porthos, has attacked you, your friends, and several of your guards the other day. His punishment is that he is to serve you and your friends as you see fit.”

A tingle of joy swept through Hauteclaire’s body when he heard the King said this. Oh, it must have been Hauteclaire’s birthday.

The orange pony (the letter said her name was Applejack, right?), one of the two that didn’t have a smile, stepped forward. “What about my brother!? Are you gonna punish him for that, too?”

Princess Twilight quickly turned to hush her friend while the other ponies bit their lips, Porthos broke out in sweat and Godiva stopped smiling.

The King didn’t blink. “Applejack, the apple farmer of Sweet Apple Acres, am I correct? I wasn’t aware your brother was the one Porthos injured the other day. Either way, Porthos will be punished for that too, as you see fit, and we will compensate you for any losses we have caused.”

Godiva grabbed at a mace on her side that wasn’t there. “HE DID WHAT!?”

Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to me.

The King turned slowly to Godiva with a look that said, “Shut up. Your King is talking.” She listened. “While gathering food the other day, Porthos fell on a pony and injured it. Step forward, Godiva.”

Happy birthday, dear Hauteclaire~.

Godiva followed the King’s orders and kneeled opposite of Porthos, her face was contorted with anger and shame.

The King turned back to Twilight. “I also am aware that my knight, Godiva, has caused a lot of damage to your town. She will serve you to make up for damages.”

Happy birthday tooooooooo...

“Hauteclaire,” the King said.

...me?

Hauteclaire stepped forward. The King motioned him to kneel and he kneeled next to Porthos.

“I also understand that my bard, Hauteclaire, has been a nuisance and may have used unnecessary force against some of your subjects,” said the King. “You may punish him and he will serve you as you wish.”

Oh what the… That bastard. How dare he? HOW DARE HE!

The King kneeled as well. “My court and I have been, unfortunately, quite destructive during our brief time here. I, too, have used my magic on your friends and subjects and take responsibility for what I have done. I will take responsibility for my entire court, and I hope we can make make peace between equine and rodent.”

Serpent-tongued, two-faced devil.

Hauteclaire peeked up at the ponies. Not a single one of them was smiling. Mouths were open, eyelids were twitching, and brows were furrowed. Whatever it was they were expecting, it wasn’t this.

The ponies behind Twilight whispered to one another while the Princess scratched her head. “Ummm. You don’t need to do that. You explained yourself rather well back in the castle.”

The King raised his head, “Ah, but that was before I understood the full extent of my court’s actions. When we first met, I had no idea you were attacked or had close friends injured because of me. I would be a terrible king if I didn’t offer my apologies and compensation for my court’s misdeeds.”

Twilight looked back at the rest, and they looked back at her. She turned back to the Mouse King. “Well, I accept your apologies and your offers for help. Porthos can help Applejack at Sweet Apple Acres, and we’ll find other ways for you and your court to help with the repairs.”

The King stood up and relieved the air of the strangling tension. “Alright. Now that that has been said, let’s start with the introductions!” He clapped his hands and the court all stood (except for Marcus, he was standing the whole time) and lined up. One by one, the court stepped forward and made their introductions.

“Marcus. The Mouse King’s Poet, Advisor, Knight, Archer, and Cook.”

“Godiva! The Mouse King’s Black Knight, Cavalry and Scout!”

“Porthos. The Mouse King’s Knight, Sheriff and Bodyguard.”

“And I’m Hauteclaire. The King’s Bard.”

“And I am the Mouse King, Supreme Monarch of the Isle of Mouse. It is a pleasure to meet you all.”

Stupid, stupid titles.

The ponies began to relax a bit. Pinkie Pie, the pony who Hauteclaire had made the pleasure of pissing off earlier, was shaking. Was it fear, nervousness, or excitement?

“OH, WOW! THAT WAS SO COOL!”

Excitement.

“GIRLS, LINE UP!”

The other ponies tried to stop her or talk her out of it, but to no avail. Pinkie corralled her friends and lined them up. With all the energy and enthusiasm that came from her, Hauteclaire was convinced this pony could herd cats. Once Pinkie got all of her friends in place, she ran to the far end of the line and stepped forward.

“Pinkie Pie! The Element of Laughter, Party Planner Extraordinaire and Apprentice Baker!”

Pinkie Pie turned to her friends who stared back at her. The cyan pegasus next to her rolled her eyes and stepped forward; the rest followed suit, although their enthusiasm didn’t match Pinkie’s.

“Rainbow Dash. Element of Loyalty, future Wonderbolt, and Weather Manager of Ponyville.”

“Rarity. Element of Generosity and Fashion Designer.”

“Applejack. Element of Honesty and Apple Farmer.”

“Ummm, Fluttershy. Element of Kindness and I take care of animals.”

“Twilight Sparkle. Element of Magic, Princess and student of Princess Celestia."

And that is how the Mouse King’s court met the ponies.

Author's Note

Next time on AGOKAPPP:

The Court of the Mouse King goes to their welcome party. And... some stuff happens. Like, yeah. Stuff. What do you think is going to happen? :trollestia:

Ch. 5 - Welcome to Ponyville! We Got Fun 'n' Games!

Well, after that very bizarre and somewhat humiliating first meeting, the ponies and mice (and rat) finally loosened up and talked. At first, it was just recounting what each party had done and what was said when language was a barrier neither side could cross. Hauteclaire learned what the King had told the ponies back when they first met them in the crystal castle.

The truth.

Well, as much of the truth as he wanted to tell. It technically wasn’t lying when you leave out details. So according to what the ponies knew, the Court of the Mouse King had been exiled from their home long ago and were now cursed and roamed aimlessly until certain conditions were met back home that were beyond their control. The court had been reduced to a group of nomads, sleeping wherever they could find shelter, hiding from the locals and stealing food, because at every place they’d been to they’d been chased away like vermin.

That was all one hundred percent true.

Back at the crystal castle, the Mouse King had also made a short quip about how Hauteclaire’s attitude didn’t match the sun on his face and made the ponies laugh.

That may have also been true, but it was hard for Hauteclaire to be sunny around the Mouse King.

The court, in turn, learned about what went on with the ponies. It turned out that Godiva had crashed into an emergency town meeting. Rumors and panic were spreading because of recent sightings of a “strange black shadow carrying a pony head on a spike” (Godiva), creature attacks on farms and farmers (Godiva and Porthos respectively), things being stolen (the Mouse King’s summoning magic), and the horror stories being spread by scared pegasi (again, entirely the King’s fault).

After Godiva’s little “incident” with the ponies, Twilight Sparkle, Applejack, and Rainbow Dash with a group of soldiers had gone to the castle to find out just what was going on while the others stayed behind to look after Ponyville. When they got to the castle, they were attacked by a “slightly” intoxicated Porthos. According to Rainbow Dash, Porthos started the fight by spitting chewed-up apple pie all over Applejack’s face. Porthos, however, claimed that Applejack yelled at him and jabbed him without provocation and Rainbow kicked him in the head first. Either way, Marcus heard the commotion and felled Porthos with an arrow before he could hurt anybody. Marcus afterwards did his best to mime his apologies before a pegasus came and told the ponies about an incident at the castle, and with a flash of light, all of the ponies disappeared.

Oh, and the dragon Hauteclaire used “unnecessary force” on was the Princess’ assistant. Fantastic. And that dragon wrote to another princess for help after it heard all the rumors from the ponies outside, even after Pinkie Pie told him that Fluttershy wasn’t in danger. The dragon convinced himself that Pinkie may have been a “changer” or something and sent the other princes an emergency request for help, claiming that Twilight’s castle was under siege. So now Hauteclaire had pissed off two princesses. Oh well, at least he would be looking forward to meeting the Sun Queen; hopefully he had left a better first impression on her.

So, after a bit more chit chat, the ponies and the court made their way to Ponyville. Hauteclaire rolled his eyes everytime he heard that name. He knew he’d better get used to it, though; this might be a long vacation.

Or a short one. Either way, he’d be hearing that name a lot.

Ponyville was in sight in the distance from the path the court and the ponies were taking. On both sides of the path were rows and rows of apple trees. Hauteclaire learned that this was part of the Sweet Apple Acres orchard that Applejack worked in, the same orchard in which Porthos had fallen on her big brother, Big Macintosh, and broken his legs. The bloke was in a hospital, and Applejack was still furious at Porthos despite his apologies.

Which was probably why she wasn’t walking beside him. She was walking next to Marcus. Both of them wore large, brown hats, so they already had a lot in common.

Up in front, the Mouse King and Twilight were debating about magic and leadership techniques and what have you. It was quite funny to see how the King, the shortest of the group, had to quickly walk to keep up with Twilight.

Godiva was by the side chattering away with Fluttershy and Rainbow Dash (who was STILL flying. Did she live in the sky or something?). She seemed to be challenging Rainbow Dash to a race, but Marcus quickly snubbed out any hope of fun once he caught wind of it. He didn’t want Godiva to smash any more property than she already had. Marcus still failed to catch wind of why Godiva was picking at a wedgie earlier. On her lower back under her dress were the outlines of a couple of brushes and combs. Porthos wasn’t the only one to try smuggling something under Marcus’ nose.

Speaking of Porthos, none of the ponies dared to get close to him. Perhaps they were scared he would fall on them just like he did to Big Mac. Hauteclaire bet if Knebryter wasn’t the husk he was now, he too would have tried to wiggle his way out of Porthos’ belt.

That left Hauteclaire trailing in the back with the last two ponies: the fashionista, Rarity, and the hyperactive party planner, Pinkie Pie. “...so when we got that letter from you saying that you were homeless, I was so sad I cried, and then I thought a party would be great to cheer you up! No wonder you were so grumpy yesterday! And when the letter said that you were so moved by how nice Fluttershy treated one of your own that you thought about giving pony society a chance and came to learn the language so you could try to get to know ponies better, I just knew I had to throw you a big, big, BIG party to welcome you to Equestria! So I convinced Twilight to let me throw you a big ‘Welcome to Ponyville’ Party! The whole town will be there, and...”

Oh lord, she’s worse than Godiva. “Um. Thank you, Miss Pie. That is rather nice of you.”

Pinkie giggled. “Oh, you don’t have to call me ‘Miss!’ We’re friends! Just call me Pinkie! Or whenever you need a party!”

And she loves terrible jokes just like the King. Fantastic.

Rarity must have sensed Hauteclaire’s growing weariness of the over-excited Pinkie Pie, so she took over the conversation. “Now, Hauteclaire, I really like your outfit. The blues of your clothes really goes with the gold buttons and your mask. With your white fur, it’s like a sun coming out from behind a cloud on a beautiful summer’s day!”

Wow. That was... actually very nice. “Well thank you very much, Miss Rarity. Clothes are very important, as what we wear is a good indicator of our character and values. Working with clothes yourself, I bet you understand that better than even I do.”

“So, why are you wearing a cape and a mask? Is your character a superhero?” said Pinkie Pie pointing a hoof at the mask. Rarity winced at Pinkie’s bluntness.

Oh yeah, we cut out the part about my mask in the final letter. “One, this is not a cape. This is a herigaut. A garment worn by those of the upper class where we’re from. Notice how it comes around at half length in the front and the blue fabric on the outside with gold on the underside? It is no cape. And two--” Hauteclaire slapped Pinkie’s hoof away-- “don’t touch the mask.”

That didn’t stop the pink menace. “Why? What is wrong with the mask? Is it fragile? Expensive? It looks like it was made out of gold! Is it like some Phantom of the Opera thing and you’re using it to hide your hideous face that made your mother run away? Or...”

Rarity quickly covered her friend’s mouth with a hoof, although Hauteclaire wished she did so much sooner. “Oooohoho, Pinkie.” Rarity let out a fake laugh. “Please excuse her; she is very curious and excited to see such new, fascinating ponies, er… friends that she can hardly control herself. Isn’t that right, Pinkie?”

Pinkie’s muffled an agreement through Rarity’s hoof. At least one of them understood tact.

“I see, Miss.” Hauteclaire picked up the pace to catch up with the rest of the group.

Rarity let go of Pinkie and trotted up to Hauteclaire’s side. “Oh, you don’t have to use titles here. Names alone will do just fine, Hauteclaire.” She put on another genuine smile. “And I really like your name. Hauteclaire. Does it have a particular meaning?”

“Why thank you for asking. Hauteclaire means ‘high and neat'. Does your name have a special meaning to it, too?” Ok, what is going on? Why is this pony being so nice?

Rarity opened her mouth but Pinkie replied instead. “It means she’s a real gem! Isn’t that right, Rarity?”

Rarity giggled at her friend's quick rebound from irritable from tolerable. “Well, you’ll never find a mare like me here in Ponyville. I have also been told I have a knack for finding and bringing out the rare inner beauty of ponies.”

Pinkie skipped up along side of Hauteclaire. “And she can find gems, too! Speaking of gems, why is your body full of holes filled with diamonds and dirt? Are you part diamond dog? Have you been eating too much swiss cheese? You know what they say, ‘You are what you eat!’”

And now she was inching back into irritable. At least that question Hauteclaire could answer. “It’s very simple. My body is incomplete.”

Pinkie pushed Rarity’s hoof away from her mouth. “Incomplete? What does that mean?”

“It’s part of our curse. Shortly after our King saved our lives, our bodies shattered and have slowly been reappearing bit-by-bit. Everything from organs to memories has been lost; we’ve spent centuries without them. Our curse fills in the holes with whatever is available around us. As time goes on, we sometimes regain some more of us, and other times we lose stuff. It is completely beyond our control. Why, we had to relearn English in order to speak with you.”

Rarity gasped. “You’ve lost your memories and have been living like this for centuries? How terrible!”

Pinkie rose her hoof. “What’s English?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Rarity put down Pinkie’s hoof. “Darling, you’re not speaking English, you’re speaking Equestrian. Perhaps Equestrian is very similar to a language you know?”

Oh, so this is one of those worlds with a slightly different “English” than the others. “It’s possible.”

"WE’RE HERE!” Godiva was bouncing next to an upside-down, stiff-legged Fluttershy.

Godiva and Pinkie Pie might have been the only ones truly excited about the court's arrival. They didn’t notice the glares and stares strewn about the town among the many streamers, balloons, tables full of food and punch, and a giant banner above a raised stage that said, to his disgust, “Welcome to Ponyville Mouse King, Lady Godiva, Sir Marcus, Sir Porthos, and Hauteclai”.

It also seemed that Godiva and Pinkie were also the only ones oblivious to the tension in the air that could strangle a hydra. Twilight mentioned that she had held yet another town meeting this morning explaining the court’s apologies for their unintended trouble and that the court would make a public apology (something Marcus had added into the letter).

Pinkie produced a cannon from lord-knows-where, but Twilight held up a hoof, and Pinkie plopped down on her rump with a frown on her face. Twilight stepped up on the platform and in front of a microphone. “Good afternoon, mares and gentlecolts! Thank you so much for coming to the welcoming party of the Mouse King and his court.” Twilight paused for an applause that didn’t come. “I know we got off on the wrong hoof, but the King has something he would like to say to everypony in Ponyville. Please give him your undivided attention.”

She stepped aside and the King stood up to the microphone. Twilight adjusted it for him with her glowing, magical horn while the King concentrated his eyes on the microphone. Perhaps he was concentrating a little too hard, as he didn’t hear the boos and hisses that came from the crowd (or maybe he heard but just didn’t care). He tapped the mic twice and heard the speakers give out two thumps; the whole time his forehead was scrunched up like a used napkin. You’d think he’d never seen a microphone before.

The King shook the dire expression from his face. “Good afternoon, citizens of Ponyville.” The booing continued. “I am the Mouse King of the Isle of Mouse, and I am here to apologize for the damage my court and I have caused, and hope to make peace with all of you.”

“Why did you ruin my carrots!?”

“Why did you attack us!?”

“Why did you steal my wine!?”

“Why did you scare so many ponies!?”

The complaints rushed in from all sides, but none of them moved the King from his stance. “If you will please settle down, I will answer you all one at a time.” With a wave of his hand, Marcus came up to the King’s side, reached up into his hat without taking it off, and pulled out a clipboard and a pencil. He stuck the dull end into his ear and pulled it out after a few seconds, the end of the pencil now sharp. This perturbed many of the ponies. The King pointed out an orange mare that stepped forward from the crowd first with a complaint. “You, miss. What can I do for you?”

The mare looked around, nervous about being singled out in an angry mob, but that only held her back for a few seconds. “You ruined my carrots! There are a bunch of holes in my gardens and carrots have been thrown everywhere! My fences have been destroyed, too! I demand compensation!”

The King never looked away from the mare. “And you will get it. How can we compensate you?”

The mare opened her mouth but didn’t speak. Instead, she just stood there; her front hoof that had been jabbed in the King’s direction eased itself back down to earth. The anger in her eyes gave way to confusion for a few moments before she put on another front. “That was several days’ worth of stock and many hard weeks of labor! I demand that you provide monetary compensation for all my losses and rebuild my fences!” Marcus scribbled away on his clipboard.

“What is your name, orange pony?”

The mare turned its head and looked at the king from one side. “...Golden Harvest.”

Marcus scratched in Golden Harvest’s name on his notes.

“Well, Golden Harvest, please come see my advisor Marcus later in the crystal castle. We will go over the damages and pay you what Princess Twilight Sparkle feels is a reasonable amount for your troubles. We will also rebuild your fence for you. Before that, I must apologize for my knight Godiva. She runs so fast that she tears up the earth beneath her. She never meant to do you any harm; it was just a unfortunate accident. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Golden Harvest’s anger was deflated and seemed to have a similar effect on the ponies around her. “Uh… no. That's it…”

The King pointed to the stallion next to her. “And what was your complaint, sir?”

“My name is Time Turner and I work with the clock tower that the ‘black knight’ ran several holes through...”

Godiva looked down in shame. She came to have a good time, and now she would have to hear about all the bad things she had done. She wiped her eyes with her forearm while Porthos rubbed her neck and shoulders with one hand.

Hauteclaire crossed his arms. He looked back at the six ponies that greeted them, and there, next to Twilight, was the dragon from earlier. It was giving him the stink eye.

What a fantastic way to start a party.

“LET’S GET THIS PARTY STARTED!” Pinkie pressed a button on the cannon and fired glitter and balloons into the sky.

After what had been about an hour of nothing but listening to complaints and apologizing, the crowd warmed up to the court; and with a signal from Twilight, Pinkie Pie started the party with a blast of confetti. Before the confetti could settle, ponies came rushing forth, asking all manner of questions and offering plates upon plates of food. Well, they didn’t get too close to Porthos.

The King held up his hands, and the clamor died down. “It seems you all wish to know where we come from, eh?” Hauteclaire felt his arm being grabbed by the King and was thrusted in front of the mic. “Hauteclaire shall sing a song of our story for you!” The crowd erupted into cheers.

“Oh no, you don’t want me to sing that song, do you?”

The King smiled and pulled Hauteclaire close. “Why, yes, Hauteclaire. I do declare. Liven this air, with a song so fair, to swoon the mares, and even their mayor, or I swear, on your head you’ll wear, your white derriere, you prickly pear. Now get up there!”

Hauteclaire climbed up on the stage as the King announced loudly, “Now, my bard Hauteclaire will perform a song written by my poet, Marcus!” Hauteclaire sighed, waved his hand and a bunch of Hauteclaire copies emerged from the ground and took the stage. The ponies “ooh”ed and “aah”ed as the chorus took place. The real Hauteclaire took center stage and prepared himself to sing the song that he and Marcus had written long ago (and Hauteclaire changed so much it barely resembled Marcus’ first mess, but a few of his horrid rhymes still slipped through).

As Hauteclaire waited for the ponies to settle down, he decided to change the first lyric to be more suitable for his audience. Once he had the entire town’s attention, he and his chorus started to sing.

Little ponies, gather ‘round please, and I’ll tell you all a tale,

about one slaved, who danger braved, and his acts that would entail.

Magic stunning, and his cunning, took the castle without fail.

He threw out the duke, and crowned himself the island’s king.

Our Great Mouse King! Schools and roads and more he built!

Our Great Mouse King! Only he pulls off a kilt!

Our Great Mouse King!

There are none like him!

His dream is to help us all!

The Shield Bearer, the duke’s terror, tore the Mouse King from his throne.

We the faithfuls, the King’s angels, saved his neck from axe and stone.

The duke’s ire, burnt like fire, turned his subjects to our own.

With our new-found friends, we took our home back with our king.

Our Great Mouse King! For his kindness is well known!

Our Great Mouse King! He’s the ice cream to our cone!

Our Great Mouse King!

There are none like him!

His dream is to help us all!

The duke stubborn, sold his mother, for the power to raise hell.

Summoned evils, teeth like needles, from the shadows they did dwell.

With his last spell, as the King fell, while he tried the gods repel,

with a magic blast, we owe our lives to our great king!

Our Great Mouse King! No one’s more munificent!

Our Great Mouse King! He tips ninety nine percent!

Our Great Mouse King!

There are none like him!

His dream is to save us all!

Oh, Great Mouse King! How much longer must you roam?

Oh, Great Mouse King! We await our “welcome home.”

Our Great Mouse King!

There are none like him!

His dream is peace for us all!

When Hauteclaire stopped singing, he opened his eyes. In front of him were a bunch of silent ponies with their mouths hanging open. One started to stomp the ground, and the rest followed suit. Oh great, I knew this song was bad, but not bad enough to start a stampede. The stomping grew louder, cheering and whistling roared over the thumping of hooves. ...Or that is how ponies applaud.

Pinkie Pie rushed up and snatched Hauteclaire up in a tight hug. “That was AMAZING! We are going to have to sing together sometime!” A bunch of other ponies followed suit and dogpiled Hauteclaire before throwing him up in the air.

“THE MASK! DON’T TOUCH THE MASK!”

What followed was a continuous flow of food, questions, and entertainment. After a while of chatting, Pinkie Pie announced that the entertainment was to begin. The court and the six ponies (and dragon) took their seats while the rest of the town gathered in front of the stage. Among the entertainment was a pony with a lyre, a pony with a cello, and a puppet show.

Guess which one the King enjoyed the most.

The ponies entertaining foreign royalty gave the King an idea. After giving a standing ovation to the puppet show, the King turned around and faced his court. “Alright, fellas! Let’s entertain the ponies for a change!”

“On it, sir!” Porthos jumped at the opportunity and rushed out onto the stage, his enthusiasm startled several ponies in the crowd. Once he was out in the center of the stage, he threw up a hand. “Somebody give me a bottle of wine! I’m going to perform a magic trick!” The smile disappeared from Marcus’ face.

The ponies began to mumble until a grey pegasus with a blonde mane stepped forward with a bottle. “Sorry, but we don’t have any alcoholic wine at this party (there are children present), but we do have plenty of punch!” Porthos’ posture slackened a bit as he thanked the pony and took the bottle. After looking at the bottle for a few moments, Porthos straightened out his back again.

“Ponies! Watch as I make this bottle of punch disappear!” A purple pony in the crowd shouted, “We already know this trick! I do it all the time.” A wave of laughter swept through the crowds as Porthos lifted the bottle over his head. “Bibamus papaliter!” He put the bottle to his lips.

*SHUNK*

The bottle was empty.

The ponies stared with mouths agape as Porthos let out a enormous belch. “DAAAAYYUMMMMM!” said the purple pony, and the crowd broke into applause.

Porthos looked around with an eyebrow lifted. “That wasn’t the trick." He threw the bottle up in the air, did a little dainty twirl, caught it in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “TA-DA!”

All cheering stopped.

Pinkie leaned over to Hauteclaire. “Geesh, that is going to hurt coming out!”

Rainbow Dash spat out the punch in her mouth and laughed, and Rarity stuck out her tongue and *blech*ed.

The Mouse King stood up with his hands around his mouth. “Juggle, Porthos! Juggle! Juggle! Juggle!”

Porthos made the “OK” sign with his hand and looked around, but finding nothing suitable for juggling, he went with the next best thing. “I’m going to need three volunteers. Let’s see… Who wants to help me juggle?”

The crowd mumbled, but nobody stepped forward. Porthos turned to some fillies that were unfortunate enough to be the closest to the stage. “You three will do nicely!” The three of them squeaked as Porthos’ massive fingers wrapped around a filly with a bow, a unicorn with curly hair, and an orange chicken (no, wait, pegasus) and he started to juggle them.

Applejack jumped out of her seat. “APPLEBLOOM!”

Marcus put a hand on her withers. “She’ll be alright, she will! Porthos knows what he is doing, he does. He does this all the time, he does.”

Yeah, with ME, and he DROPS me all the time.

Applejack pulled away from Marcus’ touch. “Nuh-uh. I ain’t letting that thing touch my baby sister!” She pushed her way through the crowd of ponies, jumped on the stage, ran up to Porthos and jabbed a hoof at him. “Put my sister down, NOW!”

Porthos stopped juggling the three giggling fillies and put them down; Porthos dropped his smile. “I’m terribly sorry, lass. I was just trying to have fun.”

Applebloom and her friends tried to say something to Applejack, but she wouldn’t listen as she herded them away from Porthos. She turned to the giant rat. “And I don’t want you near her again!”

Porthos looked out at the crowd and the crowd stared back at him as they whispered to one another. Porthos looked back up at the King. “I don’t feel like juggling right now, sir.”

The ponies gave him a wide berth as he returned to his undersized chair.

After the dampening display that was Porthos’ attempt at entertainment, Marcus went into overdrive trying to recover the mood with his archery skills.

And it was working.

He had Godiva set up targets all over town square, while keeping a reasonable pace so she wouldn’t wreck the place, and then took them out one by one. With each shot, he made it more challenging. One shot he fired while holding his bow behind him. One shot was done while doing a handstand as he held the bow and fired an arrow with his feet and tail. One shot was aimed at a target Godiva put on top of town hall. The next target was placed at the other end of town; Rainbow Dash was sent to confirm that the shot hit its mark.

For one of his displays, Marcus put a target right in front of him and turned it to face the other direction. He had Twilight write her name on an arroww and he shot it off the other direction.

“And now, while we wait for the arrow to come back, let me recite a poem of mine, let me.”

Oh no.

“*Ahem*

At where my heart may lay, be

a lovely future I see.

Not one, nor two offspring, but

sextuplets named Brant, Chestnut,

Barret and Garrett, Grant and

Ichabod. The future grand

with passion that did the trick:

lit my heart aflame with thick

fires of love. My honey-boo,

be with me, ‘till dead and blue.”

Marcus gave a bow. All around there was a wide range of reactions. Some mares were flustered. Most of the stallions were queasy. Did Rarity swoon? What is going on? That was terrible.

Pinkie was holding both of her front hooves over her mouth, her cheeks were puffed up, her eyes were watering, and she was snorting and giggling like a madmare. What has gotten into her?

Anyway, after he got up from a bow he looked off into the distance, and as if on cue an arrow came and hit the target. Dead center.

Twilight was called forth to inspect the arrow, and what she found astounded her. Not only was her name still on the arrow, but several postcards and pamphlets from places like “Las Pegasus” and “Germane,” “Prance,” “The Neighderlands,” “The Shetland Isles” and “Neighpon” were skewered on it.

Some accused him of trickery, but if they only knew how he really did it, it would blow their minds.

That was why he called it his “round the world” trick.

After these impressive displays, Marcus started yapping about how in their world, firing arrows while on horseback was very tricky and required a lot of skill. He issued a challenge to the fastest pony there that would let him ride him/her as the pony ran or flew through a street full of targets as fast as they could, he would pay up a hefty reward if the pony could run or fly fast enough that he couldn’t hit all of the targets.

If it was OK, of course.

This got the crowd excited (and made Godiva pout), and as soon as Marcus was finished speaking, in front of him floated Rainbow Dash. “You talk big, but can you back it up? I bet I’m way too awesome for you!”

The crowd “ooh”ed at Rainbow’s challenge.

Marcus’ smile grew. “Oh, I’m sure I can manage, I can. You don’t seem all that fast to me, you don’t.”

“Ooooohhhhh!”

“Oh yeah? They don’t call me Rainbow Dash for nothing! Check this out!” Rainbow zipped into the air, crashed through some clouds, spun around a windmill and came to a sudden stop right in front of Marcus. Condensed water from the clouds that trailed behind her splashed against her flank and formed a rainbow halo around her. “How’s that!? Still think you ‘can manage’?”

“OOOOooohhhh!”

Marcus’ smile grew larger and shrugged. “I’ve seen faster, I have.”

“OOOOOOOHHHHH SNAP!”

Rainbow stopped grinning. “That hat must be too tight! We’ll see how big that smile of yours is once I’ve won that big reward of yours!”

“OOOOOOOOOOOOHHHH!” (“YOU SHOW HIM, GIRL!” shouted Pinkie.)

Rainbow and Marcus lined up at the end of the street. All the way from the halfway point to the end were targets set up by Godiva. The whole time she set them up, she complained about Marcus getting to ride ponies. Yeah, that was a little unfair, but at least Marcus would ask for permission first. And he did.

He walked up next to Rainbow. “May I mount you, may I?”

“You gotta buy me dinner first!” She cracked her tail like a whip. The crowd exploded in laughter at Rainbow’s quick wit while Marcus turned red with embarrassment. Or he would if he could. Last time they checked, the court didn’t have blood.

Marcus got on Rainbow’s back and steadied himself. Godiva pouted and mumbled something rather ungirly.

With the road cleared in case of any accidents, the orange filly from earlier (turned out her name was Scootaloo. What is it with these names?) was the only one ahead of them by a short distance with a flag in her mouth. She shouted through her teeth, “ARE YEW REDY? HREE! TU! WUN!” and brought down the flag. Rainbow tore down the street and passed Scootaloo before the flag was all the way down.

No pony could see how it happened, but it happened. At the end of the street the rainbow blur stopped and Marcus fell off of Rainbow. The joys of riding bareback.

Rainbow was laughing and pointing at Marcus. “Ha! Pay up! Maybe I should buy you a new hat so you can actually see what’s right in front of you!”

Marcus lifted himself of the ground and fixed his hat. “Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure about that, I wouldn’t. Go ask the judges.”

Already, Pinkie Pie and Scootaloo were running down the street and checking each target. “He got this one!” “This one, too!” “This one’s a bull’s eye!” “No way! He hit this one twice!” “HE GOT THEM ALL!”

The crowd was, perhaps for the twentieth time today, dumbfounded. Rainbow herself had a hard time believing it. “But, how?”

Marcus smiled. “Easy.”

He turned to a tree, pulled out a bunch of arrows from his quiver at once, pulled his bow and fired. The arrows all hit the tree at once in the shape of Rainbow Dash’s mark.

“Hey! That’s cheating!”

Marcus smiled. “No it isn’t. I just had to hit all the targets, I had to. If you could have gone faster than it took me to fire a single shot, you could have won, you could have.”

Rainbow glared at Marcus for a moment before it was replaced with a smug smile. “OK. You’re pretty awesome. You won this time.” She stuck out a hoof.

Marcus did the same with his fist. “I lied about seeing anything faster than you, I did.”

Hauteclaire found himself in front of the crowds again. It would have been Godiva, but she wasn’t much a performer, unless you considered her a break dancer. Cause she broke everything. Especially when she danced. Well, she wasn’t to eager to get up away from her seat, anyway, because she had finally scooted it very close to Fluttershy, and anyone who knew Godiva knew what she is planning.

Hauteclaire was thrust out by the King and told to “entertain” everyone. So he and his copies started performing a play he wrote. Hauteclaire was so excited! He hadn’t been able to perform for a crowd in a long time and nearly forgot the joys his original calling in life used to bring him. Back before the exile, he had always had his sights set on becoming a renowned playwright. Despite being immortal, he hadn’t really found the time to work on his art, and now with this perfect opportunity presented to him, how could he pass it up?

Marcus may have whispered in his ear before being thrown to the ponies to just perform another song, but screw Marcus! It was Hauteclaire’s turn to have fun, and he would give these ponies a performance of a lifetime!

He could see it in their half open eyes, their yawns, and their slacking postures how inter… hang on. Those weren’t signs of an audience of a performance of a lifetime. Hauteclaire looked back at the guest seats.

The ponies there had the same expressions. Worse yet, so did the Mouse King, and he was tapping his fingers. His worst critic had an arrow aimed right at his head.

*TWANG*

Marcus let loose the arrow at Hauteclaire, but Hauteclaire quickly leaned to the side and sliced the arrow in two with his dagger.

The sudden movements, the halting of the play, and the collapsing of many Hauteclaire doubles awoke the audience, and they cheered, thinking it was all part of the act.

Marcus leapt up to Hauteclaire, grabbed his ear and whispered, “What are you doing? I said sing a song, I did! Why aren’t you singing, brother?”

Hauteclaire whispered back. “Brother, I am NOT singing another one of OUR songs! I was told to entertain everyone, and I am trying, but you are getting in the way.”

“But brother, you are not entertaining EVERYONE, you aren’t. You know how much the King dislikes your plays, you do.”

“That’s funny, Marcus. It seems to me that the King loves plays AND music but hates them whenever I am involved. I’m not singing another song unless YOU come outright and tell the King WHO does all the work on his beloved songs, or I’m singing one of my own.”

“Hauteclaire. I.. I’m sorry, brother, I am… But please do something different that will please the King, please do! Do some knife tricks or sing...”

“I AM NOT performing any more if YOU’RE going to take credit for my…”

“Do we have a problem?”

The Mouse King had walked into their conversation and pulled down Hauteclaire and Marcus down by their ears. “It seems to me you two have a problem.”

Marcus shook his head. “No, no, my King. We don’t have a problem, we don’t.”

The King pulled Marcus closer. “Then why are you whispering so harshly to each other. Hmmm?” He squeezed extra hard on Hauteclaire’s ear. “By the way, Hauteclaire. You’re a bard. You should know you don’t follow up an exciting act like Marcus’ with a boring play. If you wanted to act, we would have sent you up first to warm them up and set expectations low.”

The King pulled both of them closer. “You two are bickering, I know it, and I’m not going to let this, on top of Porthos’ pathetic display, make me look like less of a King. Now you two are going to follow my lead, or the vacation is off.”

The Mouse King let go of their ears and jumped back in mock horror. “Oh no! Say it isn’t so!” He ran to center stage, flailing his arms. “My bard and my poet are fighting! This is no good. This is no good at all!”

The ponies in the crowd exploded with curiosity and excitement. They talked amongst themselves about what was happening before their eyes.

The King stopped his over dramatic arm waving and turned to the ponies. “There is only one way to settle this! Do any of you ponies know what that is?”

Ponies started throwing out guesses.

“A race!”

“No!”

“A cooking competition?”

“No.”

“A vote!”

“No!”

“Arm wrestling?”

“Closer!”

“A rap battle!”

“No! (But that is a wonderful idea!)”

Oh no, he wouldn’t.

The King held up his hands. “Little ponies! Where we come from, it is a very dangerous world! One must be able to look after himself, or else if they are caught in a fight, it may very well be their last! I’m afraid…”

Oh no, he is.

“...I’m afraid that Marcus and Hauteclaire have challenged each other to a fight to the death.”

Author's Note

Hey. What's this Russian Civil War song glorifying the female fighters who stood against the Russian Empire written in 1940 doing here? It doesn't have anything to do with anything in this chapter!

Next time on AGOKAPPP:

Hauteclaire VS Marcus! Who will be triumphant? PLACE YOUR BETS IN THE COMMENTS!

And Godiva tells everyone about that one time she changed her underwear.

*My editor is the Hauteclaire to my Marcus when it comes to lyric writing

Ch. 6 - Marcus vs Hauteclaire! Place Your Bets!

Author's Note

Another warning. This chapter can get pretty graphic, even if I attempt to keep it comedic. Just remember that they are made of dirt and don't really feel half the stuff that happens to them for reasons still unexplained. Just remember, the court do these kind of things to each other for s:flutterrage:ts and giggles.

Ch. 6 - Marcus vs Hauteclaire! Place Your Bets!

Oh crap, he did.

The ponies in the crowd bursted with excitement. A fight to the death? Whatever kind of play was this!?

Well ponies, this was no act. The Mouse King meant every word of it. He was going to have Hauteclaire and Marcus fight each other to the death for the amusement of the crowds, but mostly himself. Hauteclaire had let his excitement blind him as he did the one thing that was worse than angering the King: he bored him.

As long as the court was working towards the King’s goals or something was keeping him entertained or preoccupied, he was bearable. Doing either wasn’t much of a feat in itself (give him a riddle, offer to play a game of chess, jingle keys), but the moment he felt his time was being wasted...

“Yes, my dear friends, I am afraid it is true. Hauteclaire, my bard, has been so outraged by the interruption that he has challenged Marcus, his own brother, to a fight to the death. And Marcus has accepted his challenge! Oh, ponies, who could have ever seen this coming?” The King fell to his knees. “And there is nothing I can do to talk either of them out of it! What is a poor King like me to do…” A wicked smile grew on his face. “...other than enjoy the show! Are you ponies ready for a performance of a lifetime!?”

...he would steal the show, figuratively and literally. The crowd cheered as all of the ponies were swept up by the King’s charisma; and he ate up all of their attention in turn. He put a finger to his chin and walked in a circle. “But it seems to me that Ponyville doesn’t have a suitable place for such a performance. SO HOW ABOUT I MAKE ONE?”

The King threw his hands before him, and the ground began to shake. Buildings shifted away from the stage as if on the backs of ants. Pegasi bolted to the sky in fear, some taking with them a loved one or two that were incapable of flight; foals hid under their mothers as the earthquake increased in magnitude. The stage shook violently and shifted along the ground as it grew long like a snake and slithered into a circle, entrapping the ponies within a low, wooden ring. Once in position, the stage shot up from the ground and formed rows of seats. Closer rows came up from under the ground the trembling ponies were standing on. The screaming and hollering continued as the stage morphed with its wooden cacophony until the earth and the new structure sat silent.

The King, standing in the center of the coliseum with Hauteclaire and Marcus, looked above where the guest-of-honor seats used to be. There in a new booth sat Porthos, downing his tenth bottle of punch; Godiva, combing a passed out Fluttershy’s tail; a bouncing Pinkie Pie; a shaken Rarity holding Spike the dragon in a death grip; and Applejack holding three foals underneath her while shouting, “I told you they couldn’t be trusted!” to Twilight, who had her wings flared and her horn glowing, but who seemed confused, not angry. Rainbow Dash was already inches from the King’s nose. “WHAT’S THE BIG IDEA, DESTROYING PONYVILLE!?”

The King dropped his manic smile. “Destroy? Why, Rainbow Dash, you hurt me with your words! Why do you still not trust me? I thought we were friends. Take a look around. I’ve only moved a few buildings to make room for the coliseum. You’ll find nothing has been damaged in their new locations.”

Rainbow Dash stared into the King’s eyes. If she was hoping to find anything there, she was going to be disappointed. After her digging turned up nothing, she inspected her new surroundings. What was once a small clearing near town hall had been expanded greatly and in its place was erected a coliseum made entirely of wood. The stands were populated with shaking ponies and exhausted pegasi. Rainbow Dash gave a huff before taking off into the sky.

I knew they wouldn’t trust us so easily.

The King directed his eyes back to Twilight. “Princess Twilight Sparkle.” He gestured to the new building around them. “I hope my last trick wasn’t too dramatic for your subjects. Please forgive me, as I seem to have let myself go a little overboard with the theatrics.” Twilight relaxed her pose before Dash came zooming back and muttered something about everyone and everything being alright.

“But! But…” Applejack was losing steam. “What in tarnation were you thinking!? You scared us all to half to death, you hear?”

The King bowed his head and looked up at the distressed cowpony. “I’m terribly sorry, Applejack. I didn’t think such a display would frighten you. Please forgive me for my inconsideration; I won’t make the same mistake again.”

Stupid King. He did that on purpose.

Applejack’s little sister and her friends, however, seemed to think differently, as they were bouncing up and down and cheering. “Wow! Did you see that, Scoots? That was amazing! Do you think he could build us a new clubhouse?” “Oh yeah! That would be so awesome! With a ramp for my scooter!” “And a stage for performances!” “And a room for Twilight time!” “And a…”

Hauteclaire looked around at the other ponies. Most of them had gotten over the initial shock of the impromptu earthquake and land rezoning and gave an applause for the King’s “trick.”

Twilight Sparkle and Applejack still seemed a bit uneasy. The King took notice. “I promise you, Twilight and Applejack, once this performance is over with, I will put everything back the way it was.” Twilight sighed and nodded.

The King vanished and reappeared in his seat next to Porthos and Twilight in a blink of an eye. In his hands were two mics. He held them both up to his mouth. “OK, ponies! Sorry about that little interruption! Are you ready for the performance of a lifetime?” The crowd cheered in response, still completely oblivious to the fact that what they were going to see was an actual fight to the bloody end (sans blood).

The King threw both mics in Godiva’s and Pinkie Pie’s direction. Pinkie caught one and the other bounced off Godiva’s head, pulling her attention from the recovering Fluttershy. “Congratulations, Godiva and Pinkie Pie! You are our commentators!”

Pinkie and Godiva both smiled at each other. Pinkie wasted no time. “Hello, Ponyville! This is Pinkie Pie, coming to you live from the guest booth!” “And this is Lady Godiva! Coming to you from the seat next to Pinkie Pie and Flutterbutter!”

Their voices came from all sides through loudspeakers in the coliseum. Fantastic.

“Flutterbutter? Who is that, Godiva?”

Godiva pointed to Fluttershy, who was now up off the ground. “Why, Fluttershy, silly Pinkie Pie!”

“Silly? I’m not silly, you’re silly, Godiva!”

“No! You’re silly, Pinkie!”

You’re both loons.

The two crazies continued.

“So, Pinkie! We are about to witness a fight to the death. Have you ever seen one before?”

“Sorry, Godiva! I can’t say that I have. Do you do this often?”

“Why yes, Pinkie! We have fights to the death all the time! We call it ‘sparring’, though. Takes less time to say.”

“Wait, Godiva, are you saying you ‘spar’ all the time?”

“That’s correct, Pinkie! We do it for fun!”

“Fun!? You’ve got to be joking! What do you think, Rainbow Dash?”

Pinkie shoved the mic into Rainbow’s face. “Well, it would explain why there are so few of them,” she deadpanned.

Pinkie continued her impromptu act with Godiva. “Godiva, how do you ‘spar’ all the time if you, you know, die?”

“Oh, it’s very simple, Pinkie! The King’s magic keeps us alive!”

Pinkie gasped. “Godiva! You don’t mean he practices dark magic, do you? TWILIGHT! WHAT DO YOU HAVE TO SAY TO THIS NEWS!?”

Pinkie shoved the mic into Twilight’s face, but the flustered mare didn’t have an answer ready. The King, however, had one. “It’s just a trick. They don’t actually fight to the death, it’s just a simulation reproduced with magic. Nothing dark or evil here.”

Yeah, sure, whatever.

Pinkie turned back to Godiva. “Is this true, Godiva!? Is it all a simulation done with magic?”

“That it is, Pinkie! In fact, we die all the time!”

“Wha-wha-what? Godiva! Is that true as well?”

“Why yes it is, Pinkie! Why, Hauteclaire died just this morning. We found him with his head under a stone gargoyle! It was so funny that Porthos almost peed himself laughing!”

“Oh my!”

“I died last night, too! Marcus shot me in the head with an arrow! He has really good aim.”

“Oh my, Godiva, were you sparring last night, too?”

“Nope! He just wanted to see the letter you and your friends wrote but I played keep away! It was so much fun!”

Pinkie Pie was showing signs of discomfort about talking about what may have been a gruesome topic. “Uh… wow, Godiva.”

“Hey Pinkie, did I tell you about the time I died changing my underwear?”

“Why, no you haven’t, Godiva.”

“So there I was, at the top of a very tall stairwell. I’d been running through the rain and mud, and a lot of it got into my armor and soaked all of my clothes! I felt so dirty that I wanted to change! So I stopped in a nearby building, at the top of a very tall stairwell, and as I took off my underwear…”

“Oh, I think I see where this is going…”

“...the whole building exploded!”

“WHAT!?”

“I know! It was a building in a middle of a warzone. I should have known better. I learned a very important lesson that day, Pinkie.”

“Not to change your underwear in a warzone?”

“Nope! Don’t bother with underwear! I haven’t died changing underwear since!”

Even though Pinkie Pie was somehow enjoying the grim skit, the laughter in the coliseum slowly died as the painful jokes about death dragged on. Marcus, just kill me now.

“Ahem.” The King leaned over and made the motion for Godiva to carry on. “Godiva, introduce the fighters.”

“Oh, yeah! Ahem. Ladies and Gentlemen!” (“Mares and Gentlecolts!”) “Sorry! Mares and Gentlecolts! Introducing the fighters! In the green corner: weighing in at around 115 pounds, please give it up for Marcus!” Marcus bowed down, and the crowd cheered.

“And in the blue corner: weighing in at around 95 pounds, Hauteclaire!”

The coliseum was quiet except for some stallion with a cold and a crying foal.

Who brings a baby to a gladiator fight, really?

“Are you ready to see the performance of a lifetime, Pinkie?”

“I sure am, Godiva!”

“But first, let’s hear a word from our fashion expert, Rarity! What do you have to say about the combatants’ clothes?”

Godiva shoved the mic into Rarity’s face. Oh lord. Marcus, just shoot Godiva and me and get this over with. Or just shoot Godiva, that would be nice.

Rarity was a bit flustered, obviously not ready for any kind of fashion inquisition. “Um. Marcus is wearing what looks to be a simple green shirt with a brown vest and a matching tricorne hat. His attire allows him greater freedom for movement. His hat, however, may become more of a hindrance because of its large size.”

Godiva took the mic back. “That’s great! Now do Hauteclaire!”

Rarity flinched as the mic bumped against her nose. “Hauteclaire is wearing a blue cotehardie, a unisex dress that has gone out of style centuries ago--” Pinkie, Godiva, the King, and Porthos all snickered for different reasons-- “tights, and a herigaut, an old style of cape that is also no longer seen outside of medieval fairs. His clothes offer very little freedom for movement as they were made for aesthetics, not function.” Thank you so much Rarity, you’re a wonderful friend indeed.

But she had a point. Hauteclaire removed his cape… HERIGAUT and threw it to the ground. He pulled out his dagger and faced his slightly taller brother. It was now or never.

“Oh! Do me next!”

Guess it’s never.

“Godiva, you’re wearing a deep blue dress that hangs loosely off your body and complements the colors of your fur and eyes wonderfully.”

“Oh! DO THE KING!”

Rarity sighed. “The King is wearing a crown that is made of gold…”

“Wood, actually,” the King corrected, tapping his crown to make a light knock-on-wood noise.

“...OK, wood, and a red cape with a white trimming.”

The King held up a corner of his cape and stroked the white trimming. “It’s made of fox fur!”

“You meant to say ‘faux fur,’ am I correct?” said Rarity.

“Uh… Yeah.”

Godiva was bouncing up and down in her seat. “DO PORTHOS!”

Rarity rubbed the side of her head and spoke as fast as she could. “Porthosiswearingaredtabbardstainedwithpunchoveranindigogambeson,bothofthemcommonlyassociatedwithknightsandroyalty. Are we done yet?”

Pinkie bounced. “Oh! Do me!”

Rarity lifted an eyebrow. “Pinkie, you’re wearing nothing at all, darling.”

Godiva saw an opening and pounced. “Whatchu talkin’ ‘bout, Rarity!? She’s sporting her birthday suit!”

Pinkie giggled, turned around, and shook her plot. “Yup! It’s like I’m wearing nothing at all.”

“CAN WE GET ON WITH THE FIGHT ALREADY!?”

Every eye turned to Hauteclaire. He was gripping his ears and was close to tearing them off.

Godiva chuckled. “Oh, sorry Hauteclaire! OK, ponies, are you ready for…”

“Now, hold on a minute!” Porthos stood up and raised a hand. “I will be accepting bets! Marcus vs. Hauteclaire. Odds are 50 to 1!”

Marcus crossed his arms. “Porthos, no gambling.”

“Fine. I’ll meet you halfway. Odds are 25 to 1.”

*TWANG* *SHOONK*

An arrow was protruding from Porthos’ chest.

“Fine. 15 to 1.”

*SHOONK*

“10 to 1?”

*SHOONK*

“5 to 1!”

*SHOONK*

“2 to 1.”

*SHOONK*

Marcus lowered his bow. “No gambling, Porthos.”

Porthos shook his fists. “Dammit, Marcus! You’re no fun!” He picked up a bottle and threw it.

“Iteh!” The bottle clunked Hauteclaire on the back of the head. “Nani o yattoru, kono debu-inu?”

The King rolled around in his seat laughing. “Bwahaha! Porthos! You hit him so hard, you changed his language settings!”

Porthos reached up and twisted his ear. “Tsumaran zo! Kono shiro-nakamushi, hayaku odotte-kure.”

Pinkie turned to Godiva. “What are they saying?”

Godiva scrunched up her face as she started to translate the fight. “‘You have some nerve, you big idiot. Come down here and let’s see you do that again.’” She deepened her voice to imitate Porthos. “‘You wouldn’t last five seconds with me. Go hide behind your brother.’ ‘Shut up, Porthos. Die. Die and eat sh…’ HAUTECLAIRE! LANGUAGE!” Godiva threw her mic and beaned Hauteclaire on the side of his head. “OW!” The mic feedback over the speakers did little to alleviate his growing headache.

