Luna sat on her cushion, looking at the ceiling.
Sometimes, she thought, hoofing at the cushions, I do wonder if she even sees the virtue of placing her trust in me, however complacent that action might seem to be. She hadn't held a Night Court, not since the first—and that was three days ago, whereas she should have been having one daily.
Surely I have not wavered in my contrition? She stomped her forehooves in sheer frustration, torn between blame from within and without; she thought back to the session, trying first—as any ruler must—to find fault in herself.
—
The monarch's booming voice, not diminished in the slightest by her diminished stature, resounded through the meticulously dusted Night Court. “Ye are welcome in our chamber of night. We shall suffer your presence, as is our duty, and the light of our stars shall be our witness. State the purpose of this visit of yours, citizens!”
—
An informal opening; surely, she did not see fit to advise against my counsel for a matter so petty as that! She poked at her chin. Perhaps I did not properly conjugate the inclusive and exclusive, but that distinction hasn't existed in Equestrian for three thousand years!
Surely, she thought, the cause of my disgrace mustn't have been of an affair so immediate.
—
The pegasus in the centre of the court stood firm, looking at his surely dazzled female companion. “The waiting time,” he hissed, so quietly that Luna would have failed to hear him if not for the bidirectional amplification the architecture held, “remember the lines!” He turned and grinned—clearly in reverence to her might!—as he spoke again, louder.
“I'm, uh, here to ask about making a tiny little itsy-bitsy change to the trade regulations.”
Luna smiled inwardly, but maintained her composure. Finally, she thought, a chance for her to redress the grievances of her subjects! A chance for her to revel in her contemporaneity! “Thou mayest continue.”
“Well, I've been having Clan Gilda workers taking from my local cloud commune and claiming that they're being used for charity. My wife needs the clouds to farm.” He poked at the cowering figure. “We saw the very best clouds being sold in Griffonville on our last visit there. One of them even had my hoof-mark in it. If it wouldn't incon—”
“Say no more,” she said, nodding solemnly. “It is clear that this is an orchestrated act of terror against our subjects, and we shall not stand for it.” She turned to the guard standing to her left—he was sweating, doubtless in awe of her mighty wisdom.
A deep, regal breath, and she continued. “Call the Manehattan Pegasus Fifth and Only and order a full strike into the Griffon heartlands. We shall bring the fear of Equestria and the distrust of their false idols and wicked gods into their pitiful, dark hearts.”
The room was silent for a second—deafeningly so—as the ponies in the room seemed to contemplate her wise words.
“Princess,” he said, his voice stuttering a very little bit, “there are three Pegasus Regiments stationed in Manehattan.”
She nodded in a very restrained manner. Let no one think of her as resistant to change. Even if the Fifth and Only was to be an eternal reminder of the Griffon massacres against the people of Manehattan.
“Very well. Send all three of them.”
“But the civilians, Princess?”
“There are no innocent griffons, guard, and even if there were such a creature—its innocence would prove nothing. Surely on such aeternal truths art thou well-educated, war being thine honoured trade.” She pointed her hoof to the two ponies. “Our little ponies; ye are to dismiss yourselves from our presence. Let none think that your grievances have not gone unnoticed.”
They backed away and quickly broke into a run from her royal presence; the guard walked away to relay her orders, purple armour cloaking his exit.
—
Perhaps I was too lenient with the griffons? she asked herself, splayed back on the couch in a very unregal manner. Perhaps I ought to have ordered a full extermination? By now, they must surely have learnt their lesson well enough to know to—at the very least!—keep their preparations for war subtle.
She shook her head. Impossible. Celly always has been the colour of her fur within. She protested the third Griffon Pacification! No. Impossible. Surely she must have had a better reason than that.
—
Two stallions, both earth ponies, walked into the hall; one was wearing a rather strange-looking sort of collar over his brown fur, looking rather uncertain. The other one stood tall, a wide-brimmed hat covering his blue head. “Princess Luna?” the more assertive-looking pony said, stepping forth.
“Ye are welcome in our chamber of night. We shall suffer your presence, as is our duty, and the light of our stars shall be our witness. State the purpose of this visit of yours, citizens!”
The brown pony stepped back a bit, hissing. “The Night Court? You said we were gonna skip in line! You didn't say you were gonna put us in the bucking Night Court! What the hay—”
“We can hear thee, citizen, and greatly appreciate thy praise, but now is not the time, nor the place, to speak as such. State your business, citizens.”
He seemed almost to jump out of his skin, then, and bowed his head low to the floor. “I'm—I'm so sorry, Princess.”
