A Prince's Folly

by Doctor Whooves

Rating: teen
Tags: Adventure, Shining Armor, Prince Blueblood, Daring Do, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Other, Comedy
Length: 22719

Dashing hero, noble stallion... greatest fraudster in all of Equestria. I am Prince Blueblood,.

I suppose this is the bit where I tell you a bit about myself. Where I describe my feelings, my likes, my dislikes, perhaps some of what I've done.

Well, buck that. If you don't know who I am, then you're either too stupid to breathe, or been living on the moon for the last century. And as far as I know, my aunt is the only pony who can claim that as an excuse, so we all know into which category you fall.

My name is Prince Blueblood. Yes, that Prince Blueblood, and I'm sure you've all heard the tales. The stories. After all, I did save Equestria. And discover priceless lost treasures beyond imagining. And defeat the mighty Crack Shot in a duel. And, well, like I said, you've all heard the stories.

Hate to break it to you: they're just that. Stories.

But if there's one thing that I am good at, it's telling stories. So sit down, colts and fillies, for the tale of greatest lie ever told, about the greatest pony ever to live. And let me tell you; it's one heck of a ride.

Published 2012-08-31 18:14:02 UTC
Last updated 2012-10-15 23:46:21 UTC

Doctor's Report

"Prince Blueblood? Well, what can I say that hasn't already been said? I could, of course, mention his great deeds
and mighty quests. Or, perhaps, his passion for literature and quick wit. But no; I was always far more interested in the pony behind the stallion - loves, lovers, tales of woe and songs of magic, lost adventures and forgotten discoveries.
Thus, I was both greatly surprised and immensely curious when the so-called 'Lost Chronicles' dropped almost directly into my lap."
~ Interview with Doctor Whooves, Editor and Publisher of A Prince's Folly: The Lost Chronicles

It was the morning of May, 1120, when a collection of papers were discovered during a sale of household furniture in Buckingshire, Equestria. They were summarily claimed by the closest remaining relations to the author, the Princesses Luna and Celestia, and secreted in the depths of the Canterlot Archives.

The major public interest in said papers, their connection to the Regis Immortalis notwithstanding, was the clearly identified writer in the celebrated Prince Blueblood, patron of the arts, scholar, adventurer, and author of the Daring Do series.

The papers are, in fact, the late Prince’s private memoirs. Beginning the day of his twenty-first birthday, and continuing until well afterwards, he appears to have written them somewhere before 1070, although the date is uncertain. If accurate, though, it would suggest that he was deep into the later stages of his life by the time they were completed. Indeed, it is possible that he did not himself write the journals, instead employing a ghost writer, though no such pony has come forward as of yet.

The papers, which had apparently lain untouched for upwards of forty years inside a chest of drawers, were kept wrapped inside the remains of the cloak of a Royal Guard Captain. It is unknown how they came to be in such a position, however many postulate the previous discovery, and subsequent undiscovery, of the manuscripts by close relations of the Prince. The reasons for such an act are unknown, if deducible.

Fortunately, its ensuing rediscovery was perpetrated by one with little-to-no emotional investment in the stallion, and they are presented in perfect condition, as might not be the case were they otherwise inclined. I have, therefore, no doubt that what I have in my possession is a full, frank and complete account of the events surrounding Blueblood’s life. Where he touches upon historical fact, he is consistently accurate, and the previous owner was unlikely to care enough to change the report significantly, or indeed at all. As a result, I am inclined to present this as nothing less than solid truth.

The Royal Sisters, knowing of my interest in this subject, have allowed me to edit, and publish, these papers, and so it is to them I dedicate this narrative.

Thank you for reading.

D.W.

A Mistake, Once Made

"It is difficult to ascribe the success of one pony's life to a single moment. That said, if one were attempt to do so, there
could be no greater example than that set by the illustrious Prince Blueblood. Yes, if one moment could define and shape a lifetime, then one could look no further than the eve of the prince's twenty-first birthday, for it not only shaped the course of one stallion's life, but that of history itself."
~ The Lost Years of a Unicorn Prince, by Tapered Quill

"Look, a lot can - and has - been said about Prince Blueblood. Noble? Sure. Intelligent? Undoubtedly. Game changing?
Of course. But, a screw-up? Well, only time can tell. But I for one wouldn't bet against the pony in white."
~ Sixty Days and Nights: The Unofficial Biography, by Unknown

It has long been said that my life is naught but a series of mistakes, one after another. Perhaps that is the case. If it is so, then surely no mistake can stand before this, the crowning achievement of my mistakes to date.

It was not, as I have surely expounded on before, the result of drunken disorderliness. I would say, rather, that it was the combination of youthful good spirits, and actual spirits. Gin and whisky to be precise, but precious little of the latter; my budget, though nigh-infinite, was not up to supplying a party of four bucks with something to celebrate with Uncle Cedar’s best.

The clock had struck eleven, I believe, by the time my associates deemed it necessary to pull me from the bar side, a full three hours of making merry on my bits. Their gratitude for the evening extended to that much, at least. Of course, what it didn't extend to was anything else, so once they had completed the task of dragging my sozzled carcass to the road, they broke, and bid each other tipsy farewells.

None had drunk as much as I; that honour was mine and mine alone, as befitted the birthday boy himself. I must have slugged something in the region of ten thousand bits that night, enough that, well, it was unlikely to be enough for aunty to notice - or care even if she did - but surely enough to put a fair dent in my sizeable state funds. I had monies of my own, of course, more than I could fritter away in a lifetime of wastefulness and extravagance (though a pony could dream), but there was no point in speeding up the process if I could help it, and my tax-supplied finances just begged to be exploited.

It was at that point that I began pondering the possibility of raising public taxes to better subsidise future pub crawls, and I think it was that that alerted me to my current state of mind. Let it never be said that Prince Blueblood could not hold his liquor; indeed, drinking is one of the few talents that I can truly say I possess in any great quantity. Although, this time it appeared that I’d been well and truly hung out to dry. It was probably the absinthe that did it.

As a result, I was left physically insensible and mentally loquacious. A dangerous combination.

I stumbled to my hooves, intent on returning to my abode. The gritty street span around me, turning the flickering gas streetlamps into psychedelic swirls of colour. I stopped for a moment to watch, before realising that I’d better be going.

You see, as much as I might have wanted it to, the world did not obey my every whim (apparently that was an endeavour left to the more senior end of the family), and thus did not halt in its tracks for the period of my day of celebration. I was to attend court on the morn, and, in confidence, was supposed to attend this day as well. But, then, if a stallion is not permitted to bunk off on what is surely the most glorious day of his life, then when was he bally well supposed to?

Anyway, it was not without trepidation that I began my quest for the castle, although it was precious little, considering. Intoxication was not a state that afforded itself well to anxiety, after all, and perhaps that is one of its few benefits. It’s debatable though. Methinks a modicum of apprehension would not have gone down poorly that night, not at all.

Alas, such was not the case, and I moved unchecked. Barely allowing time for my vision to clear, I started forwards, towards what I hoped was a warm place to sleep off my certain hangover before court.

It was not to be, however.

“Hey! You there! Stop!” A colt’s piercing voice cut through my thickened head like glass, but I shook it off and continued. I wanted my expensive mattress, a nightcap and sleep; this whiny-voiced buck was most certainly not a part of those plans!

“Hey! You with the fetlocks!” Again, the pony’s uncultured tones tore at my sensitive ears, making them flick in annoyance. Couldn't he afford simple elocution lessons? I made a mental note to insist that every member of the Canterlot populace be given a stipulation to cover a course on dictation at Coltsbridge University the next time I saw my aunts, and then turned to face my aggressor.