*SHOONK*

Pinkie looked at Godiva and pointed to the side of her head. “Um, Godiva? You’ve got something…”

Godiva felt the side of her head and sure enough there was an arrow sticking out. “Oh, that’s just his way of saying ‘Stop picking on Hauteclaire’.” She grabbed the arrow and yanked it out; a couple of flowers were wrapped around the tip. “Hey! My head is full of flowers!”

Magic trick or not, Pinkie felt those cupcakes she had eaten earlier coming back. “Doesn’t that hurt?”

Godiva hummed while she pulled one of the flowers off the arrow tip and put it behind Pinkie’s ear. She then did the same with the other flower on her own ear and dropped the arrow to her side. “The warning shots don’t.”

Porthos was still laughing, slapping his knee and spilling punch everywhere, and the arrows in his chest rattled together with every movement. “Ahahahahaha! Ahahaha...Uh-oh.”

*SHOONK*

An arrow sunk into his left eye socket, and he fell limp in his chair, the chair tipped backwards and dumped Porthos on the ground with a sickening thud. Rarity let out a scream, Fluttershy fainted again, Rainbow couldn’t tell if what was happening was awesome or not, Pinkie stared with her mouth hanging open, and Applejack tried to cover all three fillies’ eyes. Twilight herself was at a loss. “Is… is he going to be alright?”

The King stopped his laughing. “Him? He’ll walk it off in a couple of minutes. Now, Pinkie, if you would please?”

“Hmm?” Pinkie shook herself out of her stupor. “Oh, right. Are you ready for the performance of a lifetime? Well, LET’S GET READY TO PARTY! Hauteclaire, Marcus, are you ready?”

“WAIT!” screamed Applejack. Oh great, now what? “What about stray arrows? This could be dangerous!” OK, good point. Chalk one up for the hick.

The King stroked his chin. “Ah, I see. You are concerned with everyone’s safety. Well, don’t you worry, I have that covered. Look.” He waved his hand and a blue aura briefly glowed over the battle ground. “Marcus, fire several arrows at me.”

Marcus did as his king told him to do.

The crowds screamed and the ponies up in the booth jumped away from the King in shock. The arrows, however, stopped in mid-air where the blue aura appeared and fell down to the ground, still quite a distance away from the booth.

The King turned Applejack. “See? None of Marcus’ arrows can leave the arena. Every pony here is safe. Thank you very much for your concern, though. Princess Twilight, you have some sharp and compassionate friends.”

Sure, just keep buttering them up.

The King leaned forward and motioned Pinkie to continue. “OK! Marcus, Hauteclaire, are you ready?” I’ve been ready for the past ten minutes. Let’s just get this over with already. “FIGHT!”

Hauteclaire and Marcus circled each other and kept a safe distance. The gravel beneath Hauteclaire’s feet crunched with every step, reminding him of the silence that had come over the crowd since Pinkie shouted that one magic word into the mic. The pressure of all the eyes on him and Marcus could be felt on his shoulders, but it didn’t push him to win. No, he wanted to beat his brother for other reasons. “Brother, you always think you’re better than me, don’t you? Well, go on. Kill me. Do it now, in front of all these ponies.”

“Hauteclaire, what has gotten into you, what has? Why are you so angry at me, are you? I’m trying to help you, Hauteclaire, I really am.”

Hauteclaire pointed his dagger at Marcus. “Cut the crap, brother. I’m tired of your waffling! You always say you’ve got my back, but whenever it needs help, you’ve sunk a poisoned arrow in it!”

Marcus spoke low so no one else could hear. “Hauteclaire, I’m… I’m aware what I do may sometimes not seem like it’s in your best interest, it is, but you have to trust me, you must! I’m trying to protect you, I am!”

Hauteclaire snarled. “From what!? Porthos!? Godiva!? THE KING!? I don’t believe you, brother. I don’t need saving; I can look after myself. You don’t believe in me. None of you have! What is it you’re protecting me from?”

Marcus scooted closer. “Hauteclaire, I… I can’t tell you, I can’t. You must believe me, you must!”

Hauteclaire took a step forward. “See? You don’t have confidence in my capabilities, so you are keeping secrets from me! Well, brother, after this, I’m through with you. I don’t want to see you again.”

Marcus dropped his defensive stance and extended a hand towards Hauteclaire. “Hauteclaire, my brother, please. I’ve always looked after you since the beginning, I have. Why would I betray you now?”

“BECAUSE YOU THINK I’M WEAK! ALL OF THEM THINK I’M WEAK! Well, I’ll show them, and I’ll show you by KILLING YOU WHERE YOU STAND!” Hauteclaire raised his dagger and charged at Marcus. The crowd erupted into a frenzy as the first move had been made; Hauteclaire closed in on Marcus and swiped at him, missing only by inches as Marcus jumped back.

Marcus held up his bow and drew an arrow from the quiver on his back. “I am so sorry, Hauteclaire,” and fired.

The arrow flew through the air at Hauteclaire, but with a quick slash, he cut it in two, and it fell to the ground. Hauteclaire closed in again on Marcus, but he had no luck getting within striking distance, as Marcus would jump many yards away to the other side of the arena and the dance would repeat itself. After several arrows had been avoided or knocked out of the air, Hauteclaire stopped and took a deep breath, aimed his face to the ground and let out a huge amount of pent-up rage. “POW!”

A cloud of dirt kicked up and covered the whole arena and some of the stands; the thick fog of dirt, dust and debris prevented any pony or mouse from seeing what was happening. There was the sounds of arrows being shot; a few hit the threshold of the arena and fell to the ground. Once the dust settled, the ponies clamored with excitement and disbelief at what they saw.

In the arena no longer stood two mice, but four. All of them were grey, wore brown hats, vests, and green shirts; the only difference between them was that one of them held a bow and the other three held daggers. The three dagger Marcuses surrounded the real Marcus and circled him, each taunting the Marcus in the middle as they waited to close in for the kill.

“The King loves MY songs, Hauteclaire.”

“Perform a song HE likes, Hauteclaire.”

“Do some knife tricks, Hauteclaire.”

“DO WHAT I SAY, HAUTECLAIRE!”

The one behind Marcus charged; he got halfway before Marcus was able to sink an arrow into its belly. The force of the arrow knocked the fake Marcus onto his back, and he collapsed into a heap of dirt and rocks. The other two charged Marcus, but neither one was able to get close enough to attack, as Marcus jumped away and sank an arrow into each of them before he even touched the ground. Both fake Marcuses fell and dissolved, leaving the real Marcus the only thing left standing in the stadium, scanning left and right for any signs of his furious sibling.

A sudden shift in the ground alerted him, and he jumped away just in time as the ground beneath him exploded and a dagger slashed away inches from his legs. Landing on the other side of the arena, Marcus drew his bow without pulling any arrows; Hauteclaire wasn’t going to pull any punches, so it would seem that Marcus had decided to do the same. Marcus let go of the string, and an arrow materialized in front of him and whipped through the air at Hauteclaire. He ducked out of the way just in time to see that Marcus had drawn his bow again. When he let go, this time two arrows appeared, and Hauteclaire jumped to the side as the barrage continued.

Every second, Marcus would pull and release his bow, and with every twang of the string, several arrows would fly out of nothingness before him. Without having to stop to pull an arrow from his quiver, Marcus was able to keep Hauteclaire pinned down and kept away at a safe distance. A single slip-up, and any one of those arrows could mean the end of Hauteclaire and his stand against his ‘oh-so-superior’ sibling.

No, Hauteclaire would not stay down under his brother’s shadow any more. He would strike him down and enjoy every second of it. Hauteclaire touched the ground with his hand, and the ground around him broke open as more Hauteclaires sprung forth and ran at Marcus.

His attention spread thin between the small army of Hauteclaires swarming him, Marcus was unable to keep the line back for very long. He would take out several Hauteclaires with each draw, but they were quickly replaced by more, and in the chaos he lost track of the real Hauteclaire and had to fall back on the tactic of shooting everything that moved. His volley of arrows took down wave after wave of approaching Hauteclaires, but it wasn’t fast enough to keep them back. When the mob got close enough for the kill, Marcus jumped over them to the other side of the arena, taking a few more down while airborne. However, as Marcus fell close to the ground, the ground where he was about to land on broke as three more Hauteclaires leapt from hiding for their ambush. Using his magic, Marcus was able to push with his legs and jump again in midair to a different location as he fired off three more arrows.

These arrows hit the two Hauteclaires that jumped in front of the third, shielding the real Hauteclaire, who wore the angriest face Marcus had ever seen. Hauteclaire pointed at his brother and roared in anger and disappointment that his trap had failed to snatch his much more agile brother. He threw his dagger at Marcus, but a single shot knocked the flying dagger off its course before Marcus resumed his barrage. As Hauteclaire dodged, he found that the arrows curved in the air towards him; he wouldn’t be able to dodge for much longer. Marcus was going to hit him eventually, and considering how much magic Hauteclaire had already used up in his rage, it was clear that he would tire out before Marcus even used up a fraction of his power.

The crowd was roaring with excitement, as they have seen nothing quite like this before. Perhaps in films and movies (if they had them) had they even seen such a spectacular fight, but this amazing performance before them was so exhilarating that it bent their suspension of disbelief to its limits. Cheers called out for the mouse they wanted to see victorious, and it seemed that all of them saw Marcus as the underdog in need of moral support. They had no idea who really was the powerless one here…

No. No! Hauteclaire was not powerless! He would show them all!

A single voice broke through the roars of the crowd and shook Hauteclaire to his soul. “Hau-te-claire! Hau-te-claire! None can compare to Hau-te-claire!”

Daring to look out of the corner of his eye to the origin of the cheer, Hauteclaire saw up in the booth his lone, pink, bouncing fan. Pinkie Pie was cheering for him, Hauteclaire! A swell of emotions rushed through his mind as he drank in her cheers. Even with his performances before, the rare times he ever got a chance, he had never felt so much sincerity in a cheer. He felt as if this mare truly cared about the outcome; his victory would be her own, and so would his loss.

“Hau-te-claire! Hau-te-claire! You best beware of Hau-te-claire!”

Hauteclaire returned his focus away from the corner of his eye to a frightful sight: a huge cloud of arrows was coming at him from every side. There was no way he could dodge this! In a blind panic, he ducked down and let the earth swallow him up. The ground where he had been standing became pierced with arrows, and the air was heavy with silence as all movement in the arena stopped.

Voices whispered their predictions to those who would listen while eyes never left the patch of newly-planted arrows on the ground. Some predicted that Hauteclaire was slowly tunneling his way over to Marcus, while others claimed that Hauteclaire didn’t make it down in time. A young brown colt walked down the stairs and to the very edge of the arena to get a better look, his tan mother right behind him warning him not to get too close to the edge.

Movement under the pierced earth grabbed everyone’s attention. The dirt that harbored Hauteclaire moved the arrows away, all except for one, as Hauteclaire stood back up on wobbly legs. In his left shoulder was the one arrow that hit its target; already Hauteclaire could feel the effects of Marcus’ dangerous arrows taking effect. Hauteclaire reached up and plucked out the power-syphoning protrusion and dropped it to the ground, not once taking his eyes off the source of the parasite. Hauteclaire had to fight to stand up; he only had enough in him for this one last all-out assault, and if this didn’t work, he was finished.

Marcus, while one of infinite patience, wasn’t one to let himself underestimate anyone, especially when they were on the ropes. With a single pluck of his bow, Marcus unleashed a torrent of arrows at Hauteclaire. The size of the volley made up for each arrow’s lack of power and accuracy as it blocked out the sun.

Calling out the last of his magic, Hauteclaire erected a dome of dirt over him that shielded him from the barrage. Marcus didn’t wait for the dome to come down before he could take another shot and fired individual, powerful, piercing shot after shot through the dome. The arrows pierced through the front and came out the back, turning the dome into a makeshift monument to bad swiss cheese. Focusing his power into a single arrow, Marcus fired a glowing arrow into dome. The arrow didn’t come out the back of the dome, but instead erupted the entire dome into a huge fireball and ejected Hauteclaire copies all over the the arena. Most of them didn’t even have time to regain their senses before Marcus put one straight between their eyes, or in some cases in their eyes.

Ruthlessly, Marcus tore down Hauteclaire after Hauteclaire, aiming to snipe the real one and put an end to Hauteclaire’s rage. One Hauteclaire started running at him as more copies sprung from the ground around him; it was clearly the real Hauteclaire out in the open. Ignoring the copies, Marcus sprayed arrows in the direction of the real Hauteclaire who in turn barked most of them away with his powerful voice; still, several hit their mark, and with each hit on the real Hauteclaire, the amount of copies would fall dramatically. Eventually, it was just the one Hauteclaire before him, advancing weakly against his big brother. The arrows in his arms, legs, and torso slowed his assault to a crawl. Marcus was in no hurry as he drew one last arrow, aimed it at Hauteclaire’s chest and fired.

Hauteclaire took one more step forward before falling to his knees. He locked eyes with Marcus and gave him a look of absolute fury. “Curse you, brother.” His eyes went dull, and he fell face-first into the dirt.

Marcus kneeled down and put a hand on Hauteclaire’s head. “I forgive you, brother, I do.”

The crowd was roaring and screaming like someone had shoved a hornets’ nest in their ears. The noise prevented Marcus from hearing the footsteps behind him until a shadow appeared over his shoulder. In a knee-jerk reaction, Marcus whipped around and fired a single shot.

He hit Hauteclaire in the stomach. Hauteclaire dropped his dagger and fell back, one hand holding the new wound and the other keeping his back off the ground.

Marcus turned back to the first fallen Hauteclaire and found that it had dissolved into dirt, and at the center of the dirt was a glowing fragment: the source of Hauteclaire’s power and the reason why this copy had fooled Marcus into thinking that he had located the real Hauteclaire. Without his fragment, though, Hauteclaire was unable to put up much of a fight or make any more new copies.

Marcus turned to Hauteclaire and drew his bow.

Hauteclaire snarled at his brother.

A shriek broke the tension like a hammer. “A COLT! THERE IS A COLT DOWN THERE!”

“MY BABY! SOMEBODY SAVE MY BABY!”

“MAMA! MAMA! HELP! MAMA!”

Close to where Hauteclaire and Marcus were, the curious foal from earlier had leaned in too far and fallen over into the arena. The event sent panic throughout the whole crowd as screams and shrieks and the foal’s cries built on one another, plunging the whole crowd and the foal deeper into confusion and terror.

Falling back to his savior instincts, Marcus turned his attention away from Hauteclaire on the ground and jumped over to the colt, picked him up, and jumped up onto the edge of the arena. He put the foal down in front of his mother, and just like him, couldn’t resist to bend down on one knee to check him over for injuries.

The colt looked up to him. “Mister, my head hurts.”

Marcus bent over the foal and got a closer look at his head. “Where does it hurt, does it?”

“Right here,” and the colt headbutted him.

The crowd around the colt gasped as the mother came charging and tackled Marcus, sending them both flying over the railing and into the arena. Marcus fell flat on his back and the mother landed on top of him, crumbling into a pile of rocks and dirt upon contact. Seeing his chance, Hauteclaire picked up his dagger used the last of his strength to leap over to Marcus before he could dig his way out of the pile and sink his dagger into Marcus’ throat. As he held the dagger in place deep in Marcus’ neck, Hauteclaire put all his weight on Marcus’ upper body that wasn’t buried in the dirt.. Marcus shook and gargled under the combined weight of Hauteclaire and earth until all struggling ceased.

After all movement had stopped for good, and Hauteclaire jiggled the dagger to be certain Marcus was dead, Hauteclaire fell onto his back. The single arrow still in his abdomen was sticking up into the air and continued to drain the life out of him. The only signs that he was still in the land of the living were the slight movements of his chest with his shallow breathing.

The ponies were silent. There were no cheers. There were no celebrations.

A loud whistle broke the silence. “HAUTECLAIRE, YOU SON OF A GUN! That was BRILLIANT!”

All eyes turned to the King, who was giving a standing ovation. He turned to Porthos, who was now back up in his seat. “Did you see that!? Hauteclaire won! Holy cow! Pay up!”

Porthos grumbled, “You didn’t bet that he’d win,” but handed over a bottle of punch anyway.

The King took a swig from the bottle. “Yeah, but he lasted longer than you bet he would.”

Godiva was bouncing up and down in and screaming too. “HE WON! HE WON! HAUTECLAIRE WON!”

The crowd completely forgot its earlier moral dilemma and began to cheer for the performance, but it left much to be desired.

Porthos stood up and threw out his hands. “Now hold on, we don’t know if that arrow killed him. For all we know, this could be a draw.”

Without getting up off the ground, Hauteclaire reached up and ripped out the arrow protruding from his stomach. He lifted it up for all to see and extended his middle finger before dropping the arrow and his arm to the ground.

This caught Twilight’s attention. “What? What does that mean? I’ve seen Spike do it before, but he has never told me what it means.”

The King leaned over and whispered into Twilight’s ear.

Twilight turned around to Spike. “No gems for a month, Mister Dragon.”

In a flash of light, the King teleported from the booth and into the arena next to the dirt pile with the glowing shard. The King picked it up, walked over to Hauteclaire, stepped on his foot and threw it into Hauteclaire’s propped open mouth. “That was sneaky, you sly bastard! I must say, you fight dirty.”

Hauteclaire felt his strength return, or at least enough to groan at the King’s stupid pun. He felt the King prop him up with his magic. “I present to you, Hauteclaire! My bard! Everyone give him a round of applause!”

The crowd cheered for Hauteclaire, but there was little sincerity.

The King turned to Hauteclaire with a big grin. “I never thought I’d say this, but I think you deserve a raise!” With a wave of his hand, the dirt pile weighing down Marcus moved away. The King bent down and pulled the dagger out of Marcus’ neck. He wiped a hand over the wound and it healed instantly. He kicked Marcus in the side. “Hey! Get up.”

Marcus coughed and shifted about as he rubbed his neck with a hand and stood up. “Wow. That was something, it was.”

Marcus turned to the King. “What was that about a raise, was that? I had a hard time hearing being dead and all, I had.”

The King put his fists to his sides and held his head back. “Marcus, Hauteclaire has beaten you in a sparring match and has proven that he has improved his performance in ‘the game.’ He is getting a raise. You were careless. His raise is coming from you.”

Marcus sighed. “Yes, my king.”

What followed was to be expected given the King’s “sense” of humor. Without a word of warning, the King grabbed the side of Marcus’ torso and opened it like a door to a refrigerator.

All of Marcus’ insides fell out with a sickening plop on the ground. The ponies’ screams of horror mixed with the sounds of retching filled the air as the King began to dig around elbow deep in the guts.

Hauteclaire looked up to the booth. What are they getting so worked up about? It’s just dirt and minerals shaped like organs.

Twilight looked utterly shocked yet also curious. Pinkie looked like she was about to throw up. Fluttershy was passed out again, and her mane was being done up in bows by Godiva. Applejack, her face a sickly green, held her hat over the fillies’ faces, who all struggled to get a look. Rarity was face deep in a bucket. Rainbow Dash was mouthing something like “That’s. So. Sick.” And there was the multicolored serpent again in the seat next to Porthos, laughing and eating nachos. Hauteclaire blinked and it was gone.

The King’s remarks weren’t making things better. “Marcus, you’re still missing your stomach! And most of your intestine. Hey! You got your spleen back!”

Marcus coughed to get the King’s attention. His lungs wiggled in his open chest, and the crowd retched again. “My king, you know that isn’t where I keep my fragment, it isn’t.” Marcus reached up under his hat and pulled out a shard somewhat bigger than Hauteclaire’s.

The King took it from Marcus, scratched off a small part with a finger and handed it to Hauteclaire. “Here you go, Hauteclaire. Happy birthday!”

Hauteclaire rolled his eyes, threw the piece into his mouth and swallowed.

“Oh Celestia, he didn’t wash his hooves!”

The Mouse King scooped up Marcus’ innards. “Man, you have a lot of emeralds in here. You could say you’re green with envy.”

A mare leaned over the railing and blew chunks.

I agree, that was a terrible pun.

The King dropped Marcus’ guts and squealed with joy. “Hey! There’s still some in here!” He summoned up a plate and a spoon, scooped brown and yellow gunk from the corners of Marcus’ torso and piled it on the plate. “Man, it sucks you don’t have a stomach, Marcus, you can’t eat anything!”

Once the King had scooped all he could find on his plate, he ran away holding his prize up high over his head, leaving Marcus to pick up his innards on his own. Oh great, now he’s going to mess with the ponies. Again.

Hauteclaire watched as the King ran back towards the booth. Up in the booth, Porthos was downing another bottle of punch and laughing, Godiva was missing, Fluttershy’s entire mane was now in cornrows, Rainbow Dash was absolutely emotionless, Applejack was frozen in place as well, the fillies had slipped out from behind Applejack’s hat and now appeared to regret ignoring Applejack's warnings, Pinkie and Rarity were fighting over a bucket next to an unconscious dragon (Pinkie’s tongue was swollen and covered in blue dots for some reason), and Twilight looked like she was about to throw up as well.

The King teleported back into the booth and held the plate in front of Twilight. “My Marcus makes the best apple pie! Try some!”

Godiva zoomed back in as well. “Hey, everyone, I thought you might be hungry after such an exciting performance, so I brought a plate of cookies! Here, Twilight, have a cookie!”

Twilight tossed her cookies on the plate.

The King smirked and stuck a spoonful of apple pie gunk in his mouth. “Guess she doesn’t like cookies.”

Ch. 7 - How to Serve Your Dragon

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.)

Ch. 8 - Things That Go BONK in the Night

Hauteclaire and the rest of the court were gathered around a table covered in sweets, but it wouldn’t be for much longer. Porthos grabbed handfuls of pastries and shoved them into his maw; just as much ended up on his tabard as in his mouth. Porthos stopped scarfing sweets to let out a huge belch. Among the chewed globs that came out of his mouth was a tuft of brown and white fur. He flicked the hair ball off the table and continued eating. Godiva grabbed pastries one by one and nibbled them quickly out of existence. With each pastry she finished, she reminded the court that they must go say thank you to Pinkie tomorrow. Hauteclaire would pick up one sweet, sniff it, and if it passed the smell test, he would take a small bite. If he liked it, it got put to the side for later; if not, he would put it back in the pile for it to devoured by the other pigs. Marcus ate a single muffin, only enough as a sign of appreciation. The King was recounting his tales of the day between mouthfuls of sweets.

“...so after I fixed Big Mac’s legs and cleared out half the wing, gave them a cure for hoof rot, tonsillitis and horsentery, and performed a successful emergency c-section (“Awww. Pony babies!” chirped Godiva), I learned that there were also some of the pegasuses that we, I mean Hauteclaire, freaked out earlier, so I gave them the old mind wipe and *BOOM*!--” He shoved another pastry into his stuffed cheeks-- “No more paranoia or PTSD! The doctors were rather upset when I did that and started complaining to me about the ethics of doing such a thing; so I turned to them and I said, ‘Hey, are you lawyers or doctors? Because you’re trying my patience!’ Get it? Hahaha! Gaha, Gohoho, *COUGH COUGH* HURRRR.”

The King choked on his half-baked joke. Hauteclaire smiled.

After recovering from his coughing and choking fit, the King continued, “Well, they stopped complaining after they got a wipe themselves.”

Godiva put down the cinnamon roll she was nibbling on. “You only got rid of their nightmares, right? You didn’t erase their memories, did you?”

“Godiva, they’ll be fine. And even if I did mess up, they would have only forgotten the past week at most.”

Marcus wasn’t pleased with this. “My King, you know I have advised you against using that on the ponyfolk, I have. If word gets out about that, they will only have more reason to fear us, they will.”

“You’re saying they don’t?”

“My King, since when have you wanted to be feared, since when?”

The King opened his mouth to respond, but paused. He sat silently for a moment before he threw his half-eaten cherry pie on the table and took off. “Thanks, Marcus, you’ve ruined my appetite! I’ll be in my chambers.”

The court sat still and watched the King stomp out of the dining hall. It wasn’t until a while after they heard the door to his chamber slam that Porthos pointed to the remains of the pie splattered all over the table and broke the tense silence. “Anyone of you lads going to eat that?”

Hauteclaire, Marcus and Godiva shook their heads.

Porthos grabbed a handful and brought it to his mouth, but he stopped and dropped it back on the table. “Yeah, I’m not hungry anymore, either.”

“What was that all about?” asked Godiva. “We were having such a good day today. Why did he get so upset? Doesn’t he like to scare people?”

Marcus straightened up. “He does enjoy scaring the pants off others, but to be feared is... different.”

“What? How is that different than what we’ve been doing…”

Porthos interrupted Godiva. “It’s because, lass, the King has a date with the Princess!”

“Oh, really! He’s got a date with the Princess!? Oh, I wonder if he will get her flowers?What kind of romantic plans does he have for her? OH! That’s why he doesn’t want to be feared by the ponies, isn’t it? Because it would hurt the Princesses’ feelings if the King scared all the other ponies.”

Smooth move, Porthos.

Porthos quickly confirmed her line of logic. “That’s correct, Godiva! How can he woo the Princess if all her subjects are scared of him?”

OK, we don’t need to get her hopes up. “It’s not that kind of date,” Hauteclaire said. “The King has no romantic interests in the Princess. He just set up a formal dinner between two members of royalty to improve relations, not to sweep the Princess off her hooves. He just calls it ‘a date’ because he is… the King, for lack of a better word.”

Godiva’s smile sunk. “Darn. I was really hoping for something romantic. I’d really like to see a pony wedding.”

Porthos leaned over to Godiva. “That’s no problem, lass! We can just find the nearest chapel and ask when the next wedding is.”

“There are no chapels, churches, or cathedrals of any kind here, at least not in Ponyville,” said Marcus.

“Wow, Aquinas would have loved it here, wouldn’t he?”

Hauteclaire and Marcus grew tense the moment Porthos blurted the name of the King’s dead best friend out loud; Porthos, too, the moment he realized what he said. Only after several long seconds had passed and Porthos still hadn’t been set on fire did the three of them let out the breath they held.

Godiva continued to stroll through memory lane. “Yeah… And Gregor would love all the flowers and gardens these ponies have. I don’t know how he would have felt if he learned they grew them just to eat them, though. And I bet little Phil would have liked it here, too.”

Porthos leaned back and drifted off as well. “Aye. I remember how I used to entertain the soldiers. And how I would make bets with them like how I could hit the church bell with a rock from the the town center. Always surprised the greenhorns. Heh. Those were… better times.”

“By entertain, do you mean how you used to chug mead, belch the alphabet, and make noises with your armpits like the big brute you are?”

Porthos jumped up from his chair and raised a fist to slam Hauteclaire, but he resisted, probably because Godiva was sitting right next to him. He set the chair back on its legs and headed out the door. “I’ve got to be up early for chores tomorrow. I’m going to bed.”

Godiva jumped up and skipped her way to the door after him. “Me too! Tomorrow I’m going to work with Time Turner! He’s a handsome stallion! Oh, I can’t wait for tomorrow so I can tell Pinkie Pie thank you for...” They could hear Godiva’s chattering as she made her way down the hallway.

It was shortly after that that the dining hall fell into silence. The quiet that hung over Hauteclaire and Marcus was too much, so Hauteclaire picked up his sweets and got up to leave.

Marcus reached out. “Brother, wait.”

Hauteclaire ignored him and continued towards the exit.

“Brother, Hauteclaire, please.”

Hauteclaire stopped. “I distinctly recall saying I’m through with you.”

“Brother, please let me explain, let me. I’m sorry for this morning, I am. I was thoughtless and inconsiderate, I was.”

“Do you really think that is why I’m angry with you?”

“No, brother, I know that, I do. Please believe me when I say this, but what I do and what I have done was because I thought it was the best, please do.”

Hauteclaire turned away from Marcus and headed for the exit again.

“Please, brother. Tell me what do I have to do for you to forgive me, tell me?”

Without turning around, Hauteclaire made his demands. “Tell the King the truth.”

“The truth, is it?”

“Yes, Marcus. I want you to tell the King who really wrote his favorite songs.”

Marcus was silent. He looked at the ground before him and rubbed his hands together before taking a large breath and letting it out slowly. “Fine, brother. I’ll tell him, I will.”

“Good.

“But first,” said Hauteclaire, turning to Marcus, “tell me why you’ve been doing this.”

Marcus took a deep breath. “It’s because, dear brother, the King is angry with you and he doesn’t like you.”

“The feeling is mutual, and that is no secret. He is quite adamant in showing his distaste in me by making a ritual of forcing me to relive my last moments in every world we visit. So why does he hate me so much that you felt you had to lie about who wrote his music?”

Marcus was silent for a long while, but when Hauteclaire started for the exit again, he blurted out an answer. “The King. His mind isn’t all there, it isn’t. He doesn’t know how to deal with his grief, he doesn’t. My mind wasn’t all there either, it wasn’t.”

“So why single me out? What have I done to cause the death of his best friends and the loss of his kingdom? If I recall correctly, I died fighting for him. Just. Like. You. And that was a long time ago.”

Marcus looked to the floor. “There was only so much space, there was…”

Hauteclaire took his sweets to a place where he could enjoy them.

Wherever Hauteclaire took his sweets, he felt the cold tingle of eyes piercing his back. As he walked down long, empty hallways of the castle, he kept an eye out for movement in the shadows.

After finishing his snacks, he walked out into the courtyard and filled his pockets with several handfuls of soil. As he patrolled the halls again, he would drop little eyeballs made from soil in the dark corners of the halls. Hauteclaire’s suspicions proved correct as the eyes caught the faintest movements in the shadows throughout the castle.

We have intruders. I must alert the King.

Hauteclaire headed straight for the King’s room. When he turned the corner, he saw a dim light glowing out from underneath the door. Hauteclaire put his ear against the door and heard voices that didn’t belong to any of the court. It seemed that the King was communing with the spirits again for guidance. Hauteclaire listened to the voices:

“...but to face the stress and spur of difficulty and challenge; to learn to stand up in the storm but to have compassion on those who fall; to master yourself before you seek to master others; to have a heart that is clean, a goal that is high; to learn to laugh, yet never forget how to weep; to reach into the future yet never neglect the past; to be serious yet never to take yourself too seriously; to be modest so that you will remember the simplicity of true GREATness, the open mind…”

“Next!”

“The GREAT Society rests on abundance and liberty for all. It demands an end to poverty and racial injustice, to which we are totally committed in our time. But that is just the beginning. The GREAT Society is a place where…”

“Next!”

“I have a dream…”

“You’ve told me that one a thousand times! NEXT!”

Hauteclaire took a deep breath and calmed his nerves. If there was one thing the King hated, it was to be disturbed while communing with the spirits. It was something he did whenever he was in a mood, and if the King truly hated Hauteclaire for one reason or another, well, he would hate this. But what was the King going to do, kill Hauteclaire for good? He’d never stoop that low. Hauteclaire knocked on the door.

“Damnit! I’m in the middle of something!” called the King from behind the door. The other voices suddenly stopped, and there was the sound of rustling of furniture. There was a loud bang of wood. “Gah! Stupid coffee table!”

The door was thrown open, and there stood the King. His fur was a mess, and his crown was crooked. “Damnit, Hauteclaire, what’ya want!?”

“Your Highness, there are intruders in the castle.”

The angry look in his eyes disappeared. “What, really?” He looked around the dark hallway. “I don’t see any… Woah, hang on.” The King closed his eyes in concentration. “Let’s see, one, two… three… four… four. There are four intruders and…” The King looked around the hall again and smiled. “...they’re using magic to hide in the shadows. Oh, those mischievous ponies!”

The King smiled and patted Hauteclaire on the shoulder. “Well done, Hauteclaire! I’m surprised you noticed them. They were even able to slip under my radar. You have been nothing but surprise after surprise since we got here. I knew there was still hope for you!”

The King pulled Hauteclaire close and whispered into his ear. “Have you told anyone else yet?”

“No, Your Highness.”

“Well, let’s keep this between us. If Godiva knew that there were invisible ponies hiding in this castle at night, she’d tear the place apart looking for them, and I plan on getting this place looking nice for my dinner with Princess Twilight.”

The King then leaned away from Hauteclaire. “Well, I’ll let our guests know that they’ve outstayed their welcome.” He walked (with a slight limp) to a corner of the hallway that was pitch-black in shadow. “That means you. Skidaddle. And take your friends with you.”

The shadow seemed to move at his command. A blob of darkness quickly darted through the hallway and out the nearest window.

The King put his hands to his sides, puffed out his chest, and smiled with pride. “Man, Haut, I might need to give you another raise!”

“So wait, the Mane-iac is just evil for evil’s sake?”

“Yup, that’s pretty much it, but it really depends on who the writer is,” said Spike as he sat in the library. Hauteclaire was sitting next to him with a comic opened in front of him. Next to Hauteclaire sat Hauteclaire, who also had another comic in front of him; next to that Hauteclaire sat another Hauteclaire with another comic. In fact, every seat at the table was occupied either by Spike or Hauteclaire, and there was only one Spike. Since the chores had already been done, Hauteclaire was spending some time learning about comics. After a bit of reading, he wasn’t sure if they were for him.

“Well, the most popular story is that the Mane-iac was a stand up comedian who wanted to try getting into the mane styling industry, but her husband was sick and needed money for an operation, and because she didn’t have enough money, she made a deal with the wrong crowd and in an accident when trying to escape the Power Ponies, she fell into a vat of chemicals and was dumped into the sewers. The chemicals messed with her brain and hair colors and gave her the powers she has now, turning her into the Maniac.”

Hauteclaire #2 raised an eyebrow. “That’s... somewhat tragic. Still doesn’t support why in this comic--” Hauteclaire held up The Mane-iac: Draconequus’ Advocate-- “the Maniac doesn’t receive a death sentence even after she is tried for the murders more than 2,000 ponies.”

“Well, in that one, it turns out…” Spike started.

“And in this one,” said Hauteclaire #5 while holding up another comic, “the Mane-iac is able to fight toe-to-toe with Mistress Mare-velous.”

“While in this one,” said Hauteclaire #7, “the Maniac can hardly take, let alone give, a punch.”

“And this is just silly,” Hauteclaire #4 chimed in while tapping an open comic (The Mane-iac Follows Suit) on the table in front of Hauteclaire # 3. “Where does she even get the money for all these ridiculous hair-brained weapons and trinkets? Seriously, she has a Mane-mobile and a Mane-gyro.”

“And in this one…”

“Woah, woah, woah. Hold up! How are you doing that?”

All of the Hauteclaires raised their right eyebrows. One of them spoke. “Do what?”

Spike threw out his hands at all the Hauteclaires before him. “How is it that you can build off one another and you all know what each other has read? And how is it that you’re not fighting over who speaks first?”

All the Hauteclaires put on the same smirk.

One Hauteclaire started his explanation. “Well, you see…”

“...I can do that because…” continued another Hauteclaire.

“...when I copy myself…”

“...or make any doubles…”

“...they can see…”

“...and hear…”

“...and think…”

“...all on their own…”

“...however…”

“STOP IT! YOU’RE DRIVING ME INSANE!” Spike was pulling on those green things at the side of his head.

“Fine. Any copy I make is free to act and think on its own, but we all share the same brain. Thus, whatever I see, hear and think, they can see, hear, and understand too. And vice-versa.”

Spike let go of what were probably his ears. “Wow. So that must be pretty useful, huh?”

“Indeed.”

“Oh! You could be a superhero!”

Hauteclaire laughed. Seriously, I’m more like a villain. “No, no, no.”

“Oh come on! You already have a superpower! And you got a mask, a cape and costume! All you need is a name! Hmmm…”

Seriously, do I look like a superhero? That is the second time somebody said that.

“How about ‘Multiple Mouse’?”

“No.”

“‘Multiclaire’?”

“No.”

“‘Mr. Manifold’?”

“Mr. Manifold… That feels good rolling off the tongue, but no. I’m not a superhero.”

“Oh, come on! You could take me on adventures with you! I could help you when you’re in a pinch with my amazing firebreath!” Spike blew a green fireball into the air.

“You mean like one of those sidekicks?” Wait. Didn’t I already have a sidekick?

“Well, no, but I could be a superhero to fight beside you! Hey, Hauteclaire? What are you looking at?... Hello?”

Hauteclaire sat on the Mouse King’s throne in the ruined castle and observed as several mice labored quickly to put the castle back in order. I still can’t believe that worked, thought Hauteclaire. He pulled out a mirror and observed himself. All I had to do was change my appearance, strut like him, and make a few threats, and boom! The castle is ours again! Now I just have to keep up the act until Porthos, Marcus, and Aquinas bring back the REAL King.

Hauteclaire threw his feet up on the matching red ottoman. This is great! Maybe I should try to make my own kingdom elsewhere.

One random mouse walked up to Hauteclaire. “You know, you could be helping us out.”

“Oh but I am. Can’t you see that I’m keeping the duke’s armies at bay? I must keep up my appearance and act like the King. So get back to work!”

The mouse huffed. “The King would be helping us! He wouldn’t be sitting on his ass and observing himself in a mirror.”

“I’ll have you know that…”

“I don’t have to listen to you! You’re not in charge. Godiva is! She’s the one that forced you to...”

“Why you little!...”

“HAUTECLAIRE! HAUTECLAIRE! You have visitors!”

The escalating fight between the faux King and the mouse came to a halt. “If you’ll excuse me, I have some kingly business to attend to.”

The mouse turned his back and returned to his work while grumbling some rather uncouth statements.

Hauteclaire turned to the mouse that came in shouting. The little runt, even smaller than the King, ran up to Hauteclaire. The large leather satchel that draped over one shoulder smacked the back of his legs as he ran. He stopped, pulled on the collar of his yellow-green shirt and fanned himself off with his matching hat.

Hauteclaire snatched the hat out of his hand and smacked the mouse across the face with it. “Damn it all, Philippides! When you address me in this form, you call me ‘Your Majesty,’ got it? We can’t let anyone outside know that the King still hasn’t returned!”

Philippides snatched back his hat and whined, “I know, I know… Haut--”

“Your Majesty.”

“Your Majesty, there are guests waiting to see you at the front gate. They say they come in peace and want to talk about cooperation, or something like that.”

“‘Or something like that?’ Phil! You’re a messenger! You’re job is to remember what people say! That’s it! How can you screw that up?”

“Sorry, Hauteclaire.”

“YOUR MAJESTY.”

“Sorry!”

Hauteclaire plopped back down on the throne. “I’m not seeing them. Tell them to go away.”

“But Hau… Your Majesty, they’re just like us! And there are only five of them.”

Hauteclaire scratched his chin. “What do you mean ‘like us’?”

“Ummm, they’re not human?”

“Fine, show them in. Then make sure that the guest chambers in the northern corridor are ready, and tell the chefs to fix up extra servings for five more guests.”

Philippides let his shoulders droop. “I have to do all of that?”

Hauteclaire facepalmed before snatching the hat off of Phil’s head and shooing him away with it.

Everything was dark. Hauteclaire couldn’t move nor speak. This was a lovely predicament he now found himself in. He had put on his best performance as King for the guests, but they had seen through Hauteclaire’s disguise. When he showed them to their chambers, they had ambushed him, took his fragment, tied him up, gagged him, and locked him in this trunk. Who were they, and how had they even known about the fragment?

Hauteclaire had to get out. He had to get his fragment back. No, he had to get out of here with his head still attached to his neck. Screw this! Was it really worth it? What hope did Hauteclaire have?

Just then, the lock clattered, and the lid creaked open. Oh crap, they’ve come back to finish me! Oh world, you have been a cruel and unfair mistress.

Hauteclaire closed his eyes and prepared himself to be lifted by the sharp claws that had thrown him in his wooden purgatory, that was until a nasal-y and somewhat annoying voice rang in his ear.

“Hauteclaire!? What are you doing here?”

Hauteclaire opened his eyes and looked up. Instead of some monstrous beast, there was a fellow mouse. Philippides!

“Philippides! They know the King is not here and are setting up an ambush! We’ve got to get out of here while we still can!” said Hauteclaire. Or he would have, if it weren’t for the gag in his mouth.

Philippides reached down to tug out the gag, but the sound of a door opening jostled them both. Philippides closed the lid and scurried away. Hauteclaire heard his tiny footsteps in the darkness of the trunk, as well as the door hinges creaking, much larger and heavier footsteps, and two voices.

“Well, what do you have to report?” said the smooth voice that belonged to the royal guest. The same one that had seen through Hauteclaire’s disguise and sicced his goons on him.

“Your Majesty, I have just gotten a report that the Mouse King has escaped the execution a while ago as predicted and he is quickly heading this way. He should be here soon,” said the rough, scratchy, yet feminine voice of the goon.

“And the Shield Bearer?”

“He gives chase, Your Majesty, but he will be here much later as he travels by ship, not wing. It will still be several days before he arrives. Shall we set up an ambush at the dock, Your Majesty?”

“No. Should things take too long or not play out accordingly, he will be our plan C.”

“What is your plan B, Your Majesty?”

Footsteps approached the chest Hauteclaire was in. The lid was thrown open. Hauteclaire looked up and saw two rats staring down at him. Both of them were tall and gangly. One of them wore a regal crown and a cape in a similar fashion to the King. Everything about him was pointy. His fur, his nose, his ears, his fingers. He looked like he could skewer something to death by giving it a hug. The other rat stood taller than the royal guest; she had on a black hood and tabard over mail that clinked as she slinked about. A long, double-edged pole-axe was hanging off her back.

“The bard?”

“Yes.”

“He’s useless! Let me behead him!”

“Ah ah ah, not yet. The Mouse King loves all his subjects dearly. If something were to happen before I can convince him to share with me the location of the brain, we will use the bard’s life to bargain for it.”

“And the Shield Bearer, Your Majesty?”

“I’ve manipulated him once already, I can do it again.” The royal guest smiled, bearing his pointy, yellow teeth.

“And what if the Mouse King were to see through our plans before the Shield Bearer arrives, Your Majesty?”

“Then I unleash the rats in the walls and kill everything here, and we will search for the brain the hard way.”

The hooded rat bowed low. “Oh great Rat King, you are brilliant as you are brutal!”

The Rat King’s ghastly grin grew. “Yes. Yes, I am. And you are my executioner. You will have plenty of heads to chop off once I get my hand on that brain.”

A knock came on the door. The Executioner closed the lid to the trunk, plunging Hauteclaire back into darkness again.

“State your name and business with the Rat King!” demanded the Executioner.

A muffled voice of a mouse soldier came through. “Our midday meal will be served soon. Does Your Majesty have any special requests?”

“Give me your finest wine. Today is a day worth celebrating.”

“Um… Of course, Your Majesty. And if you’ll pardon my rudeness, is Hau… the Mouse King with you? He wasn’t in his chambers.”

“Oh, I’m sure he went out for a moment.”

“Thank you. Your meal will be ready for you in the dining hall in just a few minutes.”

Hauteclaire was glad that the soldiers had noticed his absence in such a short time. There was still hope for him yet.

“It seems likely that we may have to unleash the rats in the walls soon. Come. Let us watch them enjoy their last meal together.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

The door to the guest chamber opened and closed again. Soon afterwards, the pitter-patter of tiny feet on stone and carpet made its way towards the chest and Hauteclaire.
The lid to the chest creaked open again. Philippides reached down and took the gag out of Hauteclaire’s mouth.

“Did you hear that, Hauteclaire!? They’re after the King, and they’re going to kill all of us! We must flee! Get out of here before they come back! I’ll get my things and...”

He plans to kill all of them. Me, my brother, the King… I can’t possibly survive this! I need to get out of here, but… Oh lord, I… I… I’m going to regret this.

“Philippides! Shut up and listen.”

Philippides stopped his incessant crying. “I need you to do something for me. We must alert the King, but I cannot leave this trunk, and no one else must know about this!”

Philippides opened his mouth and continued to whine. “What!? I can’t do anything! Did you see how big they were!? I’m tiny! I’m a runt! They’ll flatten me! We must leave now while we have a chance!”

“Dammit Philippides, we leave now and everyone is going to die, including Gregor!”

“No, he will be fine. Big brother is strong. He can look after himself. Let’s go!”

“God da… Look, Philippides, you want a piece of my fragment?”

This caught Philippides’ attention. “Yes! I do! The King won’t give me one!”

That’s because you’re a whiny little runt that runs away from danger and took the easiest job there was. “Well, you saw the one in a black hood and tabard? She has my fragment. You get it from her while she is eating in the dining hall and bring it to me, and I’ll give you a piece of it. Deal?”

Philippides nodded. “Great! I’ll get big brother to help me and…”

“NO, PHILIPPIDES! You must do this on your own. You can’t tell anyone else, because if the mice start acting strangely, the Rat King will kill us all! Do you hear me? You can’t tell anyone.”

“But… but... Nnnnngh!” Philippides wanted to argue, but he just slammed his fists on the side of the chest. “Fine, I’ll let you out, and you can help me figure out what to do.”

“DAMMIT, PHIL! I CAN’T LEAVE HERE BECAUSE IF ANYONE SEES ME, THE RAT KING WILL KNOW HE’S BEEN FOUND OUT AND WE ALL DIE! Now, close the chest, go to the dining hall, and GET MY FRAGMENT FROM THE EXECUTIONER!”

“Alright! Alright! Just stop yelling at me!” He closed the chest and ran out to the dining hall.

Death, I’d never imagined we’d become acquainted so soon.

After a few minutes that seemed to pass on for an eternity, a loud commotion could be heard coming from down the hall. It sounded as if Philippides had failed in his mission, and all-out war had broken out in the dining hall. Hauteclaire began to say his prayers, as he knew that there was no way he could escape now.

The lid to the chest flew open. Hauteclaire flinched, ready to have an axe come down and finish him.

“Hauteclaire! I did it! I did it!”

Hauteclaire dared to open an eye and took a peek. There was Philippides, gasping for breath and covered with what must have been today’s midday meal. In his hand, held between his thumb and forefinger, was a shining blue fragment. “I got it, Hauteclaire! I started a food fight and I slipped it out of the executioner’s tabard without her noticing! I did it! I did it!”

Hauteclaire smiled. “Quick! Give me the shard!”

“I want my piece.”

Hauteclaire frowned. “You’ll get it once I get out of here, now GET ME OUT OF HERE!”

“I did it! Hauteclaire! I outsmarted them both!”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” said a familiar voice.

Philippides squeaked in horror, dropped the fragment in the chest and dropped the lid to the chest.

“Wha-wha-wha-”

“What? Aren’t you happy to see me? You didn’t think I wouldn’t feel your hands all over my body? You think you’re so clever by starting that food fight, don’t you.”

The door slammed shut. There was the scraping of some heavy furniture being moved. Most likely to block the door.

“Well, let’s see you outsmart my axe!” The Executioner’s heavy footsteps clanked on the ground as she gave chase. The pitter-patter of Philippides’ little feet couldn’t be heard over his screaming and the sound of splintering furniture.

Hauteclaire needed to get the fragment, and fast, or else he and Philippides wouldn’t leave this room alive. The fragment had fallen in a corner of the trunk. Using his nose, Hauteclaire moved it closer to his mouth.

I just need to hold it to use it and get out of these ropes. Come on…

He did his best to ignore the screams and the smashing that continued outside his wooden prison. When the fragment was finally close enough, Hauteclaire picked up the fragment with his lips.

Got it!

The lid to the chest smashed open, splinters rained down on Hauteclaire’s face. Just inches away from his face was the axe. “GAAH!” The shard fell into Hauteclaire’s mouth and he swallowed.

Oh crap.

“Hauteclaire!”

“What!?”

“You’ve been staring off into space a little bit. I thought you might have gone brain dead or something,” said Spike with a little concern in his voice.

“Why did you think that?”

“You mean you didn’t feel it?”

“Feel what? I don’t…”

The Hauteclaire copies all looked at Hauteclaire, then it became apparent to him. At some point during his his trip down memory lane, somebody shot an arrow into his head. The copies turned into clouds of dust and floated outside the window as Hauteclaire pulled out the arrow and inspected it. There was a note tied to it.

“Doesn’t that hurt?” asked Spike.

“It doesn’t when he doesn’t want them to.”

“How does that work?”

Hauteclaire wiggled his fingers. “Magic.”

Without looking at the note, Hauteclaire tossed the arrow out the window.

“Hey, aren’t you going to read the message? Or did the message contents get magically transported into your brain through the arrow?”

“No, and no. Are these the kind of things that comics make you think of?”

“Hey! They are very creative and tell very exciting stories!”

“Right. But they are so… creative. I mean, an organization of bad guys working together just to spread evil and chaos? That is the silliest idea I’ve…”

“Hey, Hauteclaire.”

“GAH!” Hauteclaire jumped out of his chair. Behind him was Godiva, and she was holding the arrow with the note. “What do you want!? Shouldn’t you be helping Timmy Turner or something like that?”

“Hauteclaire.” Godiva stepped closer to Hauteclaire. “Why are you fighting with Marcus?”

“Wai- Wha- That doesn’t concern you. What are you doing here?”