“It is not of concern, our little pony.”
“Don't worry, I got this. I looked up the old requests.” The hat-wearing one turned towards her, nodding. “I come now to request a certificate of union for me and my companion.”
“Ah!” Adventurers! Inwardly, she rejoiced. A war and adventurers. Clearly, the kingdom had not stagnated in her absence. “Much wonder awaits the path that ye have chosen! The stars shine brightly upon your path of glory! What qualifies ye?”
“Uh—excuse me?”
“What qualifies ye for this certificate of union?”
“We've been in, uh, cohabitation? For two years, I think.”
The brown pony spoke up. “Three.”
“Three years.”
“Loyal, yes!” And that application she managed then, then, was one of exceptional commitment; unlike many who would come after only months of experience, these were bound by years. Surely, the power of their friendship would spread Equestrian values to the savages dwelling in the outer lands, and bring back glorious riches. “What else have ye to your name?”
“We've got, uh, a house? And some bits stashed away?”
“Courageous, yes!” Willing to leave a home, doubtlessly with their wives and children waiting, to seek glory for Princess and kingdom. “And what else have ye to your name? Why do ye pursue an arrangement so mutual? Why do ye not stand alone against the terrors?”
The brown pony spoke up once more. “What's she talking about?”
“Don't worry, they totally used to do this whole loyalty thing a thousand years ago.” The stallion increased the volume of his voice, raising his head. “Because we really like each other and we're meant to be with each other.”
“But what convinceth ye, that ye may brave these dangers?”
“We've been together for three years without a single problem, and we live as though we were one. We have been for years, and will be forevermore.”
“That's kind of corny.”
“Shush.”
“Then it is done! From this moment, thou art known to be as one, and art of one soul. Aeternally bound to one another by thy fervent vows. Let thou be known henceforth by the name of thine union. As thine act of final independence: what be the name of thy pairing?”
The behatted stallion tapped the other and then himself, listing their names. “Twistiejack and Sea Island.”
“Very well! Thy name of union shall now be Jack Island, and in that name shalt thou spread the glory of your union to the corners of the world! We shall grant thee, in pursuit of this purpose, three thousand bits in equipment and Equestrian coinage. Go, now, and seek thy future, and report to me on thine adventures. The certificate of thine union shall be handed to thee as thou leavest.”
They begin to walk out, conversing quietly—but Luna heard all.
“Is she paying us to take a—”
“Shush. I told you the Night Court wasn't that bad.”
“This is the best idea you ever had, Sea.”
“What great ideas don't I have?”
And they left, leaving a secretly delighted Luna. Surely their exploits would reach her ears in due course, and she would have the pleasure of knowing that she had financed them.
—
Perhaps, in my excitement, I did not consider all the facts of the question? She shook her head. Impossible! They were surely qualified, bound by will and friendship. Has the power of friendship decayed in this age? Did I, perhaps, send them to their dooms? The thought haunted her, but she shook her head once more.
No. The Elements of Harmony scourged the evil from my soul. It surely cannot be that friendship no longer holds the power that it once did. But then what? Then what could compel her to exclude me?
She pushed herself onto her hooves, stepping about for a bit. There were three cases that night. Perhaps it was the third that spelt my doom?
—
The third was a small group of fillies, walking nervously in; the three looked at each other awkwardly.
“Ye are welcome in our chamber of night. We shall suffer your presence, as is our duty, and the light of our stars shall be our witness. State the purpose of this visit of yours, citizens!”
The yellow one stooped low and whispered to the orange one. “You sure this was a good idea, Scootaloo?”
“Trust me. Luna's totally cool.”
“We are Princess Luna, foals, and we will be addressed as such.” She could forgive that tiny infraction, especially from ones so little. Let no one call her unmerciful. “Wherefore are ye approaching our chamber of night?”
“Yeah, so,” the orange one began, stepping forth, “We need bits.”
“What?” She could not respond with more than an interrogative pronoun to a request so crass.
“We want to buy something, and we need some bits for it.”
“This isn't a good idea, Scoots.” The white one leaned towards the orange one, whispering as low as possible. The wise proclamation did not escape Luna's ears; she immediately took a liking to the little unicorn.
“We cannot grant a request so frivolous. How dare ye befoul my chamber with your pitiful cries? What do ye seek to have, that would compel you to such foolish requests? What hath cast upon ye under its wicked spell?”
“Twilight's got a pPad and I want one too.”
“A what?”
The yellow one spoke then. “It's a kind of computer.”