Before me stood a blue-maned, white-coated colt of unkempt appearance, a disdainful look on his face. His mane was done up in a scruffy approximation of a certain popular musician’s, and he was large, an oddity, if nothing approaching my own regal bearing. But what almost made up for his loss in stature, and which my drink-addled mind nearly missed, was his royal guardspony armour, complete with fancy red banding. What had the once-noble establishment come to? Employing ruffians and commoners? I would be having strong words with the Captain about this!

“What do you want?” I blustered, plastering the haughtiest expression I could muster on my muzzle - or, at least, the closest approximation I could attempt whilst utterly smashed. A random portion of my mind noted absently that he too had reasonably shaggy fetlocks: probably a mistake, rather than any adherence to fashion or self-grooming, but still.

Bloody hypocrite.

The stallion squared up, startling me out of my introspections. A hard look crossed his face.

“It’s the middle of the night, you’re obviously drunk, and I think a nice cell would the perfect place for you to cool down.” He paused for a second, then glanced around furtively. After checking the coast was clear, he continued. “In other words, put yer trousers on, you’re nicked!” The light from the moon almost blinded me as it reflected off his sudden smug smirk, but I could only stand (totter) in silence. For a moment, I was unsure what he was referring to – I was bare of even the most basic clothing – but then it hit me. Did he just quote, what I think he quoted?

I shuddered.

Regardless, I decided to interrupt this charade of an official procedure before he killed off any more of my brain cells. Slamming my hoof down and affixing him – or, at least, somewhere nearby him – with my patented Death Glare, I stepped ominously forwards. Time to pull out the big guns.

“Excuse me? Do you think you’re funny? What in Equestria do you think you’re trying to pull? Do you know who I AM?” And BOOM! Score one to Blueblood! I glanced over his shock-stiffened body (wracked with paroxysms of stifled horror) and dismissed him with a sniff, before turning to go with all the grace of a schooner in a storm. In any case, I avoided collapse and so strode off with my dignity mostly intact.

Oh, that foal was going to get it. With but a few words, it would be the end of his short-lived career. When I was through with-

“OOOF!” With a startled cry, I was thrown off my hooves and onto my thankfully drink-numbed flank. I fought back the urge to be sick as the world revolved about me like the dregs of my cocktail (oh goddesses don’t think about it) with a force of will. What in Equestria was that? Buck!

I looked up, my vision now further distorted, and saw something – was that pink? - hovering in the air above me. I shook my head in an attempt to clear it, and upon achieving some quantity of success, glanced back up. Directly into the disapproving eyes of the guard.

I shook my head again.

“Again: you are under arrest. Please do not attempt to resist. My name is Sergeant Shining Armour.”

Oo-oh, get him acting like he hadn't even - ah, bollocks.

Any thought of having him done for excessive use of force (not to mention immense stupidity) were driven out of my brain by the knowledge that, not only had I been discovered out after curfew - and drunk - by one of auntie’s own Royal Guard, but by a ranked officer. A sergeant, no less.

I had been informed, on multiple occasions, that any further instances of public indiscretion (it wasn't my fault that the Grand Galloping Gala degenerated into whatever it degenerated into, but I still got the blame apparently) would be punished severely. And when the words ‘severely’ and ‘punished’ are used in conjunction by a millennia-old goddess, you know you need to take note.

Thus, I had two options: accept arrest gracefully, spend a night in the dungeons and take my sentence like a stallion, or...

“You’ll never take me alive! Ha-ha!” With that, I turned tail and began galloping away, careful to avoid the area in which I had been stopped beforehoof. The uneven cobblestone surface hindered me, but not unduly, and so it was from some distance behind me that I could hear a sigh, and a faint thudding sound, as if something soft and blunt had hit a flat surface. A hoof perhaps, striking something flat. I couldn't work it out, but one thing was for sure - the guard must have spied my athletic physique, deduced the futility of pursuit and decided to quit whilst he was ahead.

Just as well for him; his status as one of Canterlot’s finest wouldn't have spared him the old one-two if I’d got my hooves on him! He was lucky I wasn't in the mood for a scrap, that was for sure.

“This is your last chance,” he shouted, not sounding particularly hopeful. See, even he knew he didn't have a hope! I was nearing fifty yards away by now, almost too far for any ordinary unicorn to cast a spell, so unless he knew how to teleport (unlikely, considering the state of education these days), it was Blueblood two, Canterlot Gua-

OOOOF! Bugger, not again! How could I be so frightfully unlucky? I glanced upwards, my head cleared slightly from the collision with the ground – small mercies – and spotted that damnable pink glow again. This time it didn't immediately fade away, and I could make out a vague shape, curved, sort of like a, like a-

Shield. Damn.

It was that sergeant, then. The one who’d drawn attention (and not necessarily good attention) from some of the most powerful elements in Equestrian society, and I'm not talking harmonic tiaras here, either. His meteoric rise up the ranks had been seen by some as odd, or even threatening, and such sentiments had only been compounded when it was revealed that he had the ability to back up his position.

Captain Stone, the impressionable old git, was massively taken with the colt. But his backing didn't stop the whispering from certain members of the nobility.

Not from me, of course – I wasn't nearly hypocritical enough to spite others for success, after all – but certain members, for sure. And anyway, none of this was really important at the moment, because at the moment I was in severe danger of being captured and arrested.

So, what now?

Whilst I could almost certainly break through his pitiful attempt at a protection spell given time, and indeed my horn lit up with the beginnings of a hex that would surely crush the weak enchantment with ease, my concentration was broken by a cowardly attack from behind. A flash of pink (what kind of self-respecting stallion had pink magic?) rocketed towards me, and I tossed it away with a contemptuous flick of my horn. Did he really think he could overpower ME, the last scion of Platinum, the Inter-Equestrian duelling champion three years running, the-

And with that, everything went black.

“-charged for the wilful destruction of private property, civil disobedience, breaching the peace, breaking curfew, drunken disorderliness-“

The room was a dull beige in colour, with flagstone flooring and a beautifully painted ceiling. Perhaps once it had been a dining hall, or even a stateroom, but now its only inhabitants were a bedraggled prince, a mare in a powdered wig, and a small crowd of onlookers. The mare was the one who was speaking, an endless drone in the background. I wasn't sure that anypony was actually listening any more - earlier, maybe, but after fifteen minutes of waffle she'd be lucky if any of them survived.

Her voice buzzed on and on, like somepony actually cared. The magistrot (at least, I assume she was a magistrot and not some pony off the street) couldn't actually charge me for anything, of course; my position eschewed such practice, and sentencing was, as such, left to the Princesses or not at all. Regardless, she seemed to be giving a good go at enforcing capital punishment through the medium of mind-numbing tedium and endless monotony, so she was presumably working outside of her prerogative. I would have to have a word about her to my aunts.

Or, rather, I would have had a word with my aunts about her, were not my own position with the two of them so evidently shaky, to say the least. I had not yet actually spoken to the Princesses since the incident, however, that I was in trouble went without saying.

The reason I had not yet seen my immortal relations was currently standing before me, or, to be literal, on a flimsy wooden podium some distance above me. That she had to have a platform constructed brought me no small satisfaction, for I surely would have stood ears-and-whiskers above her without. But it was a hollow victory; I was so clearly above her anyway that such rationalisation was pointless.

“-threatening an officer of the Royal Canterlot Guard, resisting arrest, use of combat magic outside of legal boundaries-”

I had been brought to this swiftly erected courtroom soon after awaking in the castle dungeons. That they were the dungeons was a certainty; even if the innate knowledge of the castle did not suffice, the slime-coated walls and decidedly gloomy décor indubitably did. I was almost glad that I had been rendered temporarily unconscious for the duration of my stay in the prison, if merely for the knowledge that I would have unquestionably loathed every filthy second I spent sequestered inside. As it was, I was thrust from the cool embrace of my imprisonment after a mere five minutes of wakefulness, and into the harsh land of hangover, population: one. For all its faults, the dungeons were at the very least quiet, a status I could not sanely credit to the outside, and, more explicitly, here. Thus, I was left nursing a headache the size of Manechester, and not nearly so painless as to have shoved inside one’s skull.