She pulled out another message from her dress, unrolled it, and read it. “Godiva. Could you please check to make sure Hauteclaire reads the message I sent him? We had a bit of a fight yesterday, and I’m afraid he may still be angry at me. Please make sure he reads the letter. And please tell him I’m very sorry and I will do ‘it’ tonight for him as promised. Thank you. Marcus.”

Godiva rolled up the letter and put it back into her dress. “Why are you two fighting? We are on vacation. Please don’t fight on our vacation. Please?” She tilted her head down and looked up at Hauteclaire with her big eyes.

Hauteclaire crossed his arms. “And why shouldn’t I? He’s been keeping a secret from me.”

“Because he says he’s sorry, and he really means it. Can’t you tell?”

Hauteclaire leaned closer towards Godiva. “He says a lot of things. He’s the advisor. He’s the one who deals with the inhabitants of each place we visit. He knows how to talk and make you believe him no matter what he says. I’m not going to forgive my brother just because he’s got you convinced. And it doesn’t take much to do that, now does it?”

Godiva eyes twitched. “You don’t mean that, do you?”

Hauteclaire crossed his arms and answered with silence.

“You should really consider yourself lucky to have such a great brother like Marcus. He does a lot to look after you, you know?”

“Like lie to me?”

“He would never lie to you! He’s your brother. He loves you, Haut.”

“Well, the feeling isn’t mutual.”

Godiva’s eyes became damp. “Fine, be a jerk.” She dropped the arrow and stomped out of the room.

Spike picked up the arrow and looked at Hauteclaire. “You are definitely not a superhero.”

The little dragon untied the string holding the note. Hauteclaire quickly snatched it out of Spike’s claws. “Hey, this letter is for me.”

“Geesh! What’s got your tail tied into a knot?”

“My brother! That’s what!”

“If you’re going to be a jerk, I don’t want to hang out with you.” Spike grabbed his comics and walked out of the library. “Mr. Manifold sounds more like a supervillain’s name, anyway.”

Hauteclaire let out a “harumph” and returned to the letter that was now unrolled in his hands.

My dear brother Hauteclaire,

First of all, I am truly sorry for what I have done. Tonight, I will tell the King that his favorite songs have written been written by you. Please understand that I did this because I thought it was the best thing to do given the circumstances, but in hindsight, I haven’t made the wisest decision. Hauteclaire, I am truly sorry for driving this wedge between us. We used to get together so well before the exile, and I wish we could go back to the way things were.

I know it is very sudden and you may not want to hear from me, but I have a huge favor to ask of you. I have overextended myself and I cannot fulfill all the promises I have made. Of all of us, you’re our best hope at improving our image and relations with the ponies while educating them about us, our culture, and the world we came from.

This is important, and I trust you will bring us a resounding success.

Hauteclaire, in my place, I would like you to spend a little time answering questions at the local elementary school.

Author's Note

Hang on... There were four spies, right? I saw three at the beginning, where is the fourth?

Oh well.

How you enjoying the story so far? Especially since you finally got a small peek at the court's life before the exile.

I'm working on a few other things at the moment that I can't wait to share!

Ch. 9 - School of Hard BONKS

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.”

Ch. 11 - Can You Smell What The Marcus is Cooking?

No matter how much Hauteclaire thought it over, he still felt like what had just happened that night was a dream. For the first time in forever, the King told Hauteclaire, nay, asked Hauteclaire to do something that wasn’t “game”-related. And it was something that he would enjoy doing.

The music and atmosphere for the dinner between Princess Twilight Sparkle and the Mouse King was to be prepared and performed by Hauteclaire. It wasn’t to be music he had written, but to be what he considered “The Classics” from their world.

It wasn’t to be just “their” music, but pony music as well. Hauteclaire was tasked to summon several pony musicians and have them perform what the ponies considered music of high class. It was to be a subtle way of boosting mouse and pony relations by playing their music together. This wouldn’t be a challenge, as Hauteclaire had already befriended a local musician, and she most likely knew others as well.

He could say “befriended,” right? You were friends with someone if they belched in your face and your immediate reaction was not to slap some manners into them, right? Hauteclaire couldn’t remember the last time he had made a new friend.

Even back at the castle, he had been a bit of an outcast. Maybe the army of the Mouse King had just been jealous they didn’t get their own rooms. He remembered that Godiva herself got along with very few mice back home, and she slept out in the stable; and Aquinas, whom everyone thought was a bit of a kook with a love for birds, slept in the church.

Hauteclaire walked out of his reconstructed bedroom and looked down the hall. The morning sun warmed the hallway through the paneless, arched windows. Stepping up to the window, Hauteclaire breathed in the first fresh breath of air that would be another day full of unimaginable possibilities. For both fortune and disaster.

He stretched his arms out and felt a few loose pebbles shake loose from under his clothes. This new body still needed to be broken in. As he loosened his belt and shook out some dirt from under his cotehardie, he noticed a pegasus flying straight for the castle. As it got closer, he saw it was burdened with a brown bag slung around its neck and shoulder.

Wow, she’s going awfully fast. It looks like she’s heading this way.

She was.

The pegasus came barreling through the window and smashed right into Hauteclaire. Knocked silly against the wall and buried under a pile of grey fur and feathers, he struggled to push the winged mare off him. The pony herself also seemed perplexed by her current situation, but she handled it much better than Hauteclaire.

“Wow! The castle looks different than it did yesterday.”

Hauteclaire jabbed the pony in the side with a finger. She caught the hint and got off of him. “Oops! Sorry! I didn’t see you there. Thank you for breaking my fall.”

Getting up, smoothing the wrinkles in his clothes, and spitting out a feather, Hauteclaire stared at the mare staring back at him, and a dirt pile on the floor.

Did that happen to her in the crash? Well, nothing the King’s magic can’t solve.

The pegasus pointed at Hauteclaire. “Ummm, I don’t mean to be rude, but there is something wrong with your face.”

Of all the nerve! This pony dares to make light of my face when her own is a… oh… Hauteclaire reached up, grabbed his bent nose, and snapped it back into place with a crack. “Thank you.”

The pony smiled back at him, “It’s alright! I’ve got something for you.” She lifted a flap of her mailbag with a wing and pulled something out with her teeth.

Hauteclaire took the bundle from her and opened it up. “The Foal Free Press?”

The mare smiled. “Yup! Marcus ordered this paper the other day. You guys are in it! Well, I’ve got more deliveries to make. Have a nice day!” The mare waved and took off through the window she came in. As she left, Hauteclaire noticed her cutie mark: a bunch of bubbles.

What kind of talent involves bubbles? Maybe she likes to clean things…

Turning his thoughts back to the paper, he read the header.

The Truth of Hauteclaire’s Face Revealed! Serious Scars Scare Schoolfillies Silly!

Hauteclaire bit his lip. Just below the massive headline was a picture of Hauteclaire with his mask off. In front of him were a bunch of screaming students. It was apparent to him now that these ponies were capable of taking pictures. He didn’t remember seeing any cameras at the school, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. Come to think of it, there were cameras at the welcoming party.

“Ffffffffffffrig.”

He held the paper in one hand and continued reading while he massaged his temple with the other.

While giving a presentation at a local school one afternoon, Hauteclaire, the bard of the Mouse King, took off his mask, revealing a deep flesh wound that scared young and old alike. It is clear that despite the origins of such a wound, it would be fatal if any pony were to suffer anything similar.

While the cause of the wound is still up for debate, many attribute it to the curse that the Court of the Mouse King suffers, the curse that has caused parts of their bodies to be replaced with gems and dirt, or to be missing entirely.

Upon interviewing several sources who have seen or been in contact with the new arrivals, it seems that Hauteclaire isn’t the only one to have something to cover up. As one anonymous source explained:

“We were at Pokey’s restaurant last night with a bunch of other stallions playing cards, and wouldn’t you know it, Big Mac brought in [Porthos] from the farm… …At one point during one of the many games that were played, [Porthos] got into a lively discussion that ended up with him lifting up his shirt and revealing many scars and flesh wounds…”

One mare had this to say about Godiva, the Mouse King’s knight, who you may remember caused a lot of collateral damage when they first arrived and was first seen carrying a wooden pony head on a stick.

“We were at the Carousel Boutique picking up an order, and there we saw Rarity taking measurements of [Godiva] without her dress on… ... She was covered in what looked like a lot of bite marks, like she was a manticore’s chewtoy!”

Another anonymous source from the Mayor’s office had this to say:

“...[Marcus] has been very nice, respectful, and curious about how we do things around here. I found it odd, however, that when Princess Twilight Sparkle came in, he refused to take off his hat when he greeted her. [Redacted] offered to take his hat when he first came to the office, but as soon as [redacted] used magic to take his hat, he grabbed it and started acting peculiar… …I could have sworn I saw some nasty scars on his head.”

The article continued, but Hauteclaire had read enough. Marcus already had his hands full with dealing with what the King has done, and now Hauteclaire had opened up a new can of worms. At least Porthos and Godiva were mentioned as well, so Hauteclaire wouldn’t take all of the blame.

Another article caught his attention.

Disappearing Money: Ponies’ Plentiful Purses Purloined?

For the past few days, many of us have seemed to be misplacing money. It has been happening so frequently that some ponies are crying foul.

“My accountants are bewildered,” said local business owner and investor Filthy Rich. “They keep coming up with numbers that don’t match what is in the bank… …and the bank’s numbers don’t match the actual numbers in my accounts…”

The banks that Mr. Rich frequents have declined to comment.

But Mr. Rich isn’t the only one who lost money. Many people have filed complaints with local security officers about disappearing money. Even Davenport, owner of Davenport’s Quills and Sofas, the place to go for your lounging and listing needs, has been under some financial strain quite recently.

“Ponies have asked me why I am able to sell just quills and sofas,” said shop owner Davenport. “It was a trade secret, but the amount of change we found under cushions of used sofas we bought and sold helped keep my store afloat. Now, for some reason, the money isn’t there anymore… …I’m going to have to expand my selection if I want to keep my shop open…”

These money problems have only started days ago, around the same time the Mouse King and his court appeared out of the Everfree Forest and started handing out bags of bits as compensation for damage they caused.

Coincidence? This reporter will dig further to unravel the truth.

-Big Scoop

Hauteclaire groaned and walked down the hallway towards the dining hall for the morning meeting. He was probably going to get a firm talking-down to from Marcus about the school house debacle, but this would cause both of them massive headaches.

Hauteclaire munched on an apple as Marcus read the paper. Godiva sat farther away from Marcus than usual and tried to avoid looking him in the eye. The King was busy elsewhere reconstructing parts of the castle that he hadn’t been completed yet. Porthos had already left for Sweet Apple Acres hours ago.

Putting down the paper, Marcus rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed. Before he could say anything, Godiva looked up from the table. “I’m sorry, Marcus! I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to show my scars. Rarity offered to make me something in exchange for all the work I’ve been doing for Ponyville. She said my dress was getting dirty and it would be more ‘fitting for a lady’ to have something nice to wear. And then she said that she needed to take measurements, and…”

Marcus lifted his hand. He walked away from the long, wooden table, one of two that ran lengthwise down the mess hall, towards a window and looked outside. Already, a flock of curious pegasi and their flight-challenged friends had gathered to gawk at the King’s recent renovations. The castle was no longer floating so close to the Everfree Forest, but now just on the edge of Ponyville, which would explain the huge increase in unwanted tourism.

“Godiva, it’s alright, it is. We, well, Hauteclaire and I tried to hide it, we did. But really… How long could we have hidden it, could we? It’s not like we’ve taken a vacation before or stayed in a world long before altering our appearance to better blend in, it isn’t. This is the first time we’re being seen for what we are… or perhaps were, before the exile, this is.” He walked back to Godiva and put a hand on her shoulder. “You may not have as much as an emotional tie to your scars as Hauteclaire and I do, you may not. But you’re not in trouble; they would have found out eventually, they would have.”

Hauteclaire swallowed another bite of his apple. “She used to.” He flinched at the sudden look Marcus gave him.

Godiva didn’t notice this, but she did turn to Hauteclaire and scrunch up her face. “Since when?”

Marcus took another deep breath before continuing. “The point is, if we are going to be staying here, it would be best for us to come clean, it would. Our scars only give them another reason to be scared, but they aren’t a bad thing, they aren’t.”

“Still, we can’t tell them how we are still alive. His Highness would go bonkers if we revealed the truth.”

“...and no more vacation with the ponies…”

Marcus sat back down and looked at the paper again. After a quick glance at the other articles, he folded it up and coughed to get attention. “Godiva, you are to help Fluttershy with her animals today, you are. If you remember, she is one of the friends of Princess Twilight Sparkle we met on the first day, and… um… volunteered her for her services, we did. We seemed to have spooked some of the wildlife here, and the wildlife is very different from our world, they are. You are to listen to everything she says, and you must remain cool, calm, and collected, you must. Try to take things slowly with her, try to. After you have finished up with her, it’s more work for Golden Harvest, it is. Do you have any questions?”

Godiva shook her head with a smile. “Cool, calm, collected. Got it!” She jumped up out of her seat and ran out the window; well, she would have, if she hadn’t tripped over her chair and tumbled out the window. She wiped off her dress before taking off and running through a crowd of concerned onlookers and off towards Ponyville.

As Hauteclaire watched her disappear into the distance, his mind connected a few dots. Hang on. PRINCESS Twilight? PRINCESS Celestia? Lyra’s father knows Princess Celestia, but I also know a Princess who probably has a much stronger tie with Princess Celestia than he does! And she is not away in some other kingdom studying music. And I’m working for her assistant. Oh… oh. I hope I didn’t screw this up. He looked up from his apple core and saw Marcus staring at him. “Alright. I scared a bunch of foals by showing them my face. So shoot me.”

Marcus took up the paper and bopped Hauteclaire on the nose. “I know you didn’t do it to intentionally scare them, I know. I have a feeling that you were goaded into doing it. But still, Hauteclaire, I would have expected more from you, I would.”

Hauteclaire scowled at Marcus. His light tone with an air of disappointment burned his ears more than any insult or raving rant could have. He felt his fingers burying deep into the apple’s remaining flesh.

“I’m going to have a bit of a time coming up with a way I can explain our scars to the ponies, I’m going to; but that won’t be the hardest part.” --He unrolled the paper and pointed to the money article-- “This is going to be a problem. If I can’t get the King to find a large source of gold nearby and sit still long enough to produce coins and recall all of the places he took them from, we might have a riot on our hands, we might.”

Placing down the newspaper, Marcus looked about the room for a bit before pulling up a chair and whispering to Hauteclaire. “Hauteclaire, brother, I’ve talked to the King last night and told him everything, I did. It went… well, much better than I expected, it went. It seems that he has remembered that you wrote the songs, but kept up the charade to annoy you, it seems.”

Hauteclaire continued to munch on the apple core, pretending not to listen to his brother, who took another look around the empty hall.

“It seems more of his memory has been restored, it has; but his mental state is... still troubled. I’m afraid of what may happen if something were to upset or provoke him, I am. I don't doubt he would look for a way to call off the promise if he felt so inclined, I don't. Which brings me to…”

“Why did you do it, Marcus?”

Marcus looked down at his feet while Hauteclaire finished the apple core. He didn’t turn towards his brother when Marcus raised his head. “It happened, perhaps five or six hundred years ago, when it was just me, the King, and a lot of scattered memories…”

Fragmented. It was like being in a dream. Like the kind of dreams one had when you were half awake and scarfed down an onion and bell pepper pizza the night before. Except you didn’t have terrible onion farts when you woke up. However, these dreams were nothing new, but a random assortment of incomplete memories and sensations. Porthos, Godiva, and Hauteclaire were fragmented to the point that it was like they weren’t even alive.

The King and Marcus, however, were lucky to have been restored enough to be able to form thoughts and speak those thoughts, even if they remained in the brain and had no physical form to carry out said thoughts outside of the brain. Inside the brain, an incomplete Marcus and a traumatized King bickered and debated about what to do with some of the memories that floated around them.

“Him… Him… They’re tot because of him!”

“My Kaiser, he wisst nicht was he did.”

“Tot… tot… TOT…. Aquinas is tot!”

“My Kaiser, es war never his fault, es war nicht.”

“Und Gregor. Tot! I could have tasuketa Gregor! But that Hauteclaire! Tot! Tot! Tot!”

“My Kaiser, please! You wissen that Aquinas wanted nicht to be tasuketa!”

“Non! Non! I could have tasuketa him! If es war nicht for Hauteclaire!”

“If you had tasuketa Aquinas, then you wouldn’t have been able to tasukeru Gregor!”

“Non! This is Hauteclaire’s fault! Non, non, non!”

In the brain, thoughts of Hauteclaire reminded one of them of his songs, which started playing in their heads. It didn’t matter which one of them it was, as they both shared an incomplete mind in the incomplete brain.

“Non! Gah! His songs! I hate his songs! I’ll kesu them. I’ll KESU them!”

“Non! Don’t do es! Weare connected, we are! You might hurt Hauteclaire, Godiva, Porthos, or yourself, you might!”

“I’d rather vivo incomplete than with these songs by that uragirimono!”

“Would you risk Godiva or Porthos, would you? My Kaiser…”

“...kesu… kesu… That uragirimono…”

“…My Kaiser… … I war the one who wrote the songs…”

“Was?”

“Hauteclaire didn’t write those songs… I did…”

“... Then, ‘Mice of the Isle?’”

“... We did it together… He came to me for help with the lyrics.”

“...”

“...My Kaiser?”

“...Fine. I won’t kesu the songs.”

Hauteclaire let out a mental sigh. The long argument seemed to finally come to an end… for now.

“When we modoru, we must be stronger! Besser! Motto hayaku! I need to tasukeru our home and be a Great King!”

And thus, the King spent the next few decades thinking of ways he could improve his chances upon his return, until he recovered enough of his brain and mind to act upon those thoughts. And thus, the game was born.

Marcus looked up after recalling the nightmare and saw his brother looking back at him. No longer was Hauteclaire leaning back in his chair, but his whole body had turned to face him.

“...and that is how it came to be, my dear brother. I had to fool myself into believing my lie so that the King would believe it too. However, it has been so long, and he is much more in control of his feelings, that I didn’t have to keep up the charade, I didn’t. But I think I may have fooled myself too well and completely forgotten about it until you brought it up again, I may have. I’m… I’m sorry I let this continue for so long, I am. I was afraid that he might have hurt one of us by deleting part of us, or worse, I was.”

“He… he was going to delete my songs!?”

Marcus nodded. “The memories of the songs, yes, and he might have inadvertently deleted the memories attached to them or worse, even physical parts of us, he might have. He was furious that since you took up some of the brain, he didn’t have enough space to save Aquinas and Gregor.”

Hauteclaire stood up and knocked his chair over. “Well, why is he?… There was still room left for one more! Why couldn’t he have saved one of them!?”

“Aquinas didn’t want to be saved, he didn’t. And Gregor… he had… conditions, he did. But by saving you, it was impossible, it was.”

Hauteclaire stared at his brother, unable to read his eyes under his hat, but Marcus’ mouth kept twisting and turning in anguish and fear. “Well, I’ve had enough of this. Unless you have anything else to say to me, brother, I’m heading out.”

Looking over the room one more time, Marcus rushed up to Hauteclaire’s side. “There is one more thing I’ve been meaning to bring up with you, there is.” Marcus took another look around and leaned even closer. “Do you think we’re being watched?”

Hauteclaire stopped in his tracks. He knew the answer, but he didn’t know if he should tell Marcus. As they both were well aware, the King was quite unstable; if Hauteclaire were to break the promise he had made that one night with the King, who knew what he would do if he found out? However, he seemed to only have meant the ponies that were creeping about the castle at night.

“Brother, I have been shadowed by a being of chaotic intent.”

Marcus leaned in closer and wrung his hands together. “What do you mean, ‘chaotic intent’?”

“There is a horned serpent with the face of a mule, the legs of a lion, dragon, eagle, and goat, and a smile of a devil that has been showing up whenever things are getting crazy. I saw it when we abducted Fluttershy, at our spar in Ponyville, and I saw it yesterday at the school. No one else seems to have noticed it, and I suspect it was behind what happened at the school yesterday.”

Marcus took a deep breath, and his hands tightened. “Do you think it’s a god or a being of incredible powers, do you?”

“Perhaps not like a ‘god’ where we’re from, but certainly something unusual. You haven’t seen it?”

“I can’t say that I have brother, I can’t. But I did learn something troubling yesterday…”

Hauteclaire turned a bit to face his brother.

“... I’ve learned that the large, white alicorn you and Godiva met the first day, Princess Celestia, has the power to raise the sun. Her sister, Princess Luna, raises the moon....”

Hauteclaire blinked. “What? You can’t be serious, brother.”

“Brother, I’m not joking, I’m not. These ponies are no pushovers like Godiva said. I’m afraid that they could actually give us, or more likely, the King, the challenge he is looking for. And I suspect that they are actively taking precautions against us. I don’t know how the King would respond if he found out.”

“So what? We’ve beaten gods before. It’s not like we’d really learn anything from these ponies.”

Marcus shook his head. “You may think so, but the King isn’t all there; if he somehow finds a reason, I’m afraid he may call the game on, I’m afraid.”

Squeezing his forehead, Hauteclaire groaned and dropped his apple core. And I was just starting to get used to this vacation, too.

“Um, Marcus?”

“GAH!” Hauteclaire jumped back and tripped over Godiva’s fallen chair. Staring up from the floor, he saw Godiva standing behind him. “Damn it, Godiva, what do you want!?”

Godiva gave Hauteclaire a light kick on the head before looking at Marcus. “I forgot to ask: Where does Flutterbutter live?”

On top of a long ladder, Hauteclaire was dusting off one of the many roots that hung from the ceiling of their throne room, or map room, or whatever it was. Dangling from the earthen chandelier were crystals with pictures inside of them. Memories, Spike called them. This chandelier was a representation of all the memories he and Princess Twilight Sparkle had experienced in their old home with their friends. The one that had been destroyed by a great evil and fire.

Hauteclaire pulled a string of crystals closer to look at the memories inside. In no way was he looking for anything he could use for leverage, but if something were to come up… Anyway. Hauteclaire sighed as he rubbed the crystals in his fingers. To have all your memories… to not be afraid of having them disappear on you, or even a part of your being, without any given notice… to be alive again would be nice. Well, to be alive without having to be a part of the damn brain. The Mouse King’s brain gave them the gift of intelligence and power, but it also attracted the worst their world had to offer.

Letting go of the strand, he watched it wave back and forth. He wasn’t really focusing on the strand, but he just let his mind wander back to better times. He turned to the head and saw a bump on the root. It looked back at him.

“Hoo!”

“GAH!”

Hauteclaire pushed back on the ladder and reached for his dagger. Fortunately for the owl, gravity took Hauteclaire out first. He fell back and landed flat on his back on the crystal floor.

“Owww…”

“Hoo! Hoo!” The owl flew out and down the corridor.

Hauteclaire laid on the floor for a while, arms and legs spread out. “Stupid owl.”

Spike ran in, and the owl was flying right behind him. Owls prey on baby dragons too? “Hauteclaire! Owlowlicious said you fell! Are you alright?”

Hauteclaire turned over and got up on all fours. Dirt and bits of his body had broken off from the fall. His tail included. He rubbed his back as the dirt and loosened chunks moved back to their original positions. On one knee, he grabbed his tail and stuck it up his backside where it belonged. “Do you realize you have an owl infestation?”

Spike looked at Hauteclaire with an open mouth before shaking his head. “Wait… Oh! You mean Owlowlicious? No, he’s Twilight’s pet.”

Great, now not only have I possibly offended her helper, but I called her pet a pest. You really are good at this “being nice” thing. “Oh… I see.” Hauteclaire smoothed out his clothes and stretched his back. “You’ll have to excuse me. Being a mouse and all, I don’t really get along with owls.”

Spike put on his “Oh” face. “Ohhhhh. I get it now. Didn’t really think about that. Hey, are you alright? That looked like a really nasty fall.”

“Eh, I’ve had worse.” Now’s a good time as any, now that I got him talking to me again. “Listen, Spike.” Hauteclaire chewed on his tongue. “I’m sorry about being a jerk yesterday. It’s just that my brother and I got into a fight not too long ago. I was wrong to take out some of my pent-up aggression on you and Godiva yesterday. Will you forgive me?”

Owlowlicious landed on Spike’s head. Spike looked up at the owl before making a waving motion with his hand. “Ah, we’re cool. It wasn’t anything real big; I could tell that something had you in a bad mood. It was pretty obvious that something was bugging you. You don’t become a great assistant like me if you can’t tell when the people you work with are in a bad mood or not.”

Hauteclaire blinked. He looked around again before staring at Spike out of the corner of his eye. “What, just like that?”

Spike blinked. “Just like what?”

“You forgive me for being a jerk?”

Spike laughed. “Well, you didn’t mean it. I was more angry at you before for doing that ‘yelling’ thing to me. I’ll have to admit, though, it is really cool.”

Wow, things are really looking up for Hauteclaire.

“By the way, your brother is here to see you.”

Marcus came in the same door that Spike had. “Brother! I’ve come to…”

He stopped and looked directly ahead of him. He was face to face with Owlowlicious, who was doing that creepy “turn-your-head-backwards” thing that all owls can do.

Oh crap.

There were very few things that could ever shake Marcus. He could stand up to a drunk Porthos, remain calm while dealing with the most annoying monarch imaginable... but there was one thing that he feared to an almost unreasonable degree. And his biggest fear was inches away from his nose.

Marcus screamed.

“OWL! Kill it! Kill it! KILL THE OWL!” Conjuring up his bow, he aimed at the fleeing owl, drew it, and released the bowstring.

Now, if Hauteclaire was to meet Princess Celestia through Princess Twilight, it would be in his best interest to not let Marcus kill Owlowlicious. Hauteclaire never imagined he would have to defend his natural predator, but life was funny like that. He drew his dagger and jumped in between Marcus and Owlowlicious.

The arrow that appeared in front of Marcus sank into Hauteclaire’s chest. With a single sideways slash, Hauteclaire cut the bow in half. The upper half snapped under the tense bowstring and threw Marcus off balance. Hauteclaire took advantage of the opening, tackled Marcus, and wrestled his hysteric brother to the ground.

Spike gaped at the fighting going on until Hauteclaire screamed at him. “Get the owl out of here, now!” He did as he was told and shooed Owlowlicious out into the nearest corridor, which Owlowlicious probably would have done on his own if it understood Equestrian/English.

After wrestling Marcus to the ground and getting him in a rather weak headlock, Marcus calmed down a bit and stopped struggling. It wasn’t until his breathing slowed down that Hauteclaire let go. “Geeze, brother, we are nigh-immortal and owls still freak you out that much?”

Both brothers stood up and adjusted themselves. Hauteclaire shifted his mask and Marcus adjusted his hat, which had moved during the struggle and revealed a series of long scratches that had scarred over his head.

Marcus coughed and looked at his brother. “I… I know. Silly, right, brother? It was so long ago, it was; but I just can’t get over it, I can’t. Everytime I see one, I remember…”

Hauteclaire grabbed Marcus’ nose. “I know. That happened to you, and I can’t blame you for feeling like that; I’m just glad you didn’t murder Twilight’s pet.”

“That was Twilight’s pet?”

Hauteclaire nodded and let go of Marcus’ nose.

“Oh… That probably would have ended our whole vacation, that would have. Thank you.” Marcus walked to the nearest throne and took a seat. He reached up under his hat and scratched his head.

Hauteclaire sat in the throne next to him and gave Marcus a few moments to collect his thoughts. After some time had passed and Marcus no longer slouched on the throne, but sat up in a more relaxed manner, Hauteclaire spoke up. “So, what brings you to the castle today?”

The ever-present calm smile returned to Marcus’ face. “Oh yes, I have been instructed by the King to be the chef for the dinner between the King and Princess Twilight Sparkle, I have; I need you to be my taste tester this evening as I try out several recipes I’m considering for the dinner, I need you.”

“The King has you doing both pony and mouse cuisine, is he?”

“Actually, that was my suggestion, that was.” Marcus stood up and tugged at his vest. “I will be at Sugar Cube Corner this evening. The Cakes have been nice enough to lend us their kitchen, they have.”

“I’m sorry, who?”

“The Cakes. They are bakers and run the bakery that looks like the gingerbread house, they are. I really have to thank you, Hauteclaire: without your help, I probably wouldn’t have been able to get them to agree to let me do so, I wouldn’t have.”

Hauteclaire raised his eyebrows. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Well, their apprentice, Pinkie Pie, liked you so much that she helped me convinced them to let me into their kitchen, she did. Even after how Godiva scared them senseless and the King stole some of their supplies.”

Pinkie Pie likes me? “I’m sorry, why?”

“Well, she really likes your singing, she does, and she’s heard nothing but good things about you from a pony friend of hers, she has.”

Hauteclaire blinked a few times and stared at the table in front of him. Marcus turned to the door. “Well, I’d love to chat with you more, I would, but I don’t want to be staying any longer here than I have to, knowing now that there is a…”

“Yes, yes, brother, now go. I’ll meet you at the bakery this evening.”

“Six o’clock, it is.”

“Yes, go.”

And with that, Marcus left with a wave. Hauteclaire turned around to get the ladder, but a little purple eavesdropper was in the way.

“So… Are you all like that around owls, or…”

“No, just him.”

“Ok. What about cats?”

Hauteclaire walked around Spike and adjusted the ladder. “Oh, we’re used to cats.”

After that, Spike was quiet for a bit as Hauteclaire dusted off more roots and memory gems. “Hey Hauteclaire, have you seen the ‘Foal Free Press’ today?”

Oh great. “Yeah, what about it?”

“Well, I know it’s not any of my business, but you told me yesterday that you could change your appearance.”

What does that have to do with the article. “Yes…”

“And you are sensitive about your face, right?”

“Yes…”

Spike walked up closer to the ladder. “Have you ever considered using that magic to hide your scars instead of covering up with a mask?”

Hauteclaire turned and stared wide-eyed at Spike. “I’m sorry, what?”

The ponies stared as Hauteclaire passed. One who was holding a copy of the Foal Free Press kept looking at the front page and back to Hauteclaire, then back to the page, then to Hauteclaire. Everypony’s eyes were wide as Hauteclaire walked down the streets sans mask. The left half, formerly covered by a gold sun, was now exposed, showing everyone a perfect mirror of the right. Both cheeks pinched in a relieved smile.

How did Hauteclaire not think of this earlier? Perhaps it was because he had been able to make masks before he could change his appearance on his own, and had gotten so used to the idea of masks that he couldn’t have thought of going without one. This change in appearance did so much for Hauteclaire. He didn’t slouch; instead, he held his shoulders back. What was more, he did it naturally, not as a calculated, conscious move to promote his prestige. He even changed the buttons on his cotehardie to suns so that he could keep up the sun motif to emulate Princess Celestia.

Yes ponies, stare in awe. There is no monster here, only the very model of a mouse! As he walked through the streets, he stopped to talk to ponies once at every turn to ask for directions to “Bonbon’s Bon-Bons.” He knew the way after the first time, but he liked asking anyway for the responses.

When he turned the last corner to the street Bonbon’s shop was on, he saw the ugliest pony he ever did see. Bigger than any stallion he had seen, grey, matted fur, tufts of fur on his cheeks and neck that made his face look fat. An ill-fitting indigo gambeson over a blood red tabard held in place by a brown belt that also held a pony head on a stick. His cutie mark was an overflowing beer stein. His red and indigo hat with the purple feather made him look like a hideous quail, and the three fillies following behind him his chicks. In his mouth was a small sack weighed down with something.

It couldn’t be…

Hauteclaire moved closer.

Oh my lord, it is!

He laughed. “Oh lord, Porkos! You make the ugliest pony!”

The large, ugly pony grunted and stomped its large hooves as it approached Hauteclaire, leaving deep hoofprints in its path. “Hauteclaire. Haven’t you more ponies to scare with that horrific face of yours?”

Hauteclaire huffed, tapped his face, and gave a smug grin.

Porthos dropped the sack; it hit the ground with the metallic jingle of coins. “Oh. I see you got the King to fix your face. You don’t watch your tongue, you’ll be needing him to fix it again real soon.”

Sure, he was wrong, but Hauteclaire wasn’t about to correct him. This was too good. “And I see you asked King to make you less repulsive. I don’t think he did a good job, though.”

One of the fillies, Sweetie Belle, jumped in front of Porthos, her head only coming up to the bottom of his barrel. “Porthos, let’s just go. The store will be closing soon!”

Applebloom walked up and took a closer look at Hauteclaire’s face. “Hey, why did y’all not fix your face before comin’ to school yesterday? You scared Twist, you know!”

Before Hauteclaire could respond, Porthos put a hoof between Applebloom and Hauteclaire. “We don’t need to talk with this...” --Porthos bit his lip-- “...guy. Come on, we got toys to buy.”

Hauteclaire laughed again. “So why did you do it, Porkos? Hoping to woo a mare? Buy toys to attract foals? If that’s so, you should have asked the King to take care of your deformities, too.”

Porthos ground his teeth and before shoving Hauteclaire with a hoof. “I wear my scars with pride! They are a sign of what I sacrificed for others. You hide yours in shame. You’re not a mouse worthy of…” He stopped and backed away from Hauteclaire, his barrel expanded with each breath he took. He closed his eyes and took another deep breath.

Scootaloo jumped up and buzzed next to Porthos’ head. “Come on, Porthos. Forget him, we got some charity to do.”

Porthos opened his eyes, leaned down, and took the sack of coins in his mouth. He growled through his teeth and turned away. “Let’s go, girls.”

They fillies trailed behind him. After distancing themselves, Sweetie Belle turned around and gave Hauteclaire a raspberry.

Porkos is buying toys. Ok. Can’t imagine why he is doing that. Marcus is still going to be upset with him that he is using more money. That will give me something to look forward to tonight.

He gave himself a little chuckle at the thought of Porthos being chewed out by Marcus as he walked towards Bonbon’s Bon-bons.

To say that Lyra was excited to see Hauteclaire so soon again, and while she was at work wrapping candies where she didn’t expect to see him, would have been quite the understatement. When she offered Hauteclaire a candy, Bonbon smacked her horn, and the magically-held candy fell to the ground. As entertaining as it was to watch their back-and-forths, Hauteclaire wasted little time getting down to business. It turned out that Lyra did indeed know several other musicians in the area, and she could send the message for them all to meet at a local bar the next evening for the job. Bonbon was perhaps happier than Lyra that Lyra got a job performing for royalty, but they both were rather pleased about it. It seemed Lyra preferred to not seek out jobs and just play for the sake of playing, sort of like Marcus.

The two of them made an agreement: Hauteclaire would meet Lyra the next day with the other musicians and discuss the job. As Hauteclaire left the shop, Lyra and Bonbon went back to wrapping candies and talking about their plans tomorrow.

“Hey there, Haut-sauce! You made it!”

Before anything else could be said, Pinkie Pie swept Hauteclaire up in a really tight bear hug by Pinkie Pie. His head banged against some hanging pans in the Sugar Cube Corner’s kitchen. “I gotta say, I’m sooo excited to be cooking with you and Marcus today! I can’t wait to see what kind of recipes you guys know so that I can learn something new too and then share it with my other friends later, maybe even add some new stuff to Sugar Cube Corner’s menu! It is so good to have you two here.” Pinkie squeezed even harder as Hauteclaire struggled. “And Lyra told me so much yesterday about how you sang and made everypony cry because the song was so beautiful and…”

“Pinkie, darling, you need to let him breathe,” said Rarity, who was organizing the countertop with a variety of pots and pans and ingredients.

Giggling, Pinkie released Hauteclaire. “Oops, sorry. I’m just so excited. We’re going to be cooking for royalty!”

Rarity smiled and rolled her eyes. “Pinkie, you cook for Twilight all the time.”

“Ah, but this time we are cooking for foreign royalty!”

The only thing royal about the King is the pain he causes in my tuckus. Hauteclaire looked to the back of the kitchen and saw Marcus. He had on a bigger smile than usual. “Brother! I’m so glad you made it.”

While smoothing out his cotehardie and herigaut, Hauteclaire looked around the room. “Yeah. No big deal. Got everything taken care of, so I just headed on over.” In the center of the kitchen was a table covered in open cookbooks of both pony and mouse origin. Many bookmarks stuck out of them, indicating the items that would be considered for the royal dinner. There were pots and pans dangling from hangers above the table, still wobbling from when Hauteclaire banged his head against them, and spoons and ladles of all sorts. He opened his mouth to speak, but Pinkie was right in his face, staring at him.

“OOOooooh! Your face looks nothing like in the paper at all!”

Rarity’s horn and Pinkie’s tail glowed the same color before an invisible force dragged Pinkie away. Rarity leaned in and gave Pinkie a few harsh whispers. “Whaaat?”

Marcus clapped his hands. “OK everypony, let’s start preparing for the royal feast, let us!” He walked up and leaned over to Hauteclaire. “I like seeing my brother’s old face again, I do.”

Hauteclaire backed away from his brother a bit. Marcus lifted a hand but let it drop back down in front of him before rubbing it with the other and whispering, “You’re not still mad at me for what I did, brother?”

Hauteclaire scrunched his face up in thought. After a few moments, he let a small grin spread across his cheeks and lifted his hand and held it out for Marcus. Marcus shook his hand and smiled again. They looked each other in the eyes.

“You did what you thought was best to look after me, brother, like you have before.”

“Naturally, brother.”

Both brothers turned to see two ponies leaning in with ears forward. Rarity jumped and pretended to turn through a cookbook with her magic. Pinkie continued to squat in their personal space. “What’s the matter? Is something wrong?”

It’s none of your business, Pinkie.

“Everything is alright, it is. My brother and I had a fight earlier, but we are over it now, we are.”

Rarity’s ear twitched.

“A fight!? That’s not good! You’re brothers.”

Before a sea of run-sentences could be unleashed, Hauteclaire covered Pinkie’s mouth. “It’s alright. We have settled our personal dispute and are ready to move on. Right, brother?”

Marcus nodded.

Hauteclaire eased his hand from Pinkie’s mouth. “That’s great! Let’s get cooking!”

And so the cooking marathon was underway. For the most part, Pinkie and Marcus acted as the head chefs and Rarity and Hauteclaire did what they were instructed to do. It was a rather joyous occasion, and everyone recalled stories and told jokes. The things that these ponies had been through proved Marcus’ earlier concerns. These ponies lived in a dangerous world and were tough because of it. Pinkie would start on a story but go off on tangents, but Rarity would bring her back on course. The stories included monsters, tyrants, and a royal wedding being crashed by emotion-draining bug ponies. That was a strange one.

“...and then I was like, ‘Oatmeal, are you crazy!?’”

Marcus laughed as he strained the apples he had been boiling and poured the water in a bowl of ground almonds to steep. “That reminds me of a certain botched rescue mission.”

“So it’s our turn to share some stories?” said Hauteclaire with a smirk.

Marcus returned the smirk with a nod before slicing up the boiled apples. “Well, do you remember the song Hauteclaire sang at the welcome party?”

Pinkie jumped up. “Do I?! ‘Little ponies, gather round please, as I tell you all a tale!’”

Seeing his work to be remembered so gaily made Hauteclaire feel warm inside. Even though it was a piece he didn’t care much about, it was the first praise and recognition he had received for anything in a long time. He let his smile reach his eyes, if only for a brief moment before pushing it down to a grin.

Marcus chuckled and gave an acknowledging wink from under his hat to Hauteclaire, which could only be noticed by the slight movement in his cheek muscles. “Yes, well, that song is based on true events, it is, but it leaves out some of the more interesting details, it does.”

Pinkie perked up her ears and leaned ever so closely. Rarity did so as well, but more subtly.

“In our first attempt to save our king after he was captured… we messed up, we did.”

“What!?”

“Oh goodness!”

Hauteclaire smiled. He loved this story.

“Well, our king was thrown in the dungeon in a castle. This castle’s dungeon was on the first floor, and luckily enough, the King was chained to the outside wall. Well, Porthos and I snuck up to the castle at night,we did, and after looking through a window, I marked on the wall where the King was, I did. So Porthos tore out the wall and we ran, we did.”

Hauteclaire was already chuckling to himself, and Pinkie must have sensed that something was coming, because she was smiling too.

“It wasn’t until we were halfway between the castle and the woods where we planned to escape that we heard a voice, we did. Porthos stopped and flipped over the wall that he held over his head, and there was a human, there was! Not our king!”

Pinkie raised a hoof. “What’s a human?

“Think a tall, hairless monkey.”

Rarity gasped. “Good heavens! What did you do?”

“Well, we turned around and put him back, we did.”

Rarity was mortified and Pinkie was in hysterics.

“We took out the correct part of the wall the second time around, but this time there were arrows raining down on us and the King was angry, he was. He was yelling at Porthos to flip over the wall he was still chained to, because he was on top, you see, and arrows were coming down on us. So Porthos flips him over, but right when he does, he trips and drops the King, he does. Wall and all.”

Marcus held a hand out palm down to represent the wall with the King under it and a hand faced up to represent the ground. The top hand smacks down into the bottom hand.

“So, Porthos picks him up again and we run back into the woods, we do.” Marcus went back to the bowl of seeping almonds and poured them through a fine sieve, then dumped the soaked almond grinds onto a plate of sliced, boiled apples. “Some angels we were, weren’t we?”

Both Rarity and Pinkie were left agape. One from horror, the other from comedic shock. Hauteclaire muffled his laughter with both hands.

“He had a castle wall dropped on him and lived?!”

Hauteclaire pulled his hands away from his mouth. “Hehehe. He is a tough bone head, I’ll give him that. In fact, it reminds me of another story, this one involving the Shield Bearer.”

“‘The Shield Bearer, the duke’s terror, stole the Mouse King from his throne!’”

Pinkie only heard the song once, and she remembers it so well? She must be some musical prodigy. That, or I’m just that good at writing songs.

“Yes! That is correct. The first time we met the Shield Bearer, he had just beaten up Porthos and chased Philippides from the town to the castle...”

“I’m sorry, darling, who is Philippides?”

“He was our messenger mouse, he was. Little guy, same color as me, he was.” Marcus held out a hand at elbow height. His other hand was busy spreading sugar and cinnamon over the apple slices.

Hauteclaire continued, “Well, the castle gate to the courtyard was closed at the time, so in desperation, the cornered Philippides climbed up the castle gate and started screaming for help. Many of us came out, including the King, and were amazed to see this guy in armor, throwing a shield over and over again at poor Philippides, trying to knock him off the gate.

“We couldn’t open the gate because Philippides was in the way, so our king walks up to the gate and starts shouting at the Shield Bearer. Calling him a coward and the like. Well, the Shield Bearer stops and just stares at the King and says nothing. Even after more provocation and the Shield Bearer still remains silent, the King leans close to the gate and says, ‘What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?’

“Well, the King is laughing, the mice are laughing, everyone is laughing except for Philippides and the Shield Bearer. Then the King makes a mistake.”

Hauteclaire gave another one of his dramatic pauses. Rarity held up well, but Pinkie was shaking like crazy. “What!? What did he do!?”

“He stuck out his tongue.”

Another pause. Pinkie tilted her head. “Huh?”

“Well, the King was only an arm’s distance away from the Shield Bearer, the only thing between them was a gate full of holes. So the Shield Bearer reaches through the gate, grabs the King by the tongue, and pulled.

“WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! The Shield Bearer pulled the King’s tongue again and again, smashing his face into the gate.”

Pinkie covered her hoofs and tried not to laugh. “That is so mean!” she said with a snort.

“How dreadful! I hope that ruffian got what was coming to him.”

“It is unfortunate, but the Shield Bearer was able to single-handedly defeat the entire Mouse King Army and us. It was weird, but whenever we got close to him, our magic wouldn’t work, and whatever we threw at him, he turned back against us.”

Marcus stepped towards the ponies. “Pinkie, Rarity, could you get some plates please? These sweets are ready, they are.”

When Rarity and Pinkie turned their backs, Marcus turned to Hauteclaire and whispered, “Don’t mention how our magic works, brother! That is one of the rules, that is!”

“Relax, Marcus. I haven’t given away any secrets. And last time I checked, they don’t have any ‘shield bearers’ to throw at us anyway. They don’t even use the same kind of ‘magic’ as we do, and probably won’t for several millennia by the look of things.”

Marcus sighed. “I suppose you’re right, you are. I guess I’m just a little… on edge, I guess.”

“Brother, we haven’t actually gotten a chance to really…” Hauteclaire chewed on his tongue a bit. “...be brothers, like we used to. So lighten up. I’m not going to do anything stupid to ruin this vacation.”

Marcus smiled again. “I guess you’re right, brother.”

Both brothers turned to see two large, moist, blue eyes staring back at them. “Awww! You two are so cute together! You make me want to send a letter to my sisters.”

Hauteclaire pushed Pinkie away. Then Marcus. But not with a lot of force.

Marcus grabbed the plate of treats and put some on three of the four plates that Rarity and Pinkie placed on the table. “Well, how are they?”

“Oooh! They smell so good!”

Rarity took a small bite and hummed in enjoyment. “Oh! This is simply divine! What do you call this again?”

“It is called Emplumeus, it is. I’m glad you like it. I thought since it had apples in it, it would make a good dessert for the Princess, it would.”

Hauteclaire tasted his and nodded. “It’s good. I’d prefer it with less sugar.”

Pinkie smacked her face onto the plate and scarfed up a few emplumei. She resembled a hamster more than a pony. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, they’re perfect!” She gulped the whole thing down. “What do you think, Marcus?”

“If you three think they’re good, that’s all that matters, that is.”

“Ok, but what do you think?” Pinkie picked up an emplumeus apple snack in her hoof and shoved it in Marcus’ face as he dodged her hoof and continued to back off.

“It’s fine, it is. Really.”

“Come on, take a bite! You made it, so you should get to have some.”

“Darling, he doesn’t have to eat one to know they are good.”

“But he does need to eat one if he is to know what they taste like! Open up, Marcus! Here comes the choo-choo train!”

“No, really, I…”

“CHOO CHOO!”

“It’s because he can’t taste anything.”

All heads turned to Hauteclaire. He shrugged. “He can’t. That’s why I’m here, isn’t that right, brother?”

Marcus nodded and sighed. “He’s right. I can’t taste anything, I can’t.”

Pinkie’s jaw hit the floor, quite literally. Rarity covered her mouth. “You can’t!?”

“It’s true. I can’t taste or smell anything; that is part of my curse....”

“You can’t taste anything!?” Pinkie teared up. “That would make every meal the same. Boring! Unexciting! Life would be so… bland.” She stuck out her tongue at the last word.

“It’s not like he would need to eat, not having a stomach and all.”

Rarity put a hoof over her mouth and made a sickly noise. “Ugh! Please don’t remind me of that…”

“Oh, so we’re sharing secrets, we are?” --A devious grin spread on Marcus’ face-- “And since we are sharing secrets, we are, perhaps I shall tell them something about you, Hauteclaire.”

Hauteclaire raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

Marcus turned to Pinkie and Rarity. “Would you two like to learn about Hauteclaire when he was little, would you?”

Both mares grinned at the offer of gossip.

“Oh yes! I would love that!”

“That would be lovely.”

Oh no!

Marcus smiled at the horrified look on Hauteclaire’s face.

“Long ago, back before we met our king…”

Author's Note

Sorry it took so long between this chapter and the last. Life has been a bit bumpy lately. :unsuresweetie:

If it is any consolation, Ch. XII is just about ready to be sent out to pre-readers and Ch. XIII (which has me in stitches) is halfway done.

This chapter pretty much marks the halfway point in the story. I'm surprised I've gotten this far!:derpyderp1:

Ch. 12 - A Tale of Two Brothers

Each breath was sharp and quick. Each breath brought little comfort to the frozen little white mouse. The ground beneath it was hard and made of bars. Bars going up and down, left and right. There was enough space between them for his feet to slip through, but not enough for him. Escape wasn’t possible. He had escaped the cat, but he had fallen into the clutches of something perhaps far worse.

The giant tore him from the jaws of the cat and put him here. The giants with the food. The little white mouse grew up fearing the giants, but every mouse knew that where the giants were, there was food, lots of it. And also cats.

The mouse washed his face for the third time, unable to get the smell of the giants, cat breath, and fear off of him. It didn’t make things better for him that this metal nest was very uncomfortable on his feet. The giant looking at him through the bars and shaking the nest didn’t help.

The giant’s thunderous cries blared in the mouse’s ears, summoning more giants to gather, gawk, and grunt. They were worse than any cat’s yowl.

The nest shook and rattled. The world spun around him as the mouse in his prison was paraded around the home of the beasts - a large wooden cave on top of four wooden circles and attached to a long-legged, long-tailed creature. The mouse had seen the giants come in and out of this mobile wooden cave, but dared not to go inside until hunger compelled him. The giants moved and placed his cage all about the cave before moving him elsewhere until one giant placed the cage up on a hook that was fixed to the ceiling of the cave.

There, the mouse hung. In his corner, the mouse continued to wash his face. His red eyes took in all of his surroundings but processed nothing. Only the deafening, guttural mumblings of the giants echoed in his head as well as worries about his immediate future, and if there would be one.

The mouse washed his face.

One of the giants went away while the others continued to stare at him. The smallest giant continued to prod the cage nearest to him, but he refused to move. The mouse continued to watch the giants observe him and his constant washing.