“A computational device? Such as an abacus, or an antikythera mechanism? So this is a matter of education, is that so?”
“I... guess?” The yellow one seemed uncertain, shifting back a little, letting her orange friend take the response.
She waved a hoof dismissively. “Surely your spouses would be more than willing to finance the education of their wives. Go now from our presence, foals, and bother us no more.”
The yellow one gulped as the Princess finished her sentence. “I guess that's that. Come on, girls.”
The unicorn and earth pony turned to leave; the orange one, however, seemed to find courage within herself, holding the two back. “Spouses? Uh, Equestria to Princess. We're foals. We don't have 'spouses'.”
The truth struck Luna like she had been a thousand and fifty years ago by a Griffon ballista. These clearly were lower-class ponies, without families affluent enough to pay dowries! She had to cement her reputation has a fair, charitable leader now, and be known as a worker of good deeds. “Say no more! In our grace, we shall find for you... spouses!”
She finished her sentence with relish, as if to underscore her massive generosity.
—
What could I possibly have done wrong?
—
She used her magic to levitate a scroll from the nearest shelf, unravelling it. Of course, she'd seen fit to ask for the very latest information on court happenings, transcribed onto the very finest cotton vellum. She missed her own retinue of advisors; she would get new ones in time, but at the very least she could live vicariously through Celestia's reports. “We shall see. Prince Blueblood seeketh a mare—”
“Prince Blueblood?” The white unicorn blanched. “Rarity said he was awful.”
“But affluent!” The silly fillies clearly hadn't been exposed to the realities of the world. It was a good thing, Luna reflected, that she was there to teach them. “He is a suitor most suitable for thou, unicorn. What beeth thy name?”
“Sweetie Belle?” It seemed to be more of a question than a statement.
She turned to the right. “Very good. Guard, make the arrangements for the dowry. We cannot bear to see this fine young mare bereft of a stallion.”
The guard shifted rather nervously; he was recruited only a week ago, the Princess recalled, although he did have plenty of experience in the army proper. “Princess, it's—it's been illegal to wed foals since—”
She silenced him with a wave of the hoof. “Nonsense. Obviously the work of a politician who seeketh applause, however temporaneous, in iconoclasm. Whatever law that forbids it, let it be struck from the records, let the document be thrown from the battlements, let it be burnt! Let the ashes be scattered across the lands.”
“Y—yes, Princess.” He, too, walked out, just as the other guard walked in.
“The order has been given, Princess Luna. The Manehattan regiments are mobilizing for total war.” The voice seemed tinged with fear. Appropriate, she supposed, in the light of her power—but she must be loved.
“Very good. Tell them to spare the children and infirm, and only sever from them their wings.” There. That should be enough for the griffons to sing her praises, she thought, as she turned her attention back to the three and as the guard walked away once more.
“Now, ye two foals.” She looked up and down the list once more. “There appear not to be any other suitable for marriage; as such, we henceforth, in all our grace, declare a notion of shared finances. Thus, ye may all benefit from your friend's wondrous arrangement.”
She settled back in her throne. “Now, our little ponies, begone from our sight.”
The white unicorn—Sweetie Belle, her name was. Sweetie Belle began crying, no doubt overcome with emotion, and her faithful friends dragged her away, whispering reassurances; just as any good friends might. The orange one seemed to want to say more, but she quickly appeared overcome by emotion and went away with the rest.
Such precocity, she thought—such empathy. Clearly, these foals deserved her kindness.
She allowed herself the tiniest smile.
—
Too charitable, perhaps?
She contemplated the thought for a bit. Too charitable? Impossible. My sister has always required charity, and I've done all in my power to make my subjects comfortable! She sat down once more, looking up at the ceiling again. I did everything right! And still, Celly does not allow me to hear even a peep of news from the outside, or hold my Night Courts.
She sighed.
Perhaps, even after all these years, she doesn't trust me after all.
And with that maudlin thought, she turned to the side and hugged a pillow that she hadn't hugged for a thousand years, and she spoke aloud. “I wonder how Celly's managed to keep it from rotting away after all these years.”
And then she caught sight of a little bit of print on the underside. It took very little deciphering; the words, although twisted different through hundreds of years of orthographical evolution, hadn't changed that much.
GILDA BRAND CUSTOM CUSHIONS
100% MADE IN GRIFFONIA
“Guaranteed to fool the Princess herself!”
And she hissed to herself.
“Celly.”
And then, her eyes turning white as the moon, she shouted.
“Celly!”
She wasn't happy.