“-tax evasion, wilful misappropriation of public funds-“

Discord’s hairy left toe, she was still going! I had tuned out at some point around, oooh, directly after she had begun speaking, and yet the mare had apparently continued her tirade without pause. When was she bloody going to stop?

“-exceeding the permissible alcohol level with a twenty-four hour period, insulting a member of the Royal Canterlot Guard, attempted benefit fraud, and,” she paused, and shuffled her papers. I held my breath, hoping for a reprieve from her dulcet tones – another for the elocution lesson bursary, methinks - “unpaid carriage parking fees. These actions were performed in full and frank understanding of the law, and in a sound state of mind, before the eyes and minds of Equestria. How do you plead?” The slate-blue unicorn re-ordered her papers yet again and smirked in the fashion of one who knows absolutely, completely and unequivocally that they are right. Oh, how I despised ponies like that.

“I,” I said, my regal tones startling the near-comatose witnesses into something approximating attention, “would like to speak with legal representation, if I may.” It would not pay to be too rude, after all, and it would be best to be seen to show some humility. Perhaps it would help alleviate my sentence once Celestia or Luna got round to issuing one. Probably not, though.

The irksome magistrot allowed her smirk to grow wider, now reminiscent of the proverbial cat which got the cream. I supposed that I was the cream in this scenario; or at least, she thought I was.

“As I sure you are aware, Duke Blueblood,” ah, the subtle usage of a lesser title to reduce my stature. “Having such an extensive knowledge of the laws of Equestria, as you do,” - aaand then the delicate flattery, laced with poison. I could see where this was going. Just one more push.

“And?” I questioned, the perfect mix of self-importance and blind hauteur emblazoned solidly on my face. “Your point being?” Perhaps I should consider a career in acting if I ever got tired of politicking.

But no. I’d miss moments like these too much - there wasn't such a large call for crushing one’s enemies in theatre. Not to mention that Celestia would end up plunging Equestria into economic ruin should she ever actually try to handle the nitty-gritty stuff. This country runs on paperwork, and I’ll be damned if I let the Princesses anywhere near it.

The mare grinned viciously, apparently not having received the memo that she’d lost. Ah well, I'm sure she’ll work it out eventually.

“As affords your status, you may not be given legal assistance, court appointed or otherwise. Terribly sorry.” She leant back, and across her face bloomed a grin so similar to that of the guard’s last night that I was convinced of a relation.

I was, in fact, aware of this issue, a remnant of days gone by when high-ranking nobles would behave as they saw fit, and have their (extraordinarily well-paid) legal councils wave away any repercussions. It was Celestia’s belief that if the nobles could not argue themselves out of trouble using solid facts instead of lawful skulduggery, they did not deserve their freedom. Although, why she saw such practice as still necessary in this day and age was beyond me.

Nevertheless, I had a plan. Prince Blueblood always had a plan.

“So, you recognise my nobility as pertinent to the case in hoof?” I said casually. Inside, I was waiting anxiously. Come on, come on, get on with it.

“Indeed,” she replied, a vicious sneer marking her muzzle.

“So, then, you also recognise my right, as ordained by the Princesses themselves, in article four of the Poneva Protocol, and I quote, to ‘stand above, before, and beyond the laws of mortal kin’?” Hook, line and sinker. That was another of the old laws, again set in place by Celestia looking to reduce corruption in the Canterlot nobility. By giving the then crown prince (and, incidentally, all of his descendants) the power to arbitrate and give evidence in large legal cases, she gained a spy already entrenched within the intricate dances of the court, and by making him invulnerable to the law, she protected him from retribution from his former associates. He was only answerable to the Princess herself, and the measure had lead to numerous arrests at the time.

I was only continuing the noble tradition.

The tiresome mare, after a brief moment of surprise, crumpled in the face of my superior wit.

“Ah. One- one moment please.” She turned to face the small bank of bland ponies behind her, who responded to her silent plea with shrugs and head-shakes. With a pointed sigh, she turned back.

“Very well,” she said, her voice flat and dispassionate despite her negative body language. “Let the court be adjourned.” At her proclamation, the witnesses gathered in the stands (few as they were), began muttering amongst each other in displeasure; I suspected that they came for the promise of blood, much like ponies of old, and yet they would leave with nought. I made sure to memorise their faces and features, and added them mentally to my blacklist, along with Benjy, Art and Daggers: I couldn't recall much of the previous evening, but they featured prominently, and I know how well that turned out.

Even as the meagre crowd filtered out the doors, two Royal Guards approached, clearing intending to escort me from the room. I noted the faint trace of disdain on each of their faces, despite their plain gold barding. Was Shining Armour truly so admired? I matched each stare with a carefully crafted one of my own. They looked away first.

I allowed them to fall into step beside me as I advanced towards my chambers within the palace. Though I knew that the Princesses would soon call for me (invoking the Poneva Protocol was not without its pitfalls; consequently I had escaped the frying pan and leapt into the proverbial fire), I had not entered my rooms at the castle for over forty-eight hours, and I was beginning to long for luxurious baths and silk sheets after the experiences of the previous evening. Surely, the Princesses would not begrudge me a few hours rest and-

“Their Royal Highnesses Princess Luna and Celestia request the presence of Your Royal Highness Prince Blueblood forthwith, if it pleases you sir.” Alas, it had been a miserly hope, even whilst it lasted. At least the messenger was polite, for once. I glanced towards her, dressed in the livery of the Night Court.

“Will you allow me a few moments to gather myself in my chambers?” Though I hated to have to solicit sympathy from a common pony, I really did need the time out. It would not do to go directly from a public house, to the streets, to the dungeons, to a courtroom and then present myself to my aunts, not at all.

“I do apologise, sir, but their Majesties were most insistent.” And yet, it seemed, that was what I was being asked to do.

“Very well.” Echoing the judge from my trial earlier, I suddenly realised exactly how she must have felt. I glanced at the guards beside me, and they nodded in eerie unison. I was to follow the mare, then.

We trotted in silence, but for our hoofsteps, through the memorable halls of Castle Canterlot towards the throne room. Indeed, I hardly needed a guide, let alone three, to accompany me on the short trip. However, we were all aware that it was not for my benefit they remained.

In a last-ditch effort to regain some of my usual poise and bearing, I concentrated on the familiar yet complex spells used to facilitate personal grooming. I had painstakingly learnt magicks such as these through longs weeks of practice, for I was many things, but not a magical talent. Though the three T’s (Teleportation, Transmutation and Telekinesis) came somewhat easily to me, other magic could not be so readily learnt as by those born with a propensity towards the subject.

Despite my own, powerful, abilities, I would joyfully transfer my inclination towards navigational spells for a greater affinity for magic, a sentiment I'm sure most other unicorns would echo.

Regardless, my hard-won skills responded adequately, and my features were composed sufficiently to fool a quick glance. A loose hair here, an eye shadow there. If the guards, or the messenger, were surprised by my metamorphosis, they did not show it.

Presently, we arrived at the grandiose entrance to the throne room. An ostentatious affair even by my lofty criteria; the arch extended twenty-five hooves high, plenty enough for even a manticore to enter were he to do so, and dominated the far end of the great hall. Constructed entirely of rare ivory marble and carved with elaborate sigils and designs, many an over-dramatic aristopony had been lured into the conviction that they were the long lost scriptures of a dead race, containing power beyond imagining within their hidden depths, if only it could be found. Thus, many a learned scholar had been tempted from their hallowed halls at the behest of an ambitious gentlecolt or foalish duchess, only to be thwarted by the distant lack of anything to actually find.