The cage shook as the first giant returned. Its immense weight shook the ground beneath it as well as the rest of the wooden cave. It reached up and opened a part of the cave. The mouse had a chance to escape! Or did it want him to come, fall into another trap? The mouse sat paralyzed and watched the opening in front of him. Another hand came close to the opening and flung in some grains and a large chunk of brown, crunchy food. Some of it bounced off of the mouse’s head; he stepped back in shock, and a foot slipped between the bars. In a frantic hurry to get back on his feet, the mouse pulled his foot up and cut himself against a sharp burr in the metal. The pain wouldn’t register until later.

The mouse continued to wash himself.

The giants continued to watch him.

Many lights had passed since the mouse had been trapped in his new home. Many darknesses had come and gone since hunger drove him to gamble his safety.

There was no hope of escape, and if he could escape, he didn’t know if he could outrun the cat again, let alone survive the fall from the cage to the hard ground below. The cut had healed over, but the cage had done far worse to him. In fear, the mouse refused to move unless necessary, and when he did, he did so with extreme caution as not to slip through one of the many holes and risk injury again.

Most of the day, he would sit in the farthest corner and eat until there was no food left, and then he would sit and watch the giants. This new life he was ensnared in robbed him of his freedom of movement, his drive to live, his libido. All of it, gone. All that was left was him, and the world around him - the cave of the giants.

Sleeping in the cage had also become a bit of a nuisance, as rolls of fat that hadn’t existed before were now flowing into the holes over which he laid, and would get cut from a sharp burr if he didn’t ease up slowly.

The only reason he got up anymore, besides to eat or defecate, was something that he never thought he would ever find pleasant. The giant’s cave would move, pulled by the long-tailed, long-legged creature he saw before, and the world would pass by him through an opening of the cave near his metallic nest. These giants went to places where many more giants lived, and then they would perform a bizarre ritual that confused and enthralled the mouse to no end.

These giants would cover themselves with flashy materials that could be both tight on their frames or loose and flowing. Each material gave them a whole new appearance and a whole new feel to them. After altering their appearance, they would parade outside to the hoots and hollers of the giants outside, but not before taking with them some kind of wooden tool. Once the mouse’s captors were outside, a sweet melody would come drifting in as if on a breeze.

This pleasant sound, this music, would calm all of the other giants into a hypnotic stupor. Even the sounds the captors made themselves lacked much of their usual cacophonic qualities, and even sedated the mouse. That was until the music ended and the crowd of giants roared in appreciation of this gift.

This cycle of travel and music proceeded for many lights.

One light, while the cave sat still and the giants were out, a noise from the nearest hole caught the mouse’s attention. Shifting his massive weight, the mouse rolled over to the side and saw nothing, but the scratching continued. The grey head of a mouse popped up and peered into the cave.

A brother! Another brother had ventured to this cave!

The white mouse was overwhelmed with so many emotions this unexpected guest had awoken, many that the white mouse had forgotten he could feel. Surprise, concern, jealousy, eagerness, all of these swirled in his head. He felt like jumping, hiding, running towards the brother, running away from the brother, greeting the brother, chasing the brother away; oh, all these things he would do! But he could only shift slightly to the left and let out a lamentable squeak.

The brother looked up at the metal nest that hung above him. It let out a soft call, Hello? Are brothers or sisters present?

Unlike the giants, who vocalized themselves frequently, mice had a very subtle form of communication, and only spoke in the broadest of terms using squeaks, gestures, and face twitches. It was more than enough to inform fellow brothers and sisters of food or danger, and quiet enough to keep them from being noticed.

To the sky, brother.

The grey mouse looked up towards the source of the answer. He saw he wasn’t alone.

Brother of snow, what family are you?

I am of mouse, brother of stone.

But why so big, brother? Mice aren’t big.

Danger, brother. This cave has giants and a cat!

The grey mouse looked around the empty cave from his spot in the whole in the wall.

I see no cats or giants. In grass out of this cave there was a cat.

Was it the color of late light?

Yes, brother.

That is the cat. Then there is no danger. Now.

The grey mouse slowly moved closer to edge of the hole, stood up on its hind legs, and peered up to the metal nest.

Brother, why are you so big? You look ready for the long snow.

The giants, brother. The giants give food. Lots of food! And this nest is so hard; my feet ache and walking hurts. Every light is long winter to me.

The grey mouse leapt down onto a large wooden box, the top of which was opened many times by the giants and where much of their colorful coverings were stored.

Brother, may I have some food? I have walked much and am very hungry.

The white mouse shifted over slightly and looked to the few remaining foodstuffs next to him. He was about to call out an answer, but a thought came to him.

You may, brother. But I want something from you.

What is it, brother?

I’ll give you food, but come next light. I can give you more food.

I can do, brother.

Dislodging himself with a grunt, the white mouse lurched over to his foodstuffs before stuffing his cheeks with them, then hobbled back over to the closest corner to the hole and the mouse. With a push on his cheeks, the foodstuffs fell to the top of the wooden box the grey mouse stood on. The grey mouse scooped up as much of the food as he could until the sounds of the giants outside of the cave got closer.

Much pleasure, snow brother! Next light!

Next light, stone brother!

And the stone-grey mouse jumped out of the cave.

Next light, the stone brother came and the snow brother gave offerings of food for company. The stone brother followed the cave in its travels, and the snow brother always saved some of his food for his stone brother.

Each light, the brothers exchanged life-giving food for life-improving company. The stone mouse learned much about the giants and their ways from the snow brother, and the snow brother was told much about the outside world from the stone brother.

This mutual exchange of love would continue for many lights and darknesses, until one light, the stone brother stopped coming.

Several more lights passed, and still no sign of the stone brother appeared. The snow brother was devastated. At the start of each passing light, hope was rekindled in his heart that the stone brother would come, but as the light faded into the darkness, the fire in his heart died again. Even the music the giants made gave him little comfort.

It was possible the cat had got him. Or some of the many dangers out in the grass or trees had got him. The white mouse wept when his stone brother failed to appear before darkness.

Until one darkness, awoken by the creaking near the largest hole, the hole that the giants used to enter and exit the cave opened. Way at the back of the cave, farthest from the white mouse, the faint moonlight flowed around a creature the size of a young giant, but with features unlike any giant the white mouse had ever seen before. This creature slipped through the cave on two legs and up to the metal nest.

Fear struck the white mouse’s heart as unfamiliar hands grasped the bottom of his nest and lifted it off the hook. He wanted to bite the hands, scratch them, tear into them, cry loudly so his captors would wake up and save him. There was still a chance for him to be reunited with his stone brother, but if he was spirited away, that chance would vanish!

But alas, fear and his poor health overpowered him as he rolled about the nest, unable to do more than worry about his immediate future, and if there was going to be one.

The little giant leapt from the inside of the cave and out into the moonlight before vanishing off into the darkness of the trees. The whole way, this giant grumbled to the mouse in the same guttural way that other giants did, but much softer than any others had.

The giant continued its stride through the trees until it came upon another, shorter giant that held a moon in his hands. The two exchanged grumbles before the first giant opened the nest. A hand reached in and wrapped its fingers around the little mouse before he had a chance to stand back up.

Not ready to give up, the mouse sank his teeth into a finger, and the hand let go. The shorter giant with the moon hollered and knocked the nest out of the hands of the other giant. The nest fell to the ground and rattled the mouse inside. He was unable to get up and flee due to his sheer bulk before all freedom of movement was taken. Enveloped in a glowing light, the mouse was lifted by invisible hands out of the cage and closer towards the moon the shorter giant held before being blinded by a flash of white.

Everything was fuzzy. Opening his eyes again after the flash, he found himself laying down on the grass. The light of day shone into his eyes and he shut them again. His skull felt like it had just met the business end of a sledgehammer. He rubbed his temple and moaned.

The mouse had no idea what had happened. After that flash, he’d had the worst fever dreams imaginable, and they seemed to go on forever about the weirdest of stuff. A-B-C’s, Pythagorean Theorem, Socratic Method, Do-Re-Mi, and sometimes ‘y.’; It was like he just spent the last few years in school in the span of ten seconds. It left him with a severe case of mental burnout.

“Jesus Christ, what the hell happened to me?”

The mouse rolled over onto his back and moaned some more until he opened his eyes again. There, a furry giant with large ears and a long nose stared back. “Oh, good! You’re finally awake!”

The mouse did what came natural to him.

He screamed.

“AAAAAAAAAHHHHH!”

He pushed away the giant above him and turned about to run; unfortunately, his arms and legs didn’t work like he remembered. He only made it a few feet before stumbling over himself. That didn’t stop his screaming though.

“AAAAAAAAAHHHHH!”

He turned back to the giant he had seen before, who was now covering his large ears. “Wow, you’re a screamer. Very different from your brother.”

“AAAAAAAAAHHHHH!”

The short giant stopped smiling. “Ok, ok. Enough of the theatrics. You’re giving me a headache.”

The white mouse obliged, only because he had run out of breath. His chest moved up in down with his rapid, shallow breaths, and his eyes remained completely wide, fixed on this creature before him. “I… I understood you!”

The creature let go of his ears and smiled. “Great! That means another success! I’m two for two now.”

“What? Success?” The mouse looked down at himself. No longer was he in his fat body that he was accustomed to, but now he had much longer arms and legs. His fur now covered every inch of him, and his hands and feet felt different than before. The only things that were the same were that he was white and fat. “What… What have I become? Who are you? What did you do to me?”

The creature nodded and stroked his chin. “All very good questions. Since I already have some experience with the process, I’ll give you a quick summary, then you can ask me whatever is on your mind afterwards. Ok? It will probably take less time that way.”

The white mouse just nodded. What was he going to do otherwise?

The creature cleared his throat and threw out his chest. “I am the Mouse King! And this” -- the Mouse King pulled out a crystal ball the size of his head from behind him-- “is the Brain of Atlantis.

“My goal is to become the greatest king of all time. Using the Brain of Atlantis, I have been able to change my form, increase my intellect, and do the same to you and your brother. You are still a mouse, just with a different body. You have spent the last... what was it, three? Yeah, three days in a coma while your body changed and your mind ‘went to school’ as it were, and the Brain of Atlantis was its teacher. You can now speak and read twelve human languages, including multiple dialects, think freely like a human, understand logic puzzles, and even recognize your reflection in mirrors.

“Why did I do this? Well, I’m going to need help to become the world’s greatest king, so if you help me, I will help you with whatever goals you may have. Where did this Brain of Atlantis come from? It came from the fabled lost civilization of Atlantis, which you’ve undoubtedly learned about in coma school.

“So that is the end of my info dump. Do you have any questions?”

Thoughts of all sorts raced through his mind. That is not a brain, brains are pink and soft and mushy. And Atlantis didn’t really exist! It was proven to be a myth, right? It took a while, but the white mouse finally looked up and opened his mouth. One of the thoughts fought its way out. “Aren’t kings supposed to wear clothes?”

The King nodded and looked himself over. “Well, clothes do make the mouse, but I’m fine going with the whole ‘Emperor's New Clothes’ thing I got going on.”

The white mouse took a moment to inspect the Mouse King over as well. He was short, naked, and his ribs showed from what must have been weeks of hunger. He looked less like a king and more like a confident beggar with a shiny ball under one arm. He found it hard to say anything more with all these new thoughts rushing about in his head. The sound of footsteps knocked him back to reality; he looked up to see the short king standing over him.

“You look like your brain is still trying to process all this information. So, I’m going to put you to sleep for another few hours or so. I’ve learned from experience that it is much easier for you if your brain takes more time to sort out all that new information. I’ll wake you up later, then you’ll get to meet your brother again! He’s been dying to meet you. Well, nighty-night!”

The King reached down and poked the white mouse on the head. Everything went black.

In his sleep, the thoughts continued to race and gave him lucid dreams, but as the dream went on, things began to make more sense. Language, humans, the world. What he knew before as a mouse was mostly overwritten with the new knowledge knocked into his noggin.

When the white mouse opened his eyes again, everything was dark. The faint light of a campfire glowed on the trees around him, and an aroma of something cooking wafted into his nose. Pushing himself up, the mouse felt well rested and much more in control of his mind than before. A blanket had been thrown over him, likely by one of the two figures before him that sat next to the fire. One short figure and one tall figure, and next to the tall figure was a full sack.

The tall figure looked at the white mouse and turned to the shorter figure. “My King! He is awake, he is.”

The Mouse King turned to the white mouse. “So he is! How are you doing, ‘snow brother?’”

The white mouse tried to stand up, but fell back down to his bottom. “I’m feeling a lot better than before.” He looked up at the taller figure, who was lit up by the fire, but it must have been playing tricks on his eyes. This ‘brother’ looked a lot different than the one he was familiar with. “Is that really you, stone brother? You look different.”

Stone brother nodded. “I have changed, I have.” He reached back and pulled out a mirror from the sack behind him and handed it to snow brother. “And so have you.”

The white mouse took the mirror and inspected his reflection. Much of his features had changed to resemble the giants, called humans, such as his new chin, his forehead, and his arms and legs. His eyes were pink with bright red pupils, and the insides of his ears were a bright pink. Despite the extra chins, he rather liked what he saw. He had been reborn, and this was the body that had been given to him. It was rather nice. The face seemed flawless.

He took a minute to look over his body as well. Everything was still accounted for, if sometimes in a different size or shape, but his body felt nice.

“You’re not the only one who’s happy you turned out so well. I hope I can make more like you.” The Mouse King pulled a ladle out the small cauldron and took a sip of its contents. “I wish I’d also taught you how to cook, like Marcus here. He makes some excellent stew with what is available. If you want to, later, that could be arranged.”

Marcus slapped the King’s hand. “King or no king, you don’t use my mixing and serving ladle as a spoon then dip it back in without washing it off, you don’t.”

The King took the ladle and licked it clean. “Better?”

Marcus snatched it from the King’s hand and wiped it on a towel he had on his shoulder. “Just because we are living in the rough doesn’t mean we can’t practice good hygiene, we can’t.”

The King snapped his fingers twice and shook his head. “Oh, feisty. What are you going to do? Tell me what to do from here on out?”

Marcus looked up at the King with a smile. “I just might. I owe you my life, I do, so I might as well be your adviser. Every good king has one, they do.” He turned around and saw that the white mouse had now crawled over to him and was taking a very hard look at him.

“Stone brother? Is it really you? Marcus? Which is it?”

The tall figure, stone brother, Marcus, leaned down towards the white mouse. “I am both, I am. Marcus is my new name, but I will always be your brother, I will.” He leaned down closer, and the white mouse got a better look at his brother’s head.

“Jesus Christ! What happened to you, brother!?”

Both brothers flinched. One from shock, the other from shock and pain. It took a moment, but the white mouse just realized that what he said hurt his brother. The strained look in Marcus’ eyes tore his heart more than any knife could. He reached over and put a hand on Marcus’ knee.

“Oh lord! I’m terribly sorry, brother. I didn’t mean to offend.”

After a moment, Marcus turned back to face his brother. “It’s alright. It could have been worse, it could.” Marcus pointed over to the King. “Without him, I’d be dead and not here with you, I would.”

The white mouse turned to the King, who had stood up and stuck out his bony chest. “That is correct! I was walking through the woods on a trail, and there I saw a mouse scamper across the trail, then swoosh! An owl swooped down, grabbed him, and took him up to a tree and started tearing at his head. So, I fried the owl with this baby.” He held up the Brain of Atlantis. “Then I found the mouse, and his poor head was all torn up and bloody. I did what I could at the time to heal the wounds, but I haven’t really gotten a knack for healing with this thing yet. Really, all I can do is throw fire, that transformation thing, and a few other neat tricks.

“So, I decided to use the transformation tool and try to heal the wound while shaping his body. Unfortunately… I didn’t get it all, but he lived! And now there are two of you! Three of us! Things are working out nicely so far, don’t you think?...”

The King continued on his tangent, but the white mouse turned to Marcus and looked again. Much of his scalp was missing, and exposed bone and scarred tissue were all that was left for a good portion of his head. The scratches left from that owl, no doubt.

“So that is why you were gone for so long? I thought you were dead.”

“I’m terribly sorry to have troubled you, brother, I am.”

The white mouse looked down at the ground he was sitting on before fighting to look back into his brother’s eyes again. He felt his eyes burn and some moisture run down his cheeks. This had never happened to him when he was a simple mouse.

“Hey, Marcus, the stew’s gotta be done now! Let’s eat!”

As the three of them ate rabbit stew from wooden bowls, they talked about anything that came to mind. The more they talked, the more the thoughts and knowledge in the white mouse’s head got a chance to settle. It was rather unnerving to be able to understand something when he first heard about it, but the King informed them that after a while it stopped but it took a week or so.

While the King was quite a talker, he only talked about his future, his plans, and how amazing his future and plans were. When the white mouse tried to ask him where he was from, or more about the Brain of Atlantis, the King would quickly change the subject and ask them about their pasts. The most that they were able to get out of him was that he used to live way out in the woods in a hut before he started off on his quest, which was on a Tuesday.

Forced to reflect on his past, the white mouse was astonished to see how much this new knowledge enlightened him of his past situation. He wasn’t a captive back then; he was a pet. He was saved by the humans from the jaws of their cat. And their music? They were traveling bards, singing songs and putting on plays to entertain and inspire others. Expressing to the King and Marcus what their music made him feel could not be explained in words, and with his new intellect, the white mouse felt a much deeper appreciation for the music of humans, even though they had stuck him in a small, rusty trapping cage that was not meant for a mouse, or at least for one to live in.

The King, who had just finished his fourth serving of rabbit stew, was poking his Brain of Atlantis. With each poke, it would emit a sound or flash a bit of light. “So, you really enjoyed their music, huh?”

The white mouse nodded. “Truly, it was something that made my life bearable.”

The King looked up from his Brain. “Have you considered making music yourself?”

“I can make my own music… What a novel idea!”

Marcus turned to his “brother.” “You certainly can, you can. Music can move hearts and mountains, I believe.”

“That settles it then. I’m going to be a bard!”

“If you’re going to be my bard, you’re going to have to be a damn good one! If you need anything, just say it, and I’ll do my best to provide. You just have to help me become a great king. Do you think you can manage?”

“Yes, Mouse King!” The white mouse stood up and wobbled a bit before dipping into a bow.

“Hey! Don’t be bowing near the fire. I’d hate for my bard to fall into the fire before he had the chance to at least write me one song.”

“What kind of songs do you like?”

The King grinned. “I like songs like this.” He tapped the orb.

Oh, my god. Becky, look at her butt. It is SO big.

The white mouse bit his lip. “I’ll see what I can do.” Just then, an idea hit him. “You want to be a great king, right?”

The King poked the Brain one more time and the music stopped. His smile grew bigger, and he locked his eyes on those of the white mouse.

“Well, you got to look the part! No one is going to think you’re a great king if you don’t dress like one! And I know what we can do...” The white mouse paused, letting the King continue to lean forward in suspense. He would have continued explaining his idea, but the look on the King’s face was something he wanted to enjoy a little more.

“Go on!”

“Well, the wagon that the bard family kept me in has a trunk full of costumes for different roles. Inside it are clothes fit for a king. If we can find that wagon, we can get you a crown and a cape and make you look regal.”

The King clenched his fists and shook. “Oooh, yes! That is a great idea.... uh… We’re going to have to give you a name!” The King jumped up and grabbed his Brain and held it in front of him. The pot and bowls floated in the air and fell into the brown sack. “Come on, Marcus! We got a wagon to find!”

Marcus sighed. “I wasn’t done with my stew, I wasn’t.”

It was amazing that the Brain was able to point the way through all the darkness. The King had been able to locate where the cart was by asking it a few questions and poking it a bit. Once he found a cart that matched Marcus’ descriptions, the Brain told them which direction to head.

“That thing is amazing!”

“It is, right? How about some music to listen to on the road, eh?”

“No, thank you.”

Through woods and plains, the three mice crept. The moon overhead illuminated their path. Moonbeams pierced through branches and blanketed fields. The brilliant stars, too, gave the night a dash of splendor on this cloudless night. After a couple of miles of sneaking and a bit of tumbling and tripping about, they found what they were looking for. The wagon was staying just outside a small collection of single-story houses surrounded by potato fields and sheep farms.

The mice got as close as they could without being caught out in the moonlight by any unwary eyes. Which meant they were hiding in a shoddy fenced-off area with a bunch of sheep. The white mouse didn’t like the look one ram with four horns, two curled and two straight, gave them.

“That’s it! I’m sure of it, I am.”

“Indeed, brother. If memory serves me right, that is where we will find our new clothes.”

Marcus and the white mouse turned around to see the King fidgeting with his Brain, as he did quite often on many of the breaks they had to give the white mouse a chance of catching up. Which happened often.

“Ok, my King, what is the plan?”

The King looked up from his Brain with a big smile. “Well, you two are going to go in there and walk out with the chest. Simple as that.”

“Your Majesty, I don’t think it’s going to be that simple! That chest is probably too heavy for us.”

“And we might be seen, we might.”

The King didn’t falter, and neither did his smile. “It’s alright. I got you covered.” He pulled apart a small fragment of the Brain and handed it to Marcus, then handed another piece to the white mouse.

They looked at their pieces and back to the King. “What is this supposed to do, Your Majesty?”

“You mean you can’t tell? Look again!”

The white mouse looked back down at the piece in his hand. “I don’t see anything. What about you… brother?” The white mouse looked up and saw his brother wasn’t there. “Brother? Where did you go?”

“I’m still here, I am. Where did you go?”

The white mouse looked back to the King. “What sorcery is this?”

The King held his hands together in front of his chest and clapped like a mad mouse. “It worked! Hahaha! It worked! You’re both invisible! I’m learning new tricks every day! Also… you sure you don’t feel any different?”

“No, my king,” came Marcus’ voice from emptiness.

The King crossed his arms. “Are you sure? Try to pick up one of these sheep.”

There was a slight pause. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, I don’t.”

“Nonsense!” The King turned to where the white mouse stood. “Hey, Whitey, you try it out.”

The white mouse looked back at the ram. “I’m going to have to listen to brother on this one.”

The King groaned and rolled his eyes. “Fine. You two should also be much stronger than you were before. Carrying that trunk full of clothes shouldn’t be too much trouble for you to bring out here.” He thrusted out his chest and pointed at the wagon. “So, here is your first job: Go in there and get me that trunk! Understood?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” both brothers said before climbing under the fence and making their way to the wagon. The only sign of their presence was the bending of grass under their feet.

The King smiled. “This is going to be great. I’m going to be great!” He turned around and was face to face with a snorting ram. “What are you looking at?”

The white mouse and Marcus crept up to the wagon, which itself was a challenge. Being invisible and sharing a similar destination made it very likely they would trip over each other, which they did. Luckily for them, the humans had all gathered together in the largest of houses, which was alive with lights and laughter. A quick glance into the wagon showed its residents had also become guests of the lighthearted liberations at the lodgings of the leisuring locals after a long, listless, laboring day: letting loose lambent lyrics and limericks lamenting languishes like laggards, leechers, and lollygaggers, while lavishing liquors in libation and celebration of love, life, and luck.

The brothers were in a hurry to get the chest and get out while all that silliness was going on, if they wouldn’t stop tripping over each other.

“Ow! Brother, that is my tail, it is.”

“Pardon me, but if you wouldn’t stop every few steps, we wouldn’t bump into each other so much.”

“Just walk beside me.”

“I thought I was!”

“The King is brilliant, but he lacks foresight, he does.”

“Whatever, the chest is over there in the corner.”

“Great! You take that side, brother, and I’ll take the other, I will.”

“Which side? You know I can’t see if you’re pointing.”

The sound of a facepalm echoed in the wagon.

“Fine. You take the side close to the bed, and I’ll take the farthest side, I will.”

The sounds of footsteps echoed in the empty wagon as the white mouse came to his side of the trunk. “There’s not enough room for me to get both hands underneath the trunk. I’m gonna scoot it over a little and…”

With a jerk, the trunk shifted over until it hit a bump.

“HNNNNGH! Brother, my foot!”

“Oh lord! Sorry.”

After a bit more rustling about, the two finally got the trunk lined up with the door. Now it was only a matter of lifting it straight up and walking straight out of the wagon. So there was still plenty of room left for screwups.

“OK, on the count of three, we lift, we do.”

“Alright.”

“1… 2… 3!”

The trunk lifted up, suspended only by invisible three-foot-tall mice. The two brothers eased their way through the dark wagon. Until the white mouse stepped on something. A loud screech pierced the silence.

“MYAAAAAAAARRRR!”

The white mouse dropped his half of the trunk.

“GGGGRRRRRNNNNNNGGG! FFFFFFFFFOOOOOOT!”

The white mouse didn’t respond; instead, his eyes focused on the yowling creature before him. An orange tabby glared at the emptiness in its blue eyes that shone in the darkness. Oh happy day, a chance for revenge.

The white mouse reached down and grabbed the startled tabby by the scruff of the neck and held it up for his brother to see, wherever he may have limped off to to deal with his latest injury. “Take a look, brother! This is the ferocious beast that almost made a snack of little ol’ me. Time for a little payback.”

The cat mewled and wiggled; it dangled helplessly in the white mouse’s grip.

“Are you sure you want to torment the thing, brother? It was a creature just like you and me and only did what came natural, it did. Would abusing our newfound power really make you feel better, would it? Perhaps it would be better to let go and let live, it would.”

The white mouse stopped his grinning. Wherever Marcus was, he could feel the disappointment in his eyes bore into his soul, even if he couldn’t see them. With a swing of his arm, he tossed the cat out an open window. “Whatever, let’s just get this over with.”

The two brothers stumbled out into the darkness with the chest in tow.

The two brothers made it out to the pen where they had left their king, but not before tripping over each other’s tails a few times. When they got there, a few things were a bit different than when they left.

“My King, why are you covered in mud, are you?”

“And what is that god-awful smell?”

The King smiled. “Well, I learned that if you are going to cook mutton, you got to skin it first.”

“So… that smell is…”

“Right! Burnt ram hide.”

“My King, a good king doesn’t go about cooking the livestock of his people, he doesn’t.”

The King waved it off in the direction Marcus’ voice had come from. “Ah, it’s alright. I’ll be sure to pay the farmer back. Plus, I’ve never had mutton before.” He pointed to a smoking, charred pile of ram. “Somebody pick that up. I’m sure the stink is going to be attracting some of the people out soon.”

The white mouse dropped his end of the trunk. “Surely, you can’t be serious.”

“I am serious, and don’t call me Shirley. Speaking of which, you still need a name, don’cha?”

The King turned as an invisible finger tapped his shoulder. “My King, now isn’t a good time, it isn’t. Perhaps we should first…”

“You are right, Marcus! Shirley, grab our dinner! We are heading back off to the woods!” With his command complete, the King turned tail and ran off to the dark woods.

“Shirley” groaned and turned to where his brother stood, still lifting up one side of the trunk. “How is what he did with this ram any different that what I was going to do with the cat?”

“Well, for one, we are going to be eating that, we are. And two, he didn’t make it suffer. I think.”

Back in the woods, in a small clearing illuminated by a floating, glowing orb, the King and “Shirley” were going through their first haul while Marcus worked with dinner over a bonfire. He had managed to salvage much of the mutton for a spit roast.

“Shirley” pulled out a crown and handed it to the King. “Here you are, Your Majesty. A crown, like the ones kings wear.”

The King took the crown and stared at it for a while, his twitchy smile and frequent blinking indicating just how truly happy he was. “Ahaha! Yes!” He placed it on his head and threw out his chest. “I am now one step closer to being a great king! Thank you, Shirley.”

The white mouse groaned, but he’d rather put up with that than see the King get all emotional and hug him. He was still covered with mud and what smelled like sheep dung. The white mouse planned to convince the King to wash next. But one thing at a time. “Well, it looks like a crown, but I think it is just some painted wood and some cheap fabric. A real king would have a crown made of gold and jewels.”

“Now, that ain’t true! What makes a real King is not the crown on his head, but the head under the crown.”

The white mouse raised a finger to correct the mud-and-sheep-poop-covered king, but when he opened his mouth, he found no words. To escape the awful lack of comebacks, the white mouse dug around through the trunk again until he pulled out a large, brown tricorn hat.

He inspected it in the firelight and the Brainlight: it was nice, but it didn’t seem to fit the white mouse’s taste. The large red feather on the left side was very bold, but the brown, earthy color it had and the rough leather texture didn’t exactly fit with the image he wanted to go for. The white mouse looked back at Marcus and his now-once-again visible, scarred, and quite literally bony head. The white mouse walked up to Marcus and bit his lip.

“Brother?... Marcus?”

“Yes, brother?” Marcus turned around from the fire.

The white mouse tightened his grip on the hat and fought the urge to look away from his brother. “Perhaps… this hat would be to your liking?”

Marcus took the hat and inspected it. Sweat formed on the white mouse’s brow as he waited for a response, and when Marcus looked up from the hat, the white mouse was shocked by Marcus’ warm smile. “Thank you, brother. I will treasure it forever, I will.” He put on the large on his head; it weighed down on his ears and fell over his eye onto the bridge of his nose. “It may need to be adjusted, it might, but it’s great, it is. You’ve given me so much, brother, you have.”

The white mouse let out a breath he held, relieved that his brother wasn’t offended by the gift. “Well…” A pat on the back turned his attention back to the King.

“Now, since you’ve gotten us this wonderful trunk of treasures here,” --The King placed his hand on the trunk of clothes-- “I think it’s time that we get you a name! Unless, you’re okay with Shirley.”

“No!”

The King raised a hand and the orb floated down to him. With a few quick presses, a list of names came up. “Well, then. Here is a list of common names.”

The word “common” made the white mouse cringe. If it was to be his name, it should be something suitable for a great bard.

“...Or, we can give it some suggestions and it will give us a name.”

The white mouse turned to his brother,. “Brother, how did you come up with the name Marcus?”

Marcus smiled. “Well, when the King told me how he saved my life, he used the phrase ‘On the mark.’ Mark was a name listed, but I liked Marcus better, I did.”

“So, suggestions. That… might work.”

The King plopped down on his butt next to the white mouse and pulled the Brain closer. After poking it a few times, he looked up at the white mouse. “Ok, buddy, let’s here some stuff about’cha!”

The white mouse cleared his throat. “Well, where do I begin? I was but a humble mouse, who by great fortune escaped the jaws of death and was kept high and neat in a cage. Fate had seen it fitting to throw normalcy out the window and bestow upon me a life that no other mouse before us may have known. I am heading for greatness, and I shall…”

“Oh! Here’s a good one!”

His soliloquy interrupted, the white mouse looked at the orb, which the King held inches from his face. On the orb was a list of names, all starting with ‘H’, but the one at the center was written much larger and had text below describing it:

Hauteclaire

Language: French

Origin: The name of the sword of Olivier, one of the twelve peers of Charlemagne.

Famous for its crystal-embedded, golden hilt worth a great fortune.

Meaning: High and neat

The white mouse rolled both Olivier and Hauteclaire over his tongue. Certainly, both names were fantastic, and both felt good on his tongue, but he wanted a name that would really stick out. He looked up at the King. “Are the names ‘Hauteclaire’ and ‘Olivier’ common?”

The King pulled the orb back in front of his face and poked it several times before looking back up. “‘Olivier’ is a common French name while ‘Hauteclaire’ has only one recorded instance of use.”

“What about Charlemagne?”

The King poked the orb a few times. “Charlemagne has two instances, one of which is a legendary king.”

Hmmm. If I chose Charlemagne, it would be much more difficult to stand out…

The white mouse leaned back on the trunk and looked up to the starry sky. Why was he thinking about it? He had already made up his mind. One of those names was made for him. High and neat, huh? Great fortune?

The white mouse looked back down at the King and smiled.

“You may call me Hauteclaire.”

“Hauteclaire? Um, Hauteclaire?”

“Hauteclaire! We’re calling you! Hauteclaire!”

“WHAT!?”

In front of Hauteclaire was Pinkie, much too close for his comfort. Behind her, Hauteclaire could see Rarity and Marcus both staring at him as well.

“Marcus was just telling us how you used to be chubby when you two met. You must have been a cute little chubby-wubby, rolly-polly mousy-wousy!”

Rarity cleared her throat. “I thought it was rather touching that you shared your food with him. That was really generous of you, and I should know. I got a little teary eyed when I learned that mice call each other brothers and sisters. I never knew mice did that."

“Yeah! She was bawling like Pumpkin or Pound when they get gassy. She also used up a whole box of tissues when Marcus said his hat was a gift from you! See?” Pinkie pointed at a trashbin behind a blushing Rarity overflowing with used tissues, which Rarity tried to conceal with a slight shift of her tail.

Hauteclaire shook his head. He let his long nose smack Pinkie’s short snout. “Oh… you don’t say.”

Pinkie took a step back. “Do you do that whole ‘spacing-out’ thing often? You’ve done that with Lyra and Spike before! Do you know that when you do that, you tend to leave your mouth open? I can smell the apples on your breath.”

Hauteclaire snapped his mouth shut, and his teeth clunked together inside his head. Pinkie chortled and Rarity tittered.

Haha, very funny.

A cough from Marcus got everyone’s attention. “Ok, so the emplumeus was a success, it was. So let’s try our next dish, let us. How about… vermicelli?”

Pinkie hopped in place. “Alright! I have no idea what that is!”

Author's Note

Alright! So the food is being decided for the royal dinner coming up!:pinkiehappy:

What about the music? Stay tuned same Pony-Time, same Pony-channel!

Ch. 13 - Fools of the Round Table

Porthos didn’t come home that night.

When Marcus questioned the King about Porthos, he claimed to know nothing other than that Porthos requested to be changed into a pony and he refused to use his magic to locate Porthos because “He’s a tough guy, he can handle himself.” Godiva also told Marcus she had no idea where Porthos went, even before Marcus got a chance to ask her. She ran out the nearest castle window and didn’t come back until the next morning; even then, the castle was still Porthos-less. Whatever Porthos had done, he’d made a mistake. He should have known better than to try to go behind Marcus’ back.

Hauteclaire had also made a mistake the next evening. He should have known better than to have given Lyra those books as soon as he met her outside the bar where she had gathered up her musician friends, because, instead of being a good host and taking him to introduce him to her friends, Lyra ran to a table at the far end of the bar, flipped the top book open to a random page and dove into the world of humans.

As Hauteclaire made his way to the table that Lyra had rushed off to, he observed his surroundings. This bar, called “The Sun’s Flank,” was located close to the center of town. The wooden floor was firm under his feet but didn’t squeak. Lights hung from the ceiling, but were powered by magic, not electricity, and they were set to be a bit dim. The warm colors of the deep reds, earthy browns, and autumn oranges in the bar made the place feel very inviting and cozy. Many of the seats were cushioned with faux leather and surrounded large tables that were made for socializing. The drink bar itself was something incredible to look at as well. A light behind the rows of bottles behind the bar created an alluring aurora beerealis. If things didn’t go well with Lyra and her associates, this would be his next stop, as long as Porthos didn’t find this place first. Opposite the bar was a wide open dance floor, currently vacant of any dancers. How could ponies dance? They had two left feet. Hooves. Whatever. The bar also seemed to be rather lacking of patrons, but given the early hour of the evening, it was likely that it would be crowded by the time Hauteclaire left.

Arriving at the table Lyra was at, Hauteclaire took a seat next to her as three pairs of eyes stared back at him. Well, one pair of eyes stared at Hauteclaire, one pair was hidden behind tinted sunglasses, and the third kept shifting about and observing every other pony in the bar. The owner of the eyes staring at Hauteclaire shifted in her seat, and the tinted-sunglasses mare leaned forward.

There was nothing worse than poor social skills, but thankfully Hauteclaire hadn’t hired Lyra for any PR. She had the social grace of a one-legged duck in a tuxedo with its shirt untucked, or an inebriated Porthos. The duck would have had the working knowledge to at least introduce Hauteclaire to her associates before getting lost in her new books. The look Lyra unknowingly received from the grey mare that also sat at the same table was proof to Hauteclaire that he wasn’t the only one to notice her poor tact.

The grey mare with the flowing black mane and light purple bowtie turned to Hauteclaire, cleared her throat and opened her mouth to speak.

“So, I hear you got a gig for us,” said the white mare with the neon blue mane as she threw up her back hooves on the table.

The grey mare smacked the white mare’s hooves off the table. “Vinyl! Where are your manners?”

“What?! We’re at a bar! Chillax, ‘Tavi.”

“That doesn’t excuse… Ahem…” ‘Tavi’ pulled back her hoof and struggled to turn away from the mare sitting next to her and back to Hauteclaire. The look in her eyes were quite familiar to Hauteclaire, as he saw them every time he looked in a mirror after dealing with the King. He had to admit, though, thispony did a decent job holding her composure.

“What my friend is trying to say is, we are very happy for the opportunity to play for you and your king. Please let us introduce ourselves…”

Finally.

“I am Octavia Melody. This is my friend, Vinyl Scratch.”

“Yo!” said Vinyl.

“And this gentlecolt is Toe-Tapper.”

Toe-Tapper jumped in his seat. “Huh? What? Oh! Nice to meet you.”

“And you’ve met Lyra, I’m sure.” Octavia pointed to Lyra, sitting farthest away from her on the other side of the round table. She mumbled something about hay fries but didn’t raise her head from the book.

Hauteclaire did feel a bit sorry for Octavia, but it was just too much fun for him to finally be on the observing side of such interactions. He did his best to keep his smile calm as he observed Octavia’s facial twitches.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Hauteclaire.”

“Yeah, totally.”

“Uh-huh,” said Toe-Tapper, as he glanced at the other patrons of the bar. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead.

“Well-done, please” muttered Lyra from her book.

“The pleasure is all mine.”

Vinyl leaned forward and lifted her glasses with her magic. “Hey, why isn’t your face all messed up?”

Octavia shifted slightly and there was a loud thud from under the table. Vinyl jumped up in her seat. “Ow! What the heck, ‘Tavi? I was just asking a question.”

“What Vinyl meant to say was that there was an unflattering picture of you in a local paper the other day.”

Vinyl bent forward and rubbed her leg under the table. “Uh.. yeah. So, what was the deal with that, anyway?”

There was another thud from under the table.

“Damn it, ‘Tavi! What?”

“No mayo, please,” answered Lyra, her face still glued to the book.

Toe-Tapper jumped in his seat. “Did somebody call my name!?”

Hauteclaire rubbed his temples. He never imagined being with other artists like himself could be so frustrating. If he answered Vinyl’s question, he might be able to get this over with and not have to deal with that question again. So far, things had been going well with Spike and Pinkie, so maybe being honest about his… “scar” might have the same effect. Besides, if she laughed, or worse, became disgusted, he could always arrange for her to have an accident. Rules be damned. “Do you really want to know?”

Octavia shoved a hoof into Vinyl’s mouth. “Oh no, you don’t have to- hey!”

Vinyl grabbed Octavia’s bowtie with her magic and yanked it off before throwing it. It got caught on Lyra’s horn, which glowed as she turned the page. Octavia got up to fetch her bowtie, freeing Vinyl’s mouth. “Not cool, ‘Tavi. Yeah, what happened? I bet you got a cool story!”

Octavia rolled her eyes as she reached up and tried to grab a hold of her bowtie dangling from Lyra’s horn with her teeth. She spat as a few strands of Lyra’s mane got caught in her mouth.

“Soda, please. Little ice,” said Lyra without looking up from her book.

“Alright.” Hauteclaire took a deep breath, giving himself time to prepare himself for any response that might come his way. Not a time to really be theatric, like a messenger with bad news, he got it over with as few words as possible. “Long ago, in a fight, someone split my face open with an axe.”

Vinyl dropped her jaw, and her large shades slipped down her nose, revealing her contracted red irises. Octavia had a similar response, dropping her bowtie to the ground. Toe-Tapper also seemed to have caught a bit of the story too. “Someone spat on your face?”

“I’ll have dessert if you’re having dessert.”

“No. Someone took an axe and tried to kill me. Now I have a flesh wound that I keep covered with a mask or magic.”

Toe-Tapper bit his lower lip. “Oh! That’s, uh, horrible.”

Vinyl jumped up onto the table, and her shades fell off her face, revealing eyes that looked like they were about to pop out of their sockets. “That. Is. So. Cool! What was it like? Did it hurt? Did you get revenge on whoever did that to you? How are you still alive? You’re not a zombie, are you?”

Each question brought Vinyl closer and closer into Hauteclaire’s personal space until Octavia dragged Vinyl off the table by her tail, with her teeth. She spat again as more blue hairs got stuck on her tongue and in between her teeth. “Vinyl! Have some decency! That must have been a traumatic experience!”

“But, ‘Tavi! That is sooo cool! If I ever write a biography, I would never have anything as awesome as that to put in it!”

Hauteclaire turned his head and raised an eyebrow. “You think it’s… cool? You’re not… disgusted at all?”

Vinyl nodded like a maniac. “Yeah! That is super sweet. If I had something like that happened to me and I got a wicked scar, it would be great! I’d have stories to tell at parties and many people would come to see me perform because of it!”

Octavia shook her head. “It is not ‘cool,’ Vinyl. He must have been really hurt, not just physically. Can you really say you’d be happy if you had to live with a huge disfi… scar on your face? There’s the emotional trauma as well!”

“‘Tavi, why do you have to be so negative? Look, he can cover his up. I could do the same!”

“With what? Makeup? You are aware that fur doesn’t grow over scars, right?”

Hauteclaire coughed, interrupting the two squabblers. “So, you are okay with me having a large flesh wound on my face?”

“Of course we are. It doesn’t change who you are.”

“Yeah, in fact, I think it makes you even cooler.”

“Hm? Oh, it doesn’t bother me.”

“Extra ketchup,” mumbled Lyra.

Another day, another surprise. “Well, in that case… Vinyl, to answer your questions: It’s like getting an axe to the face; it hurt like hell; I threw the wretch who did this to me off a castle tower; I’m alive because of magic,” -- Hauteclaire wiggled his fingers at the ‘M’-word-- “and I am sitting right in front of you and I don’t feel like ordering a side of brains. That should answer your questions.”

Vinyl nodded slowly. “Nice.”

“Patooey!” Octavia tried to spit out some more hairs as she dropped her bowtie on the table. “You need to brush more, Vinyl.”

“Here, ‘Tavi, let me get that for you.” Vinyl’s horn glowed, enveloping the bowtie in her magic. Octavia swatted it back down to the table.

“I can get it myself, thank you.”

“Hey there! Welcome to The Sun’s Flank! My name’s Eye Candy! Are we all ready to order?”

All eyes snapped to the waitress, well, except for Lyra’s. Vinyl smiled. “Hey, Candy! What’s cookin’?”

The waitress giggled and batted her eyes, her face cheery under a lot of makeup. “Oh, nothing much! I’m looking forward to your performance later on tonight.” Hauteclaire raised an eyebrow at the way Eye Candy leaned into Vinyl and batted her eyelashes.

“Oh, you know it! I’m going to rock this bar like I do every week!”

“Patooey!”

The waitress looked up from Vinyl to Octavia, the poor mare was trying to get a few strands of blue mane out of her teeth before she realized others were watching her. She leaned in a bit before smirking. “Ooooh, Vinyl, I didn’t know you had a date tonight? She’s a cute one, too!”

Toe-Tapper and Octavia stared at the waitress; poor Octavia was sweating and blushing. Vinyl laughed. “A date!? Haha, good one, Candy. Nah, she’s just my friend. Ain’t that right, ‘Tavi?”

Octavia nodded, unable to get a word out from that tomato she called a head.

Candy giggled. “Oooh, I see. Friends with benefits, right?”

Vinyl nodded. “Yup. How did you know we live together! Helps a lot with the rent and stuff. How did’ja know? Those are some great benefits!” Vinyl grinned and turned to watch Octavia’s face turn beet red.

“Oh, I’ve got a sixth sense for these things.”

Octavia hid behind her hooves.

“So, the usual, Vinyl?”

“Heck yeah!”

“And what about you, stud?”

Toe-Tapper jumped from his chair. “Oh, me?! I’ll just have the hayburger with a salad. Thank you.”

“And how about you?”

Lyra didn’t look up from the book. Hauteclaire answered for her. “She’ll have a hayburger, well done, a side of fries with extra ketchup, no mayo and a soda with little ice. I’ll have a barley tea with the jumbo salad, please. No hay.”

“Oh, Vinyl, you brought in another one of your new friends! Hey, weren’t you in the Foal Free Press the other day?”

“Yes, I was. Please continue with the orders.”

Candy pouted and huffed before putting on her cheerful smile again. “What will your friend have, Vinyl? It looks like she already had the furburger.”

Vinyl laughed and poked Octavia, who was now face down on the table, legs wrapped around her head and her mane drooped over her face. “Hey, ‘Tavi? What’chu want to eat?”

It took a few moments and pokes before Octavia spoke through the table loud enough for Vinyl to hear and tell Candy what she wanted. Candy left with their orders and Octavia excused herself to the bathroom. After both mares left, Hauteclaire leaned in and held his hands together. “So, I’ve gathered that you perform here, is that correct?”

Vinyl put her shades back on and smiled. “Yup! Every week. They love me here. Candy and some of the other ponies here give me free drinks. This is the friendliest place I’ve ever performed at.”

“And what was that about you and Octavia on a date?”

Vinyl shrugged. “Candy just likes to tease. She’s pretty cool once you get to know her.”

Toe-Tapper whipped around to face Hauteclaire. “You do know this is a gay bar, right?”

Hauteclaire cocked an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, what?”

Vinyl leaned back and smiled. “You’ve never been to a gay bar before? Basically, it’s a bar where stallions and mares come to look for love or a good time.”

“So, it’s basically a beer hall?”

Vinyl nodded. “Pretty much. Except here, stallions try to hook up with stallions and mares hook up with mares. I believe Lyra actually met Bon-Bon here.”

Hauteclaire’s eyes widened for a second as he looked to the mint green unicorn beside him. “Huh, I’ve never guessed there would be such an establishment in a land like this.”

“Yup, we ponies are full of surprises.”

“You certainly are. By the way, care to explain what a furburger is?”

It is professional courtesy, and just good manners, to not discuss business over bread. Instead, it is totally acceptable to inform the travelling bard that “the Sun’s Flank” is a bar that serves a specific clientele. Specifically those of the female variety. Vinyl also deduced Toe-Tapper’s jumpy behavior: as a straight male in a lesbian bar, he was afraid of being ousted as the “rooster in the tuna salad,” or was it that he was a “Sappho Daddy-o?” Hauteclaire couldn’t make sense of all of these terms being thrown at him, and for the most part, didn’t care. Where he was from, people, mice, and what-have-you were too busy trying to survive than to worry about how others enjoyed themselves.

Vinyl shoved the last of her ketchup-soaked fries into her gullet and swallowed after one chew. Much to the disgust of Octavia, who had finished her meal without getting any of it on her.

Lyra put down her soda, finishing her second refill; her face had never left the book while she ate. “Hey, did you know that humans refer to each other as ‘somebody’ and ‘anybody’? You would think it makes more sense to say ‘somehuman’ or ‘anyhuman.’ Why are they talking about their bodies instead of what they are? Could it be based in linguistics, culture, or” -- Lyra let out a little belch-- “excuse me, or it could be more of a ‘sense of worth’ kind of deal? Like humans are more concerned about their bodies, and therefore strongly attach their image to their looks and…”

Hauteclaire reached over and closed the book. “I’m so glad you find all of this completely fascinating, but now since we all have finished our meals, I would like to talk to everyone about why I’ve asked Lyra to bring you here.”

“The page number!”

Hauteclaire facepalmed and dragged his hand down until his nose sprang back up while Lyra skimmed through the book with her magic. “You were on page 178.”

“Oh, here it is!” Lyra shoved a napkin into the book and slammed it shut and looked up with a gigantic smile. “Okay, please continue.”

Hauteclaire, with his finger tips touching in front of his mouth, waited for any more possible interruptions. When nothing else came, he continued.

“The other day, I asked Lyra to gather together the best musicians in Ponyville, and she selected you.”

Vinyl smirked and nodded in approval. Octavia straightened her back and sat up taller, but only slightly. Toe-Tapper rubbed one hoof over the other and smiled, forgetting whatever had been haunting him.

“It may not have been publically announced, but the Mouse King and Princess Twilight will be meeting together for a formal dinner, and I am in charge of providing the atmosphere. You will be playing music at a dinner for royals. Do you think you are up to the challenge?”

“Heck yeah!”

Octavia gave Vinyl a slight scolding sneer. “If I may, the four of us play very different kinds of music. Are you sure that we all can provide what you are looking for?”

Hauteclaire turned to Octavia and raised an eyebrow.

“Lyra plays the harp; I play the cello and am usually part of an orchestra; Toe-Tapper is part of an acappella group…”

“We’re amateurs, really.”

“And Vinyl is…” Octavia stopped and pursed her lips.

“DJ Pon-3: The best DJ in Equestria!”

“...that. Are you sure we’re what you’re looking for?”

Hauteclaire chewed on his bottom lip. “I see… well, I’m pret ty sure the King would be very happy to have the four of you perform for him at his dinner. He has a very broad taste in music. In fact,” -- Hauteclaire reached under the table and pulled out the King’s cd player-- “he asked me to bring this.”