Of course, any half-brained mule with a foal’s grasp of Griffonic could easily ‘decipher’ these ‘runic carvings’ as a simple dedication to the Princesses.

Whilst it had an immeasurable value in itself, this was predominantly due to its status as one of the few relics remaining from the ancient Everfree Citadel, rather than any clandestine magicks inscribed upon its surface. If there were any magic left unfound, then surely it was buried too deeply for all but the original sculptor to decipher.

I was startled out of my musings by the unexpected opening of the aforementioned doors from within, and the sounds of murmuring conversations and arguing ponies wafted through the now wide entryway. A glance up at the immense clock on the alabaster walls affirmed my suspicions: it seemed that the bi-monthly court gathering had commenced in my absence. I was, regretfully, required to attend these ‘conferences with the common pony’, and missing what appeared to be a sizeable portion of the event was only going to provide my aunts with additional ammunition for my eventual sentencing.

I made my way over to my district, passing minor nobles holding impromptu courts and the landed gentry with their bevies of mindless followers. Gaudy flags and standards flew in the magical breeze, each more glitzy and tasteless than the former. Gazing forwards, I could see the decoration becoming increasingly elaborate and ostentatious as the class distinctions grew ever more apparent, petty noblesse flowing smoothly into the earls, and earls to barons and barons to lords, culminating in a party of stately dukes and their carriages. Beyond them, the true height of power: the Princesses.

They sat at the very head of the room, Luna on a throne of pure obsidian, studded with numerous flecks of moonstone, and beside her, like a mirror image, Celestia, mounted on what was ostensibly an identical material as composed the entrance. The same artist, perhaps?

I angled myself towards the right of the two monarchs where my standard lay, a unicorn’s horn crossed with an epée, set above a rose on a background of royal blue. Glancing to the left, I could see Mi Amore 'Cadance' Cadenza, oh-she-of-silly-musical-numbers-and-dyed-hair, entertaining her retinue, and facing the Princesses stood a lengthy line of ponies. Near the front, and directly before Princess Celestia herself, two ponies stood arguing: a short, scruffy earth pony buck and a young mare dressed in a severe grey outfit that belied her years. From the looks of it, each of them was competing to discover which could produce the highest volume of sound, and therefore win the debate.

Glancing over – let it never be said that Prince Blueblood didn't care about the general populace – I deduced that it wasn't worth my time and pressed towards my throne. Across from me, the squabble continued.

“Miss, I'm tellin’ ya, we need that land!” That was the small, red-maned, one. It was actually fairly impressive how much noise he could create, considering his stature – he was barely larger than the mare. “There’s no ‘if’s and buts’ about it: ponies will starve if we can’t grow our crops! Clopton can’t survive on-”

“And as I’ve been telling you, Mr. Yellow Ear, that land is in the possession of her grace Lady Hardsnout, and is not currently available for agricultural purposes. However, if you would like to make an appointment at a later date,” the mare trailed off, flicking her elaborately styled coiffure. She spoke with an affluent West-Manehattan accent and was clearly frustrated with the down-to-earth fellow.

The strain of the dispute had also noticeably begun to wear on the other members of the hall. The lengthy queue of individuals behind the pair had degenerated into restless mutterings and even the ordinarily unassailable Princesses were demonstrating subtle signs of dissatisfaction. Luna’s eyes had started to glaze over, and Celestia, despite her outward mask of polite interest, was betrayed by the occasional irritable flick of an ear. Nothing that the general populace would notice, they were far too experienced politically for that, but simple enough for a clever chap with some familiarity to interpret.

“But ‘ow do you expect-”

“I expect nothing other than that this property’s lawful owner has her wishes and considerations taken into account!” Interrupted the mare.

“Lawful owner! Those ponies have worked them fields for over five ‘undred years!” My word, he really did have a set of lungs on him, that one. I wondered briefly if he wished to join the Canterlot Chamber Choir: as a patron, I was always on the lookout for new talent, and he had lovely vowel pronunciation.

“The fact remains-”

“I can tell you where to shove yer precious facts, an’ all, ya pansy-hooved-”

“MY LITTLE PONIES!” As if from on high, Princess Celestia interceded with a displeased frown, and many onlookers, myself included, gave thanks. If I had been forced to listen to the uncultured pleas of that insufferable stallion (no matter how nice a singing voice he may or may not have had) any longer, well, it wouldn't have been pretty. “Please! Show some decorum.” She glanced around, apparently mollified with the grumpy expressions of apology each offered.

“Aye,” the farmpony grumbled.

“My apologies,” said the mare, shuffling her hooves unconsciously.

“Now, can each of you please repeat your cases in a calm and organised fashion?” Ah, the sweet voice of reason. “Mr. Yellow Ear? You say that your village cannot feed itself without intervention?”

“Yes, yer majesty, thank you, yer majesty. Tha’ was the gist of it.” The earth pony bobbed his head with each sentence. Well, at least he wasn't completely boorish then.

“And that an area of land large enough to provide for you is readily available?” Celestia's face was graced with a noble and benevolent smile, somehow managing to convey comfort to the buck and yet placid neutrality.

“Aye, that there is. A big ol’ plot, just sittin’ empty and unused.” The gruff stallion’s northern tones were cut short once more by the mare.

“Stop right there! With all due respect! Sir! That land is in the tenure of Her Ladyship, and therefore must, must,” her voice petered out as Princess Luna turned a baleful eye on her. The guardsponies near the thrones, whom I must confess I had until recently overlooked, stepped forward ominously. The Manehattan mare gulped.

“I m-meant no offence, m-my lady,” the formerly effusive mare stuttered. She was lucky - despite the validity of her case, I’d seen less deserving ponies thrown out of court before. By speaking out of turn, she’d exposed her own lack of knowledge. One didn't just ignore the Princesses and get away with it, not in Canterlot. Well, I suppose you could take the pony out of Manehattan...

“Be sure that you didn't.” With that, Luna sat back on her throne, declining to have anything more to do with the conversation. Apparently unfazed with his adversary’s brief dip into - eheh - lunacy, the buck continued.

“So, some ponies up Clopton figured that they ain’t got enough food to last fer-”

“Yes, you covered that previously," Auntie interrupted. "How does this concern Ms. Cash Flow?”

“I were gettin’ to that, don’t you worry lass.” What little respect I had for the stallion evaporated at his words. How was it that ponies that thick were allowed into Canterlot? Insulting the Princesses didn't merit the kind of sentence that it might have, say, a thousand years ago - but even so it wasn't likely to win him any favours! At the very least, it would swing some of the neutrals towards that ‘Cash Flow’ mare, despite her rudeness. I could even feel my renowned impartiality slipping.

Celestia looked as unruffled as she always did, and waved for him to continue.

“Well, when some ponies went up to plant some seeds – nothing big, mind you, just some squash and things like tha’ – they were stopped by missus Ca-“

“Ms.” The mare interrupted briefly, before quailing under the inevitable glare shot towards her.

“Ms. Cash Flow, here,” he carried on steadfastly. “And she said sommint t’ the effect tha’ we ‘were not, and never would be’ allowed t’ plant there. Now, us being reasonable folk, we o’course asked why not, and she shoved a load o’parchment covered in some legal codswallop. Now, I ask ya, why should hard working mares, stallions and foals have t’ starve just ‘cause this here filly has a piece of paper saying they should! It’s not right, I tell ya, not right t’all.”

Auntie nodded her head thoughtfully, what I liked to label her ‘serious contemplation’ face on. After a moment of slow nodding and furrowed brows, she turned to the mare.