All four ponies leaned in and stared at the CD player. It was round, it had a collapsable handle and a retractable antenna, and it was mostly a dull silver but had a few purple accents around the buttons. Lyra was the first to speak up. “Oooh, is that a human invention?”

Hauteclaire nodded. “It’s a CD player.”

Toe-Tapper looked underneath the table and then back to the CD player. “Where did you get this? I didn’t see you walk in with it.”

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

“Cool.” Vinyl pulled the CD player closer and looked it over. “Bass, treble, volume, skip guard? What’s that? Next track? Prev track? This thing is so small, it’s only as big as my head. Where do you put the record?”

Hauteclaire reached over and pushed the flat, notched area on top of the CD player. The lock released and the spring-loaded lid lifted itself up, revealing its contents to four pairs of hungry eyes. The four ponies leaned in even closer.

Vinyl’s horn glowed as she removed her tinted sunglasses and pulled out the CD. She held it up for all to see. On it was scribbled “Mouse King Dinner Mix 1901” in magic marker. As she looked over the CD, her mouth kept opening and closing like a flabbergasted carp until she was able to ask what was on her mind. “Is this… a record?”

Hauteclaire crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “It’s similar to a record. It is a compact disc. A CD.”

Lyra, Vinyl and Toe-Tapper both “oooh”-ed.

Vinyl flipped it over and inspected both sides. “Where are the grooves?”

“There are no grooves.”

“How do you put music on it?”

“Lasers.”

Lyra and Toe-Tapper “woah”-ed.

Octavia leaned in closer and tilted her head. “I imagine you can only fit a single song on something so small.”

“Actually, that CD has about twenty tracks.”

Vinyl jumped in her seat. “No way!”

Lyra and Toe-Tapper “wow”-ed.

Hauteclaire reached up and took the CD from Vinyl’s magic, placed it back into the CD player and closed the lid. “Let’s listen to a few examples of what kind of music will be played at the dinner, shall we?”

Hauteclaire hit the Play button and held his hands together. The ponies all leaned in, wide eyed at the marvel before them, remaining silent while waiting for the music. To Hauteclaire, time seemed to have come to a complete stop as he watched these ponies get their technological cherries popped. The faces of wonder and astonishment that grew on their faces tickled Hauteclaire and made him feel like a god among mortals. He was Prometheus, sharing his knowledge of fire to those he deemed worthy. Everyone at this table - in this bar - where about to be blessed by the gift that is…

“Is it working?”

Hauteclaire shook his head. “Huh?” He grabbed the CD player and spun it around. None of the lights had come on the small display. He pressed the Play button again; the lights stayed off. He flipped the CD player over and pulled off the cover where the batteries went. Vinyl jolted and instinctively reached out with her hooves when she saw a musical device get handled so roughly. Hauteclaire’s hunch was correct. “The idiot forgot the batteries.”

Octavia flinched. “I’m sorry, who?”

Hauteclaire shook his head. “It’s nothing.” After snapping the cover back into place, he grabbed a three-pronged plug that was hidden underneath the player. He gave it a tug, and the cord unwound. Hauteclaire stood up to find the nearest plug outlet when it hit him. Oh yeah. Magic. So he sat back down.

Lyra leaned in and poked the electrical cord. “What is that?”

Hauteclaire sighed. “It’s a power cord. The CD player requires electricity to function.”

“Electricity? You mean like lightning?”

Hauteclaire smacked his lips. “Yup.” He looked at the plug once more, shrugged, and jammed it into the side of his head. Lyra shrieked, Toe-Tapper turned green, Vinyl fell back out of her chair, and Octavia gasped. Every other patron at the bar turned their heads to the table.

“Good heavens, what are you doing!?”

Hauteclaire shrugged and tried to hide a smirk at Octavia’s reaction. “Oh, nothing. Just need to power the CD player so we can listen to some music.”

Lyra stood on her seat, leaned forward, and put her front hooves on the table as she stared at the cord sticking out of Hauteclaire’s cranium. “That is amazing! Can humans do that, too? Are humans full of lightning, too?”

Hauteclaire rolled his head back and around until his nose bumped into Lyra’s snoot. “Yes, yes they can, Lyra. Humans eat lightning and crap thunder.”

Lyra’s eyes sparkled as she pushed on her cheeks. “Amazing,” she whispered.

Vinyl climbed back up onto her chair and adjusted the tinted sunglasses. “Oh Luna, that is sick.”

Toe-Tapper made a wheezing motion and gurgled a bit. “I think I am the one that is going to be sick.”

Hauteclaire held up his hands. “Alright, now listen up. What I want you to do is to think about what music best represents pony society and culture. I have brought with me a selection of music selected by my King to give you an idea of what you’re in for and what kind of music he wants at the dinner. Let’s get started, shall we?”

Vinyl pumped a hoof. “Heck yeah, let’s get this party started!”

Hauteclaire pressed the Play button again; this time the LCD screen lit up and “PLAY” followed by “01” on the screen. All of the ponies leaned in and watched the device, never taking their eyes off of it as the CD spun silently under the lid. Lyra let out a gasp as calming chamber music flooded out from the speakers on the side.

Octavia leaned back and closed her eyes with a smile. Her posture relaxed as the music continued. “It sounds incredible.”

Toe-Tapper acted more like Lyra, as he too couldn’t take his eyes off the piece of technology before him. “You said that there are twenty songs like this one on this CD?”

Hauteclaire nodded, but also gave a little “Mmm-hmm” since Toe-Tapper didn’t look up for the answer.

The crowd around the table had also hushed, the eyes and ears of all the patrons pointed in the CD player’s direction. Hauteclaire didn’t expect the cooperation of everyone in the bar (doing so would have been unreasonable and rude), but it pleased him immensely that he got it anyway. Everyone in the bar seemed enthralled with the music, and perhaps more so with the device it originated from.

Well, all except for one slouching unicorn.

After a minute or so had passed, Hauteclaire reached over and pressed the pause button. “So, what do you think?”

Octavia opened her eyes and leaned forward, resting her head on her hooves. “Oh, that was absolutely beautiful. It reminds me of the works of Buck.”

Hauteclaire smiled. “Well, this is a composer from our world: Bach. He is a favorite of mine.”

Lyra stuck her tongue out. “Bach? Bach? I’ve read that name somewhere in here.” She turned back to the top book and opened it up to the back and scoured through the index. After a few seconds, she found what she was looking for and flipped through until she came to the matching page number. “Bach! Here he is! It says:

“Johann Sebastian Bach was a German composer of the Baroque period. He influenced much of the German style of music.”

Lyra lifted her eyes up from the book and met Octavia in a stare. “Woah. That is spooky.”

Octavia licked her lips. “That is rather odd.”

Hauteclaire looked between the two mares. “Care to explain?”

Octavia cleared her throat. “Johann Sebastian Bach sounds a lot like the famous Germane composure Johoof Sepferden Buck. He also was famous for his baroque style of music.”

Toe-Tapper chewed on his bottom lip. “Spooky.”

Hauteclaire leaned back and popped his knuckles. “Surely a coincidence. Let’s continue, shall we?” He reached over and hit the Next Track button, then Play.

More music played for a bit, garnering a similar reaction from before from the four ponies in front of him. After about a minute, he reached over and stopped the song.

Octavia cleared her throat. “Hauteclaire, who is this?”

“It’s Beethoven.”

Vinyl chuckled. “Wo-ho-ho-hoah. This is getting really freaky.”

“And why is that?”

“Because that is totally Beethoofen music!”

The three other ponies nodded in agreement with Vinyl.

Hauteclaire turned his head and looked at her out of the corner of his eyes. “You’re messing with me, aren’t you? I mean, seriously, ‘Germane’? ‘Buck’? ‘Beethoofen’?”

Vinyl crossed her front legs together in front of her chest and smirked. “How are we sure that you’re not the one messing with us?”

Lyra pointed to a book she held with her magic. “But… he gave me these books.”

Hauteclaire pulled the CD player towards him and pressed the Next Track button several times. “Alright, lets try something that isn’t German.”

He pushed the Play button. After a few seconds, Octavia started scrunching her face. “This is Clop Dehoovesy.”

Hauteclaire didn’t bother stopping the music, but instead rested his elbows on the table and rubbed his face with both hands and sighed. This world is nothing but a bunch of puns. “And where is this Dehoovesy from?”

“Prance.”

“Pardon me.” Hauteclaire plucked the cord out of his head and the music stopped. He got up and and walked over to the bar. As he walked to the bar, he twisted his ear and started mumbling to himself in a language that ponies wouldn’t understand. “Shinjirarenai. Ittai donna sekai ni tsuita ka, konkai? Dajare bakari. Dajare BAKARI! Bakabakashii yo. Kore ijou tamerarenai! (I can’t believe this. What kind of world have I arrived in this time? Just nothing but puns. NOTHING BUT PUNS! I can’t take any more than this.)” When he got to the bar, he twisted his ear back to its original spot. “Hello, Eye Candy. Give me a glass of wine.”

Eye Candy looked back at him with a smile. “Sure thing! Here’s our wine list.” She pointed to a menu that was placed under a plastic bar cover. Hauteclaire ran his finger through the list and felt a bit of relief when he got to the red wines. “And I couldn’t help but overhear you talking on your way here. What was that about puns?”

Hauteclaire felt his eye twitch. “Pardon?”

“Oh, I heard you speaking Neighponese as you walked over here! I studied abroad in Neighpon when I was in university.” She had a smile on her face that reached from ear to ear. “Ever since I’ve been back, I haven’t really gotten a chance to speak any. I’m afraid I’m getting rusty. Dono gurai NiPONIgo benkyou shimashita ka? (How long have you studied Neighponese?)”

Hauteclaire tapped a finger on the menu. “Just give me a whole bottle of this.”

“Kashikomarimashita! (Coming right up!)” Eye Candy spun around and placed a corked bottle of red wine and a glass with a huge smile. “Omataseshimashita! (Here is your order!)” Hauteclaire pulled a handful of bits out of his herigaut and dropped them on the counter before walking away with the bottle.

“Ano~, gurasu wo wasuremashita keredo… (Um… You forgot your glass...)” said Eye Candy in passable “Neighponese.”

Hauteclaire didn’t turn around. “Iranai. (Don’t need it.)”

Eye Candy looked back down at the bits and counted them. “Matte! Otsuri ha? (Wait! What about your change?)”

Hauteclaire was already halfway back to the table. “Iranai. Mottete. (Don’t need it. You take it.)”

Eye Candy looked back down at the small pile of bits on the table, enough to buy at least ten bottles of wine. She scooped it up and dropped it all into her front apron pocket with a huge grin. Another mare walked up to her and tapped the counter to get her attention. “Wow, sexy and smart. That was pretty awesome how you spoke fluent Neighponese. Tell me, do you have any plans later tonight?”

Eye Candy tittered. “Kamoshirenai~.”

The mare took a swig of her beer. “I have no idea what you just said.”

Now back at his table, Hauteclaire pulled out his dagger and molded the blade by rubbing his fingers over it until it became a makeshift bottle opener. He popped the cork and took several swigs before putting the bottle down with a thunk and jabbing the power cord into his cranium.

“Um, Hauteclaire? Are you feeling alright?”

Hauteclaire looked up at Octavia and then let his gaze pass over the rest of the table. “I’m fantastic. Let’s continue.” He pushed the Play button.

As more music played, it took a while for the ponies to lighten up after Hauteclaire’s recent decision to start playing his drinking game, something that didn’t occur often: drink whenever something stupid was said, or just whenever he felt crabby, depressed, irritated, frustrated, tired, irate, or thirsty. Whenever he played this game when the King, Porthos, or Godiva was around, he would black out in about ten minutes. Mice can’t hold their alcohol very well. If there was more than one of them in the room at the same time, there was no point in putting the bottle down. Either way, if he wasn’t in the mood for blacking out, he had a pretty cool trick up his sleeve to let him continue his ineffective self-destruction. It was something he was only able to do because of their “curse.”

Lyra pulled the bottle away from Hauteclaire after he took another large swig. “Um, Hauteclaire? Bon-bon once told me it’s poor etiquette to get drunk while working.”

Hauteclaire cover his mouth, belched and leaned forward. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Ugh… she’s right. You shouldn’t let this pony stuff bother you. It’s not worth getting drunk over. “Fine. Hand me that empty bowl.”

Lyra magicked over a dirty bowl that had been used for soup. Hauteclaire pulled it close, reached under his cotehardie and pulled out a purple, veiny lump.

Toe-Tapper pointed with a hoof. “Um… Hauteclaire, what is that?”

“My liver.”

Holding his liver over the bowl in both hands, he squeezed and twisted it and a mixture of tea and alcohol came gushing out. Once the fluids came to a drip and the bowl was mostly full, Hauteclaire stuck his liver back under his cotehardie. Feeling a bit more sober, he looked up and saw only two ponies still in their seats. Lyra was quickly scanning through the books, and Vinyl just stared back at him, slack-jawed.

“Where did Toe-Tapper and Octavia go?”

“They had something ‘come up.’ You sure you’re not a zombie?”

“Can humans remove their own livers, too?! I can’t find anything here that says that they can!”

Hauteclaire facepalmed. This is going swimmingly.

Before Octavia and Toe-Tapper came back from the bathroom, Hauteclaire had Eye Candy take away the dirty dishes. She was a little upset that the soup “was untouched,” but Hauteclaire just gave her an extra tip for her troubles. He also made a little pact with himself that he wouldn’t take out any more vital organs in front of company. Well, his at least.

Both missing musicians eventually teetered their way back to the table. After sampling several more tracks and talking to the ponies about what songs they could perform on short notice, it was about time to finish up, but Hauteclaire needed to play only one more song.

“OK, so we just have one more song to listen to, then we can start discussing about our rehearsal tomorrow.”

Vinyl leaned forward and rested her cheek on a hoof. “If it’s all classical music like this, I’m out.”

“Pardon?”

Octavia coughed. “What Vinyl meant to say was that, it seems like her talents wouldn’t be fully utilized. She specializes in more… active music.”

Toe-Tapper nodded. “Yeah, I don’t see how a DJ will be a big help in a royal dinner.”

Vinyl humphed. “Hey, I’d be a great help! It’s not my fault royals are all uptight and snooty.”

“Vinyl!”

“What? They are.”

Octavia leaned over. There was a thunk of hoof on wood, and Vinyl’s chair jerked.

“Owowow!” Octavia leaned over and rubbed one of her back legs.

Vinyl grinned. “Too slow, Octy.”

Hauteclaire rolled his eyes. “Look, the King instructed me to play every song on this CD. So after you hear a bit of this last one, you can decide if you still want to help or not. Besides…” Hauteclaire stopped to chew on his bottom lip. “...if I know the King, you are going to like this song, Vinyl.” He rubbed his temple with one hand as the other reached up and pressed the Next Track button.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

Oh, my, God. Becky, look at her butt

It is so big, she looks like…

Hauteclaire groaned. His teeth ground together as he moved his hands over his ears and pulled. Just thirty more seconds, Hauteclaire, that should be enough. Twenty-nine, twenty-eight… He moved his hands up to his forehead and grabbed a bunch of fur and tugged. When the fur slipped through his fingers, he went back for more. He felt the loose fur fall down onto his nose. His breathing got slower and deeper. A sting from inside his mouth made him flinch. seven… six… five… close enough.

Hauteclaire slammed a finger on the Stop button with enough force to cause the CD player to bounce against the table. He leaned back, let the silence purify his ears and let out a breath he had been holding. A head-bobbing Vinyl was in front of Hauteclaire when he opened his eyes.

“That. Was. Awesome!”

Lyra was bouncing along in her seat. “Wow! There are so many things I didn’t understand in that song. Humans are truly fascinating!”

Toe-Tapper was sweating and looking at the other mares at the table. “Heh, there is more to a mare than the size of her butt.”

Octavia was sitting up straight, her eyes were closed, and her face was a tomato, again. Vinyl leaned in close to Octavia and whispered something into her ear. She facehoofed.

The surrounding ponies had all fixed their stares on the table as well. The song seemed to have garnered quite a following. Hauteclaire snorted and clapped his hands. “Alright, now that we got that out of the way…” The other bar patrons groaned and went back to their business.

The four musicians turned to Hauteclaire and he opened up his mouth to continue.

I like 'em round, and big

And when I'm throwin' a gig

I just can't help myself, I'm actin' like an animal

He snapped his mouth shut and stared at the CD player. It had come to life and continued its earlier song. Hauteclaire nearly knocked the CD player off the table in his frantic button-mashing, but the song just kept going, and it got louder the more he messed with the CD player. He tried to open his mouth to curse the King, but a magical force kept his lips sealed.

No no no no no no no!

With a jerk, Hauteclaire tugged the cord out of his head, but the music just wouldn’t die. Wrapping the CD player in his hands, he looked for a surface to smash it against. Well, his search was in vain. The CD player was stuck to the table, the table was stuck to the floor, and Hauteclaire’s hands were stuck on the CD player.

As he struggled to tear himself from the CD player, he searched for help, but all he could see around him were dancing mares. Everywhere, dancing on tables and the floor all around the table. Octavia had her head buried in front legs. Lyra was taking notes on a napkin. “Benz? Honda? Fonda? Flo Jo?” Toe-Tapper was stiff as a board, sweating, and breathing quickly as several mares ground up on and around him. And Vinyl, the queen of this chaos, was standing up on her chair, throwing her hooves in the air and banging her head to the beat.

Suddenly, a familiar voice echoed inside his head, oozing with smugness. “Thought you’d cut the best song on the CD short, did you?”

Hauteclaire banged his head on the table once and found himself stuck. All around him, the music grew louder and the dancing became more frantic. This is a mad house. A MAD HOUSE!

After the song ended and the chaos had settled down, Hauteclaire, free of the table and CD player, finished his wine and told the other musicians when and where to meet for rehearsals the next day before paying the tab for the lot of them and heading out into Ponyville. Vinyl was thrilled at the chance to mess with the CD player before taking it to Hauteclaire, who purposefully left it behind. When she touched it, however, it vanished in a miniature explosive fireball. The last thing Hauteclaire saw before he walked out the bar door was Octavia patting the back of a teary-eyed, quivering-lipped Vinyl.

No longer in the mood for anything else, Hauteclaire walked in a beeline to the floating castle just at the edge of Ponyville. His pace and stride were a bit faster and larger than usual, and he avoided making eye contact with as many ponies as he could.

Which was pretty easy, because there were no ponies to be seen anywhere. Hauteclaire stopped and observed his surroundings. There were stalls in the street still covered in wares, but the dirt paths of Ponyville were silent, and the orange and purple twilight sky was free of any pegasi.

Hauteclaire looked back at “The Sun’s Flank” just two blocks behind him. The lights were on, but none of the ruckus that must have been happening inside reached his ears.

Ponyville was soul-less.

Then, off into the distance down the dirt path behind him, Hauteclaire saw something. A tall, pink rectangle was sliding on the ground, kicking up dirt into a huge cloud behind it that grew larger and larger as whatever the hell it was got closer and closer. Now at only a few blocks away, Hauteclaire could tell that this pink rectangle was several ponies tall and had lots of tiny holes in it that moved up and down quickly, giving away the shadow of something within.

When the anomaly was one block away, Hauteclaire could see through the long, narrow, rapidly moving holes that made up most of the pink rectangle. Hauteclaire grinned and moved a hand close to his dagger.

The pink rectangle zoomed by Hauteclaire and screeched to a complete stop. From the side, Hauteclaire could see the chaotic serpent clearly inside what from the front looked like a pink rectangle. He stepped out of his gigantic, pink hamster wheel and summoned a towel in a flash of light and wiped sweat off of his forehead.

“Hohoho! Boy, I tell you, that ‘CD’ of yours didn’t really have the best music to jog to, I can tell you that.” The creature pulled off his sweatband, gave it a sniff, bleched, and threw it away. The sweatband croaked and hopped away. “Well, except for that last one. Had a nice beat to it.”

Hauteclaire tilted his head back and smirked. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry for disappointing you, Mister…?”

“Discord, Spirit of Chaos. My card.”

As Discord snapped his talons, a card appeared between his thumb and forefinger. He handed it over to Hauteclaire, who slowly took it without taking his eyes off the serpent. A quick glance at the card, an eggshell white with a plain black font, revealed that it said:

Discord

Spirit of Chaos

Lord of Disharmony

Demolitions Expert

After his quick glance at the card, Hauteclaire looked back up at the grinning serpent. “Discord, hmmm? Well I - OW!”

There was a loud snap followed by a jolt of pain in Hauteclaire’s thumb. A spring-loaded metal bar had swung around from the back of the card and caught his thumb. Hauteclaire shook the mousetrap-slash-business-card around before grabbing it with his free hand and prying his thumb loose. The card snapped hungrily at Hauteclaire until he threw it away; it landed with a small explosion, leaving behind a singed crater. The serpent was doubled over with laughter.

“Fine then, Discord,” Hauteclaire hissed as he eyed the dirt just behind the Serpent’s feet. “You’re a demolitions expert?

Discord chuckled and shined his eagle talons on his fur. “Yes, I’m rather fond of breaking walls.” He looked over Hauteclaire’s shoulder and gave a wink.

Hauteclaire felt the urge to look behind him, but he was certain it was a ruse.

“So then, you’d know what sound dynamite makes?”

The Serpent clapped his hands together and giggled. “Oh, a riddle. I don’t think I’ve heard this one before. Um, kaboom?”

Hauteclaire shook his head. “No, it’s POW!”

A blast of air escaped from Hauteclaire’s mouth and sent the hamster wheel and the Serpent flying backwards. The Serpent landed on his back with a grunt, and a bunch of hands sprouted up from the ground and held him in place. The Serpent shook his head and looked up to see Hauteclaire coming down on him with dagger drawn. The Serpent snapped its eagle claw and vanished in a flash of light; the dagger sank into the dirt he once laid on.

Hauteclaire turned around and saw the Serpent dusting himself off. “Well, your riddles are quite lacking, but your delivery really packed quite a punch.” He laughed at his own joke. “I must say, if you weren’t so entertaining, I’d just send you off to some other dimension or something. Oh! The evening Lulu came back and repeated everything you said, oh! Her face was priceless!” The Serpent bent over, supported himself on his knees as he wiped away a tear and flicked it away. It exploded.

Hauteclaire threw his dagger at the Serpent, but he slipped through the air and dodged it with ease. The Serpent was now floating up in the air and looking down at Hauteclaire. “Oh, come now. Let’s have none of that. I only came here to talk.”

The dagger turned around in the air behind the Serpent.

Hauteclaire crossed his arms. “Fine. Let’s talk.”

“It’s about this dinner you have coming up in two days with Princess Twilight. Now, I know I wasn’t on the guest list, but… EEEEEYOUCH!” The Serpent arched its back and screamed, but didn’t fall from its spot in midair. It turned to see the dagger had lodged itself in his back. Gripping it in his lion paw, the serpent jerked it out and tossed it to the side. “I can tell you, that does more than tickle.” He turned back to Hauteclaire, but now he was gone.

The Serpent swam about in the air and put up its eagle claw to his mouth. “Hauteclaire? Where are you?” He snatched three bottles from a nearby stall and stuck them on the ends of his eagle claws and clanked the bottles together. “Hauteclaire, come out to play-ayyy.” He swooped around the block and continued the clinking. “Hauteclaire. Come out to play-ayyyyy.” The Serpent made a small dip in his flight, getting close to the ground, and the ground beneath him exploded.

Several Hauteclaires pounced out of hiding and tackled the Serpent, but it broke apart in their grasps into many smaller Serpents that slithered all over the floor and regrouped in a large pile, which melted into one large Serpent. He pointed a lion finger at the Hauteclaires and wiped the top of it with an eagle claw in a “for shame” motion while shaking his head.

“Tsk, tsk, Hauty. Roughhousing is a big no-no. Besides, I’ve got other important things to do. I just came to tell you one thing, and I’m off.”

One of the Hauteclaires snorted and the rest collapsed into piles of dirt. “Fine, Serpent. Have your say and be gone, before I really start to play rough.”

“Oh, feisty! Well, this dinner you’re having with Twilight? I know I’m not on the guestlist, but I’m going to be there anyway, just to let you know.”

Hauteclaire looked around, but always made sure to keep the Serpent in his sight. “Why are you telling me this? You’ve been watching me all this time, so why announce yourself now? It doesn’t make sense.”

The Serpent smiled. “Exactly! Besides, what are you going to do? Interrupt this important dinner between royalty? I can’t imagine your king would be too happy about that. And before you get your dress in a knot, I’m just going to be there to watch how things turn out. Think of me as Twilight’s security guard. I won’t be adding any chaos to the fire. You mice seem to do that pretty well by yourselves.”

The Serpent snapped his fingers, and the hamster wheel appeared behind him. He stepped up into it. “Well, have fun! I’ve got some tea and tea cakes waiting for me! Toodles.” The Serpent ran on the stationary wheel, and it began to shift forward through the dirt. Hauteclaire watched as it faded off in the distance.

Sound suddenly pierced the quiet and snapped Hauteclaire out of his stupor. Snapping his head about, he found that Ponyville had been repopulated, and the evening crowds were making their way through the streets. Vendors were offering discounts for the last of their day’s wares, and foals ran about kicking balls in the streets. All signs of the former fight had vanished.

Hauteclaire turned back into the direction of the castle and walked, wondering just what happened and what could have caused such an engagement.

And who the hell was Lulu?

Author's Note

After an unexpected three month hiatus, I am back baby! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. More will be out soon. We are coming close to the end of the second act!

Next time on A Game of Kings: "Princess Twilight, We'd Love to Have You For Dinner"

Ch. 14 - Twilight Sparkle, We'd Love To Have You For Dinner

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Porthos, what’s in the sack?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Excuse me, Hauteclaire?”

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

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

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

“Oh, wow! This is so pretty!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And what happened to its arms?”

“The Shield Bearer.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You bet!”

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

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

The statue harrumphed at the accusation and blew a raspberry.

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

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

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

She walked to her dinner.

A princess.

Walked more than a mile for her dinner.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That explained so much.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Enjoy it while you can, you hick.

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

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

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

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

What was he even looking - !

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

Then right below where he was sitting.

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

And let go of the rock.

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

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

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

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

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

Everyone at the table looked up at the chandelier.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There was a rock!”

Rainbow looked around and snorted. “What rock?”

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

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

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

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

“Yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Eeyup,” said Big Mac.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really!?”

“Yeah, believe me.”

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

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

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

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

“Hauteclaire,” whispered Marcus.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, crap.

He was stuck.

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

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

Smooth move, Hauteclaire, smooth.

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

“HELP ME!” mouthed Hauteclaire.

Porthos shook his head.

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

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

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

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

Speak of the devil.

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

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

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

SLAM!

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

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

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

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

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

Because Hauteclaire A saw (and felt) it all.

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

He missed the first step.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hauteclaire jerked in surprise. So did Applejack.

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

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

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

The King nodded. “Certainly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another trick of Discord’s, no doubt.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh.” The King rubbed his chin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hauteclaire pulled the chandelier and swung.

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

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

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

Hauteclaire let go of the chandelier.

Author's Note

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

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

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

Ch. 15 - Porthos vs Hauteclaire! The Battle in the Capital!

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

Celestia.

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

“Hauteclaire.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another thud echoed through the castle and interrupted the court.

“Uh… Yeah. I’ve been practicing.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Porthos, I know that--”

Another thud echoed throughout the castle and Porthos jumped slightly.

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

“But, sir, I--”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another thud echoed throughout the castle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

--an angry looking gryphon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stupid wind!”

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

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

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

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

He had arrived. Canterlot.

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

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

Nah, that’d be silly.

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

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

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

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

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

Of course.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Locked.

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

“Well, drat.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hauteclaire was proud that he was neither.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“--autographs.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Trixie slowly nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you know a good place for lunch?”

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

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

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

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

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

As my own father

breathed his last on his deathbed,

I ripped a big one.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why do you hate me, Haut?”

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

Porthos nodded.

“Trixie has a show to prepare--”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Haut, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

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

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

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

“Hauteclaire,” Porthos whispered. “Stop.”

“They thought you were a monster.”

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

“You’re a monster.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Will you just--AAAAAAARGH!”

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

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

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

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

A copy.

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

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

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

More ponies cried. “Monster!”

“Get away from him!”

“Somepony help!”

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

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

“Monster,” he uttered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They shocked him with another spell.

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

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

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

Another zap knocked him back.

“Paralyzing spells aren’t working!”

“Use the constricting spell!”

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

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

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

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

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

He failed.

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

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

Everything went black.

Dying sucked.

Dying at the hands at Porthos sucked even more.

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

Welcome back user: Hauteclaire.

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

Again.

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

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

Ugh, I need a distraction. Stupid Porthos.

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

What would you like to do?

Sign-in

Log-off

Shut Down [Administrator]

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

Please enter password: ______________

Sign in Cancel

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

It was home.

He really wished he could change that image.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like they were welcomed.

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

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

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

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

And again.

And again!

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

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

User “E” was the Mouse King.

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

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

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

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

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

[Being revived by E 23%]

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

[Being revived by E. 57%]

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

[Being revived by E. 89%]

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

[Revive complete. Signing out.]

“Wakey wakey, Hauteclaire.”

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

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

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

Author's Note

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

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

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

Ch. 16 - Porthos (and the Unexpected Lesson in Friendship)

The giant, lumbering drunk was behind bars, so why wasn’t Hauteclaire overjoyed?

The unicorn jailer behind his desk at the entrance of the hallway certainly wasn’t, since now he had a large inmate that could rip the cell bars out at a whim. He tried to hide himself behind a newspaper. Maybe if Porthos went berserk, he would pass by the floating newspaper and not bother the pony behind it.

It was unbelievable that Marcus was able to convince the guards that Hauteclaire was only defending himself, and that since Porthos threw the first punch he had to shoulder most of the responsibility. That was like grade-school logic.

Perhaps it was also because Porthos had caused quite a bit of property damage, some of which had been done with Hauteclaire’s body. When a giant rat could smash the foundation of a marble statue into rubble with a single punch, others tended to forget about the small white mouse who couldn’t tear a screenplay in half. (Not that he could. He just had more respect for the art and the artist that made it. If it was truly horrible, fire was a more suitable solution.)

So, after the King fixed the damage done during the deadly dispute, including fixing the statue and all of the fancy chairs and tables Porthos demolished, he was ready to wipe everyone’s minds, but Marcus talked him out of it. Then Marcus worked his magic that put Porthos in jail and let Hauteclaire walk free. Godiva even confiscated Knebryter from him.

Staring at Porthos seated in a tiny cell that didn’t have enough room for him to stand in was nowhere near as enjoyable as Hauteclaire had hoped it would be. Porthos’ shoulders hung limp, and his hands rested in his lap. Porthos’ large nose hung straight down as he stared beyond the floor, never raising his gaze to meet anyone else’s. Ever since he had voluntarily walked himself into that cage, he’d been like that.

“You know, there is a time and a place for everything,” lectured the King. “And if you needed to practice the game or just duke it out, don’t do it in a crowded city square. I mean for goodness’ sake, you were just outside a performance hall! You could have put on a show for all the ponies with your practicing instead of smashing up the plaza.”

Not helping.

Porthos let out a long sigh as the King continued to ramble on.

The grey rat in the grey prison cell in the grey jail made of grey stones and metal was the most depressing thing Hauteclaire had seen in a long while. Certainly he hated Porthos’ guts, but what made him ask such a stupid question to begin with?

Could it be that the King was right and the ponies were actually making them soft? That’s right! The King had peeked into Hauteclaire’s memories. If this was a sign of anything to come, he needed to act fast. He just had to get Marcus away from the King so he could talk to him in private--

“Come on, Haut! We’ve got to get ready to meet the Princesses.” The King poked Hauteclaire in the gut. Snapped back to the reality he was unwillingly a part of, Hauteclaire remembered where he was and who he was with. “It seems your little slap-fight with Porthos made them cancel everything. The meeting has been pushed forward. You’ve only got an hour to work up some kind of apology. I’ll see you at the castle gates in 45!”

--but time was in limited supply.

Only a few steps from the entrance of the hallway full of jail cells, the door swung open in front of the King. If only it had opened a second later, it would have smacked him on the schnauz. Through the door walked a pegasus guard and another unicorn. The unicorn prisoner dragged his hooves as he walked, never looking up from the ground. “I’m telling you, it was a misunderstanding,” he whimpered.

“Yeah, yeah. Sure.”

The two walked to the desk next to the entrance, and the unicorn behind it opened a drawer and pulled out a polished wooden box. With his magic, the guard opened the box and pushed it towards the pegasus. With one wing, the pegasus reached down in this box and diligently pulled out a black ring on a feather, plucked it off with his lips, turned around, and slid it onto the prisoner’s horn. The pegasus pulled out a key and opened the nearest empty cell. The prisoner dragged himself into the cell, and the guard slammed the door behind him; the pitiful stallion jumped at the clang that reverberated off the stone walls. His tear-stained face became visible only for a moment before he turned to the back wall and sunk to the floor.

The King studied it all and smirked. With his hands wrapped behind his back, he walked up to the pegasus guard. When he turned around, the guard jerked his head back in surprise, raised his eyebrows and opened his eyes wide. Being face-to-face with the King had that effect on people (and ponies).

“Excuse me, my good sir. I couldn’t help but notice you put a ring on that unicorn’s horn. Could you tell me what that’s for?” the King asked with a smile.

“Magic inhibitor. Prevents unicorns from using magic,” said the guard.

The King rubbed his chin. “I see. I also noticed you put it on with your wings. I didn’t know pegasi could use their wings in such a manner.”

The guard shifted a little. “Yes. Takes practice.”

The King smiled even more. “You must have done this a lot. Why doesn’t the unicorn just use his magic to put it on?”

The unicorn raised his eyes from the newspaper he was reading.

“Magic inhibitors are made of material that cannot be manipulated with magic,” said the pegasus. “I must be going.” The guard didn’t wait for a reply before leaving.

The King followed his lead, but before he left, he turned around and pointed at the three court members. “Godiva is very upset with you two. Marcus, stay here and make sure they get an apology ready.”

The door slammed shut. The sudden slam startled the unicorn and he ripped the paper in half. He eyed the mice looking at him before putting the two pieces together and pretending nothing had happened.

Now’s my chance!

Marcus turned back to face Hauteclaire and Porthos. He crossed his arms and didn’t say a thing. Even from underneath the oversized hat, Hauteclaire could feel Marcus’ eyes bore into him. The silence made the sting worse.

The unicorn across the hall sobbed, and Porthos let out a sigh.

With a tug of his ear, Hauteclaire spoke in a tongue foreign to ponies. “Brother! I must speak to you of something of the utmost importance! The King--”

“Hey!” shouted the jailer. “None of that fancy-speak business. Speak Equestrian or get out.”

Hauteclaire huffed and tugged on his ear once more. Before he could speak, Marcus answered, “No. Unless you’re going to tell me what happened between you and Porthos, I won’t hear it.” Marcus’ tic was gone, just like the last time he was angry.

But angry or not, this was something of which he should be aware! “This is more important than a silly apology! You don’t understand, I have reason to believe--”

“It is you who don’t understand, brother,” said Marcus. “Do you know what I had to do to arrange this? It took a lot of convincing, and our reputation is ruined because of what you did. We may have to leave, or worse yet, the King might call off the vacation. You don’t want that, and neither do I. I have to go back out there and explain everything to the Princesses, so we are not going to be discussing anything else until I get my answer.”

“But, but--” You fool! Time is running out. We need to do something right now, or all of Equestria is in trouble! Well, if he won’t listen to me until I get this apology over with, best to get it over with and get to what’s important. Here goes nothing. Hauteclaire took a deep breath, glanced up at the roof, and crossed his arms. “Brother, I’m sorry.”

Marcus didn’t move. Porthos lifted his head slightly and peered at Hauteclaire. The guard had his ears perked in their direction and peeked between the two pieces of levitating newspaper. Even the unicorn suppressed his sobs.

Hauteclaire looked at the unicorn staring back at him. Even when concentrating on something else, he could still feel Marcus’ eyes. The eyes that replaced his stomach with boulders.

Like gravity, Hauteclaire accepted that he couldn’t escape the downward pull Marcus had on him. He turned back to Marcus.

“I didn’t want this.”

“What did you want?”

Hauteclaire opened his mouth to speak but said nothing. The answer glued in his throat. How would Marcus react? Marcus cared little about what Porthos, the King, or Godiva thought of him, but his brother was the only mouse Hauteclaire cared about other than himself. His brother had more sway on Hauteclaire than he possibly realized. Or did he?

Hauteclaire never wanted Marcus to know that.

With another deep breath, the answer finally shook loose. “I wanted to get rid of Porthos.”

Marcus flinched a few millimeters, quite a feat to move a mouse as stoic as him. “Explain.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Hauteclaire saw Porthos raise his head even more, his tired eyes clearly visible.

“I thought if I stood up to Porthos, he’d leave me alone.”

Marcus opened his mouth to speak.

“Why would you want me to do that?” Marcus and Hauteclaire turned to Porthos. His head up against the roof of the cell, the giant rat leaned forward and got as close as he could to the two brothers.

Hauteclaire clenched his fists. “What do you mean, ‘Why’? Isn’t it obvious!?”

“Brother, temper,” said Marcus.

Several deep breaths filled Hauteclaire’s chest, and the fire inside dwindled.

“Why do you hate me, Hauteclaire?” Porthos slipped his fat fingers inbetween the bars and pulled himself closer. “Ever since we gained consciousness, you’ve been cold. You avoid me when possible, and when you can’t you bite. Have I ever done anything to wrong you? We’ve been at each other’s throats for so long, I can’t even remember why we started. I thought we could be friends.”

“Friends? Friends? What do you mean ‘friends’?” Hauteclaire stepped to the cage and thrusted his finger at Porthos. “We’re not friends nor will we ever be, Porthos. Or have you forgotten how much you torment me?”

Porthos chewed on his lips. “But, the King, he…”

“THE KING?” spat Hauteclaire as Marcus grabbed him by the shoulders. “He treats me like a filthy mongrel! He sends me on the worst missions. He torments me every chance he gets. He has made my afterlife a living hell! What about the King?”

Porthos flinched back with a loud clunk as his head bounced off the stone roof. The hurt and sorrow in his eyes grew as Hauteclaire stared him down. “Well, I thought the King was just messing around with you. You bit as hard as he did. I thought that--”

“What!? That I enjoyed being harassed? Is that it?”

Marcus pulled Hauteclaire away from the bars. “Hauteclaire, settle down.”

His chest heaved as Hauteclaire’s breathing quickened. He turned around and slapped his brother’s hands away. “Settle down? He’s been tormenting me for years and he had the nerve to ask me ‘Why do you hate me’! He is a fool!”

The unicorn guard put down his newspaper, levitated a spear from underneath his desk and edged towards the door; meanwhile, the prisoner pushed himself into the farthest corner away from the commotion.

“Brother, don’t make me do something I’ll regret. Settle down. Now.”

Hauteclaire’s fists trembled at his sides. His breathing slowed as he focused on his shoes. With a long breath, he closed his eyes.

“Hauteclaire, lad, I don’t get it,” said Porthos.

Without opening his eyes, Hauteclaire answered slowly, “What don’t you get, Porthos?”

“Why you think the King torments you. I thought you two were codding around. Poking each other for kicks, as it were. You gave as well as you took.”

“And why would you think that?”

Porthos sighed. “Because you were his favorite.”

Hauteclaire’s eyes snapped open. As his mind raced, he forgot to breathe. Favorite? Me? That’s a joke! How dare he… why would he say such a thing? “You’re lying.”

“Why would I fib now? He always admired you for your determination. You knew well what you wanted and worked yourself like a dog to get it. You wanted class, so you took care of your image. You wanted to entertain, so you wrote and acted. Even when everyone else thought you rather queer, that didn’t bog you down. The King even gave you the nicest chamber in the whole castle.”

As he turned to face Porthos, Hauteclaire fought to look him in the eye. In his turmoil, he saw that both unicorns in the room had eased themselves ever so slightly. The prisoner was no longer hiding his face, and the jailer had put down his spear. Both of them still didn’t take their eyes off of them.

The small jail cell made it difficult for Porthos to bend down to meet Hauteclaire at eye level. “He saw a lot of himself in you, Hauteclaire.”

For once, Hauteclaire incredibly bad for Porthos. ‘Why do you hate me?’ he had asked. Instead of answering the lunkhead, he had thrashed out at him because he had seen a chance for revenge. How petty. If the King before the exile had witnessed Hauteclaire at that moment, what would he have said? What would he have thought of Hauteclaire?

Could it be that Hauteclaire was wrong? The King had once before had a chance to kill… a chance for revenge. He would have been justified. But he didn’t take it. He forgave those people that had nearly killed Godiva when they first met. He felt his eyes burn as the shame flooded his mind.

He was glad he couldn’t cry.

“Hauteclaire.”

He looked up at Porthos.

“Why do you hate me, Hauteclaire?”

What would the King before the exile have done? He took a big breath and looked Porthos in the eye.

“Porthos, you represent everything I hate. You’re carefree, loud, unreserved. You don’t care what others think of you. You drink, holler, laugh. You get along with everyone and don’t care about social class. You are the antithesis to all I want to be, and yet you have everything I wish I had. Your charisma, charm, affableness. You get along with everyone with no effort at all. Everyone loved you back at home while I was the outcast. At times, I feel like this is karma punishing me.”

Silence. The confession leached all of the will from Hauteclaire. He had never felt so empty, so vulnerable.

So free. Free of a weight that was crushing him for ages.

“Hauteclaire, lad. What do you mean ‘karma is punishing me’?”

The ground looked inviting again. Was he capable of telling Porthos that he had almost robbed him of his life? He clenched his jaw as he worked up the courage to tell Porthos the answer. A pat on his shoulder relaxed his muscles. His brother had his back. There was no reason not to answer.

“Because--” Hauteclaire looked up from the ground “--I robbed you of what you could have been. And even then you turned out so much better than I did.

“Back on the Isle, it was several days after we found Godiva…”

The door to the tavern opened and got stuck halfway on its wooden hinges. Through the opening slipped in the Mouse King. No longer skin and bones, he had gained enough weight to hide his ribs. Considering how he now had the power to flash-fry critters at will, his daily consumption had increased tremendously. He had a huge smile on his face as he turned around and watched his fellow mice come in. One by one, Hauteclaire and Marcus walked in through the door. Halfway through, Marcus turned around and motioned for another to come in. It took a few moments before a fourth, blue-grey mouse followed.

She was hunched over, and large scars covered her torso, leaving patches of visible skin where fur should have been. Every second or so, she would dart her eyes off into a different direction and tighten the grip on her tail.

Taking his eyes off the doe, Hauteclaire turned around and took in his surroundings. Sparse windows covered with cloth let in the faintest of light, barely illuminating the wooden house. A fire pit in the center of the room cast large, looming shadows on all four walls. The red glow of the flames created a warm, comfy atmosphere. The single, rectangular room was large enough to hold about twenty people, but there only seemed to be half as many present. Dressed in rags, the peasants, mostly farmers and shepherds, all stared at the new guests. A few even held tightly wooden crosses that hung from their necks.

Tables of various sizes were strewn about. Some required people to sit on the floor, while others were tall enough for people to stand next to; all of them had a leg or two that was too short or too long. Behind the largest and sturdiest table was a pile of barrels holding all types of vegetables and food. Several of them were laid on their sides and piled on top of each other. Spigots stuck out of their lids. Alcohol, no doubt.

In the farthest corners sat wooden frames covered with a layer of hay and sheepskin blankets. Beds. They were unoccupied.

On the fire pit was a black iron cauldron. From inside came the gurgling of simmering water. The smell of boiled carrots, beets, and meat filled the room and overpowered the smell of fear. Almost.

“Marcus,” said the King, “remind me when I become King to fix that door. My subjects should not have to deal with jammed doors.”

“Will do, my king.”

A woman screamed. Then a man. Then everyone else did before they dove out of the windows. Two men ran to a far corner and grabbed pitchforks before turning back to the King and friends.

The King greeted his subjects-to-be with a smile and stuck out his hand in welcome. “Hello there! I’m the Mouse King. What can I do for you?”

“Leave this place, vile demon!” spat one man.

“You bring a pox upon us. Return to the depths from which you came!” said the second.

The King pulled his hand back and put his hands at his waist but retained his smile. “Well, that’s not a way to treat your soon-to-be King!”

Whether it was confusion caused by the King’s statement, his upbeat attitude in the face of danger, or the fact that a band of walking, talking mice had showed up out of nowhere, the men stared at the King slack-jawed. Their perplexion delayed them only for a moment before one jabbed his pitchfork at the King. The King threw up his hand, and the wooden pitchfork flew out of the peasant’s hands with enough force to knock him back and splinter against the wall.

The King looked at his hand. “Dang. Sorry about that, still learning how to control that.”

“Spirits!” cried the second man. “Demons! Monsters are upon us. A pox. A pox, I say!”

The King huffed. “Monsters!? No, I came to help.”

The second man dropped his pitchfork on the floor with a clatter, ranted some more, and jumped through the nearest window. The first person did the same. The King turned around to Marcus. “See? The door is so bad that they resort to using windows! Terrible. My kingdom won’t have such horrible conditions.”

Doors with faulty hinges shouldn’t be your top priority.

With the tavern-slash-shack-slash-hotel empty, the King saw fit to run up to a table and grab a few bowls. “Sit! Sit! There looks to be plenty for everyone.”

Not ones to turn down a free hot meal, Marcus and Hauteclaire sat down at the small table closest to the fire pit. It took some convincing, but Marcus was able to get the blue-grey mouse to sit down with them, although she kept to herself at the farthest corner.

The King didn’t notice as he grabbed the ladle sitting in the cauldron; just as soon as he picked it up, he dropped it back in. He placed the bowls at the end of the table and pointed at one. The bowl lifted up into the air and floated next to the cauldron. With his second hand pointed at the ladle, it too rose slowly into the air, but the bowl began to wobble and lose altitude. He had to switch his concentration from one floating object to the next while he tilted the ladle and poured the stew into the bowl. Most of it splatted on the floor.

Hauteclaire groaned. “Hey, if you’re going to do that, then do it over the cauldron.”

The first bowl clunked down in front of Hauteclaire. More stew splashed on him than remained in the bowl. Three times more the King filled a bowl and put it on the table. Those times over the cauldron and with a lot less splatter. With his work done, he sat down at the table and inhaled his stew.

Marcus and Hauteclaire ate as well, but with a lot more restraint. They actually tasted what they put in their mouths. The fourth mouse took her bowl and turned her back to the others.

“Rude,” muttered Hauteclaire between bites.

The King gagged on a chunk of beet. He pounded on his chest until the lodged semi-chewed chunk flew out of his mouth and into Hauteclaire’s eye. “Hauteclaire! Shame on you. Let her do things at her own pace. Can you even imagine the trauma she’s been through?”

“You’re right.” Hauteclaire flicked the offending chunk off his face. “If the first thing I saw when I gained an intelligent conscious was your mug proposing me to be your queen, I’d think the world was a cruel place, too.”

The King finished slurping up the stew left in his bowl and slammed it down on the table. “Hey! That wasn’t the first thing I did. It was probably the fifth.”

After wiping his mouth off on his sleeve, Marcus handed his empty bowl to the King, who gladly refilled it using magic. “Well, we know how she felt about that proposition, we know.”

The King lifted an eyebrow. “What, we do?”

Hauteclaire rolled his eyes. “She bit you. It’s obvious she doesn’t want to be with you.”

“Hey, it was a love bite.”

“Love bites usually don’t draw blood, they don’t.”

The King levitated the bowl with a smooth sway of his hand over Hauteclaire and didn’t spill a drop before landing gently in front of Marcus. “Well, we haven’t heard a definite yes or no from Jane Doe. Once she tells us how she feels, we’ll know for sure. Right, Jane Doe?”

‘Jane Doe’ shifted slightly away from the King. Marcus leaned to the side, peeked over her shoulder, and saw that the bowl was empty. He coaxed it away from her and gave it to the King to refill. “I don’t think she likes to be called ‘Jane Doe’ either, I don’t think.”

“Oh, come on! What’s wrong with ‘Jane Doe’?” said the King. He threw his arms up over his head. The bowl full of stew jerked in mid-air and spilled all of its hot contents on Hauteclaire.

“It’s a stupid name.” Hauteclaire wiped his face on a nearby rag. “It’s a name based on a pun. Names are important. Why would you want a joke for a name?”

Marcus took another slurp from his bowl. “I think she should be able to choose her own name, I think.”

“Hey! I named you ‘Marcus.’ I did so because I really nailed that owl that almost took you away. I hit the mark, so that’s why I named you ‘Marcus’.”

The bowl passed over the table and landed by Jane; she kept as much of her back to the table as she reached around and took it.

“Yes, I know that, I know. I like the name you gave me. It is a great name, it is. But ‘Marcus’ is a very acceptable name and not an obvious pun, it is. That’s the problem, that is.”

“It would have been an altogether different matter if you named him ‘Bull’s Eye’,” muttered Hauteclaire as he wiped the last of the stew from inside of his ears.

The King dropped his bowl, which landed on the table with a clonk. Nothing splattered on the table because it was empty. For the sixth time. “Fine, we’ll wait for her to name herself.”