“Please, Ms. Cash Flow, can you inform us of your end of the story? Mr. Yellow Ear has put forward a compelling argument.”

“Certainly, your Majesty,” she responded, bowing just lower than was strictly necessary. A ploy to make up for her former indiscretions, I was sure. “I will endeavour to give as full, frank and complete account as I am able.”

Luna snorted, and the silk banners behind the two Princesses fluttered, but she remained distinct from the conversation. Obviously the mare’s attempt at flattery had failed miserably for at least one half of the duo. Noting Celestia’s unconvinced expression, I could glean that it probably hadn't worked for the other, either.

The mare flicked her mane nervously.

“As you are aware, I am in the employ of Lady Hardsnout, Baroness of Norcolt, and owner of the lands surrounding the village of Clopton. She has acquired my services to protect her interests in the stated regions. As you can see here,” she pointed to a sheaf of papers that had suddenly appeared in her hoof. “It clearly articulates that the ponies of Clopton may not plant, grow or farm any manner of crop, be it for consumption or otherwise.” She handed the think wedge of parchment to Celestia who briefly examined it. “This is all in accordance with articles forty five, sixty five, and-”

“Yes, this all seems to be in order,” Celestia murmured, then glanced to her sister. “Luna?”

Luna blinked, as if considering her options.

“I would have thought the response obvious, dear sister,” she finally replied. Celestia nodded.

“Indeed.” She said. I was unaware as to what my immortal relations had decided, but I nodded along nonetheless. It wouldn't do to look out of the loop, so to speak.

She then turned away from her sibling, and aimed her gaze at the (suddenly awfully young-looking) businessmare. As she did so, an aura of command seemed to settle around her regal shoulders. I found myself leaning forward in unconscious anticipation, and jerked back in annoyance. Allow the plebs to debase themselves with the enjoyment of other ponies’ misfortune – as, surely, both parties could not walk away satisfied – but Prince Blueblood would not!

I strode calmly through the crowd that had formed around the two ponies, even as Celestia began to speak. There was only a short amount of time remaining if I wished to hold court, and so it would probably be best if I were to hurry up and get it over with, and that involved actually getting to my stage.

“We have reached an agreement, Mr. Yellow Ear, Ms. Cash Flow.” I wasn't listening because I was interested, of course.

No, I just believed it would be prudent to know the result. One never knows when the fate of Clopton may affect... pffft.

Who was I kidding? I was only paying any attention at all because hearing this pitiful case being ripped to shreds was greater entertainment than, well, not. And anyway, it was pretty much a foregone conclusion. This ‘Yellow Ear’ didn't have a hoof to stand on. The mare smiled; it looked like she knew it too.

Princess Celestia began to speak as I reached my dais.

“Yellow Ear, you are certain that Clopton will not survive without these crops?” Even as a hush echoed around the spacious hall at her words, I noticed that Celestia’s voice never broke above a detached, conversational tone. A cliché it may be, but she might as well have been commenting on the colour scheme for a new wing of the palace rather than the fate of hundreds of ponies as she spoke.

“Aye, m’lady.” The farmpony looked down, his dirty straw cap clutched tightly to his mustard coloured chest.

“And,” the Princess continued, flicking her gaze to the second party, “the Baroness cannot spare these lands?”

“I'm afraid not, your majesty,” the mare lowered her head, the faux-melancholy at her apparent inability to change the situation about as effective as cheesecloth at covering up her glee.

I climbed the short set of steps to my podium and looked upon her with my newfound elevation. From there, I could see the faintest shadow of a satisfied smirk, and it was plain to see that the Princesses had seen it too. Maybe a pony less versed in court psychology wouldn't be able to discern it, but there it was.

Celestia blinked slowly.

“Very well, then. Although Yellow Ear’s case is valid, the land in right belongs to the Lady Hardsnout, and therefore may not be made use of without her consent. I therefore rule in favour of Ms. Cash Flow.”

Furious whispering broke out almost directly after auntie Celestia ended her (and, I supposed, Luna’s) judgement. Yellow Ear dropped his hat, his hooves left grasping at nothing.

I sat back in my gold-and-blue bedecked chair. And that, as they say, would appear to be tha-

“And thus!” Princess Celestia spoke suddenly, almost (almost) causing me to jolt forward in surprise. “And thus, we open the Canterlot grain stores to the means and disposal of the town of Clopton, to be made use of until such a time when said town can support itself. This, we decree.” With a smile to rival Danvehai the dragon, she sat back.

Were I any less experienced in the flightiness of my sovereign aunt, I would surely have ruined my reputation for years to come with my reaction. As it was, I only quirked an eyebrow in the direction of Mi Amore, who shared a long-suffering sigh with me. In contrast, the mare before the Princesses appeared to be in some state of shock. Her mouth was flapping open and closed, the demure mare from moments before evaporating with her short-lived victory.

To his credit (which still put him quite firmly in debt), the old stallion merely bowed in the direction of the thrones, and murmured a quiet thanks, before moving off swiftly in the direction of an unruly crowd of earth ponies: from Clopton, I supposed.

I ignored what was sure to be a soppy reunion in favour of the growing group of nobleponies before my stage. They were forming the beginnings of a queue, but before one could catch my eye and embroil me in a half-hour-long conversation about themselves, a thin, grey, puff of teleportation magic announced the arrival of a thin, grey, unicorn. Dressed in my colours and clutching a small black briefcase (small only because of the extensive space-enlarging enchantments within, I'm sure), Hole Punch began sizing up the assembly before me.

“My liege,” he said, bobbing his neck. “I have the schedules, and-”

“Yes, yes,” I waved away his supplications and absently grasped the stacked parchments in a sapphire glow. “Where were you?” I asked, looking though the lists. Lady Fairweather, Lord Clydesdale, the Bitstol brothers, Madame le Trot, Harold Flashpony, the Reverend Dewdrop, Count Horse Tile...

“I'm sorry, my lord,” he gestured nervously. “You see-”

“Ugh, Fancypants.” I muttered, glancing down the list. “Is he still after that knighthood? No, don’t answer that. He always bloody is, after all. Strike him off.”

“I, er, can’t, sir,” he stuttered. I twisted away from the fascinating (and exhaustive) description of why precisely Fancypants deserved to rule Equestria or whatever to face my subordinate.

“And whyever not? Last time I checked, you were my aide, not his.” I let some annoyance seep into my voice. It wasn't the colt’s fault; I just really, really hated Fancypants.

“Ah, um, because he’s already here, sir.” He gulped, loosening his collar. I closed my eyes tightly, then opened them. No wonder I got through half a dozen assistants a year – they were all bloody useless!

“Damn and blast it, he’s here for one of those Member of the Equestrian Empire thingys, isn't he? I know it’s all about MEE, but he could at least attempt to be subtle about it!” Whilst it began as a way to honour those not in military service that had contributed to the good of Equestria, MEE’s had quickly degenerated into a status symbol for the ‘modern pony’. It was considered quite the catch to be awarded such a decoration, and the worst thing about it was that once a potential applicant had jumped through all the legal hoops (very, very extensive hoops, which I’d set up to make as difficult as possible to jump through), they could apply as many times as they wanted.

Not that I hadn't tried to stop them.

“N-no sir, he wants to discuss, um,” he glanced at the sheaf of papers before him, “‘how possible new non-growth-targeting investment portfolios could be integrated into parent corporation proxy-sponsored private institutions, and specifically whether new railroaded inter-relations could be facilitated between all concerned parties.’.”

Ahh. Of course. He wanted money.

Hole Punch looked up from the parchment he was quoting from. “He seemed fairly insistent that he speak to you, sir.”

“Let me tell you what just what he can do with-” My tirade was cut suddenly short by an outburst on the main floor.

“PRINCESS!” Cash Flow shouted. I raised an eyebrow. Was she still here?

A few confused faces turned towards her; she couldn't possibly be stupid enough to dispute the Princess’s ruling, could she? Probably. Maybe.

“Please, you have to reconsider!”

Internally, I facehoofed. Apparently she could.

By this point, half the eyes in the room were focussed on her once again, and she gulped almost theatrically at the atmosphere. Over in the corner, near the immense doors, I could see the party from Clopton glaring hatefully at her. Some history there, perhaps?

Celestia, noting the sudden outpouring of vitriol aimed at the mare, allowed herself a small sigh and a shake of the head. Eyeing Cash Flow once more, she spoke with carefully calculated exasperation.

“Is there a problem with the ruling, Ms. Cash Flow?” There wasn't, of course, and both of them knew it. The only reason the Princess played along was for decorum’s sake, or what little was left, anyway. “If you have any reason to dispute it, by all means, let me know immediately.” Just going through the motions.

“N-no, your majesty, it’s not that at all. It’s just that, maybe, a more, well, suitable edict could be reached?” Cash Flow swallowed and put on a sickly, wretched grin.

I could hear the sharp intake of breath from the assorted crowd at her words, and mentally discounted her from any position higher than bootscrubber for the foreseeable future. No businessmare, no matter how high-flying, could hope to combat the entire Canterlotian nobility, and with that last line, she might as well have pissed on their lawns.

“It is not your position to determine the suitability of the ruling, Ms. Cash Flow,” Celestia narrowed her eyes, growing more formal, and irritated, with every line. “However, if you believe that there has been an error made, you may refer to complaints forms T-167 through T-229.”

Despite the circumstances, I had to refrain myself from giggling. Barely. The T- forms were legendary, if I do say so myself, and rightfully so; they were widely known in Canterlot circles as the most effective method of subtly ridding oneself of an annoyance. By sending the form, the desired victim would set off a cunning trap combining bureaucoltcy and an acre of red tape. I had written them in a fit of pique several years ago (aimed at Fancypants, of course. Shame he was so good at avoiding them), and they had bamboozled and infuriated the unaware ever since; by referencing it, Celestia had revealed her growing impatience with the patently masochistic mare.

Cash Flow blinked, and my smile grew larger. It wasn't often I met a pony who was unfamiliar with my work. They were legendary for a reason, but apparently my reputation hadn't spread as far as Manhattan.

I'm sure something could be arranged. Mwahaha.

“Ah, yes. T-167,” she stuttered, trying to regain some face and failing miserably.

“Yes,” replied Celestia affably. “Is there some sort of difficulty?” Her eyes danced gleefully. I'm sure that if I’d had a mirror, I’d be able to see my own doing the same. Hole Punch sniggered nasally beside me.

“No! I mean – yes, but – that isn't what I'm talking about!” She burst out finally.

“Oh?” An expression of polite confusion crossed auntie Celestia’s face. “Do you have a problem with my decision? Perhaps you would like me to award the case to Mr. Yellow Ear instead.” A wave of refined laughter briefly swept around the hall, and I allowed myself a quick smirk of amusement.

“NO!” Cash Flow half-shouted, bringing the amusement at her expense to a rude halt. The smirk too slipped off my face. This wasn't the reaction of somepony who’d lost a court case. But at the same time, it seemed too- too emotional to be faked. No, this was something more. I leaned closer, ignoring the ponies queuing in front of me.

“Please, your Majesty, your Majesties,” she implored, flicking her eyes at Auntie Luna, “please, I beg of you to reconsider!” at their impassive faces, Cash Flow collapsed to her knees on the hard marble floor, and I could see tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. Either this was some incredible acting, or she was for some reason very much against Clopton receiving any relief aid this winter. “Please, listen to me!”

Luna leaned forwards, an inscrutable expression on her brow. She drew in a deep breath, and spoke for the second time that evening.

“Why?”

The mare gulped frantically at the question, as if trying to choke something past her throat. After a moment, she turned away from the Princess of the Night, and back to Celestia. “Please,” she said, her face lowered. “Please, listen to me.”

Luna’s eyes hardened.

“Guards!” She called, her voice barely above speaking level, but as firm as iron. Cash Flow glanced upwards, and shrieked briefly at the sight of the two guardsponies advancing upon her. Each grasped a hoof, and began dragging her away.

“Wait! No, you have to listen to me!” She screamed, the gazes of the entire hall firmly on her. “Please, no! You don’t know what you’re doing!” The pleas echoed in the near-silent hall, unheeded, and she struggled harder against the pull of the stallions. One grunted, and a glittering field of aqua energy enveloped the mare, stifling any further words she may have said. Behind the magic, I could see her expression switching between anguished and petrified. The spectators to her removal stood stony-faced as she was, finally, heaved through the doors and away. After a moment, the mutterings resumed.

I sat forward in my chair. That had been interesting, even to me – and I was not content to rationalise it as just the ravings of a madmare, or even the performance of a master. That much fear, that much sheer terror, was not the work of deceit and lies. Something had scared her, enough for her to want to consign the entire village of Clopton to months of hardship and starvation without a second thought. I made a quick gesture to Hole Punch.

“Cancel the remainder of my appointments today,” I said absently. I glanced up, and rolled my eyes. “Yes, all of them. I’ll deal with injured sentiments some other time.”

“B-but, your Majesty-”

I was shaken out of my theorising by my aide’s response. There were few things that he would directly refute an order for, and Fancypants was no longer one of them, considering the chewing out I’d given him earlier. That left...

“Damn.” Aunty Luna and Celestia wanted to speak with me. Well, that was annoying.

I could investigate the mare later. For now, I had a defence to argue.

Alcohol Makes Everything Better

"The leader of armies is the arbiter of the ponies’ fate, the pony on whom it depends whether the nation shall be in peace or peril."
~ Ponies Make War, by Sun Trot-zu

The throne room was darker by the time the address finished. The nobleponies were gone, the petitions ended and the Princesses sat before me, their ostentatious seats oddly dull in the low light.

It was near moonrise, the sky outside approximating twilight and the sun brushing the horizon. Luna would have to form the night soon, but despite that she sat calmly and silently... unlike Celestia. She looked almost worn, her mane drooping, her eyes flat. She was still harried from the Cash Flow debacle, no matter how much she tried to hide it. A slight inclination to snap was probable; I would have to tread carefully.

They looked tired. Really, I had no idea why the Princesses made me come directly to them from the courtroom. I would much rather have been tucked in my rooms at the palace, and as far as I could see, a good snooze was just what the doctor ordered for them too. So why make me wade through the entire meeting? Why not postpone until we’d all had a chance to catch up on sleep?

The last pony bowed, and closed the large stone doors with a boom. Auntie Celestia looked over coldly and opened her mouth to speak.

“Explain.”

Needless to say, I endeavoured to do so immediately. And needless to say, it took some time. After about fifteen minutes of explanations, I reached my conclusion.

“Then, the fiends threw me into gutter and trotted off! Just left me! So, you see, it was all Benjy and Art’s fault.” I plastered on a hopeful grin. “You see?” I had spun what I could remember from the previous night into a hopefully plausible story for Celestia to swallow, but it didn't seem to be going all too well.

Celestia and Luna glanced at each other, then turned back, their faces perfectly smooth. Apparently they didn't think so either.

“So, let me get this straight. Your friends, upon discovering that it was your birthday, went to your mansion in Norcolt, dragged you to Canterlot, carried you into a bar and forced you to drink it out of stock.” She flicked her eyes at me.

“Yes,” I answered smoothly.

“On your tab.”

“Yep,”

“And then, after they’d finished, they dragged you once more outside, where they threw you in the gutter and left.”