Glad that the King had finally listened to his better half, Hauteclaire brought his bowl up to finish the last of his soup. He shrieked. Something had pinched him on the bottom of his nose and wouldn’t let go. In shock, he pushed away from the table, fell backwards, and hit his head on another table. The stinging didn’t go away. In the very edge of his vision, Hauteclaire saw a grey lump had attached itself to his face, under his nose. He grabbed it and pulled. Whatever it was had latched on tight. He squeezed the furry lump as hard as he could; in return, the lump clawed at his hands and bit harder. With another tug, Hauteclaire was able to tear the lump from his nose, as well as a chunk of skin, and threw it against the nearest wall. It hit with a loud thud and a squeak.

The King roared with laughter while Marcus went up to see what it was. “Oh, oh, oh! I-- Oh man, that was priceless!”

Blood flowed from the underside of Hauteclaire’s nose and over his lips. With one hand, he held a rag up to the wound, with the other he rubbed the back of his head. “What the hell!? Why are you laughing?”

Marcus turned around and lifted up the grey lump. It grew and shrank repeatedly in his hand. A long, fat tail hung from one side and twitched with every other movement. “It’s a rat, it is,” announced Marcus.

“A rat!?” Hauteclaire turned and jabbed a finger at the King. “You knew there was a rat in my bowl and didn’t tell me!?” He quickly returned the hand back to under his nose as he spat out some blood.

“Oh, come on, Hauteclaire. How was I supposed to know he was a biter? I thought you’d notice him and scream like a girl. Well, you did scream like a girl, but I didn’t think you’d be bitten.”

Marcus walked up to the table and sat the rat down in front of the King. The rat laid limp as it struggled with each breath. “My King, can you heal it, can you?”

Hauteclaire slammed on the table. The bowls rattled, and Jane retreated to a corner. “Heal it!? Did you see what that thing did to me?”

The King wasn’t listening. He was too busy inspecting the rat. “Oooh. He’s a big one! At least a foot long, and that’s not including the tail. How big were you guys? Only three inches? Two? He’d make a huge member of my court. Good bodyguard, perhaps.”

Hauteclaire huffed, which he instantly regretted as blood blew down on his clothes. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I am! I read somewhere in the Brain that kings and other important people have bodyguards.”

“No!” Hauteclaire leaned forward. “We can’t have a rat. No. We didn’t save any rats before back when we picked up Ja-- her! Why the sudden interest in rats now? Don’t you know what rats do to mice?”

Even when the King shook his head, he still kept that dopey smile on.

“Pull out your Brain. It’ll tell you.”

The King turned to Marcus. “What’s he on about?”

“My King, he does have a point, he does. You never lived in the wild, so you probably don’t know the dangers a rat can pose, you don’t.”

While humming in thought, the King pulled off his wooden crown and held it over the table. With a couple of shakes, an orb almost as big as his head fell out of the crown that barely covered it. He pulled up the Brain close to his face and began to poke it several times, then spoke to it. “Mouse and rat relations.”

“SEARCHING,” the Brain replied in a feminine voice. “HERE ARE THE RESULTS.”

The King poked the Brain several more times and began to read out loud.

“Mice and rats, while closely related on an evolutionary level, do not get along. Both wild and domestic rats have been known to kill and eat mice, most often by tearing open the neck. In 98% of cases, rats will chew through the back of the neck and… eat the mouse’s brain before eating the rest. This act of rats killing mice is called ‘muricide.’

“In an experiment, mice were exposed to rat urine. All subjects showed increased amounts of stress hormones. Yada-yada-yada.

“It is possible for this behavior to be avoided if a rat is socialized with mice from birth.”

The King smiled. “Well, you learn something new everyday.”

If only Hauteclaire could facepalm. “Did you forget what you just read? Rats. Kill. Mice! It’s so common it even has a word for it.”

“Ah! But that can be unlearned!” said the King.

Marcus leaned in closer. “Yes, but it stated ‘socialized from birth,’ it stated. This is a full grown rat we’re dealing with, this is.”

The King tapped a finger on his Brain. “That is an animalistic behavior! With a boost of intellect, he’ll be just like us and not want to eat our brains.”

“No!” Hauteclaire lifted the bowl up with the hand that wasn’t holding a cloth to his nose. “I say we kill it! We’re not risking our lives just because you want to have a big bodyguard. A bodyguard who kills who he is supposed to protect is no good.”

Swiftly, the King raised a hand at Hauteclaire. A force pulled the bowl back, taking Hauteclaire with it. He fell backwards and hit his head again. “OW! Damn it!”

“We’re not going to hurt him! It isn’t right. He’s small (well, relatively speaking) and defenseless, just like you were. I won’t hurt anyone who is vulnerable. A great king never takes advantage of those who are weak or exposed. What say you, Marcus?”

Marcus looked at the rat hanging on to its life. With each breath, a little squeak whistled out of the rat’s mouth. Blood trickled from one side of its head. “It goes against every instinct I have, it does, but I don’t like to see it suffer, I don’t.” He looked back up at the King. “If you were to make this rat your bodyguard, if you were, what precautions would you take that it wouldn’t try to kill you, what precautions?”

The King leaned over the rat, rubbing his temples with both hands. “Well, I’ve been getting the hang of the Brain, and tweaking with the settings. Maybe I could make him a super-rational being, but messing a lot with the living brain can be really tricky. The manual clearly states that adding information is not a big problem, messing with what’s already inside the head has risks. Short-term memory can be tampered with, kind of, but anything deeper than that--”

The hay on the ground was becoming much more comfortable for Hauteclaire. He didn’t bother getting up. “What manual?”

He heard a tap-tap-tap as the King tapped on his Brain. “It’s programmed in here, Haut. I’ve been studying it constantly since I found it.”

Marcus scratched his chin. “Okay, if you don’t think you can change the behavior, what do you think you can do, can you?”

Resting his face in both hands, the King peeked through his fingers at the rat before him. He couldn’t change anything, only add more. What could he do? He peered to the side at the fire pit. Jane had plunged her head in the cauldron and was slurping up the stew. When she noticed she had been spotted, she took off behind a barrel, knocking over the cauldron and spilling the remaining stew in the process. The King chuckled.

Then he stopped, jerking his head up and grinning like a mad king. “That’s it!” he cried.

With a grunt, Hauteclaire pushed himself off the ground and saw the King’s eyes shine like torches. “What? You’re going to make it into a stew?”

The King jumped up. “No! I’ll fill his head with lots and lots of positive things! He’ll be such a happy and naive fellow that he wouldn’t hurt a fly, let alone a mouse! He won’t know a thing about the bad things in life: taxes, starvation, or even brussel sprouts!”

Marcus nodded. “That might work, that might. Okay, I think we should give it a shot, I think.”

“Not you too, brother!” Hauteclaire pointed at the rat. “There is no way I’m letting a rat into our ranks!”

The King puffed out his chest, pointed the Brain at the rat and gave it a few taps. A light blue glow enveloped the rat, and its breathing slowed. Now asleep, the rat slowly healed under the Brain’s healing function. “Well, too bad, Haut. I’m the King, and what I say goes.”

“A great king listens to his subjects, he does,” said Marcus.

The King’s turned to Marcus, his mouth agape and brow furrowed. “Why, you little… you’re good at this advising stuff, aren’t you?”

Marcus just smiled.

The King turned back to Hauteclaire. “Fine. I only healed him for now, but I’m set on making him my bodyguard. What can I do to make this more agreeable with you?”

If Hauteclaire could have ground his teeth together any harder, he would have had a mouth full of calcium dust. How could Hauteclaire prevent this rat from becoming a nuisance? It was too late to kill it. Smush it under a bowl. Stomp on it. Throw it in the fire. He had almost been killed by a predator once, and he wasn’t keen on risking it again. But what was he going to do? The King made up his mind, and in the week he’d been with the King, he learned that once the King made up his mind, there was no way to talk him out of it.

Stubborn as an ass (and smelled like one, too).

Hauteclaire let out a sigh. “Fine. You can fill his head with all the flowers you want. Just don’t make him smart.”

“So, a basic education, then? What are we talking about?” The King poked his Brain a few times. “High school or college?”

“Can it be lower?”

“No.”

“High school.”

The King poked the brain again. “Alright, and so, skills. Let’s see…”

Hauteclaire crossed his arms. “No. No skills.”

“Oh, come on, he needs to know how to do something!” The King went through a list and read them out loud. “Cooking?”

“No, he’d cook us.”

“Hunting?”

“He’d hunt us.”

“Martial arts?”

“He’d beat us up, then eat us.”

“Brain surgery?”

“No. Nothing brain-related.”

“Rocket scientist?”

“He’ll blow us up with missiles and feast on the remains.”

The King pulled on his ears. “Alright! How about juggling? You have a problem with juggling!?”

Hauteclaire thought for a second. “Fine. That’ll do.”

“Well, okay then, I’ll make him the world’s best juggler,” mumbled the King under his breath. He poked the Brain and moved onto the next section. “Okay, he’s going to know… twelve languages.”

Hauteclaire shook his head. “No.”

Without moving his head, the King looked up from under his brow at Hauteclaire. “You got a problem with him speaking the same languages as us?”

“In fact, I do. If the rat were to turn against us, how could we let each other know that it is feral without tipping it off? The less languages, the better.”

“Marcus, what do you think?” said the King.

Marcus nodded. “An ounce of prevention.”

The King rolled his eyes. “Fine, ten.”

“Three,” said Hauteclaire.

The table wobbled under the King’s hands as he slammed it. Jane jumped out from whatever barrel she was hiding in and hid behind another.

“No, he needs to know at least six. There’s English, French, German, Irish, Norse, and the local language - Manx.”

“Fine. Then six!”

“Eight!”

“Fine! Just do it.”

The King grumbled and poked the Brain some more. “Remind me later Marcus once I’ve become King to fix these wobbly tables.”

This continued for some time until all of the settings were adjusted. With a final push of a button, a bright white flash filled the room. When Hauteclaire could see again, the rat was glowing white, but then the light faded, and the rat was the same as before. The changes that would transform this small rat into a hulking behemoth would happen over the next few days.

Marcus scratched his chin. “I’ve been thinking, I have. If you can teach us skills, if you can, is there a limit? Can’t you just teach yourself everything you need to know, can’t you? Your Brain seems to have limitless possibilities, it does.”

The King shook his head. “Nope, I looked it up. The manual clearly states that skills and information can only be ‘downloaded’ once every six months or so. Downloading taxes the living brain too much, and downloading more than one at a time can mess with your brain. Screw you up real bad. The changes the living brain undergoes need to settle before more can be added. That’s not even counting the changes the body goes through and the massive education crammed into your skull the first time. It took a long time for that stupid ‘wizard’ to perfect the - hey - do you smell something burning?”

Hauteclaire took a whiff. Indeed something was burning, but none of the spilled stew landed in the fire. Up on the ceiling was a growing cloud of black smoke. He jumped out of his chair and peeked out of the closest window. There was a crowd of peasants with torches and pitchforks. One peasant locked eyes with Hauteclaire before hurling his torch through the curtain and onto a patch of hay; its flames spread quickly, engulfing everything near it.

“Crap! They’re burning this place down!”

In an instant, Marcus scooped up the rat and ran to the back window. “I don’t see any on this side, I don’t. We have to go now, we have to, before they spot us!” He turned to the barrels where Jane was last seen. He called and called, but Jane didn’t come out of her hiding spot. “Where is she? We can’t leave her behind, we can’t!”

The King stood up and lifted the Brain above his head. “I’m on it! No mouse left behind!” He poked the Brain, and it beeped as he ran it over each barrel. The beeping grew faster and faster as he moved over more barrels.

“Hurry up!” shouted Marcus. A quarter of the floor had been swallowed by flames as more torches sailed in from more windows. The fire spread up the walls, engulfed the tables, and razed the beds. The black smoke choked Hauteclaire as he made his way over to the window. The smell of burning wool and wood filled the air.

The Brain beeped wildly and glowed green as the King held it above a barrel. “Got her!” he exclaimed as he lifted the barrel with his magic. As soon as the King announced he had found her, Marcus jumped through the window, and Hauteclaire climbed through after him.

“Look out!” shouted the King and a barrel soared out of the window, Hauteclaire ducked just in time to avoid more head trauma. The barrel whizzed between his ears, landed with a crash and exposed the mouse within it. Her eyes wide with terror, her mouth filled with carrots.

Marcus pointed at the woods a short distance from town. “This way!” Jane needed no more convincing to take off with him. The King climbed out of the window, toppled over the window sill, and landed in the dirt with a thud. He got up, dusted himself off, and ran.

“Man, Haut. This has been an exciting day, don’t you think?”

Hauteclaire rolled his eyes and turned to catch up with his brother. The King was right on his tail. “You really need to lighten up, Haut! Look on the bright side.”

“And what would that be?”

“I don’t have to fix that door or those tables any more!”

“...A few days passed, and you know the rest.” Hauteclaire slumped. Confessing what he had done took more out of him than he thought possible. His face and ears burned.

The unicorn in the cell behind him sobbed, but it wasn’t the same as before. It was calmer, as if he was crying for someone else. The guard at his table no longer hid himself behind the torn newspaper. Whether he had forgotten to hold it up or not, his wide-eyed, open mouth stare was clearly visible.

“Oh.” Porthos let his hands slip from between the bars and fall to the floor. “That explains so much.”

Marcus stepped up to the bars. “Everything he said was true, it was. We didn’t know about what to think about having a rat among us, we didn’t.”

Hauteclaire looked up at Porthos and into his eyes. His face twisted and churned as if worms burrowed under his skin. His eyebrows wiggled around as he contorted his face to match the turbulent storm of emotions in his head. He returned a look at Hauteclaire, and Hauteclaire dodged the sharp stare and looked over to the guard. The guard gawked at Hauteclaire for a moment before realizing he was being looked at. He pulled up the newspaper halves and hid his face.

“When I was assigned to be the King’s tax collector,” said Porthos, giving himself time to think between sentences as he looked at Hauteclaire’s feet. “...I thought I was doing a good job. I smiled, the people smiled. I… I thought I was doing well. When I, a bloody massive rat came knocking on their doors asking for taxes, they gave and gave until I, the monster, left. They didn’t like it when I showed off my strength. Lifting cattle, juggling sheep, throwing rocks all the way up the hill and hitting the church bell inside the castle walls. I thought I was entertaining them. They were more concerned about pleasing the beast and living another day than keeping their families fed.” Porthos hid his face in his hands. “And… It makes sense. When the Shield Bearer came and knocked me on my arse in front of the townsfolk, they revolted. They saw I wasn’t the invincible monster they thought I was and turned on me.

“I didn’t notice because I was brought into this world with an unrealistically positive view.” Prothos pulled at the fur on his face. “Naive.” He sobbed. “My perspective of the world, torn to shreds in an instant, and that’s when I began drinking to forget.”

With his hands down, he had a clear view of the one who had caused him his pain. “You slimeball,” muttered Porthos. “You underhanded, self-entitled, conceited coward. A worm, a maggot feeding off the greatness of others, riding on the coattails of those who worked hard to reap their rewards. Walled up in your little world, you don’t give a damn who you step on as long as you get the things you believe you deserve. Once someone has served their purpose, you forget them. Throw them out of your life. Did you ever once wonder why you were the ostracized mouse that no one understood?”

Hauteclaire held his breath.

“We didn’t ostracize you. You didn’t let anyone else get involved. You pushed everyone away because you didn’t see how associating with them would help you. You see friendship as a means to an end - That’s why nobody liked you.”

Enough, how dare he lecture me! “No, that’s not true!”

Porthos crossed his arms. “Oh, really? I happen to know you became friends with a pony named Lyra Heartstrings. Pinkie Pie introduced her to me because she wanted to meet and learn from us. So, tell me something about Lyra.”

Hauteclaire furrowed his brow. “What are you getting at?”

“Just answer my question, you git.”

Hauteclaire sighed. “Fine… let’s see. Her father is a conductor and performs for Celestia.”

Despite the low roof, Porthos leaned back until his head touched it and pointed both open palms towards Hauteclaire, like as if he was showing something.

“What!?”

“Don’t you see, lad? What did you just say?”

Hauteclaire threw out his hands. “I said her father plays for Celestia! For royal...ty…”

As though he was dunked in water, the burning fire to argue died, and instead was replaced with a sinking feeling in his gut. He felt weighed down, as if tied to stones. “Oh…”

Porthos leaned forward. “Hauteclaire, we didn’t hate you. You just kept pushing yourself away and only worked with us when you had to.” Porthos dropped his hands to his lap. “If you think you’re too good for others, then others will think you’re not good enough for them.”

Was it all true? Just as he had said earlier, ‘Why would I fib now?’ His relationship with Spike, was that only because he cared about his closeness with a princess who was close to the princess he wanted to meet? Lyra also had connections. What about Pinkie Pie? He never did speak to her after thanking her for the sweets. She did so much more than just that--the welcome party, introducing him to Lyra, and probably more for him that he wasn’t aware of.

Minutes seemed to pass as Hauteclaire thought it over. Then he remembered the trying matter at hand. He’d deal with this emotional crap later. If Porthos or Marcus wanted to lecture him more, then they could do it later. Hauteclaire had wasted enough time for this. He only had minutes left. He had to act now. He turned to Marcus. “There, we talked it out. Happy?”

Marcus nodded. “You’ve found the root of your problems, you have. Now think of a way to explain that to the princesses on the way to the throne room, now think.” With that said, he turned to leave. Crinkling paper broke the silence when the guard hid himself again.

“Wait, brother!” Hauteclaire grabbed Marcus by the shoulder. “I have something urgent I must talk to you about!”

“Oh yes, you did, didn’t you? Well, what is so urgent, what is?”

Hauteclaire opened his mouth to speak, but before he spit out the first word, he saw that he was being watched by the guard and the prisoner. Everything he was about to say would be heard by outsiders. A more private location could be found, but what about Porthos? If what Hauteclaire suspected was true, he should know about it as well.

What could he do? He had to tell him about the game and his files being viewed, to get Marcus and Porthos to sign into the Brain and look at their files... That’s it! Ponies didn’t have computers, and the mice called the game ‘the game.’ Even if they spoke openly, the ponies would have no idea what they were talking about.

“Brother. I signed into the Brain when Porthos beat me. It must be close, because it was only minutes after the statue fell on me. My memory files have been accessed by user E a few hours ago.”

Porthos and Marcus flinched.

Marcus shook his head while scratching under his hat. Prothos gripped the bars of his cell. “User E? The King? But he respects our privacy! The lad would never do such a thing.”

“You two sign in and check for yourselves. Check who last looked your memories from the past week,” said Hauteclaire.

Silence overtook the jail as Marcus and Porthos looked back at each other. They nodded, closed their eyes, and drooped their heads. With both of their lights out, their bodies swayed back and forth, as if they were sleep-standing. Hauteclaire looked over at the guard and saw just what he had predicted--the guard was eyeing them with his head at an angle and scratching his head with a hoof.

Moments passed. The minutes seem to drag on. Every second, every sway the two made only made Hauteclaire more anxious. If it was really true that the King had been spying on all of them, then it was more than likely that he had already found a reason to put an end to the vacation.

But had Hauteclaire done something to cause this? Was it the fight in Canterlot? No, the King had looked at his memories before that happened. Had he missed a day of practice? Not that he could think of.

A grunt tore Hauteclaire from his thoughts. Porthos lifted his head and opened his eyes. His pupils were like pinpricks, and his breathing quickened. “Lads, he looked at my memories.”

Marcus jerked awake. “Hauteclaire, he has dug around in my memories, he has.”

Hauteclaire pulled at the hair on top of his head. “Brother, Porthos, I have reason to believe the King has decided to play the game.”

“No,” whimpered Porthos. “No. No, no, no! I like it here. Doesn’t he as well?”

Marcus ran his hand down his face and pulled at his chin. “Brother, this is a huge accusation you are making, this is.”

“I know! But when has the King ever looked at our files before? All he’s ever done was grant permission to new coding for abilities. The folder labeled ‘magic.’ He never touched our personal files. He must already have a reason to be suspicious of us.”

Porthos leaned to the side against the wall. “But why? What would he have done for him to do something like this?”

Marcus raised his gaze from the floor. “The promise.”

“Yes! The promise,” said Porthos. “Umm… Don’t get soft, and… uh…”

“Practice everyday,” finished Hauteclaire. “Porthos, Marcus, did you practice everyday?”

Marcus rubbed his neck. “I… have not, I haven’t. I have been too busy working on our relations, I have. Wouldn’t practicing politics count as practicing, wouldn’t it?”

Oh no. Hauteclaire turned to Porthos. “Porthos, you went missing for three days. What did you do during that time?”

He hesitated, chewing on his lip for a second before answering. “I… uh… bought a bunch of toys and went to Manehatten to donate them to an orphanage. When it was too late, I realized I couldn’t whistle for Godiva, so I walked back to Ponyville.”

Hauteclaire and Marcus were speechless. The pause was too much for Porthos. “And… I, uh, beat up a dragon on the way back.”

“What?”

Porthos reached under his tabard and pulled out a large white tooth attached to a string around his neck. “Bloody huge thing, he was. Tried to eat me and another pony, so I beat the tar out of it.”

The jail became so silent, Hauteclaire could hear the jailer drop a pen, which he did when he saw the dragon’s tooth.

“Porthos, how big was the dragon, how big?” asked Marcus.

“Bigger than Applejack’s barn. That should count as training, right?”

Hauteclaire grabbed at the hairs on his chin. “What about Godiva? Did she keep her promise?”

Marcus shook his head. “Without her here, we can’t get an answer from her, we can’t.”

“What are going to do?” asked Porthos.

Hauteclaire turned to Marcus. “Marcus, we don’t have much time. Go ask the guard what time it is.”

As Marcus stared at Hauteclaire, his covered eyes read Hauteclaire’s face. He nodded, then walked towards the guard and started talking. Hauteclaire reached up and pulled out one of his eyes.

“Porthos,” he whispered. “Is there a window behind you?”

Porthos nodded.

Without a word, he dropped his eyeball, which silently rolled into the cell between the bars. Gingerly, Porthos picked it up with his large fingers like a grape and looked back at Hauteclaire. He nodded and threw the eye over his shoulder and out the window.

Outside, the eye fell and bounced on a cobblestone street lined with bushes. The eye rolled under the closest bush, where there was plenty of dirt. The eye focused on the dirt under the bush and a large lump rose out of the ground, slowly took shape, and walked out from under the bush as a fully formed pony with white fur, a curly purple mane, and three diamonds for a cutie mark. The faux pony trotted around to the entrance of the jail.

A nudge on his shoulder brought Hauteclaire’s focus back into the jail.

“Brother, we only have about seven minutes left, we have,” said Marcus.

Porthos pulled on the fur on his head. “That’s not enough time! What are we going to do,” he said under his breath.

“Hold on! I’m thinking.”

“Oh, guard. Could you help me?” A voice rang out, and Marcus, Porthos, and the jailer turned to the door. Hauteclaire didn’t look to keep his eyeless socket hidden.

Porthos let go of his ears. “Is that…?”

“Rarity?”

The jailer walked up to Rarity, his stoic expression returned and he puffed up his chest. “Yes, miss, how may I be of service?”

“Why yes, I heard that a friend of a brother of a roommate of a cousin of a friend of mine has been recently incarcerated because of a misunderstanding. All of his friends are currently tied up, so I came to help him. Do you think you could help me?” Rarity batted her lashes and gave the best doe-eyed expression she could muster. “Please, for me?”

A visible shiver went down the jailer’s spine, and his fur stood on end. “Uh… sure. Do you know what his name is?”

Rarity threw her hoof over her forehead. “Alas, my friend was in such dismay and in a hurry that she forgot to tell me his name. All I know is that he is a purple unicorn with a white mane.”

The unicorn in the cell opposite of Porthos’ perked his ears and jumped up off the floor. “Hey! That’s me!” he shouted.

“Oh, goodness me!” Rarity rushed by the jailer, letting her tail brush up against his snoot. He shivered again and opened his mouth. His tongue lolled to one side.

Rarity put her front hooves on the bars of the unicorn’s cell. “Darling! My friend told me something dreadful had happened to you. I’m here to help you!”

“Oh! Thank you! I’m so happy, it was all just a big misunderstanding. I tried to tell them that, but…”

Rarity slid a hoof through the bars and covered his mouth. “Sssshhh. It’s okay. Now that I’m here, we’ll explain everything and get you out of here as soon as we can.” She turned to the jailer, who was still gaping at her. “Isn’t that right, sir?”

The guard rolled up his tongue and wiped away the drool. “Uh.. Yeah--Yes, miss!” The keys rattled and clanked in his magical grasp as he trotted over to the cell while closing the distance between him and the white mare. He stood on the ends of his hooves and puffed out his chest to look bigger while maintaining a very serious face. All that preening held when Rarity playfully swished her tail against his leg, if only by a thread.

After opening the cell to let the out its occupant, the guard instructed Rarity and the prisoner to follow him, although on the way he did his best to walk beside Rarity.

Once the three were out and around the corner, Hauteclaire reached into his chest and pulled out his shard. He leaned over to Marcus. “Watch the door. Anyone comes, slap the floor with your tail,” he whispered. Marcus nodded and walked over to the door. Hauteclaire turned back to the cell. “Porthos, take this. Change yourself into something small enough to slip through the bars,” he whispered as he handed his shard to Porthos. Porthos took it, concentrated, and changed into a little filly with egg-white fur and a curly purple mane before squeezing out of his cell.

“Now, change into a guard pony.”

Porthos, as a cute little filly, tilted his head with the shard in his mouth. He did what he was told and turned into a unicorn guard, armor and all.

As soon as Porthos’ body finished changing, Hauteclaire swiped the shard from his lips and looked at the window. A trail of dirt crawled in through the window like a bunch of ants. The dirt ants clumped together and took the form of Porthos.

Hauteclaire thrusted his hand at Porthos. “Give me your shard!”

“Huh?”

“Just do it!”

Porthos put a hoof over one nostril and blew. His shard shot out of his nose and into Hauteclaire’s hand. He cringed as he handed the shard over to the Porthos copy. It didn’t seem so happy about receiving it, either.

“Now, go watch the door. Anybody comes, click your hoof twice.”

“Hauteclaire, I forgive you, but I’m still bloody pissed, you conniving bastard.” Porthos saluted and walked over to the door. Marcus turned, and Porthos nodded to him. The two switched places. Already, there was another collection of dirt syphoning in through the barred window and collecting into a single mass. Hauteclaire grabbed a handful of dirt and shoved it in his eye socket, replacing his missing eye. The dirt morphed and molded itself into an exact copy of Marcus. “Give me your shard,” the copy said. Marcus reached up under his hat and handed his shard over; the copy stuck the shard up into his hat in turn.

Hauteclaire took Marcus’ hand and shoved his shard into it. “Change into a guard pony.”

Marcus nodded and focused. His body morphed like clay from a skinny mouse into a fully armored unicorn pony, just like Porthos, then he hoofed over the fragment to Hauteclaire. He threw it in his mouth and swallowed.

“Brother, do you know what you are doing, do you?”

“I’m taking precautions, and kind of making it up as I go. Now, guards.” Guard pony Porthos turned around from the door. “Please escort me and my brother to Canterlot Castle. We have an appointment with Princess Celestia.”

Author's Note

In the next chapter, all of this buildup in the past 16 chapters will pay off.

Some of you are really going to hate me for this.:trollestia:

Ch. 17 - Let the Good Heads Roll

Escorted by the two “guards,” Hauteclaire and his faux brother arrived at the front gates of Canterlot Castle, only to find out the King and Godiva were already inside and a guard was waiting for them. Led through the castle’s interior, Hauteclaire couldn’t help but feel awe at the splendor of Celestia’s halls. The stained glass windows sparkled like the aurora borealis and added a sparkling beauty to the surfaces around them. White stone columns reached the heavens and supported the high, domed ceiling that hung in the air like clouds, adding to the celestial feel of a castle fitting for a princess of the sun should have. But he had no time to fawn over being so close to royalty and imagine himself performing in these halls; if things were going to happen as he predicted, Princess Celestia would have bigger problems than missing the performance of a lifetime.

They turned a corner, and there the King stood in front of the door to Celestia’s throne room, arms crossed and tapping his foot. Despite his aggravated appearance, the smile on his face was one like an impatient child the day before Christmas. Godiva was there with him, her eyes wide open as she bounced in place on her toes. Her black and gold dress was cleaned, which was a good thing - she had worn it ever since Rarity had given it to her. Knebryter bobbed at her side, held in place by the golden sash tied tightly around her waist.

Here the guards left them and disappeared around a corner. Hauteclaire and Marcus walked toward the King.

“You’re late,” said the King. “Marcus, I’m surprised at you. You’re never late. Did it really take that long to work out an apology?”

“I’m terribly sorry, my King, I am, but we’re here now, and we have prepared our statements, we have.”

“Good,” said the King. “Now, all we need to do is wait for Celestia to open the door and let us in.”

Marcus walked up to the King and got on the side opposite of Godiva before whispering into his ear. “My King, can I have a moment, can I?”

When the King turned his back, Hauteclaire snuck up to Godiva’s side. “Godiva,” he whispered. “I need to speak with you, now.”

She stopped her bouncing. “No,” she said, turning her head and giving Hauteclaire a stern look.

“I’m serious, this is about the King and Princess Celestia, I--”

“Hauteclaire, I’m not listening to you. You’ve caused trouble for all the ponies, even the princesses! This is even worse than the time the Shield Bearer stole Knebryter from me! If it is soooo important, have Marcus tell it to me.”

“Godiva, damn it, stop being so childish!”

“Childish!?” She shoved Hauteclaire away from her. “I’m not the one who started a fight in Canterlot. Now leave me alone.”

Before he could even try to switch out with his brother, the doors to the throne room glowed and opened. At the far end of a red and golden rug, between two fountains, was the princess of the blue skies, the beauty behind the borealis--Celestia. She sat on a throne made of gold and red silk cushions. To her side was her sister, a deep blue alicorn with the night sky enveloping her, like a halo of speckled brilliance. To the other side were Twilight and her friends--“The Bearers of Harmony,” as he heard them called. Or something like that. Spike was alongside them, and he waved at Hauteclaire.

He was out of time.

Crap. Crap-crap-crap-crap-crap!

Hauteclaire wasn’t a religious mouse, but he prayed. If his suspicions were wrong, the worst he would have to do is go through with the apology and deal with the fact that he had insulted and threatened Celestia’s sister on their first night in Ponyville. He hoped they had forgotten about that.

A guard next to the door said, “Announcing, his majesty from the island of Ellan Lugh, the Mouse King.”

Ever the perfect two-faced diplomat, the King’s anxious toe-tapping ceased, and he swaggered into the throne room. His court followed.

Time stood still as Hauteclaire walked further into the throne room, its majestic qualities snubbed out by the ponies inside of it. On his left and right, rows of Solar Guard stood, their stoic gazes fixed on their every movement. Their muscles were tense, ready to strike at any moment. The Bearers of Harmony were a mixed bunch: Pinkie had a huge smile on her face, while Fluttershy and Rarity smiled modestly, they were those dainty little fronts that covered up their real feelings. Rainbow Dash was tense like the guards, but her eyes didn’t hide her distrust. More so Applejack, whose stare seeped with venom. Twilight was visibly nervous: her breathing was quicker than the others, but she fought to maintain a calm appearance, since her reputation as Princess of Friendship was possibly on the line. If she was truly confident, she probably wouldn’t have had all this security. It was possible that one of the other two princesses had taken precautions since they’d been spying on them. That and the court had been causing trouble since they had arrived.

Celestia herself had a smile in her face that reached her cheeks and emanated a welcoming warmth, like that of a mother. Luna was much more like the guards--stoic with a blank expression.

“Greetings, your Highness.” The Mouse King bowed on one knee. Hauteclaire snapped to attention as those words snapped him back to the present. He bowed with the rest of the court. “It is an honor for you to give me audience.”

Celestia bowed her head in return. “And it is an honor to meet a king such as yourself. I’ve never seen a monarch with such a hands-on approach to leading his subjects. From what I’ve heard from Twilight, truly you care very deeply about your court.”

He certainly was very hands-on, but she is probably sugarcoating it a bit.

The King stood up. “It has always been my driving force to be the greatest king in the land, and a great king serves his subjects. Kings can win obedience through force, but his name will echo in songs for generations if he can win their love.”

Celestia’s smile did not grow or shrink. She’s good.

“I understand you’ve traveled a great distance from your homeland. I hope your time in Equestria has been a pleasant one.”

“We’ve been to many lands, I can say without a doubt this is the most welcoming of them all. Your ponies have been nothing but friendly, supportive, and understanding. We’ve caused a lot of trouble in our short time here, but this was out of habit. We are accustomed to hiding and stealing to survive. When my scout Godiva told me of how warmly Twilight and her friends had welcomed her despite her differences, it brought me great joy that we might have found a land to rest and prepare for our journey home.”

Hauteclaire heard a pfft from one of Twilight’s friends. If he had to wager, it was probably from Applejack, because when he glanced over, he saw Rarity jabbing her in the ribs.

“Yes, Twilight has informed me about how you were forced out of your homeland. A tragic event it was indeed.”

“Princess, what you see before you is the last of my once-prosperous kingdom. We are the last survivors after an invasion. Chased out of our home, we have been searching for a place to recover so we could prepare to go back. We don’t feel like we belong anywhere else.”

“If I may, how do you plan on reclaiming your home?” Such a forward question; an immense weight hung on how the King answered.

The King accepted this challenge with a smile. “With strategy, your Highness. Diplomatic strategy. The invading forces took my kingdom away because they were searching for something. In the process, they’ve destroyed the very thing they wanted. For years, I have been working on ways to convince the invaders to leave, since what they want is now beyond their grasp.”

“And what was it they wanted?”

“Power. We were between two warring factions. Both sides converged on our land because it would had given them an upper hand; my kingdom and its inhabitants were destroyed in the crossfire. The war has left both sides in shambles, but they are still are a threat to a budding kingdom.”

Pinkie sniffed and blew into a tissue with a loud honk. What the King had said was true, but he always had a way of twisting words and leaving out details. Was Celestia clever enough to notice?

The King took a step back to be at Hauteclaire’s side. “Your Highness, you have been inconvenienced by the actions of my court. Hauteclaire has something to say to you and the citizens of Canterlot.”

With a light tap on the shoulder, the King guided Hauteclaire forward. The sudden realization that Celestia’s attention was on him made him forget where he was. Her warm, welcoming eyes sucked Hauteclaire in, but he looked away. He felt ashamed, unworthy, but to avoid eye contact would be rude, so he fought his urge to flee to save face. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words didn’t come to him. He struggled to calm his thoughts and opened his mouth once again.

“Princess Celestia, I cannot begin to express how sorry I am for causing distress to you and your kingdom. In the uptown plaza, I had an argument with another one of us that got out of hand. There is no excuse for the damage we caused. Had I not let my emotions cloud my judgement, I could have prevented what had happened. For this, I am truly sorry and ready to do what I can to make amends.”

As soon as he finished the apology, Hauteclaire bowed and refused to lift his head up. An intense pressure built up in his head, his ears burned, and time crawled as he waited for something, anything, to take all the attention off of him. This spotlight penetrated his defenses; for once, he wished he wasn’t the center of attention.

“Hauteclaire.”

He couldn’t believe his ears. Celestia said his name, and it was pleasant. Not filled with anger, disappointment, nor coldness. It was filled with forgiveness, empathy, and warmth. He looked up and saw Celestia smiling at him, her smile slightly bigger than he last saw it.

“I’ve heard what happened between you and Porthos. You two never intended to harm any of my little ponies. In fact, news of your generous acts have spread throughout all of Equestria. Families fight, and yours is no different. You’ve admitted your errors and are willing to take responsibility for your actions, nopony was hurt, and the damage done has been repaired. I forgive you, Hauteclaire.”

Nothing before had ever left Hauteclaire so dumbfounded. She forgave him, and also indirectly praised him for things he had done. Certainly not all of the generous acts were his, but the fact that Celestia still recognized him for it sent shivers down his spine. “Thank you, Princess Celestia.”

“Hauteclaire,” continued Celestia. “I’ve also heard tales of your beautiful voice. Do you think you could lighten the mood with a song?”

Two in one day. Celestia acknowledging him was something else, but she had just asked him directly to perform for her. In her throne room. At that moment.

His dream, what he desired above all else, to perform and be recognized as worthy of his skill, it was about to come true, and it couldn’t have happened at a worse time. Now, more than ever, he wanted to decline. It didn’t feel right: here he was about to become part of a metaphorical train wreck, and the princess tied on the tracks was asking him to sing. Well, probably.

Hauteclaire’s desires tore at him. Should he sing and fulfill his dream, or sacrifice it all to save the princess? But would the worst even come to pass? He already had some precautions prepared for the worst (not as much as he wanted), but he had three aces up his sleeve. All he needed was a fourth.

“What are you waiting for?”

Hauteclaire turned around and saw the King.

“She wants to hear your singing.”

What if Hauteclaire was wrong? Was the King really going to call off the vacation? Maybe he had just checked their memories to make sure they had kept their promise. Hauteclaire had fulfilled his part of the bargain, Marcus had plenty of practice working his political muscles, and Porthos had pummeled a dragon. That could easily be considered training for “the game;” that meant it all rested on Godiva. Had she kept her promise: practice every day and stay sharp?

Godiva loved ponies too much to risk anything happening to them. Perhaps Hauteclaire was worrying about nothing. The stress of facing a possible catastrophe weighed heavily on his conscience; he wanted to escape it and return to a place where those troubles no longer bothered him nor even existed.

He wished to go home.

If he was to sing, and if it was to be his last chance at ever fulfilling his dream, he would snatch it and forever hold the memory in his heart. His artificial, duplicate, digital heart. Only one song came to mind as a suitable one fit for royalty.

He took another step forward. “It would be an honor to perform for you and your court, Princess Celestia. If I may, I shall sing the anthem of our once proud nation, Mice of the Isle.”

Celestia nodded. “Please.”

Hauteclaire turned to the King, as if checking for permission. The King smiled a little bit bigger and puffed out his chest more.

He turned back to Celestia, took a couple of deep breaths, hummed to loosen and warm up his throat before putting a hand to his chest.

“All ye brothers, stop your dreaming.

Can't you see the future gleaming,

beckons us to greatness beaming?

Glory calls us all.

Fate has smiled and gave us promise,

to your fellow mouse give solace,

we will prosper on our province,

ever we stand tall.

Voices ever thunder,

tearing walls asunder,

the heavens boom, our march resume,

and fill our hearts with wonder.

We’ll show hist’ry we’re most worthy,

for to spread our gifts we’ll journey,

heads held high and back-bones sturdy.

Evil won’t prevail.

He has brought to us a purpose,

his words are a burning furnace,

fiendish shadows won’t resurface.

We’ll fight tooth and nail!

Voices ever thunder,

tearing walls asunder,

the heavens boom, our march resume,

and fill our hearts with wonder.

Boom the cannons all the while,

battle on, mice of the isle,

with our courage and our guile,

never can we fail.

Hearts pound strong, mice of the isle

Never can we fail.”

With the song complete, Hauteclaire opened his eyes. Like the time he had sung in Ponyville, everyone who heard his voice gave him their full attention. Many of the guards’ stoic expressions cracked, revealing the tender emotions inside. Twilight and her friends were moved, but in varying degrees: Rarity had leaned her head back and let herself be carried away by the melody. Twilight tilted her head as she repeated the lyrics in her head. Pinkie dabbed her eyes with a tissue. Fluttershy was also in tears, but her crying was nowhere near as bombastic as Pinkie’s. Rainbow Dash and Applejack glanced at each other. “He’s got a good set of pipes, I’ll give him that,” whispered Applejack.

Hauteclaire didn’t care about their reactions; what mattered to him was sitting in front of him. No, standing! Celestia had stood up from her throne and come within arm’s length in front of Hauteclaire. Was his song good enough to move the princess of the sun, both figuratively and literally?

“Hauteclaire, your voice is more beautiful than I’ve been told. Your words speak of grand ideals that you aspire to. I am happy you have performed for us.”

Was Hauteclaire dreaming? He had to be. He wasn’t deserving of such an honor. Or was he? He had accomplished his dream--he had sung for those he thought deserving and had been recognized for his talent, but now that it had happened, Hauteclaire was left alone. The fleeting euphoria left him, and he felt empty. Had not the lingering thoughts of the game, the King, and possibly unfulfilled promises been chewing away at his mind, would he have felt better about his achievement? For now, he could only worry.

Hauteclaire bowed. “Thank you, Princess Celestia. It has been an honor.” He couldn’t stand to be near her; it made him sick. It required every ounce of his willpower to look the princess in the eyes once more before taking a step back.

The King patted him on the shoulder and filled the void left by Hauteclaire. “Yes, he is a magnificent bard, one of the finest examples my kingdom has produced. Without him, the kingdom’s morale wouldn’t have held as long as it did, letting us, and possibly others, escape.”

He puffed out his chest and gestured with open palms to his court. “Celestia, as you can see, my court is wonderful. They have been working hard in order to get home. So much has been taken from us. Friends, family, memories, and our livelihoods. However, they are not perfect. In fact, far from it.”

Hautclaire froze. No. Please, no.

“Everyone! I have an announcement.” He stretched his smile wider, peeled back his lips, and revealed his teeth. With a snap of his fingers, Porthos appeared right next to Godiva, sitting just as he had been in his cell less than a second ago. The confused giant looked around at his new surroundings. The sudden display of magic frightened the guards.

Oh, heavens above, he isn’t--

“To mold my court into the perfect knights they can be--”

Marcus inched closer to Godiva, ready to whisk her away at a moment’s notice, but she didn’t notice--she was too enthralled being surrounded by pony princesses.

“--we are very happy to accept your help.”

Applejack raised an eyebrow. So did Luna. Nopony had said anything about helping the court. Twilight furrowed her brow. “Help?”

“Why yes.” The King pointed to the four standing behind him. “You are going to whip my knights into shape!”

He is.

Ponies tilted their heads and whispered to each other. The soldiers stiffened their stances, Luna shifted in her seat, and the Bearers were whispering to each other.

“And how would we do that?” asked Celestia, amazingly able to keep her cool, although everyone knew something was amiss.

The King grinned. “We’re going to play a game.”

“NO!” Godiva ran up to the King before Marcus or Porthos could snatch her. Her sudden movements startled the guards. She grabbed the King by the shoulders and shook him. “You can’t!”

“Oh, indeed I can!” The King slapped away Godiva’s hands. “You didn’t keep your end of the bargain. All of you didn’t!”

He pointed at Porthos. “You lied to me. You said you wanted to be a pony to practice going undercover, not so you could be charitable and get drunk!”

His finger moved to Marcus. “You knew this and didn’t tell me about it. You also failed to noticed we were being spied on from the first night we’ve been here! And you, Hauteclaire--”

Hauteclaire flinched.

“--you knew a powerful being was spying on us, and you didn’t tell me; and you gave a piece of your fragment to a filly! You could have jeopardized everything. As for you, Godiva--”

He grabbed Godiva by the neckline of her dress and pulled her down to eye level. Their noses pushed against each other. “You said, ‘They’re pretty medieval-ish. The worst they got is some armor and basic magic.’ That they ‘would be terrible at the game. Pushovers.’ Look around, Godiva, but it’s a little late for that now, isn’t it? You’re the scout--it’s your job to learn as much about the enemy before we confront them. They have microphones, trains, and hospitals with advanced medical equipment. Do those seem ‘medieval-ish’ to you? Do you see the princesses standing before you, the ones that move the sun and the moon with ease?! ‘Basic magic’ my big, fat, hairy tuchus. You’ve let these ponies turn your brain to mush. And you didn’t conquer Ponyville like you first claimed--they captured you and let you go!”

The King pulled her closer and grumbled. “I’m very disappointed in all of you. Vacation’s off. Pick a side, Godiva. The court or the ponies.”

She pushed against the King, but he didn’t let her go. “No! The game is cruel. I refuse to participate, and I will not let you hurt these ponies. I vote--”

“Suit yourself.” The King smacked Godiva on the forehead; she staggered about. “Rule number two, Godiva. You broke it.”

“No!” It was too late. Hauteclaire could no longer get to Godiva. She had broken one of the rules of the game and now had to suffer the consequences.

Godiva opened her eyes--they glowed red. She snarled at those around her. The King applauded. “Now that’s the Godiva I remember.”

“Get him!” shouted Porthos. He and Hauteclaire charged the King. A blur of black and blue smashed Hauteclaire back, and he tumbled on the floor. Godiva stood above him; all the carefree happiness she had exuded earlier had been swallowed up by a cold shell, the impenetrable exterior shielding her vulnerable inside from the world. She was just as she had been before--The Black Knight. Little Miss Too-Late. Once you saw her, it was too late.

Behind Godiva, Hauteclaire saw Porthos down on his knees as the Mouse King twisted Porthos’ wrists and forced him down. When he couldn’t get Porthos any lower, he jumped up and smacked Porthos across the face. Porthos’ eyes grew red just like Godiva’s.

Marcus had taken a different approach. He jumped over the tussle between the King and Porthos and begged the ponies to listen. “Listen, ponies, listen! The King has gone mad, he has! You must fight back, you must! Fight--”

Marcus and his pleas were smashed under Porthos’ gigantic fists. The King smiled. “Good job, Porthos. Bring him here.”

“Not so fast!” A rainbow streak shot through the air and smashed Porthos on the back of the head, but he was hardly knocked off balance. Rainbow Dash turned her attention on the King and charged in for a full-on bodyslam, but Godiva was faster and tackled Rainbow first then threw her against a bunch of guards.

So many guards. Had they all been there to begin with, or had they been hiding, ready to spring if trouble arose? Gold-and-blue-armored pegasi swarmed in the air around the King, Porthos, Godiva, and the now mind-controlled Marcus, while earth ponies held spears and unicorns lit their horns in preparation to blast the Court with magic. How unfortunate that they were in the way of the King.

“Your Majesty,” said Celestia with a stern voice. “I don’t know what has gotten into you, but this must stop, or you will be forced to leave.”

The King intertwined his fingers and stretched his arms out, popping all the joints in his knuckles. “Oh, you don’t need to worry, princess, we’ll leave, but you are coming with us.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Not a threat, an invitation.”

Luna stepped forward. “Step down, Mouse King. Whatever you are scheming, it shall fail.”

The King reached under his cape. “Au contraire, my fine mare, your horns may flair, but I don’t play fair. There’s more than air in my skull’s lair; I take much care when setting a snare. How will you fare? You don’t have a prayer.” He pulled out a polished wooden box.

Unicorn spells blasted, and the room ignited with a sudden flash. Hauteclaire couldn’t see, but he heard plenty: guards yelling, spells zapping, and gasps and screams from the Bearers. When the brightness subsided, the King and his court had not even a scratch.

“What the-- we hit him with all we got!”

“Paralyzation spells aren’t working!”

“Don’t let them near the princesses or the Bearers!”

“Fire again! Use lethal force!”

Hauteclaire braced himself, but no flash came. The unicorns looked at each other with confused gawks and wide-eyed stares.

“Why can’t I cast anything?”

“Your horn, there’s a magic inhibitor!”

“Me too!”

“Quick, get it off!”

“Help!”

Unicorns pawed at their horns and tried to help remove inhibitors from their closest comrades while the King laughed. The rest of the court stood silently and focused on their goal: the princesses.

The Bearers had rallied around the princesses and stared down the King.

“Why would you do this? I thought we were friends,” cried Pinkie Pie.

“You monsters! How dare you soil this castle with this barbaric behaviour!” said Rarity.

Applejack snorted. “I knew we shouldn’t have trusted you.”

Rainbow hovered over her friends’ shoulders. “You’re not going to get away with this!”

Fluttershy flared her wings. “Why are you doing this? This isn’t nice.”

“Mouse King,” said Twilight. “How dare you take advantage of our friendship and generosity? Leave now, and we will forget this happened.”

The Mouse King ignored them; instead, he was holding the polished wooden box upside-down over his head and looking up into it. He held it in front of him and beat on the bottom. “Strange… I thought there were more of those inhibitor things. Where did they go?”

“Mouse King, leave,” commanded Luna. With her and Celestia’s wings fanned out, they appeared much larger than any of the other ponies, like giants among dwarves. Gods among mortals. “Now.”

The King looked up at the princesses. “Oh! That’s where I put them!”

The Bearers didn’t take too kindly to the King’s tone, and three of them charged. Rainbow soared straight at the King. “You’re going down!” Her body jerked in mid-air, and she came to a complete stop. Porthos had snagged her by the tail and held her up in front of his face. His glowing red eyes fixed on her as she threw punches and kicks that didn’t reach.

Rarity followed suit, leaping toward the King with a flying kick, only to have herself be snatched up by Porthos’ free hand and join Rainbow in her futile struggles in the giant’s grasp.

The King chuckled.“He’s my bodyguard for a reason.”

Applejack stampeded through Porthos’ legs, snapped around, jumped up in the air, and kicked off Porthos’ back, leaping over Godiva and Marcus, straight at the King. In response, the King raised a hand, and Applejack fell to the floor like a rock; she struggled and grunted, but with all her might, she couldn’t get up from her stomach.