“Yeppo.” This conversation was getting quite repetitive, so I decided to elaborate. “I should have known - the blaggards were likely looking to sell me out all along! Why, if I hadn't discovered their dastardly scheme, who could say what could've happened?”

Celestia muttered something under her breath.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh,” she exclaimed, sitting up. “Oh, nothing,” she said.

“Hmmm.” If that hadn’t been Auntie Celestia, (co-)ruler of Equestria and all round honest pony, I might have been suspicious.

“So, in all this time, what was, ah, ‘Daggers’ doing?”

“Oh, he was in on it too.” I smiled. Celestia stopped, looking like she was waiting for something. “The fiend!” I added weakly. After a moment she gave up and started speaking again.

“Blueblood,” she sighed, and rubbed her eyes with a hoof. “Nephew. You realise, I'm afraid, we can’t let this stand.”

“Hmmm?” I questioned, buffing my right hoof. “Is that so?” Come on, the quicker this telling-off ended, the quicker I could be back in my lovely, warm, snuggley-

“Blueblood!” Celestia shouted suddenly, slamming her foreleg down on the chair. I glanced up, jolted out of the thoughts of my soft, comfortable-

“I'm sorry, did I miss something?” I said, blinking. Celestia did something with her face and her forehoof (I still needed to figure out what that meant) and Luna began to hit her head on the arm of her chair. What was up with them?

After a second, auntie Celestia stood, towering over my even without the assistance of a set of marble steps. I shrank back slightly. “This is it, Blueblood. After the incident in Fillydephia – and I'm not even going to mention the Gala – I can’t just keep letting you off! There are consequences, Blueblood! Even for you.”

What was she talking about? Admittedly the Gala was a bit of a fiasco, and Fillydelphia could have gone better, but I was past that. Surely she could see how reformed and changed I was?

“B-but,” I began, a quickly concocted explanation springing to my lips.

Celestia looked at me. “It’s not that you’re not good enough Blueblood. You’re smart enough to understand that,” she leaned forward. “You’re a role model, an idol! The ponies of Equestria look up to you, Blueblood. If you were a hoofball player, or some pop starlet, then there’d be a small scandal, a few newspaper stories and then it’d all disappear. But you’re not. It has to stop somewhere, Blueblood, and soon.”

‘It’? What was she talking about? “It was just a bit of fun,” I said, searchingly.

“No, it’s not. This is beyond a joke now, Blueblood. You can’t act like some spoilt colt all the time! Do you know how hard we've had to work to deal with the fallout of even your most recent escapade?” She seemed frustrated, tension carved into her brow.

I took a step back – figuratively – and took a real look at the two sisters. I’d noticed that Celestia looked tired before, but this was more than that. There were bags under her eyes, her coat was ruffled, even her usually untouchable flowing hair was suffering! I knew that the Princesses rarely needed sleep, but she looked like she’d been awake for days, at the very least. Was that my fault? I glanced at Luna. She wasn't as bad, I suppose, at least not as bad as she had been, but then the last I’d seen of her was not long after her return to Equestria and subsequent magic rainbow-bombardment, and that could take it out of anypony. She was still looking decidedly teenager-y, which was probably bad for her image as ruthless mare of the night if nothing else.

More than anything, she seemed almost apathetic, leaning back in her throne like she didn't really care. But I could pick up the signs of overwork, an overwhelming weariness that could bring even goddesses to their last legs. The way she looked at me - heck, the way they both looked at me - was enough to make me feel almost disappointed in myself.

“It was my birthday!” I said, grasping at straws. I know that didn't explain anything, not really, but I couldn't think of anything else.

“Yes, Blueblood, your birthday!” Aunty Celestia said. “But that doesn't excuse you from you duties, your obligations! You can’t just disappear whenever you feel like a drink! You need to learn some responsibility, Blueblood; but most of all you need to grow up.”

I gaped, my mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“What?” I choked out. “I don’t, I... what?” My voice petered out.

“I know you don’t, Blueblood. But that doesn't make it any better.” She smiled, but my brain catalogued it as a sad sort of smile. “So that leads us to what to actually do now.”

My brain clicked round in circles like a broken toy. Thoughts and ideas rushed and flowed like rapids. How to deal with this? How to get out of it? Perhaps if I acted humble enough...

“I can do better!” I thought that would be it, but I caught the look directed at me. “Really, I can!” I said, trying to make her believe me. I just needed to sort things out! Perhaps I could donate something to one of those orphanages? They say charity makes the stallion, right? Or, no, something to make up in the public eye, that’s what I needed. Grants? Tax levy? More superfluous statues and fountains in public places? Adoption?

I smiled weakly. “Maybe I could, um, build a new concert hall?” My voice turned up hopefully at the end. Celestia’s look turned into a glare. “No?” I squeaked.

“No.” Bugger. But still, not much point in pretending to be upset any more.

“Ah, well. Worth a try.” The faux stress and tension melted off my face, and I waved a perfectly coiffured hoof. “Go on then, out with it.”

Luna and Celestia sat shocked at my sudden transformation. “What?” Celestia stuttered out.

“You know,” I pressed. “My punishment?” They sat silently in confusion. “Ban me from my public funds? Set me a curfew? Put me in the stocks for ponies to laugh at? Whatever floats your boat, really.” I just wanted to get on with it. Not much point in dragging it out. Though maybe the stocks would be going a bit far – I struck it off my mental list.

Regardless, I’d been in this position dozens of times, you understand. Last chances, final warnings, I've seen ‘em all. This wasn't anything new. Auntie would get angry, I’d argue back, I’d get ‘punished’, end of story. Frankly, I couldn't care less.

Celestia appeared to be having some trouble articulating a response, so Luna stepped in. “Are thou’st saying that thou wishes to be disciplined?” Luna said disbelievingly.

“Yep.” Whoa, déjà vu. “Well, I don’t exactly want to be, I suppose. I just reckon that I should get it over with now instead of later.” That was true, at least. I really did want to get it over with. The sooner we finished up, the faster I could retire. ‘Course, if I could figure out a way to get this done without getting punished then I’d take it in a flash of my polished gnashers, but that seemed unlikely.

The Princesses stared at me incredulously. I stared back. There was a pause. Perhaps I’d broken them? Seriously, I could probably take out a book and start reading, and I doubt they’d even notice.

There was another pause.

“Erm. If you aren't going to punish me, that’s fine as well. But could you let me know? My legs are kind of getting numb.” It’d probably mean that I’d get a bigger sentence when Celestia came to her senses, but I’d take whatever right now.

The Princesses didn't acknowledge me. “Sooo. I’ll just be going,” I said testingly. No movement. “Alrighty then. Au revoir!” I turned for the door.

“Wait!” Huh. It seemed I hadn't broken them after all. I turned back to see Luna with a sly grin on her face.

Uh oh.

This was exactly the sort of thing I’d learned to keep a look out for in court, but I completely missed it. Luna was an unknown, a variable; who knew where she’d cast her vote? To be honest, I’d kinda just expected her to go along with whatever Celestia suggested. A thousand years is a bloody big culture gap to come out the other end spouting opinions, but, still, I really hope she just wanted to fine me some bits and be done with it.

“Er, yes?” I said.

She turned to a bewildered Auntie Celestia, ignoring me. “Celestia? You mentioned something about ‘learning responsibility’?”

Celestia mumbled something approximating an affirmative response and Luna’s smile increased in size.

“Well, if we recall correctly, was it not once common practice to send the more, well, challenged, members of the nobility -” Oi! Who was she calling challenged? “- onto more practical endeavours?”

“Well, yes. Not so much anymore, though,” Celestia said warily, shaking herself out of her stupor. “What exactly are you suggesting?” Hooray! Auntie Celestia to the rescue!