“He still needs work, though.”

The pegasi and earth ponies charged, but Godiva zoomed about and knocked them out of the air. They fell to the ground dazed; some bashed into each other, while others slammed into pillars and fell unconscious. Knebryter swung about wildly in Godiva’s hand, breaking both spears and skulls alike. Nothing got passed the black, blue, and brown whirlwind that was the Black Knight and her steed.

“Stop it! Stop this violence,” shouted Fluttershy.

Twilight aimed her horn at the King. “Let my friends go!” She concentrated and grunted, but nothing happened. She tried again, but no matter how much she strained and scrunched up her face, nothing happened.

Pinkie jumped to her side. “Twilight, your horn!”

There were several inhibitors on her horn that covered all but the tip.

“What!? When? How did he--”

Pinkie propped herself up on Twilight’s shoulder and reached for the top inhibitor, but something brown snagged her and sent her flying back. Four arrows attached to a net pinned her against the wall; she kicked and she struggled, but the arrows stuck tight, and the net didn’t falter. The King had provided Marcus with his bow, and he had used it to ensnare any remaining ponies that tried to put up a fight.

Pinkie stopped struggling. “Why are you doing this? Have you lost your marbles?”

The King grabbed his belly, pulled it to the side, and looked toward his feet.

Rainbow glared.“That’s not what she meant, feather-brain.”

The King’s belly giggled as he let it go. “Marbles!? I’ve lost more than my marbles, little missy.” The King grabbed his head and popped off the top to reveal his brain. Rubies replaced missing bits and chunks; his frontal lobe was mostly red. “I’ve lost everything, and you ponies are going to help me get it back!”

Luna snorted. “I’ve had it with your buffoonery. Sister, let’s-- Sister! The cur has gotten you as well!”

Celestia looked up at her horn; it too was covered from top to bottom with inhibitors. She turn around and retreated as Luna leaned her head down and tried to push the inhibitors off her horn. “Sister! Where are you going?”

“He has the upper hand. We must retreat and prepare a counter-attack. Fighting him now would be useless.”

The King smirked and extended his hand. “You aren’t going anywhere, my ‘guest.’ The party’s just getting started.”

Celestia stopped running and struggled; her legs trembled as she fought an invisible force dragging her down. She took one, two more weak steps away before her legs buckled and she collapsed to the floor.

“Sister!” With a flap of her wings, Luna charged at the King, her horn aimed at him; only the very tip could be seen under all the inhibitors. The King yawned as Luna soared at him, and with his cupped hand, he smacked away Luna’s horn when it was only inches from his chest. Luna careened to the side and hit the floor with a sickening thud.

The King inspected his fingers and wiped them on his chest. “I think you gave me a scratch. You should be very careful where you point that--Gahoo!” Twilight flew right into the King’s stomach and knocked him back.

“How dare you touch Luna!” she screamed. She kicked the King again, this time knocking him off balance.

“Porthos, hello, do your job!”

Porthos raised up his hand with Rainbow and, using her as a morning star, whacked away Twilight. Rainbow screamed, and Rarity shrieked.

“Hey!” Fluttershy flew up to Porthos’ face and poked him in the schnauz. “You’re hurting and scaring everypony. Godiva told me how you used to be such a nice rat. But look at you; you’re hurting my friends! Why I--” Another net flew through the air and trapped her against the wall.

The King adjusted his crown. “Thank you, Marcus. She was getting preachy.”

The pinned pony’s pleas echoed in Hauteclaire’s ears, as well as Porthos’. He was gazing beyond the ground in front of him and had lowered his hands enough that Rarity and Rainbow could reach the floor. Rainbow clawed at the ground, pulled away hard enough to free her tail from the loosened grip, and flew by Twilight’s side. “Twilight, are you okay?!”

“Rainbow--” Twilight shook the daze away. “Rainbow! You have to fly! Get help!”

“What, and leave you here with him? No way. I’m gonna knock the hay out of him.”

“No, Rainbow, he-- Celestia!”

Porthos had Celestia by the tail and dragged her over to the King. Rarity was no longer in his other hand; she was now trapped in a net just like Pinkie and Fluttershy.

“Bring her here. It’s time we prepare her for her little trip.”

This was unforgivable. Hauteclaire couldn’t take anymore. The King had to be stopped, but how? The only way Hauteclaire could even stop the King was out of his grasp.

Then it hit him--the Brain of Atlantis! The source of the King’s power was nearby, so it was very likely that the King had it on his person, and if that was true, it would be hiding in one of two places: in his crown or in his stomach. Hauteclaire only had one shot of taking it away from him and using it to force the King to surrender.

But there was no dirt nearby. They had passed plenty of potted plants in the halls, but there was no time. If Hauteclaire tried to go through the hallways, the King was bound to notice and turn his attention on him. If he acted fast enough, he could stun the King by striking the Brain, but it would hurt Hauteclaire as well. He’d have to fight through the shock and tear the Brain from the King’s insides--if it was there at all.

Celestia’s hooves scuffed on the smooth floor as she kicked and flapped her wings, but all her struggles failed to slow down Porthos.

The King scratched his chin. “You know, it feels like I’m forgetting something.”

“Yeah, like me!” Rainbow zoomed at the King and kicked out a hoof, but she was intercepted by a net, pinning her to a column. She kicked and cursed while chewing on the ropes.

The King snapped his fingers. “That’s it! You can’t have a party without music!” A table with a tablecloth reaching the floor appeared next to him, on top of which was his CD player. He fiddled with the buttons and knobs as Hauteclaire snuck up behind him, dagger drawn and ready to gut the King like a fish.

“You snake in the grass.”

The King turned to Applejack, caught in her net and pinned to the ground right where the King left her.

“You call yourself a great king? Twilight told me all about the good you claimed to have done. How you are a ‘king of the mice.’ Phooey. You’re a tyrant and a liar.”

He stopped messing with his CD player and stared wide-eyed at Applejack. “I’m not a liar.”

“Yes, you are! You’ve gone and lied to Twilight, just to get to her. A good king? I know cow patties when I see ‘em.”

“I am not a tyrant!” stated the King as he stomped over to Applejack. He waved his hand, the net vanished, and Applejack jerked from the ground and floated in front of the King.

“You can’t fool me. I bet you never even had a kingdom to begin with. You’re a liar, a tyrant, and a bully.”

The King screamed, “You know nothing! You know nothing about what I’ve been through. I’ve lost everything that ever had meaning in my life. They all were my family, and I lost them all. Tyrants and liars tricked me and stole everything I had. Rats, dukes, gods, they got close with their serpent tongues and stabbed me in the stomach! Literally! I died protecting my family--” The King pulled Applejack close “--and I’ll die again before I let them get away with it.”

Hauteclaire pounced, but the King pointed his finger over his shoulder, and Hauteclaire froze in mid-air. After shoving Applejack back and Marcus pinning her to the ground with another net, the King tapped Hauteclaire on the forehead. “Don’t think I forgot about you.”

Hauteclaire fell from the air and landed on his hands and knees. He fought to get up and lunge again, but it was too late. His control over his body faded; his thoughts raced as an invasive virus overtook his body. He fought and screamed on the inside, but his body didn’t respond. The tie between his actions and his thoughts had been severed. He was now under the King’s command.

The King stared down at Hauteclaire, as angry as Hauteclaire had ever seen him before. His chest heaved with each long, exaggerated breath. “Now, Hauteclaire, would you kindly make me an axe while I find some fitting music? Something big and sharp, large enough for a princess.” With a wave of his hand, a large pile of dirt collapsed onto the clean floor in front of him. The King turned back to his CD player while Hauteclaire focused on the dirt.

Hatred coursed through his veins and filled his heart with the wretched bile of his feelings for the King. In his hands, he was making the tool that would be used to turn a nation against the court, turn the equines against the rodents, turn the most welcoming and friendly beings Hauteclaire had ever known against him. This axe wouldn’t just sever tissue bonding the flesh, but also Hauteclaire from any respect he had left for the King.

As he ran his hands over the blade of the axe and pinched the sharp edge between his fingers, he could only watch as Porthos grabbed Celestia’s flapping wings in one hand and stretched her neck out by pulling on her horn. She continued to kick and thrash in Porthos’ grasp, but all she accomplished was losing a few swan-like feathers, scuffing up the pristine floor, and straining her heavenly voice. Her struggles added to the great commotion that shook the throne room. Ponies screamed for help; others cried at the scene before them; many more cursed the Court and vowed a violent end to them. Hauteclaire heard it all, but he didn’t listen; all he could focus on was the princess he felt respect for being spread out like a Christmas goose, ready for the chopping block.

The axe was finished. He handed the large, dark grey instrument of death to the King. “Your axe, Your Majesty.”

The King took the axe and hit the play button on his CD player. Dramatic music with screeching strings and caterwauling choruses began to play. It was a soundtrack fitting for a battle between gods. “Thank you, Hauteclaire. Now...”

The King walked over to Celestia, the large axe in his hands. She stared back with an enraged determination on her face. Wrinkles bunched up on her snout, and she bared her teeth. “You won’t get away with this.”

The King patted his belly and laughed. “Oh really? Who’s going to stop me? Porthos, make sure you hold back the mane. Wouldn’t want to ruin that.” He raised the axe over his head, then a flash of purple blasted it in two, and the pieces fell out of the King’s grasp. “What the--”

Twilight’s horn glowed purple. The inhibitors were scattered all around her; something had torn apart the net holding her down and removed the inhibitors from her horn. Hauteclaire thought he saw a bit of purple and green for a moment behind the pillar closest to her.

Another purple flash hit the King in the stomach, knocking him on his backside. Twilight flared her wings, and her horn glowed so brightly that it painted the walls purple. “Mouse King, I won’t forgive you!” she cried as more and more power glowed from her horn; a forcefield encapsulated her.

The King didn’t bother to get up from his bottom and clapped. “Good show, Twilight, good show. Godiva?”

Godiva charged at Twilight and was repelled by a wave of magic. Marcus fired an arrow net, but it was vaporized when it got close to her. The King crossed his arms. “What? Is that all you got? Hauteclaire, deal with her.”

Hauteclaire scooped up a bit of the remaining dirt and melded it into a knife, then threw it at a stained glass window behind him. The glass shattered, and the knife flew up in the open sky as Hauteclaire turned around and walked over to Twilight, his hands behind his back. He didn’t like what he was going to, but the King commanded it.

Twilight aimed her horn at Hauteclaire, but the stained window behind her shattered. Twilight jumped and zapped the knife in air, and it vaporized into dirt. Despite being encased in a purple magic shield, Twilight was distracted. Hauteclaire took a deep breath and exhaled. “POW!”

A force of sonic energy rushed through the room and pushed all the ponies in its path across the floor. Twilight took the brunt force of the boom and was knocked against the wall. Her shield shattered. Another blast from Hauteclaire knocked her against the wall again; her horn flickered as the magic around her dissipated.

The King snapped his fingers, and the inhibitors reappeared on her horn completely intact. Marcus fired another net and pinned Twilight to the wall. “Thank you. Now, where was I?”

He picked up the two pieces of the axe and put them together; the break disappeared as the two parts melded into one. He gave it a few swings and turned back to Celestia. “We ready, Celly? Can I call you Celly?”

She gave no response.

“How about Sunbutt?”

Celestia bared her teeth.

“I’ll take that as a ‘no.’ Oh well, back to our game.” He raised the axe over his head as Celestia continued to struggle in Porthos’ grasp. He let go of her wings, placed his hand on her barrel, and pushed down to hold her in place. Ponies all around screamed and cried. Many of them pleaded for mercy and for the princess to be spared. So did Hauteclaire inside his head, but he knew nothing could stop the King now. It was too late.

The King brought the axe down on Celestia, there was a snap and a flash of light. When Hauteclaire’s vision returned, he saw that Celestia was still in one piece, and the King was holding something pink against her neck. The King lifted up the long, wobbly, pink cylinder that was in his hand. “What is this, a pool noodle?”

“That’s right. I think you had enough fun for one day.” From behind Celestia’s throne slinked out Discord. “Oops! Hold on.” He pressed on the side of the throne, and there was a flush.

Fluttershy cried tears of joy and called out Discord’s name. Other ponies expressed relief that the demon of chaos had showed up. Pinkie cheered, “D-I-S C-O-R and another D! Discord’s here! Discord’s here!”

“Yeah, Discord! Send them packing,” said Rainbow.

“What in tarnation are you doing? This isn’t a time for jokes. Get ‘em!” shouted Applejack.

Discord rolled his eyes. “Uh-huh. Well, I must say, Mouse King--” He slithered through the air towards the King. “--when I was first assigned to watch you, I thought it would be boring, just a waste of my valuable time, but I must admit, you little guys are quite a hoot.”

The King snarled and threw the foam tube to the side. “Why, Discord. I’m so happy we could entertain you. You certainly have been doing a good job messing with Hauteclaire. What you did at my dinner was hysterical. I’m so glad I can watch that over and over again.”

“Oh, I’m so glad you got a kick out of that. And as much fun as I was having with this little ‘game’ of yours, I’m afraid I’ll have to put an end to it.” Discord raised up his claw and readied to snap his talons.

The King grabbed his belly and laughed. “You? Stop me!? Hoo boy, that’s a hoot.” He wiped away a tear. “Seriously, I’m just about done. There’ve been enough interruptions as it is.”

Discord flinched at the King’s retort, but only for a second before he called his bluff-- “It’s been fun. Nothing personal.” and snapped his talons.

A flash of light blinded Hauteclaire. When his sight returned, he saw no difference in the room--everyone was intact, and nothing seemed abnormal for a room full of ponies, celestial gods, medieval mice, and a draconequus. All his thoughts came to a screeching halt when he felt something gooey on his feet. The floor below him turned to paste, and he was sinking into it. He pulled on a foot, but he couldn’t break free as the floor continued to swallow him up whole. The same happened to Godiva, Porthos, and Marcus. Each one of them struggled against the floor, with no success. Porthos even tried to pull himself out with one hand, but that too got stuck; even so, his free hand still held Celestia down by her wings.

Despite being caught in the quick-goo as the rest, the King didn’t struggle. In fact, he seemed to relish in it as he watched Discord’s face. His grinning grew with each passing second, as he let Discord think he won. “Nice trick; now it’s my turn.” He snapped his fingers, and a flash of light filled the throne room again. This time, there was only one change: the King was wearing a pair of jeans.

Discord raised an eyebrow, bent down, and pointed at the King’s new clothes. “And what, pray tell, is that?”

The King grabbed the zipper and pulled it down. “Say hello to my little friend.” Out of the King’s fly popped out the head of a cockatrice. It glared at Discord while hissing and screeching. Discord jumped back and gasped as he threw an arm over his face; he flew away from the King towards Pinkie up on the wall and pulled things out of her mane while keeping his back to the King and his cockatrice. All the while, his tail and legs were slowly turning to stone.

Using a rainbow-colored apple, blue flowers, and some yellow cherries among other things, Discord mixed up a concoction in a small cauldron, raised it up, and dumped its contents all over himself. Now soaked in whatever brew he had made, Discord’s body was no longer petrified. He turned around and strutted back towards the King, smirked, and snapped his fingers. The King’s cockatrice and jeans disappeared.

“Don’t be trying that again,” he said. “I’m on to your tricks.”

“Oh really?” The King shrugged. “Well, I guess I lost.”

Fluttershy spoke up. “Discord…”

“Not now, Flutters, Discord’s busy.”

“Yo, Discord!” shouted Rainbow.

“Not now! I’m in the middle of-”

“Consarnit, your tail, you darn fool!” shouted Applejack.

Discord raised an eyebrow. “My what?” He turned around and looked at his tail, it was turning to stone again. Discord scratched the air, tore open a portal, and hastily plucked out the ingredients for his former concoction, made another brew, and dumped it on himself again before looking back at his tail. It was all stone.

Beads of sweat collected on Discord’s brow as he threw together another brew. This time he added more ingredients than before. He dumped it on his tail this time, with no results. His breathing quickened as he opened another portal and pulled pieces of paper and parchments out, giving them a quick look, then throwing them over his shoulder. “Where is it, where is it?” he muttered as he looked for his antidote recipe.

The King chuckled. “Poor, poor Discord. What are you going to do?”

Discord glared at the King out of the corner of his eye while rummaging through his endless supplies of notes, journals, and envelopes with heart stickers on them.

“I know all about you. Well, not everything, really, just enough. Trapped in stone? And not once, but twice? Makes sense when you think about it.”

Discord muttered something under his breath as he continued digging in his portal.

“Discord, what’s going on?” said Fluttershy. Her voice warbled as she watched Discord’s body be swallowed in stone.

The King tilted over and looked up at Fluttershy. “You don’t know? I’m surprised, considering you should know Discord’s weakness. He’s a being of chaos; he can’t stay still. At peace, if you will. If he stops moving, he loses his power. Well, weakens quite a bit, at least. It’ll take him another thousand years just to build up the energy to escape!”

The ponies gasped. Their ace had been trumped. Discord frantically made his concoction one more time, this time adding different ingredients, and dumped it on himself before his shoulders froze in place. “I don’t get it! I’ve memorized the recipe. Why isn’t it working?”

The King pulled one leg, popped it off at the knee, and regrew a new leg in its place. He set it down on solid ground and did the same with the other leg. He strutted up to Discord and looked up into his eyes. “Oh no, you got your antidote right the first time. It’s just not the medusa-chicken’s magic doing this to you--” The King ignored gravity and walked up Discord’s stone body before grabbing Discord’s beard and pulling his face up to his. “--It’s mine.”

Whatever comeback Discord had, it would go unsaid. He had been petrified.

The King laughed again. “Oh, and so you ponies don’t get any bright ideas.” He grabbed Discord’s antlers and pulled. Discord’s head popped off. Screaming and wailing filled the hall. “I’ll be taking this.” He stuffed the stone head up under his cape and walked down to the floor.

“You monsters!”

“Discord!”

“Murderer! Murderer!”

Hauteclaire looked around at the bearers. The travesty they had witnessed had shaken them to their cores. Applejack, Rainbow Dash, and Twilight struggled again with renewed vigor, and Pinkie and Rarity stared with their mouths hanging open. Fluttershy took it worst of all: she curled up into a ball and cried into her fetlocks.

Never before had the King done something so malicious. The court had done some pretty terrible things in their time, but nothing like this, and this was only the beginning. Hauteclaire’s mind raced as he thought of ways to sabotage the King, but the screaming, wailing, and shouting, on top of the unnecessary music playing in the background, made it hard for him to concentrate.

With a swish of his hand, the now-solid floor around the court’s feet cracked and crumbled. Hauteclaire and the rest pulled themselves out with ease. “Enough distractions! Let’s get this over with.” The King picked up the pool float, which turned back into an axe in his grip, and walked over to Celestia. After swinging the axe a few times, the King lined himself up at Celestia’s neck and raised the axe over his head. “Nighty-night, Princess Sunbutt.”

An unnatural silence smothered the throne room as the axe descended upon Celestia’s swan-like neck. She kicked and struggled in the hands of Porthos, but she couldn’t budge. Her hooves scuffed and clacked on the floor, and her hindquarters flailed wildly. The sound of rending flesh sliced through the silence. The axe hit the floor with a clang.

Celestia’s struggling stopped.

Her body went limp.

Her legs no longer kicked.

It was done.

Twilight screamed as she bashed the inhibitors on her horn against the wall. Without much freedom, she couldn’t get a lot of momentum to break the seal to her magic. The King waved a hand in Twilight’s direction, and the net tightened, squeezing Twilight against the wall and taking away any slack she had before.

The King picked up Celestia’s head by the horn and chucked it towards Hauteclaire. “Hold this.”

Her fur was so soft, her mane was softer than silk, and her face was so peaceful, like she was asleep. His stomach turned as he stared at the regal head. Stopping the King was no longer enough for him; he vowed to end him.

The King pointed at Luna. “Bring me the blue one.”

Porthos got up and walked over to Luna, who still laid on the floor unconscious. He grabbed her by the horn and dragged her over to the King. Luna let out a groan as Porthos moved her.

Oh, please stay unconscious, prayed Hauteclaire.

The King lined up his axe at Luna’s neck and did a few practice swings. He raised up his axe to deliver the blow.

The was a loud clatter, and the King jumped. All of the court turned around and saw that the CD player had fallen from its little table. The music from before stopped, and the CD skipped to a different song.

Oh my god, Becky, look at her butt. It is so big.

There were no ponies anywhere near the table. The King dropped the axe and rolled his eyes as he walked over to the CD player. “Great, that totally ruined the vibe.”

He bent down to pick up the player, but something purple jumped out from under the tablecloth and spat green flames at the King. He fell on his behind and pushed himself back as Spike continued to run forth, scream profanities, and blow fire at the King.

“Godiva! Take care of the dragon,” screamed the King.

Godiva charged at Spike, but she ran straight into a wall of green flames. The fire consumed her, swallowing up Godiva and burning away her body. Godiva shrieked as the flames lapped her body from existence, leaving behind only a faint, green smoke in the air. The smoke flew up in the air and collected above Hauteclaire. He jumped aside as Godiva appeared above him and fell flat on her face.

Spike didn’t stop. He spat more flames and curses at the King. Marcus shot a net at Spike, but it trapped him for only a moment. The dragon fire ate away Marcus’ net, and Spike was back to menacing the court.

A command from the King rang in Hauteclaire’s ears. Don’t just stand there, get him you fool! He placed Celestia’s head down gently, pulled out another dagger, and marched towards the rebellious Spike. Despite being commanded to deal with him, he actively sought out ways he could sabotage himself or disable Spike in the most humane way possible.

As Hauteclaire approached, Spike stood his ground. “Hauteclaire, snap out of it!”

Hauteclaire stopped a few feet away from Spike and prepared to strike.

“Aren’t we friends? Come on Hauteclaire! Don’t do this.”

His fist shook as he fought against his own hand from raising the dagger over his head.

“Please, don’t make me do this,” Spike pleaded.

Hauteclaire threw the dagger straight up, and Spike snapped his neck following the dagger. He realized his folly too late when Hauteclaire blasted him with another sonic blast. Hauteclaire tumbled and smacked against the wall behind him. Hauteclaire’s dagger swooped in the air and homed in on Spike, ready to cut close and distract him again so Hauteclaire could get in another blow. Spike rolled away from the dagger and took another blow to the side. His hard scales protected him from the blunt force.

Ponies cried out for Spike. Others cursed Hauteclaire for picking on a baby dragon. Every word cut him like a dagger.

He looked back at Celestia’s head, which was still where he had left it. The King had ordered Hauteclaire to take Celestia’s head. It would have been irresponsible of him to let someone else take it. Spike took the opportunity, got up on his feet, and charged Hauteclaire.

Before he could get close, Godiva slammed into him, and Spike tumbled over near Rainbow Dash and Applejack. He pushed off the ground and blew flames on the nets trapping the two. Freed, Rainbow charged Godiva and body-slammed her. Applejack picked Spike up off the ground and hugged him. “Good job, sugarcube! Quick, free everypony else. We’ll keep these vermin away from you.” Spike saluted and went about freeing more guards and Bearers from nets and inhibitors alike.

The King clenched his shaking fists. “Drat, drat, double drat! We need practice. We’re getting sloppy!” He snatched up the axe and stomped over to Luna, who was up on her two front hooves. Guards tried to tackle him, but the King didn’t even have to blink to send the guards flying a different direction with an invisible burst of energy. He raised his axe and swiped at Luna’s neck.

Luna looked up just in time to push off the floor away from the King, but not soon enough to dodge the blade as it sliced her neck. It slipped through most of her neck, and Luna fell limp on the floor, her neck only held together by a thin piece of skin.

The King raised his axe again to finish the job, but a purple blast disintegrated it above his head. Twilight was free and coming for him, as were a bunch of guards. Unicorns no longer burdened with inhibitors shot spells at the court, blowing bits and pieces from the court’s bodies.

Furious, the King threw out his hands. Every pony in the room was pulled back and slammed into the walls. The King snatched Celestia’s head off the floor, but a flash of purple appeared before him. Twilight had teleported from the wall and in front of the King. She gripped the King in a magical vice grip.

The King snarled. “You think you’ve got the upper hand now, don’t you? Well, you’re wrong, missy. You’re going to have to try harder.”

“You killed her! I won’t forgive you!”

“Oh, did I?”

“What are you talking about? You--”

He snapped his fingers, and the court disappeared, taking with them Celestia’s head and the CD player.

With the court gone from sight, the pony guards spread out and barked orders at each other as the Bearers gathered around Celestia’s and Luna’s bodies. They all jumped when the King’s voice echoed throughout the throne room.

“Ponies, if you want your princess Celestia back, you’ll have to take her back--by force!”

Hauteclaire couldn’t believe his eyes, and the two guards sitting next to him couldn’t believe what they heard.

“Wow,” said the guard that was Porthos. “Good thing you swapped yourself out with a double as well, eh, lad?”

Marcus sighed. “He really has done it, he has.” He reached up and scratched on his head where he would normally have terrible scars. “He’s changed, he has. The game isn’t supposed to be that violent or malicious, it isn’t.”

Hauteclaire could only gaze around the closet he and the two “guards” were standing in. After Porthos and Marcus disguised as guards escorted Hauteclaire’s double in, they snuck the real one into the castle and into a closet in a wing far from the chaos. As he saw what his doubles saw, he narrated the events to an astonished Porthos and Marcus.

As the events unfolded, Porthos became agitated and kicked cleaning supplies and the wall while cursing the King. Marcus just stared at the floor and didn’t move except for the occasional head scratch.

“Brother,” said Marcus. “What do we do now?”

Hauteclaire scratched his forehead. “I’m thinking.”

Porthos stomped the floor and snorted. “Come on, Haut! You’re the one with the sneaky plans! You gotta think of something.” He stomped the floor some more, crushing a few brooms and mops underneath as the steam escaped, taking the wind out of him in the process. He slumped his shoulders and let out a single sob. “Those poor lads and lasses. Poor ponies. Poor Godiva.” Out of it, Porthos plopped his rump on the ground and sighed.

This stupid game. Purposefully antagonizing countries and seeing how long they would last. Only leaving once they were beat or when the King felt the locals had had enough. Never before had it gotten this intense. Damn it all! This was too far, even for the King. He had changed. The king Hauteclaire respected would have never done such a thing. He would have rather died.

Images raced through his head of the King. Of his past. Of happier times. Of the bad. Of the fellow mice lost to time. Of the ponies in the present. Of Celestia. Of Spike.

Of himself.

He patted Porthos on the shoulder. “We are going to beat the King at his own game.”

Porthos looked up. “How are we going to do that? We don’t have our shards, and--”

Hauteclaire shook his head. “Porthos, I’d already planned ahead once I first suspected this would happen. I’m improvising a bit as I go along, but I’m going to need your trust. Now, listen to me, my brothers--” Porthos flinched in shock at Hauteclaire using the title “brother” for him “--here is what we’re going to do: We are going to tell the ponies about the game: its rules, why we play it, and how to beat the King. Not just in the game, but for real. Then we’ll get back in the castle, swap ourselves out with our doubles, free Godiva, then stop this game once and for all.”

“How are we going to do that?” said Porthos.

“Leave that to me.” Hauteclaire pulled a roll of duct tape off a shelf and stuck it under his herigaut. “Now, if you two will kindly take your ‘prisoner’ to Princess Twilight Sparkle.”

“The Mouse King’s castle is gone, princess!” shouted a pegasus scout. “It’s no longer at the edge of Canterlot!”

With the disappearance of the court, Twilight wasted no time scrambling together a plan to get the Mouse King. She must have been numb from the shock; it would only be a matter of time before the numbness wore off and her mind would turn back to the limp, headless body of her former mentor.

A shout came in from the throne room entrance. Two guards threw Hauteclaire onto the floor. “We’ve captured this one! He says he’ll--”

Before Porthos could even finish, Rainbow Dash and several others were on top of him. Hauteclaire knew they were upset, but he could have done without the kicking. The spitting was uncalled for.

An unseen force grabbed him by his tail, dragged him from under the dogpile, and slammed him against a wall. A purple, crystal-like structure encased him and restricted his movements. In front of him stood Twilight. Her horn glowed, and she glared at him. She bared her teeth.

“Hauteclaire,” she said, “you have some explaining to do. No one threatens my friends or Equestria.”

Author's Note

The adventure continues in the second half of "A Game of Kings." Keep your eyes out for

If you've gotten this far, you have made me the happiest person on this site. This story has been a labor of love that has taken almost a whole year to complete. (105 pages of notes, 327 pages of story, and 124,490 words.) Please leave your thoughts of the story below and have a wonderful holiday!:twilightsmile:

Stay awesome, everypony!:raritywink:

Fun fact: The "Mice of the Isle" anthem is based off of "Men of Harlech."

So, on a different topic, who is your favorite OC so far?
VOTE: http://goo.gl/FVFA78
RESULTS: http://goo.gl/hYHuo2

APRIL FOOLS! - Screw With Your Plot And You'll Walk Funny In The Morning [Don't Download! Read Online!]

The Mouse King called all his knights and Derpy to gather together in the throne room of the Castle of the Two Sisters floating above the Everfree Forest. “I’ve gathered you all here today because I’ve decided to break character!”

He whacked Derpy, and she shattered like glass.

“...Oh, and I’ve also decided to break my promise established in the prologue.”

Godiva wailed, “Oh no! Please don’t do that! I don’t want to play the game!”

“But I have a great plan,” the King said.

Godiva smiled. “Oh, in that case, ok!”

Hauteclaire pouted. “But your plans are never great.”

The King turned to Hauteclaire with a smile and said, “Oh, but Haut, this plan has you giving a play for all of Canterlot!”

Hauteclaire wasn’t about to be suckered by the King. “You’ve always hated my plays. And why do I need to give a play in the first place?”

The King walked up to Hauteclaire and patted him on the back. “Haut, Haut, Haut. Sure, I’m very critical of your plays, and I may come off as a bit crass at times, but your plays have meaning and purpose. Plus, the ponies will gobble it up. What we need is a good distraction that will pull in the entire population of Canterlot, and your plays are the only thing that can do that.”

Hauteclaire raised his eyebrows. “Do you really mean that?”

“Of course I do, Haut. When have I ever said or done anything to make you not have reason to trust me without question?” said the King with an extra large grin. “Now, I need you to book the Canterlot theater and have a sold-out play in twenty minutes. Do you think you can handle it?”

Hauteclaire was overjoyed, but he made sure it didn’t slip through his posture. “I think I can pull off another miracle.” He walked off in the direction of Canterlot, a good many miles away.

The King turned to the rest of his court. Godiva was bouncing up and down. “What do I do? What do I do?”

The King was happy to see Godiva so enthusiastic. “Godiva, I need you to run in circles. Don’t stop until the end.”

Godiva smiled and raised her hand. “Oh! Oh! Oh! Can I run figure eights?”

The King laughed. “Of course you can.” His smile dropped to a scowl. “But don’t you dare run in an infinity loop. Got it?”

“Got it!” And Godiva was gone.

The King turned to Marcus. “Marcus. You are the wisest one here, so I want you to do the wisest thing you can possibly think of.”

“I can do that, I can,” said Marcus, and he left the story.

“So, what is it you have planned for me?” Porthos said.

“Porthos. You have the most important role of all.” He motioned for Porthos to bend over. The Mouse King whispered into Porthos’ ear. “Yeah, I can do that.”

Nineteen minutes later, in Celestia’s throne room in Canterlot Castle.

Princess Celestia turned to her guards next to her throne. “I’ll be just a moment. I need to bake some royal brownies.” The guards nodded as Celestia walked out the back door.

Porthos came stumbling in through the main entrance as soon as the door shut behind Celestia. A half-empty wine bottle was in one of his hands. The other hand was out in the air for balance.

“Oi’m a horrible mesh, *sob*” Porthos said.

The guards quickly jumped to block Porthos’ path. “I’m sorry, but Celestia is not in day court at the moment, and you don’t look like you are in any condition to see her.”

Porthos smiled. “Hey, yeeeeeeew look loike a bunch of shwell ladsh. Wanna play sum cardsh? Oi… Oi’m sho tired of being alone.” Porthos fell to his bottom and cried.

One of the guards got up close to Porthos, but jumped back when he smelt his breath. “Good Celestia! How much alcohol have you had?”

Porthos stopped to think as he looked at the bottle in his hand. It was Canterlot’s strongest brand of Merlot: Canterlot’s Strongest Brand of Merlot. “Terd…Terd….Terd…”

The guards were astounded. “That’s your third bottle of Canterlot’s Strongest Brand of Merlot?!”

Porthos shook his head. “Terdietsh…”

A smile popped onto his face. “Hey. Yeeeeew wanna hear a joke? Et’sh a goodun. HAHAHA, oooohohoho. Uhuhuhuh. Oi’m so miserable. ”

“PORTHOS, DAMNIT! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?” There by the empty throne stood the Mouse King. “I TOLD YOU TO DISTRACT THE GUARDS BY JUGGLING!”

“OI’M JUGGLEN’ MOI EMOTIONS!” Porthos screamed back. He stood up and smashed his bottle against a nearby pillar. The pillar broke like glass. He picked up a pillar shard. “DON’T MESSH WET ME OR OI’LL CUT YEW! Ohohoho…. Oi need a hug.” Porthos dropped the shard and fell back down on his butt.

The King face palmed. “Look, the plan was for you, Porthos--” He pointed at Porthos-- “to use your juggling skills to distract the guards--” He pointed to the guards. One of them waved back-- “so that I, the Mouse King--” He pointed to himself-- “could place this whoopie cushion--” He pointed to a whoopie cushion he held above his head-- “on Celestia’s throne--” He pointed to Celestia’s throne-- “and win the game! But you, Porthos,--” He pointed at Porthos-- “are not using your juggling skills to distract the guards--” He pointed to the guards. One of them waved back with a smile-- “so that I, the Mouse King--” He pointed to himself-- “could place this whoopie cushion--” He pointed to the whoopie cushion he held above his head with his left hand, watch on his wrist-- “on Celestia’s throne--” He pointed to Celestia’s throne-- “without being spotted! Now do it right!”

Porthos turned his bleary eyed gaze to the pony guards in front of him. “Yew wanna shee me juggle?”

The guards looked at each other, and one stepped forward. “Actually, that would be quite nice.”

Porthos grabbed the guard and threw him up. He went through the roof. The remaining guards started clopping their hooves. “That was amazing!” “I’ve never seen juggling like that before!”

“Of course you’ve never seen juggling like that! He’s been doing it his whole damn life. He’d better be damn good at it!”

The pony guards jumped back, and pointed at Knebryter, the wooden pony head on a stick hanging on Porthos’ belt. “Oh, by Celestia! It can talk!”

“Of coursh Oi can talk,” Porthos said.

At that moment, Luna walked in. “What is all that racket? It is disturbing our beauty sleep.”

Knebryter’s eyes turned to Luna and widened. “Ohohoho! Who is that tall, dark, and handsome figure over there with the lovely hair?”

Porthos scratched his head. “De Mouse Keng?”

“Not him, you dolt! The one next to him!”

“Oh, dat’s Princess Lewna. Oi don’t t’enk Oi actually met her en de shtory yet.”

“Princess Luna, huh?” Knebryter looked Luna over from head to hoof. “I’d like to get to know her better, if you know what I mean. Hehehe.”

“Yew wanna pork her?” Porthos asked.

Knebryter flinched. “WHAT!? Good god, no! I want to take her out to dinner, learn about her interests and hobbies, build a relationship on trust, stare lovingly into her eyes, cuddle up under a blanket and watch horrible rom-coms, grow immortal together! She looks like the kind of gal I could share a bank account with.” Knebryter snorted. “Pork her? Is that the first thing you think about when seeing a lady?” Knebryter looked back at Luna, smiled and sighed. “I bet she takes it in the pooper.”

Luna spoke up. “Well? What is disturbing our beauty sleep?”

“I’m planning to do something dastardly to Celestia and your kingdom,” announced the Mouse King.

Luna gave a long, hard glare at the King. “Whatever, as long as you’re not doing anything bad during the night, I don’t care. Just keep it down.” She snorted and exited the room.

The King turned to Porthos. “Good! The distraction is gone. Now, Porthos, distract those… Hey, where did the guards go?”

Porthos was sitting alone on the floor in the middle of the empty throne room. “Dey went tew shee Hauteclaire’s play.”

The Mouse King checked his watch, which he had been wearing this whole time but you failed to notice because you don’t notice the little things. Like the butterfly earrings I wore on our anniversary. What makes you think I’m still angry about that? I have no idea where you’re getting that from. Anyway, the Mouse King checked his watch, which you failed to notice. “OH CRAP! Is it that time already? We’re really falling behind! Be right back!”

And with that, the Mouse King ran off.

The theater was crowded to the brim with with ponies, all silent as they gave the performers their full attention. The play was at its climax, with the heroine (played by Hauteclaire) about to commit suicide to be with her lover (played by Hauteclaire) who died while saving an orphan filly (who was blind) and her puppy (that had cancer) from a bunny stampede (the bunnies also had cancer). There wasn’t a dry eye in the room.

The heroine held up a bottle labeled ‘bleach’ over her head. “And I take this poison, so that I may be with you forever, my beloved. My cutie-patootie. My snuggle-bear. My love ferret and his one-eyed wonder weasel. You have shown me that I cannot live for myself and that the best solution to life’s problems is not to learn to live and persevere for a possibly better but uncertain future, but to throw it away! My worth is judged not by how I value myself, but how others value me. Thus, since all that value me are dead, I too must die. Goodbye, cruel world.” She chugged the bottle’s contents and lets out an enormous belch. “And now, I die a death that cannot be undone because I will be dead. Death, like loneliness, hardships, and the time between seasons, is infinite. And as I die, I’ll always remember our song. Chacarron Mocarron, my love. Chacarron, chacarron, chacarron, mocarron.”

And she died with all the subtlety of a train wreck involving clowns, children, kittens, and dynamite.

The room was filled with sobbing. Mares wailed and stallions openly wept. Just then, somepony kicked the door in - it was the Mouse King. He cupped his hands around his mouth.

“BOOOOOOOOO!”

And he left.

The Mouse King ran back into the throne room. Nothing had changed in the two seconds he was gone, except for Porthos. He was passed out on the floor, and a guard was poking him with a stick. The guard turned to the King. He smile and waved before going back to poking the passed out Porthos.

“Good job, Porthos! Keep up the distraction! I just need to…” The King turned around, and there was Princess Celestia! She was looking right at him!

“What are you doing here?”

“PORTHOS! EMERGENCY! DISTRACT THE PRINCESS!”

Porthos sat up and grabbed the guard. “Yew wanna shee me juggle?”

“No, I’d rather…”

Celestia didn’t have time to finish her sentence before Porthos flung the guard through the roof. He did jazz hands, called out “Ta-da!” and fell back onto the floor unconscious.

Celestia looked up at the holes in the wall. Me-damnit. I’ll have to get Twilight to fix those. She turned back to the Mouse King, but he was gone. There wasn’t a hint of where he had run off to, except for his tail which came out from behind her throne. She sighed. I’ll get Twilight to look for that troublemaker later; tell her it’s a test or something. Right now, it’s time to get back to day court.

She turned around and sat on her throne. A long squeaky sound erupted from under her cheeks. “What in the--!?”

The King jumped out from behind the throne. “BWAHAHAHA! YES! I have done it! I. Have. Done. It! You have fallen into my trap! The game is over! I win! I win! IwinIwinIwin!”

“Not so fast!” came a familiar voice. Five mares busted through five of the stained glass windows in the throne room. Twilight Sparkle, Pinkie Pie, Applejack, Rarity, and Rainbow Dash stood in the center of the room, surrounded by shattered glass. Applejack looked around. “Hey, where’s Fluttershy?”

The ponies looked around. A bumping noise turned everypony’s attention to the sixth, unbroken window.

*Bump* “Ow.” *Bump* “Ow.” *Bump* “Ow.”

Rainbow facehoofed. “It’s a pull, Fluttershy.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” The glass shattered, and Fluttershy daintily landed next to her friends.

The King looked at them and their determined faces and laughed. “You think you can stop me? It’s too late. I’ve already won!”

Twilight smirked. “Oh, I don’t think so. We knew what you were up to from the very beginning! Check again.”

The King stared at the the ponies. His smile began to falter when he couldn’t see any signs of defeat in their eyes. He picked up Celestia from her throne. Staring back at him wasn’t the whoopie cushion he had left just moments ago, but a filly.

“Hi! I’m Twitht! What’th your name?”

The Mouse King dropped Celestia, fell on his knees and pulled on his ears. “NOOOOOOOO!”

Twilight and her friends started to glow. “FRIENDSHIP CANNON, ACTIVATE!”

The power of friendship, in the form of a rainbow beam, shot towards the King.

“Do you think the power of friendship can stop me!?”

The power of friendship stopped him.

“Oh no! I’ve been stopped by the power of friendship! I… I… I feel funny.”

The King stopped and inspected himself. All of the rubies in his stomach were gone and replaced with flesh. The dirt that made up small portions of his body were also gone. The King reached up and pulled out a whisker. “OW!” He rubbed his snout. “That hurt. That actually hurt!”

The King smiled, ran up to the ponies and gave Twilight a huge hug. “You’ve fixed my brain and removed our curse! I’m flesh and blood again! Thank you so much, Elements of Harmony! Now I can go back home again!”

Twilight tried to wiggle out of the hug. “Uh-huh. That’s terrific. Now go. Please.”

The King ran out and jumped onto his floating castle. “Ponies!” he cried out. “I am going to reclaim my home from the evils that have stolen it from me. I need your support!” So every pony in Equestria gave the King a thumbs up. The King took all of the thumbs and set course to his homeland, the Castle of the Two Sisters his ship. And that is why to this day ponies are born without thumbs.

The End.

Cheerilee closed her book and look up to the class. “Any questions?”

Scootaloo was flabbergasted. What the hay was that? She looked to Applebloom to see her reaction. Applebloom, perplexed as well, opened her mouth to speak, but a pink and grey blur busted through the wall and abducted her before smashing through the opposite wall.

Scootaloo turned around towards Sweetie Belle’s desk. There sat Marcus. He pointed to the back of the classroom. Scootaloo looked, and sure enough there was Sweetie Belle, but she was wearing socks and making out with Silver Spoon.

“Blank flank! Blank flank!” droned an annoying voice. Scootaloo turned her head towards the source. Diamond Tiara wore the nastiest grin as she focused all her taunts on Scootaloo. “Blank flank! Blank flank! Blank--” The roof crashed down upon her, and she was flattened by a disoriented royal guard.

Scootaloo turned back to Marcus. “What the hay is going on?”

Marcus reached over and pinched her on the cheek.

“AAAHHH!”

Scootaloo shot up from her bed. She was drenched in sweat. Just another bad dream.

A voice came from down the hall. “Scootaloo, honey, are you alright?”

Scootaloo slowed her breathing. “Yeah, I’m alright, mom. I just had another bad dream, that’s all.”

An earth pony mare walked in through the door to Scootaloo’s bedroom. “Oh dear, it wasn’t the one with the hairless minotaurs trying to adopt you again, was it?”

“No, mom.” Scootaloo constantly had the weirdest dreams. The most recurrent one was that she was being watched by a bunch of hairless, hornless minotaurs that kept trying to adopt her because they thought she was an orphan. She wasn’t an orphan, she had her parents! The minotaurs just never saw her with her parents, and because of that they automatically assumed that she was an orphan. In some dreams, the minotaurs would chase her and try to adopt her, but she was usually too fast for them and escaped their cheese-dust-covered fingers. She would really have to talk to Twilight to get Luna to help her again with her dreams.

Scootaloo’s mother stroked Scootaloo behind one ear. Scootaloo fidgeted under her mother’s comforts. “Relax, honey, mother’s here. Would you like a drink of water?”

Scootaloo nodded. Anything to keep her overly-affectionate mother off of her. As her mother made her way to the kitchen, Scootaloo leaned back onto the back of her bed. She let out a sigh. “Stupid dreams.”

Her peace was pulverized as a pink, grey, and yellow blur bulldozed its way right through her bedroom. “MOOOOOOOOOM!”

The wind whipped through Applebloom’s mane and her bow fluttered about as she was forced to enjoy the ride that Godiva had taken her on. After a while it became enjoyable, but her heart jumped up her throat every time a wall, tree, or pony got in the way; and as soon as she became used to the idea of being stuck going over nine thousand miles-per-hour, Godiva skidded to a halt, pulled out a brush and started brushing Applebloom’s fur while humming a little tune.

“Why did’ya stop?”

Godiva giggled. “Because, silly filly, it’s...

Author's Note

Happy April Fools everyone!

Bonus - Promotional Comic 1

Author's Note

The following is a promotional comic I made to help promote this story. It took close to a week to make.

Why did I make it? Because I want to improve my art skills and I want to be a (decent) cartoonist. No better way to get better than through practice, eh?

Bonus - Promotional Comic 1

Bonus - April Fools Promotional Comic

Author's Note

A comic I did entirely freehand on my wacom to promote my other story "Twilight Sparkle Plays Hot Cockles" (and in no way promote this story:trollestia:) It was rushed, as you can see, as I did it all on one weekend.

Bonus - Promotional Comic 2

Author's Note

I tried a different brush technique with a much thinner brush than before.

Plus copying. Lots of copying (at least I'm not tracing.:trollestia:)

Bonus - Promotional Comic 2

Bonus - Emplumeus Recipe (Medieval French Apple delicacy)

Emplumeus is an apple delicacy mentioned in Ch XI and Ch XII of “A Game of Kings and Pretty Pony Princesses.” I decided to try it out myself! My results are recorded below. You can find the recipe here.

In the meantime, here is a baby Derpy in a hat.

Bonus - 50 Reasons Promotion

50 Reasons to Read “A Game of Kings and Pretty Pony Princesses.”

You should read

because...

Author's Note

Another promotion I made.

I came up with this one while I was driving out of state last weekend. I always seem to get the weirdest thoughts and ideas while driving.

Can you tell why Golden Harvest is upset?

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

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."

Ye Olde Ch. 1 - A King, a Knight, and a Bard Walk into Ponyville...

Author's Note

This is the original ch.1 of the story. Much of the later half is still intact in the rewrite since some of the jokes still crack me up and I felt that some of it didn't need improving.

The biggest problem this chapter had was the sudden (and one time) perspective shift from Hauteclaire to Godiva. The prologue is now Godiva's experience, but told from Twilight's perspective (to give the reader a familiar starting point and also give a slightly better idea of how the ponies are handling the Court's appearance since they are not the focus of the story throughout much of it. They will however have a huge part in the third act.

Ye Olde Ch. 1 - A King, a Knight, and a Bard Walk into Ponyville...

Hauteclaire, Godiva, and their King walked through the gates of their new home to where the ground below their feet came to a stop. Below them on all sides was an ocean of trees that went on forever, except for straight ahead. There was the small town that held their first victim: a yellow pegasus with pink splotches on her flank. Or maybe Godiva was just in such a rush coloring its picture that she made a mistake. Or it spilled some taffy. Or it was bleeding. Either way, splotch or no splotch, the pegasus was going to help them learn to speak horsey.

“WAIT!” Godiva shouted, “Since we’re going and NOT playing the game, I don’t need my armor!”

The King was taken aback. “So? You look good in your armor! And besides, what’s wrong with it? It might be useful if these ponies try to chase us away.”

“The ponies won’t do that!”

“They will once they get a glimpse of Hauteclaire’s face!” the King said with a grin, pointing his thumb over his shoulder to Hauteclaire, less than three feet away.

“Hardy-har-har, Your Highness. You’re a real comedian,” Hauteclaire deadpanned.

“Kingy! Stop being mean to Haut-sauce. I’m going to change, so be nice while I’m gone,” Godiva said as she took off back into the castle, shedding her black, steel-plated armor carelessly across the floor.

For once Godiva had a good idea. Hauteclaire checked his clothes for wrinkles and took out his dagger from its sheath and used the side of the blade to inspect his reflection. Everything seemed fine: there was his single pink eye staring back at him. His white fur was spotted with sizeable patches of dirt, rocks, and... diamonds? He inspected his body further and found even more diamonds in his hands and large ears. Even his long, limp pink tail that dragged behind him had become speckled with the valuable ore. Feeling through his sky blue cotehardie and dark gold colored pants, he was able to feel both soft flesh and smooth diamond. Huh. Must have been a volcano nearby.

And then came the big one, the entire left side of his face. Looking back at his reflection, he saw it was unfortunately completely intact. No diamonds replaced or covered up the one giant blemish on his otherwise perfect face. No way did Hauteclaire ever go out without covering it; in all the excitement Godiva caused, he had almost forgotten. Since this was a special occasion, he should go out looking regal.

Just like he always did.

Looking around and seeing nothing to his liking, Hauteclaire settled with a handful of soil. Taking it in his hands, he concentrated as the soil hardened and changed color. This will have to do for now. These ponies won’t know the difference. The soil was now a golden blob that Hauteclaire worked like clay. When he was pleased with the results, he put it over the left side of his face, pulled out his dagger again and admired his work.

“That’s what you’re going as? I don’t think it suits you,” the King said.

“There is nothing wrong with my mask,” Hauteclaire snapped.

“Oh no no no. There is nothing wrong with it. It just doesn’t suit you. I mean, a sun? Really? A rain cloud is more you, Mr. Gloom and Doom,” the King said as a grin spread across his fat cheeks. “Do you want me to call you ‘Mr. Sunny-Sunny-Sunshine’? How about ‘Mr. Sunnycheeks’?”

Hauteclaire groaned and rolled his eyes. The King never stopped.

“I’m back! Let’s go see the ponies! I’m super excited!” Godiva came skipping back. Her armor had been hastily replaced by a simple dress that draped to her knees which had revealed her blue-grey fur and several spots of condensed dirt, rock, and sapphires that dotted her body. Without her menacing, ram-horned helmet in the way, her blue eyes shined under her round cheeks that housed the biggest smile Hauteclaire had seen in ages. Her mace hung on one side and Knebryter tied to the other. The dress was something Hauteclaire never thought he’d see her wear. Well, the Godiva from centuries ago, at least.

The Godiva Hauteclaire knew now was very different from the Godiva from before. She was giddy all the time and it showed through her wide eyes, smiles and shakes. Unlike Hauteclaire, who moved with grace and class, Godiva moved in spurts. She would have her hands to her sides one second, place a cookie in front of her, blink, and when you opened your eyes, she would be happily munching away. Her life was was told in pictures with no movement between them. The only indication that she had moved was usually her tail, ears, or fur whipping in the air. Her speed between these frames of existence often caused a lot of damage, especially to living things, antiques, and counter tops ladened with glasses of milk. Like her speed, she couldn’t control her strength. Whenever she hugged Hauteclaire, it was like receiving a hug from an affectionate ninja boa constrictor: it left him breathless, and he never saw it coming.

“OK! Walk this way!” The King turned and walked back towards the cliff before them. OK. He never walked. He strutted. He held his head back and puffed out his chest, though it would never be as far out as his stomach was. The few rubies that had become part of his body became more noticeable against his grey fur as they shone in the sunlight. And his dark-grey, fat, hairless tail dragged behind him with his overconfident strides. Hauteclaire moved to the side and turned his head to let him pass. Not only to avoid the embarrassing display, but the one time he wasn’t careful and his long nose knocked the King’s crown off his noggin, His Highness lost his marbles. It took Hauteclaire a week to find where the King hid his nose.

The King stood at the precipice, threw back his cape with one hand, and thrusted up the other triumphantly. He shouted to the sky, “Look out ponies! Here comes the Mouse King!”

Godiva giggled and clapped.

Hauteclaire groaned and rolled his eyes.

“So you’re telling me you had nothing to do with this?” Hauteclaire said, absolutely certain he knew what the real answer was.

“Nope. Not a clue! Maybe they don’t recognize me since I changed out of my armor.”

As soon as they had teleported into the center of town, they were greeted by screaming ponies. Now Hauteclaire had seen a lot of things in his ungodly long life. He’d seen face cream, he’d seen ice cream, but never had he seen ponies scream. It was so weird for him to see and hear something so un-equine come from equines.

The Mouse King was just smiling and enjoying the show, “It seems my reputation precedes me! Or they have never seen something quite as horrendous as Hauteclaire.”

Godiva’s mace knocked the King’s head to the side but didn’t stop his laughter.

Hauteclaire rubbed his temples as the screaming and the King continued to drill away at his ears and patience, “Now explain to us again, Godiva, exactly HOW you met this yellow pony.”

Godiva put a finger on her chin. “Umm…”

Godiva, the Mouse King’s “Black Knight,” was running around the town. The streets were empty. She had spent all morning watching them from a distance and finally decided to get up close and personal. When they saw her before, she took off at full speed. She may have smashed some fences, knocked over a couple of trees, and it was possible that she left holes in two sides of a clock tower, but she wasn’t paying attention. She had ponies on the mind.

Before coming here, her best friend, silent companion, sole scouting partner, and trusty steed Knebryter was the only pony she had the good fortune to meet. And she had carved him out of a large branch. Now there were real ponies everywhere!

What kind of town had so many ponies in it? What kind of people lived in a town that kept so many ponies? HOW COULD SHE GET A PONY? WHAT WOULD IT COST FOR SOMEBODY TO PONY UP A PONY? PONY, PONY, PONY!

Lost in thought about ponies and pony accessories, Godiva missed a turn and collided with explosive force against a pair of big wooden doors. Splinters and dust filled the air and clouded her vision as Godiva got up on her knees.

Knocked out of her train of thought, she began to feel around for Knebryter. She would never abandon him! Never! They’d been through too much together! Nothing would ever tear them apart! Not even every… pony… in the...

Hundreds of wide eyes were staring at her.

Pony eyes.

Godiva stared back.

...world.

Silence reigned supreme as Godiva took it all in. This whole building was filled with ponies. Ponies of all the colors of the rainbow. Ponies with wings. Ponies with horns. She even saw one with both!

Slowly, Godiva got to her feet. The gears in her head had completely stopped. That voice in her head was speechless. Her jaw slowly gave in to gravity, as did those of the ponies.

Shaking, Godiva pulled her fists up to her chest. She took in a long, deep breath.

“PONIES!”

Godiva zipped to the nearest pony and snatched it up. These ponies were so much bigger up close! They were just as tall as she was, but that didn’t stop her from lifting this one into the firmest and friendliest bear hug she could muster.

The ponies must have been overjoyed by her appearance, too, because at that moment, they all started to cheer and prance about. The grey pony in her grip flapped its wings and made a silly face; it was so adorable that Godiva squeezed even harder.

The poor thing’s back popped, and it farted.

Godiva let out a giggle, “Oops! Did you just fluff? I didn’t squeeze you too hard, did I?” She let go of the pegasus, and it collapsed to the floor. Hey! Since when could ponies do that with their eyes?

Godiva turned around and saw so many more ponies running around. Some ponies wearing fancy-looking armor were approaching her. “Aw! You’re all so adorable in your little armor. Who’s a little knighty-wighty? You are!”

An armored pegasus flared its wings and lept at Godiva. Godiva zipped back up the wall until she was standing upside down on the roof. “If you wanna play tag, you’re gonna have to do better than that!” She squealed and danced in place. “So many ponies! This is amazing! Oh! That one is wearing people clothes!”

Godiva rocketed off the ceiling onto the floor below and landed right next to a big, light blue mare with a pink mane wearing an apron and hoisted her in a hug. “Oh! You got more to love! More hugs for you!”

In the corner of her eye she saw a lankey, amber stallion with a hat and bowtie run towards her. Godiva’s smile grew even wider under her helmet. “Don’t worry! I’ve got enough hugs for every pony!” She dropped the wiggling mare and lept onto the stallion’s back and locked its neck in her arms.

She was enjoying the ride the pony with the bowtie was giving her until the world suddenly went dark. She let out a squeak as she felt the pony’s neck slide from her grip and her arms constricted to her sides. She couldn’t move, she couldn’t see, and she had no idea what was going on. She continued to struggle. “Don’t worry, ponies! I’ll be out of here in a second.”

Several more seconds of struggling passed. Godiva’s struggles began to weaken and fade. Her violent wiggling was slowly replaced with heaving sobs as she began to fear that she was trapped for good. “Please, I don’t like small places! Let me out! It’s so dark.” Godiva continued to cry as she focused her thoughts on the wonderful but short time she spent in heaven. Why was she trapped? What trapped her? Why were the ponies taken away from her? She wished Knebryter was with her. He’d know just what to say to comfort her.

Her constant sobs prevented her from hearing the voices and growing clip-clops just beyond the darkness. The constriction around her head laxed, and she was able to look up. There was light just above her! She struggled to wiggle her way free. She was only able to get part of her head out before it tightened around her helmet again.She was only able to see glimpses of color through her helmet’s visor. Just then her eyes were flooded with light as something yanked off her helmet.

When her eyes finally adjusted to the light, she saw a cerulean pegasus with a multi-colored mane hold her black helmet by its horns. Beside it was another pony with wings and a horn that was glowing. They were surrounded by the armored ponies, and further back against the walls were all of the other ponies that had only been moments earlier prancing with her.

With a little bit of shifting, Godiva was able to free her entire head and look down at her body. She was wrapped tightly in a tapestry that matched many more that hung on the walls. The tapestry itself was covered in a purple glow just like the unicorn/pegasus hybrid’s horn.

Having escaped the darkness, Godiva’s breathing slowed a bit, and she looked around. The ponies were talking with one another. All the armored ponies answered to the same hybrid that held her in place. These ponies were capable of communication, just like in fairy tales! And she could have sworn she knew some of the words they spoke, or at least she may have known a similar language at one point in her long life.

Through her teary eyes, she could make out Knebryter on the ground, being poked and prodded by a pink pony while a white pony turned green in the face. “Please, don’t touch him on the stick. He doesn’t like that,” Godiva said in a warbly voice. The ponies didn’t seem to understand, except for one.

A yellow pegasus with a long pink mane flew over to Knebryter and calmly shooed away the pokey pony, picked up Knebryter, and slowly worked her way towards Godiva.

As she drew closer, the room fell silent as every eye was glued to them. She slowly approached Godiva and lightly placed Knebryter by her side, crouched down and looked deeply into Godiva’s eyes.

The yellow pegasus spoke to her, her voice soothing, her eyes not leaving Godiva’s. Those eyes and her smile were magnificent in their warmth. A feeling of comfort flooded through Godiva; she relaxed her body completely and stopped struggling.

The pony stood up and turned to the hybrid. Godiva watched intently as a conversation took place. Godiva then put as much effort as she consciously could to save this pony’s image to her memory. When she had finished studying every feature and mark on the pony, she turned her attention back to the conversation.

The yellow pony spoke calmly and quietly, occasionally gesturing in Godiva’s direction with a hoof. Meanwhile, the hybrid continued to shake her head while the blue pegasus constantly raised its voice. Other ponies, including pokey pink and sickly white and a new one with a hat, joined the conversation and seemed to side against the yellow pegasus, but she remained determined and not once flinched from their sporadic verbal barrages. The yellow pegasus’ patient determination paid off as pony after pony gradually stopped their protests, with the rainbow-maned pegasus being the last one, although begrudgingly.

The yellow pony and the hybrid walked up to Godiva while a ring of armored ponies circled all three of them and took defensive stances. The yellow pegasus waved them back with a hoof. The hybrid’s eyes concentrated on Godiva as she felt the tapestry loosen around her and lift up above her.

Now free, Godiva picked herself up slowly as she closely watched all the ponies around her. The clanking of her steel armor was the only sound that could be heard.

The yellow pegasus approached and said something to Godiva. She didn’t understand, but whatever it said, it was certainly assuring. The tone alone was enough to ease the confusion and thoughts that raced through her head.

The pony took another step forward. Godiva’s head quickly turned left and right as she checked all the other ponies in the room. Is this pony being nice to me? Godiva thought. Slowly, she removed an armored glove from one of her hands and reached out towards the pegasus. Sudden movement in the edges of Godiva’s vision made her retract her hand. Other ponies had recoiled in fear at her approach, but the pegasus before her did not.

Once again, Godiva reached out and touched a finger on the base of her ear and started scratching. Whispering erupted throughout the room and the pegasus eyes widened but only momentarily as she then leaned in to it, leading to an even louder roar of mumbles.

Other than that, there was no movement. Godiva just stood there, stupidly scratching the ear of a pegasus. A pony pegasus. A pony. A real pony. The wheels in her head began to turn again. She ran her hand through the pony’s mane once before pulling it back. It then hit her, These aren’t just animals. These ponies are people! This is their building! They have knights, too! That hybrid must be their leader!

Godiva’s eyes sank to her hand. This, this is the greatest thing ever… A civilization of ponies! OH NO! The King! He still wants to play the game! I don’t want to play the game with these ponies! Oh, but if we don’t play the game, he may make us leave. I don’t want to leave this place! If only I could convince him… MARCUS! Yes! I’ll get him to ask the King! He is the only one the King listens to!

Godiva slipped her glove back on, “I’ll be right back!” she chirped and then took off towards the door. Before any of the ponies could react, she had already made her way out the door and halfway to the forest. She ran through the woods with a mission. No tree or river could stop her as she plowed through or ran over them. Arriving at the floating castle, she jumped and landed feet up on the underside and continued her manic marathon. She passed through the front doors and ran through the hallways, until finally she saw the Mouse King, Hauteclaire and Marcus standing in a room with their backs to her. She lifted Marcus over her head and took off back to town. She ran until she stopped abruptly right in front of the building which now had a huge hole where a door used to be, plopped Marcus on the ground, grabbed his nose with one hand, pointed with the other and said, “LOOK!”

Marcus adjusted his brown tricorne hat that fell over his eyes and looked in the direction his nose was being guided. In front of him was a bunch of ponies and a doorless building. All of them sprayed with dirt. Some ponies were spitting, wiping their tongues or rubbing their eyes. One with a purple mane was wailing. “Dir’z pohneez heer, dir iz,” Marcus said, his nose still in Godiva’s grip and a branch in his mouth.

“Yes, Marcus! Ponies! Look at all the ponies!” Godiva said, starting to jump up in down again with excitement, still holding on to Marcus’ nose.

Marcus pushed Godiva’s hand away with a touch of his, spat out the branch, stood up and dusted himself off. “So, is this a pony ranch, is this?”

“No! These ponies are the town! The people here are ponies, Marcus. These little ponies are the inhabitants,” Godiva said, her happy tone slowly turning to one of concern.

“Oh… OH! I see, I do. So, you want to side with them, do you?” Marcus said, thinking he knew what Godiva was getting at.

“No, Marcus, I don’t. I… I… I don't want to play the game at all! If we play, when it’s over, we leave. I don’t want to leave!” Godiva started to throw a fit and kick dirt up. “I’m so tired of the King’s stupid game. It’s play then leave, play then leave. Marcus, this is a world with ponies! I don’t want to play the game, and I don’t want to leave!”

Marcus waited for Godiva to finish her tirade. He looked over at the confused and dirt-covered ponies. His gaze then looked around at the town around him. “They seem like a peaceful bunch, they do.”

“See? We won’t learn anything here. We will win in no time and go. But I don’t want to leave! Please Marcus, let’s stay and not play the game,” Godiva pleaded, doing her best to give her best puppy-dog eyes.

Marcus gave the town and the ponies in the hall a final look over before turning to face Godiva. “I’m tired of the game, too, I am.”

What he said took a moment to register, but when it did, the reaction was explosive. Godiva jumped up and down, cheered, and did backflips and cartwheels. Marcus even caught the fever too, the growing smile on his face the only symptom. “And I’m pretty sure the others are, too, they are.”

“Really!?”

“Yes, but I don’t know how this will go over, this will. You should let me do all the talking, you…” Godiva grabbed Marcus’ hand and waved to the ponies, “Bye, ponies! See you real soon!” and took off, dragging Marcus through the air behind her.

The whiplash when Godiva turned back to collect Knebryter and her helmet nearly severed Marcus’ head.

“...Godiva?”

“Hmm?” Godiva stopped staring into the air in front of her and turned to Hauteclaire.

Hauteclaire sighed. “Godiva, I asked you a single question and you spaced out.”

“*Giggle*. Oh yeah, I’m sorry. What was the question?”

“How did you meet this pegasus?” Hauteclaire asked.

“Oh yeah! I…” Godiva began her answer but quickly stopped herself. She looked around for a few moments and scratched behind her ear. “...I, uh, smashed into a building full of them and was like--” Godiva swung her mace around and slammed it to the ground-- “‘Yo, yo, yo! I’m the Black Knight of the Mouse King army, and any one of yooz got a problem with that can just suck it--” She thrust her hips and grabbed her crotch, a gesture-threat combination she learned from Porthos-- “Yooz see dis here mace, here? Well, it would be a shame if I were to, yooz knowz, smash up the town like I did dis door here.’ And then they were like, ‘Oh no! Please don’t do that!’ and the yellow pegasus came up to me and was like, ‘You can have your vacation here! Let’s be friends!’ And I was like ‘Aight. We coolz.’ And that was how I met the yellow pegasus,” Godiva finished with a huge grin flooding her face, obviously proud of the convincing lie she just weaved together.

Funny, Godiva’s presence alone used to make whole armies rust their armor with liquid fear. Now she was just a sad parody of her former self. Funny or not, Hauteclaire could feel a major migraine coming. “That was the stupidest…”

“You really did that, Godiva? Oh, I’m so proud of you!” The Mouse King broke into applause. “I knew you were the toughest of my knights! You are my shining star, baby. Hauteclaire, you could really learn something from this one.”

No amount of magic or aspirin would make this go away. “What makes you think she’s telling the truth, Your Highness?”

“See for yourself,” replied the King smugly as he grabbed Hauteclaire by the chin and turned his head towards a building in the center of the town that had a huge hole in it. “Only my Godiva could cause so much damage.”

“Well, what about those crocodile tears you mentioned earlier, Godiva?” Hauteclaire said. Let’s see her lie her way through that one.

Godiva was taken aback, “I, uh, did I say ‘crocodile tears?’ I meant, uh, ‘crocodile sneers.’ Yeah! Crocodile sneers! You know! I threw off my helmet and went ‘GAAHHRRRRR’!”

“Wonderful! Wonderful!” The King kept on clapping.

Hauteclaire admitted defeat by face palming. My life is hell. Hauteclaire brought down his hand and saw now that the streets were empty. “Great. Now how are we going to find this pony?”

“You’re too quick to give up, Hauteclaire,” the King said. “You should be more positive, like Godiva and me!”

“Hey! She’s coming this way!” Godiva cheered.

“See, what did I tell you?” the King said as he turned from Hauteclaire and towards the stampede that was heading their way.

A large herd of ponies and unicorns in armor supported by a swarm of armored pegasi came charging at the mice. At the head of the assault was a bouncing ball of cotton candy, a marshmallow and a flying stick of butter. Oh wait, those were ponies too. And from what Hauteclaire could tell from what little he saw of the flying stick of butter as it hid behind the marshmallow and cotton candy, Godiva’s drawing was dead-on, taffy stains and all. Now they just had to catch her. Simple enough.

Hauteclaire turned to Godiva, “I thought you said they wouldn’t chase us.”

Godiva shrugged. “Like I said, they probably don’t recognize me without my armor.”

“But didn’t you take off your…”

“Godiva, I’m so proud of you, I’ll take care of this for you.”

The Mouse King stood in front of Hauteclaire and Godiva and threw his arms open dramatically. “All ye who dare challenge the Mouse King must be ready to face the thunder AND KNEEL!” and clapped his hands together. A boom dispersed from his hands in all directions. The pegasi dropped like rocks, those earthbound slid to a halt, and they all fell to one knee. In a single act, the King had effortlessly disabled an entire town’s defenses. Even the ponies that were foolish enough to be within the blast radius had been forced to prostrate themselves to the diminutive monarch. All except for the flying stick of butter.

“Hahaha~. She was right. Just a bunch of pushovers.” The Mouse King crossed his arms over his chest and admired his work. He turned to Godiva and said, “Well, what are you waiting for? Get her.”

Peanut Gallery - A Song and Images

Author's Note

This isn't a chapter, so to speak, but a gallery for things that don't belong anywhere else. Feel free to use the chapter texts if you'd like! You don't need to credit me or anything. It's just chapter text that took a couple of hours to make.:derpytongue2:

Peanut Gallery - A Song and Images

AlicornPriest performed the "Isle of the Mice" anthem. Check it out Below!

Listen

Mice of the Isle
“All ye brothers, stop your dreaming.
Can't you see the future gleaming,
beckons us to greatness beaming?
Glory calls us all.

Fate has smiled and gave us promise,
to your fellow mouse give solace,
we will prosper on our province,
ever we stand tall.

Voices ever thunder,
tearing walls asunder,
the heavens boom, our march resume,
and fill our hearts with wonder.

We’ll show hist’ry we’re most worthy,
for to spread our gifts we’ll journey,
heads held high and back-bones sturdy.
Evil won’t prevail.

He has brought to us a purpose,
his words are a burning furnace,
fiendish shadows won’t resurface.
We’ll fight tooth and nail!

Voices ever thunder,
tearing walls asunder,
the heavens boom, our march resume,
and fill our hearts with wonder.

Boom the cannons all the while,
battle on, mice of the isle,
with our courage and our guile,
never can we fail.

Hearts pound strong, mice of the isle
Never can we fail.”

Below are a bunch of fancy chapter text. You can use and edit these if you want. You don't need to credit me.:twilightsmile:

Cover arts

The cover art has gone through quite a few changes. Below are some concepts (back when Hauteclaire had a fancy hat) and cover arts I used.

Extra Silly Bit

Bonus - The Rejected Tale of Yellow Belly and Green Mile

Author's Note

What you are about to read is a rejected prologue. One of the several I have written, but the only one that got pretty close to "complete" before it was scrapped.

On a mechanical level, it's mostly complete. But after looking back at it, my prereader for this prologue brought up a valid point: "After reading this, the last thing on my mind was mysterious magical mice." and that, "This would serve better as a side story than an actual prologue." Those were pretty valid points that struck this prologue to its knees. My editor's comments after that pretty much sealed the deal. In short, "this summary could be rewritten to better illustrate a moral or character growth. Would this prologue follow Yellow Belly and show that in times of desperation, the unassuming could overcome obstacles; or would you better focus on Green Mile's change of heart about his assumptions and feelings against Yellow Belly?" All-in-all, it seemed like too much work for too little pay-off.

So I dropped it.

Months later, I'm going back over my stuff in preparing for the sequel, and I find it. I read it again, and WOW did I think this was bad.:derpytongue2: Perhaps that's a sign that I'm improving as a writer.I'm glad I never published it--

--as an actual part of the story.:rainbowwild:

So, if you ever wondered what terrified the pegasi at the beginning of the story, continue reading at your own risk.:pinkiecrazy:

Bonus - The Rejected Tale of Yellow Belly and Green Mile

“I don’t know, it just seems really odd that the Castle of the Two Sisters would start floating like that. Haven’t you heard the rumors about the Everfree Forest and the things that come out of there? I bet whatever is causing this is something worse than Discord and Tirek combined!”

“Stop your whining! Look, we’ll go in, take a quick look, then leave and tell Princess Twilight we couldn’t find anything.”

Two Royal Guard pegasi flew side by side, high over the Everfree Forest. Their enchanted armor altered their appearances, turning their coats white and their manes and tails royal blue.

“I don’t like this, Green.”

“Oh shut it, Yellow, we’re just going to be in and out, no big deal.”

“But seriously, Green Mile, castles don’t float on their own. There’s probably some big, evil monster in there, and it’s waiting for us to come and it’s going to bite off our heads!”

“Yellow Belly, stop your bellyaching! That’s why they sent two of us. So that you would get eaten by the monster and I could go back and report to Princess Twilight about the castle. It’s probably just that Discord… thing... pulling another prank and wasting the Princess’ time.”

As Yellow Belly continued to mutter on about monsters and the Everfree, his breathing quickened. “But what about that farmer that got attacked by a giant beast this morning? Or the black shadow with the pony head on a spike!? I don’t like this, Green. There’s something evil in that place. It wants pony flesh, Green! It wants...”

Green Mile swerved into Yellow Belly and gave him a rough bump.

“AAAAAAH! HEY!” Yellow flailed his legs about before he regained himself. “Darn it, Green, stop it!”

Green Mile swerved again and hovered in front of Yellow Belly, who was looking every which way but ahead. The sudden obstruction scared a whinny out of him and forced him to pull back with several quick flaps of his wings.

Green glared at the panicking pegasus. “If you’re going to be such a big foal, why did you join the Royal Guard in the first place?”

“Well, I thought I’d just be stuck with patrol work. I didn’t think I would have to go out and do something actually dangerous!”

Green Mile jabbed a hoof into the hyperventilating pegasus’ chest. “Our orders are not to fight anything. We are just scouting. If we see anything, we are to retreat and report whatever we find to Princess Twilight. That’s it. So stop being a such a pansy. We don’t have to get close or anything. At the first sign of danger, we fly. Got it? Or, if even that is too much for you, you can always go back alone and tell the princess how you were too scared to do a simple reconnaissance mission.”

Yellow Belly sighed. “Okay… Okay… At the first sign of danger, we fly.”

“Right, now let’s get this over with...” Green Mile turned around and resumed his flight towards the floating castle. “...before I leave you behind in that castle,” Green said under his breath.

The two made it to their destination - the dilapidated Castle of the Two Sisters and the immediate grounds around it, which were suspended over a hundred feet in the air. The earth underneath the castle had also been torn from the ground, making the floating island look like an upside-down mountain. The two swooped around the castle and even underneath, but they didn’t find anypony casting magic, nor anything that resembled a magical artifact or any magical aura. The two were clueless as to what was keeping the castle in the air. Instead of flying straight into one of the many gaping holes in the roof, they made a few large laps around the castle.

After several close fly-bys by some broken windows, Green Mile saw no sign of anything living in the castle. In fact, Yellow Belly noticed that the castle grounds around the crater below seemed to be devoid of wildlife as well, which fueled his ramblings that something evil was lurking within.

Green Mile made the motion to follow him and descended down onto the roof next to one of the larger holes. He poked his head in and saw a large hall, brightly lit from the mid-morning sun. Its tarnished and musty banners decorated the pale gray walls. On one wall, a few doorways led off in different directions into the castle. On the opposite wall, a row of tall, arched windows stood broken through years of neglect. Pulling his head back up, he turned to Yellow Belly.

“Okay, Yellow Belly, I’m going in first. You keep a lookout from up here until I call you.”

Yellow Belly gulped and nodded.

Spreading his wings wide, Green Mile glided down through the hole. With one powerful flap, he slowed his descent and landed on the stone floor. Moss and sunlight flooded in through the windows, and a light breeze blew through the castle and Green Mile’s fur.

In front of where he landed, at the center of the windowed wall, stood a stone statue of a large alicorn up on its hind legs, wings spread. Above the alicorn’s head was a large, round, stained glass window of the sun, surprisingly in good condition. It reminded Green of Celestia when she raised the sun during the Summer Sun Celebration. Green Mile smiled, a rush of comfort flowed through his body, he relaxed his wings while he took a deep breath and he straightened his posture.

Looking through each doorway, Green checked the connected halls. [Green looked through each doorway into the connected halls The stone walls were musty, adorned with broken torch holders, and one hall was lined with ancient soldier armor. [The musty stone walls bore broken torch sconces, and ancient soldier armor lined one hall.] Sunlight from the holes in the roof illuminated the halls, leaving only a few small shadows for creatures to hide in. It was silent except for the echo of his hooves. After nothing came barreling down the hallways at him, he looked up at Yellow Belly, who was still perched up on the roof as lookout, and waved him down.

Yellow Belly looked around, then slowly descended to Green’s side, stopping a short distance above the ground. “Okay, great, we’ve checked out the castle. Can we go now?”

“No. We let’s keep looking.”

“But we haven’t found anything.”

“Precisely! We can’t go back to Princess Twilight and report that we saw nothing. So we are going to search inside the castle. Look, there are plenty of holes in the ceiling and windows for us to fly through in case something comes charging at us. Now come on.” Green Mile turned and walked through the nearest hallway.

Yellow whimpered and trudged behind Green.

The deeper the two descended into the depths the derelict structure, the more their tension dissipated. What would have been odd was how clean much of the castle looked, but since their briefing had mentioned that Twilight and her friends had done some renovating and cleaning in the hopes of using the castle as the newest Princess’ home, the organized mess and semi-cleaned state of the castle raised no red flags.

They had also received a detailed map of the castle, made by the Princess herself. They had studied it intensely before going and checked off rooms as they visited them. However, despite being located in the dead center of the map and having multiple entrances on each side, one room remained unchecked - the throne room. Their frustrations began to overshadow their previous resignations about the place.

Green lay the map flat on the ground in one of the many outer halls and took another look out a window before looking back at the map. “This is ridiculous.”

“What is it? Still having trouble with the map?”

“Shut up, Yellow. I can’t figure out why we can’t find the throne room.”

Yellow turned his head away from watching the doorways. “Let me look.”

“No! Keep a lookout.”

“Come on, let me see.”

“Fine!” Green shoved the map towards Yellow. “Let’s see you find the way.”

Yellow smirked as he smoothed the map out. “Hhm! Okay, so we are here…”

“No kidding, Sherclop,” mumbled Green.

“...then it’s through that doorway, second corridor to the left. Simple!” Yellow rolled up the map and stuck it under his wing.

“Down that hallway? We’ve been down that hallway three times already and checked every corridor. None of them lead to the throne room, you feather brain!”

Yellow frowned. “I don’t like it when you call me names. Tell you what,” Yellow turned his frown into a smirk. “If I find the throne room, you polish my armor for a week.”

“Shut up, Yellow. Go.” Green pointed down the hallway.

Straightening his back for the first time this morning, Yellow held his head high and walked ahead of Green down the hallway, another first for the evening. He turned around and saw that Green remained standing in the same spot. His posture sank as he found himself alone. “Uhhh… Aren’t you coming, Green?”

Green shook his head. “What’s the matter? We’ve checked every room and there’s nothing here. You’re not chicken, are you?”

Yellow pursed his lips and furrowed his eyebrows. “Sha…. Shut up, Green.”

“Tell you what, you somehow find the throne room, and I’ll put in a good word for you with my sister.”

Yellow perked his ears, his wings fluffed a little bit and the map slipped from under one. “Fine. The throne room is down this hallway, I get to the end of this hall and to the throne room and walk back, and you’ll get me a date with your sister.”

“Fine, whatever. Just go, you moron.”

“Promise?”

“Yes, promise! Just get on with it!”

With a smile and a salute with his free wing, Yellow snatched up the map and trotted down the hall and out of Green’s sight.

“Oh jeez, Cotton is going to kill me if he finds the throne room.”

“Cotton? You were going to set me up with Cotton! What about Allure!?”

Green whipped around at Yellow’s whining. “Hey! I didn’t say which sister I’d set you up with! Besides…”

His tirade halted. Green looked back at the hallway that Yellow had walked through, and then back behind him at the other far end of the hall where Yellow stood. “How did you…?”

Unrolling the map, Yellow took another glance at it and out the window. “Hang on… that… um… Okay, I got this now.” He snatched up the map in his teeth and ran back through the hall from which he came and made a right turn, leaving Green’s sight once more.

Green rustled his wings and scratched behind his ear. How did he get over there so…

“Aha! Here it is!... Wait.” Yellow unrolled the map again and stuck his nose in it. “What in blazes…”

“How in Tartarus did you do that?”

Yellow looked up from the map. “Do what?”

Green rushed forth and pulled the map over to him. The two halls weren’t even connected. “You went through there…” He pointed to the doorway behind Yellow. “...and then you came out there.” He shifted his hoof over to the doorway that was at the very far end of hall, at least a thirty-second trot. Then it hit him, so he smacked Yellow.

“Ow! What was that for?!”

“You flew out the windows, didn’t you? Well, tough stuff, you aren’t going out with any of my sisters.”

“What!? No, I didn’t fly out. I’m serious, I just went down the second hallway to the right, and when I came out, I saw you. You are the one who’s messing with me!”

Green looked back down at the map. Everything lined up perfectly; Yellow should have arrived in the throne room. He reached over and plucked a feather out of Yellow’s wing. The color of the feather changed from white to a dull yellow.

“Hey! What in Tartarus are you doing?”

“Just making sure you’re not dreaming. Shut it.” Pulling aside a couple of rocks from one of the piles pushed into the corner, likely parts of the collapsed roof, Green made a small pile and wedged the long feather between the two top rocks right next to the doorway they were going to enter. He snatched up the map. “Alright, Yellow, show me which way you went. If you’re telling the truth, we should end up at the other end of the hall and see this marker at the end of the next room we enter.”

Muttering under his breath, Yellow led Green down the hall and through the second corridor on the left. The corridor was long, and unlike the others, quite dark, as there were no holes in the roof. The rows of ancient, dusty armor that stood silently on either side of the corridor didn’t make it feel any more inviting. It probably wasn’t the proper time at that moment for Green to be somewhat proud of what his sister Allure’s beauty could do: it could even convince Yellow to grow a spine.

Before he knew it, the two had reached the bright light at the end of the dark tunnel. The hallway they arrived in looked much like the others, but his first glance was towards the farthest door away from them. He did not see the markers. “See, I told you, you big fat…”

As much as he wanted to gloat, what Yellow was pointing at took precedence. There, right next to the door just as he left it, was the pile of rocks with the feather marker. They had come out the same door they went in.

His jaw lost its fight with gravity as he recognized all of the other details in the room they were in. The rock piles, the scenery outside the windows. This was the exact same room.

“But… how?”

“Oh, Celestia, this is just too weird. Let’s get out of here, Green.”

As Yellow took off, Green chomped down on his tail and pulled him back, stomped his hoof and kicked over the marker. “No! We are going back the way we came once more. Then, we can get out of here. I want to see something.” He turned around and marched back down the dark corridor. Yellow whined in protest but followed Green into the windowless, holeless, and lightless hallway.

The two walked briskly down the corridor, passing a suit of armor with every two or three steps. However, the light at the end of the corridor never seemed to get closer. The corridor was alive with the rattling of Yellow’s armor. The clanking and creaking grew louder and louder. No longer could Green just idly trot next to this cacophony of fear and gnash his teeth.

Green swiveled around and shouted, “What in Tartarus are you doing, Yellow? Stop that racket.”

“What racket? I thought that was you.”

At that moment, neither of them were moving, but the sound of rattling armor continued. Movement behind Yellow caught his eye. He leaned over to look behind Yellow. Green felt his heart stop and he gasped at what he saw. Seeing his reaction, Yellow turned his head to look behind himself as well. Both of them were met with many hollow stares. Every suit of armor they had passed had turned to face them, while some had even stepped off their podiums and slowly creaked their way to the uninvited guests. Their rusty joints cried out from ages of misuse. Now that they had been seen, they all reared up on their hind legs and screeched in a discordant cry that sounded vaguely like: “We’re gonna kill you.”

Yellow Belly shrieked and took off down the corridor, abandoning Green, who was stuck in a defensive pose in the dark. “Darn it, Yellow, you chicken!”

Green flared his wings and growled at the approaching armor. Not a single one of them hesitated in their pursuit.

Then again… he may have the right idea.

Green turned around and saw that every suit of armor Yellow had passed had come to life. Flying as close as he could to the roof, Green jetted down the corridor towards the light, which was being swallowed up by darkness. He didn’t see the shadow flying right at him until it was too late.

Shaking off the daze from the mid-air collision, he was able to make out Yellow between the spots in his vision.

“A door, Green! The end of the corridor has been shut with a door and it’s bolted shut! I can’t get it open!”

As his breath grew ever more rapid, Green searched the darkness for a way out. The way they had come from had been blotted out as well, and it was probably sealed too. It was then, after a bit of squinting in the dark, that he made out a breakaway corridor that they must have passed twice before, conveniently unguarded by the living armor.

“There! Go that way. Move!”

The duo charged down the corridor over the heads of several suits of armor and made their mad dash into the unknown. Passing several more sets of armor, the two saw another wooden door. Unlike the other two, this one was ajar, and light creeped in through the crack. Green slammed himself into the door, and it flew open. Landing on the ground with a tumble, he scrambled to his hooves and reached to close the door. From the shadows in the hallway, he could see the armor for only a moment, their sluggish pace had turned into a steamed charge. Green slammed the door shut and pushed against it with all his might. His wings spread as he braced himself for impact.

The door bent under the pressure and a burst of metal against wood echoed loudly in the room. The clanging of metal on stone resounded behind the pony barricade, and then all fell silent.

Minutes must have passed as Green continued to push against the door. Silence had overtaken him and the corridor beyond the wooden door. In the absence of any resistance, he slowly backed away from the door, his wings still fully spread and his chest heaving under his armor.

“We… we’re alive…”

Green slowly turned and looked towards the sound of the voice. Behind him, halfway across the expansive room, was Yellow Belly. He was on his side, his chest rising and falling with each heave. His forehead drenched and sweat dripped into his wide eyes.

Green swallowed hard. “Yeah, we’re alive.”

“Can we leave now?”

Green looked back down at his hooves before nodding. “Yeah, I think we’ve seen enough.”

Yellow got back up on his hooves and looked around the room they were in. He moaned at the lack of any windows or holes in the roof, then he gasped. “Green... “

His partner noticed it too. The expansive room with many doors leading off in every which way; the tattered banners that bore both Princess Celestia and Princess Luna; and the two thrones, located at the very back of the room.

“This is it… we’ve found the throne room.”

Green only let his awe knock him off his guard for a second. He braced himself and scanned the room for anything that moved. The only other thing that moved about was Yellow Belly, who flew from doorway to doorway. Each one of them lacked an actual door, but was sealed off by darkness. Trying to peer into each hallway or corridor, Yellow was peered into each hallway or corridor to try to find the safest way out.

Yellow trotted in place next to the last door. “Oh man, I can’t see anything! What happened to the light? What happened to the holes in the roofs? Why is it so dark in here? I want to get out of he-er-er-ere.”

Facehoofing at Yellow’s blubbering, Green was weighing the pros and cons of punching some bravery into Yellow. After the decision of not exerting any extra energy until after they escaped this deathtrap, Green walked up to Yellow to calm him down and start finding a way out. However, as he approached Yellow, a shadow formed behind him and crept up from the dark hallway behind him.

Green froze. There was a two-legged creature, covered in blue and gold from head to hoof. It stood upright like a minotaur, its fur was as white as death, its ears were large like a death bat, a single red eye glowed in the darkness on the right side of its head, standing a hoof taller than Yellow, it was in prime ambush position.

It opened its mouth under its upturned, timberwolf-like snout, bearing its pointed teeth. “Ich konnte ihn nicht finden.”

Yellow screamed and bucked behind him. The buck hit the creature square in the the jaw and the head snapped off with a resounding pop before bouncing back into the darkness from which it came. The body stood still momentarily before collapsing to the ground.

Flying laps around the room, Yellow continued to scream bloody murder. Green, on the other hoof, remained frozen as he processed what just happened. Shaking the shock off, he took a few careful steps towards the headless body.

Looking it over, the body was covered in clothes. There was a blue cape over a blue shirt of some kind with golden buttons. The dark golden pants were also in fine condition. A long, hairless, pink tail came out from a hole in the back. The weirdest thing he noticed was that the tail had small diamonds embedded in it, as did the hands, underneath the white fur. He poked the headless body, but it didn’t move.

Green looked back up at the shrieking and spinning Yellow before looking back down at the decapitated, and yet bloodless corpse, then back up to Yellow. “Oh Celestia, please don’t kill me!”

No way.

A regally dressed monster with a clear obsession for diamonds in a floating castle with lots of soulless minions? This creature must have been King Sombra, Nightmare Moon, Discord, and the Changeling Queen all rolled up into one, and Yellow Belly just punted its head off like it was a hoofball.

“I haven’t even kissed a mare ye-he-he-heeeeet!”

No bucking way.

Green snarled and looked up at the panicking pegasus, still bouncing off the walls with his face wet with tears.

“I have a partner! Eat him instead!”

There is no bucking way.

“DAMN IT, YELLOW BELLY, GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE!”

Tangled up in one of the banners, Yellow Belly looked down at his partner. His eyes were bloodshot and his cheeks were wet. Probably just like the fur on the inside of his thighs. The little pissant. “What… what…” Yellow saw Green standing next to the lifeless body.

“Did… did you do that? Did you stop the monster?”

Green flinched, looked back down at the body and then back up to Yellow out of the corner of his eyes. “...Yes?”

“Hoho! Alright!” Yellow cheered as he wiggled his way out of the banner. He flew close to the body and pointed. “You got the monster? You saved me!?”

“Yeah, sure,” said Green with a roll of his eyes. “Now come on, let’s get out of here.” He turned towards the closest doorway, but stopped when he heard the taunts.

“You see that monster!? You don’t mess with the Royal Guard Pegasus Patrol!”

Green turned around and saw Yellow jabbing a hoof at the headless body; chills creeped down his spine.

“Shut up, Yellow. It’s bad form to taunt the dead.”

“Yeah, you thought you could just give us the scare, huh? Like where a bunch of chickens. Well, look who just got their head chopped off, like a chicken!”

“Shut up, Yellow!”

Yellow strutted about like a rooster in a henhouse. “Bawk bawk-bawk bawk bawk!”

“Darn it, Yellow! Let’s get…”

Violent coughs terminated Yellow’s taunting. He fell down on his knees while hacking and wheezing. Green ran up to his side and started pounding on his back.

“See? This is clearly karma kicking your…”

Yellow puked all over the floor.

“...plot.”

Taking deep breathes, Yellow struggled to get back up on his hooves. “Oh dang… This job has been to much for…” He froze in place.

“What? Got another sick fit coming on? Should I get a bu…” Green stopped his jovial jabs when he caught a glance of Yellow’s pile of sick. It wasn’t the partially digested remains of the daisy sandwich he had this morning, nor was it anything a pony would likely consume. There, just inches away from Yellow’s snout was a wriggling mass of bugs.

Worms, beetles, centipedes, all squirming about in puke.

Green jumped back and stared at Yellow, who slowly turned to his partner, a worm was hanging out of his nose. Tears filled his eyes as he whispered, “Am I going to die?”

Before Green could reassure his partner that they would make it out alive, a loud cracking of stone followed by colossal boom echoed from the bowels of the castle. Helping his partner stand up on his wobbly legs, Green smacked the worm out of his nostril with a wing tip before he ushered his partner to the nearest exit. “No, you’ll live. Let’s get out of here now, hmm?”

The two thanked the goddesses that the path chosen wasn’t crawling with hollow horrors they’ve encountered before. In fact, the fates must have been smiling on them as the arrived the corridor of their choice took them back to the first hall they checked. Everything was as it was before. Celestia’s sun shined in through the windows and holes in the ceiling. All they had to do was fly out and they would be free of this cursed place.

However, there was one thing different.

“Green? What happened to the statue?”

The stone alicorn no longer stood proudly over the mossy, sunlit room. Broken at the abdomen, the lower half of the statue remained in place, the upper half was nowhere to be found, but scratches on the ground lead from the statue through one of the biggest doorways.

Green shook his head. “That is a mystery best left unsolved. Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

The two of them took wing and flew towards the closest window. Green closed his eyes sighed in relief as he no longer had to stay in this place. His front legs hung as he relaxed his shoulders.

“Green! WHAT IN TARTARUS IS GOING ON!?”

Jostled, Green flapped about in the air, opened his eyes and was greeted with a wall. Smacking hard face first against the solid stone wall, he fell down and tumbled on the cold, mossy hard floor. After clearing his eyes of tears caused by the hard smack onto his sensitive snoot, he looked up and saw Yellow panicking and smacking a hoof against the wall.

“It’s gone! They’re all gone! The windows disappeared, Green!”

Indeed, Yellow’s outlandish claims were correct. All of the long, arched windows had disappeared; and with them, so did much of the light in the room and the pleasant breeze. Jumping up to his hooves, Green looked around and saw that there was still light coming in from the holes in the roof.

A monstrous roar bellowed from deep within the castle, echoing through the halls and corridors before shaking the very foundations of the pegasi’s psyche.

Nope.

“Quick! To the roof!”

The two bolted towards the ceiling, but as they got closer, the holes healed over and got smaller and smaller until they disappeared.

“No! No! NO!” cried Yellow as he clawed at the roof.

The rush of adrenaline pushed Green. His mind was racing, thoughts overlapped as he tried to come up with a solution. He could only think of one. “Quick! With me! We need to find another way out!”

He dived down and soared into one of the corridors, Yellow on his tail. The corridor was long and narrow, a turn was up ahead and there was a light at the end. Possibly a way out. Then a screech shattered their concentration and a large hoof jutted out from around a corner further down the corridor.

A stone hoof dug into the ground and pulled. From the shadows came the top half of the alicorn statue. It’s wide, pupil-less eyes bored its prey as it dragged itself through the corridor. Its stone wings unfurled and blocked the corridor above it. It opened its mouth and screeched again as it dragged its stone body across the floor, the scratching of stone on stone echoed in the pegasi’s ears.

“Back! Back! We can’t get past that thing!”

The two retreated back into the room they came from. Yellow took to the air, but Green swooped around and tried to find another exit route. Much to his dismay, all of the other doorways had also disappeared.

The scratching of the stone alicorn grew closer and closer. Green joined Yellow up near the ceiling and the decaying rafters when he saw the stone alicorn’s front hoof extend from the darkness.

Up in the sky, the two were safe for the time being, but the screeching terror below hounded them from the ground. Dragging it’s torso on the ground, the stone pegasi tried to get as close as it could without taking its dead gaze off of them. At the same time, it wouldn’t stray too far from the doorway to the corridor.

“Oh Celestia, oh Celestia, oh Celestia, oh Celestia…”

As he looked back and forth between the hyperventilating Yellow, the skulking alicorn statue, and the doorway, he came up with an escape plan. He just hoped it wouldn’t be his last. He zipped around the statue as close as he dared and started screaming. “Hey, ya’ big rock! Come and get me! Come on!”

The alicorn took long swipes at Green and even tried to chomp on him more than once, but it never came close and each swipe and chomp only got air. With gusto, he kept the act up; and the irritated alicorn torso followed him away from the doorway. After it had scooted itself a fair distance away, Green snapped his eyes back up to the roof where an open-mouthed, flabbergasted Yellow Belly stared back at him.

“Well, what are you waiting for!? Get out of here you dumb buck!”

That was all the push he needed. Yellow charged down into the door and disappeared into the darkness. No longer needing to distract the alicorn, Green shot up out of harms reach and tried to make it for the doorway himself. But before he could make it, Yellow reappeared, screaming bloody murder as a mob of armor came chasing in after him, jumping up and snapping their helmet visors at his tail. The two quickly retreated back towards the ceiling and watched as the alicorn statue dragged itself over in front of the doorway again, this time, surrounded by a bunch of its jittery metallic chronies.

Yellow pawed at his own face and flew around in circles. “Oh buck me! Game over, dude! Game over!”

Before Green could collect his thoughts to formulate another plan, a loud rumbling shook both pegasi. The door behind the alicorn torso grew smaller and smaller. It’s arched shape sank into the ground.

Celestia, no!

Other features on the walls were sinking too. The banners inched their way towards the armor infested floor, and it seemed as if the monsters were rising up. Getting closer and closer as the rumbling grew louder.

Then Green looked up.

The floor wasn’t rising! No, the walls were sinking into the ground, taking the ceiling down with them!

The banners touched the ground and began to fold onto each other. The sinking ceiling forced the pegasi to fly lower and lower, closer to the jumping and snapping armor and the screeching alicorn statue.

It seemed as if there was no hope left as the light coming in from the one window grew dimmer and dimmer… wait! The window! That’s it!

“Yellow! Follow me! We’re not done yet!”

Green dove down and pulled up, lining himself up to barrel through the stained glass sun. At the last moment before impact with the sinking sun, he tucked in his wings, closed his eyes, and braced himself for impact, until he hit a snag that nearly ripped off his tail

The stone alicorn had pushed off the ground with all it’s might, launching itself into the air, and bit down hard on Green’s blue tail.

He screamed in shock as he tried to pull away, but the alicorn slowly dragged him down closer to a bunch of waiting, hungry, snapping metallic jaws.

Tried as he might, he couldn’t break free from the alicorn’s stone grip.

“Get your teeth off him you damn, dirty art!”

A blur of purple and white whipped by in the air and knocked the alicorn on the side of the head. The statue jostled, let go of the struggling pegasus’ tail, and fell over after being sucker punched. Green was catapulted through the window and collapsed on a heap. Hitting his head hard on the ground.

Everything went black.

“Green Mile? Green? Buddy? Wake up, Green!”

He felt the grass tickle his skin. The cool, mid-morning breeze whispered into his ears and felt cold against his sweaty hide. He opened his eyes, but had to shut them again because it was too bright. He felt something push up against him.

“Come on, buddy, we gotta get out of here!”

He opened only one eye this time, and it took a little bit for it to focus, but there was Yellow Belly. Green couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him; there was a first for everything.

“Can you get up? We’ve got to get out of here!”

Focusing his eye again at the scenery, he saw the Castle of the Two Sisters looming over Yellow Belly. Oh right. The death trap.

Rushing to get back up, Green slipped on the dewy grass, but was able to give himself a running start before he jumped off the flying island and soar as fast away as he could. Yellow was beside him all the way.

The two of them were silent for most of the flight back to Ponyville. Green knew they had to get to Princess Twilight and give her the bad news that the castle was infested with some kind of evil. He hoped they weren’t too late to inform her before she started the emergency town meeting she organized much earlier that morning after the sightings began, however, he had lost track of time back in the castle. If the high position of the sun was any indicator, he was already too late.

He slowed his pace and let his wings relax as he stopped his frantic wing beating and settled into a calm glide. Yellow followed his example and slowed down too, bringing himself closer to Green.

“Um… Green, how are you feeling, buddy?”

Green turned to Yellow. “Did you tackle a giant alicorn statue and save my life?”

Yellow opened his mouth to respond, but quickly swallowed whatever he was going to say. He didn’t take his eyes off his partner. “Oh Celestia, I did.”

Green laughed. “After what happened today, I feel like doing something crazy.”

“Like what?”

“I’m going to get you a date with Allure!”