“We believe we have the perfect solution to, well, this.” She gestured in my general direction.

“Auntie Luna,” I began respectfully. “You just gestured to all of me.”

She smirked, then went back to explanations. “Anyway, as we were saying: we know of precisely the impetus to teach him accountability,” this sounded bad, “dependability,” very, very bad, “and, most of all, a goodly work ethic.” She finished.

Yep. This was definitely bad. I was tempted to run away, but I knew one of them would catch me. Maybe if I teleported far enough? Manehatten? The Moon?

“Go on,” Celestia said, intrigued. Help me Lun– I mean, Celest- ah, buck it, Discord! My last hope was that Luna failed to convince her: this didn't sound good at all!

“Tell us sister, is the Royal Guard still hiring?” She said.

What? The Guard?! They expected me to join the Royal Air Guard?

“What?” Celestia echoed, if not quite as effusively as I.

“Well,” Luna explained. “Before our bani- before we went away, it was expected that-”

“Yes, yes, I remember. But you expect him,” she pointed a gold-clad hoof at me (would they stop doing that? Please?), “to join the Guard? Him?”

I flicked my mane from my eyes. The Princesses watched incredulously.

“Yes,” said Luna. My jaw banged open. Surely they didn't actually expect me to go through with this?

To my dismay, Celestia nodded slowly. “Hmmm. I see what you mean. I still don’t think it’s entirely appropriate...” Yes! I pumped my hoof happily. Nopony was going to make me stay up on an airship for weeks on end!

“On second thoughts,” Wait, what? “Well it’s not like it could do any harm.” I'm pretty sure my chin must have left a crack in the marble when it dropped open. At least a dent, anyway. Ignoring the pain in my jaw, I quickly found my voice.

“I'm right here, you know.” Both Princesses glanced at me, then turned back to each other.

“Are we agreed, then?” Luna asked. No. They couldn’t. They couldn’t.

“No! Wait! I have a list of very good reasons why you-”

Celestia nodded. “I think we are.”

“Stop! You can’t-”

“Very well,” said Luna.

Apparently they could.

“Gah. Fine. I’ll go pack for the flight.” It would be different, I knew, but I could probably handle a few weeks of commanding an airship. Or, rather, however long it took for the Princesses to forget that I’d ever done anything. And it wasn't like I would be joining the army. I mean, I was already captain and owner of the good ship Beautiful Storm, all that was really needed was a commission and I was ready to go. No point in retraining me as an infantrypony! Ha-ha!

“A flight?” Luna’s eyes sparkled mischievously. Oh no. This better not be what I thought it was. “Now, Blueblood, whyever wouldst thou need to prepare for a flight?”

My left eye twitched. “On the Storm? My airship? The one you ‘borrowed’ to ‘take a closer look at the night sky’, and I had to have refurbished immediately afterwards?” My, wasn't that a debacle to remember. “You know; the one I'm to be commanding?”

“And why would you be doing that?” Celestia appeared to have caught on to whatever scheme Luna was planning, the same spark dancing in her eyes. For a moment they looked scarily alike, colours and sizes notwithstanding.

“Because I'm going to serve as its Captain for the Air Guards?” I said hopefully. Please, please let me be wrong about what they were thinking.

“Mmmm... nope.”

Buck.

Celestia smiled in that annoying holier-than-thou attitude she sometimes had. “I think a nice long stint on the ground is what’s called for here,” she said. “The army could always use new recruits.”

“No! I-I refuse! You can’t force me!” I couldn't join the army, I couldn't. The RAG would be bad enough, but I’d heard stories about the army!

“No, you’re right. We can’t force you.” Celestia said. Yes! “However,” Bugger. “I can ban you from alcohol.” Well, that wasn't so bad. I could handle that- “For ten thousand years. Deal?”

“No! No deal!” I said quickly. Ten thousand years! I had good genes for longevity, but not that good. I couldn't stay sober for the rest of my life, I’d go insane! But, since I wasn't turning into an alicorn any time soon... “You can’t do that either! I'm a grown stallion. You can’t order me around!”

My aunts looked dubious. “Uh huh,” Celestia deadpanned. “Well, it’s one or the other I'm afraid. No middle ground.” I wriggled my eyebrows.

“Yeah?” I snarked. “And how are you going to stop me? Tell all the pubs in Equestria to not let me drink anything alcoholic?”

Luna gave me a look, as if to tell me that that was exactly what they’d do.

Oh. Rulers of Equestria. I forgot.

So, what now?

Well, it was a deceptively simple choice, really. On the one hoof, no more drinking, having fun, or partying ever again. On the other, mud, dirt, hard work, shouting, and the stories. Oh, the stories. So, what was it to be? Hard work, or teetotalness? Work or sobriety? Sobriety or work? The choice wasn't getting any easier. But I had to pick one-

“If you would prefer not to make the choice, we could always choose for you,” Luna inserted dryly. “And we believe you mentioned something about ‘stocks’...”

I sighed. Well, the army was only for a little while; or at least only until Celestia and Luna got bored, so I might get out of it pretty quickly. And I‘d still get to drink.

“I’ll do it.” I glanced over at my aunts and two pairs of eyes dancing with glee. “Join the army, I mean. Not the other thing.” Their eyes continued to dance. “Or that other thing. But I have some rules! I get to choose which regiment I join, and I at least get to be an officer. I'm not eating with the commoners!”

I’d have to choose just right, preferably a regiment that’d just come back from active duty. I didn't want to actually do anything. Oh, and the uniforms had to be red! Red went fabulously with my palette. Yep, red and off duty. That sounded about right.

“That is acceptable.” Celestia nodded. Phew. I turned to go. “On one condition.” Bugger, what now?

“Yes?” I said warily, turning back to my aunt.

“That Cash Flow mare. Perhaps you could arrange something special?”

An evil grin stretched across my muzzle.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

It was around about my... third? Yes, my third glass of Bordeaux when I decided that this ‘Royal Guard’ bailiwick might not be so unbearable after all. I mean, it wasn't quite top class fare, and I’d have gladly traded my fetlocks for a serviceable maneicure, but the commissioned officers (one of which I most certainly was, Major Prince Blueblood, at your service!) had their own sleeping quarters and mess hall.

And, though I made most attire remarkable merely by dressing in it, I look simply dashing in uniform.

I was currently serving under that utter buffoon, Colonel Shining Armour, who had apparently been commissioned in the twenty-four hours since I’d last seen him. Not that I had met the stallion since coming into his command, of course. He was much too busy organising the new intake of guards. Even too busy to greet his new subordinate, the Prince of Equestria.

I snorted, inadvertently spraying a good portion of my extremely expensive wine over the bar top. As if he didn't have time enough for the ME! No, he was driven by pure spite, nothing more. Well, what could you expect from a common pony. I’d been forced to work for this damnable organisation, and that damnable stallion, but that didn't mean I had to like it (‘no sir-ee’, as he might put it)!

In fact, I needed to work my magic on this place. A few contacts here, a couple of ‘friends’ there, and I’d be running this place before the week was out. Nothing long-term, I wasn't going to stay forever, but I wanted to get some creature comforts into this dump before I went insane.

To begin with, what I needed was a guide. Not literally: I required some way of finding out all the information I needed without arousing suspicion. Names, faces, places, ponies, that sort of thing. The best informants - old bucks with dirt, the ambitious colt looking for a step up, the elderly hero wanting a peaceful retirement – weren't the sort of thing one could discover in a day. But with a helping hoof...

A stallion pulled up the barstool beside mine.

“Vodka.” He ground out; his voice like somepony had removed his vocal chords and replaced them with sandpaper.

I took a look over and winced. Judging by the angry red scar gracing his throat that might just have been uncomfortably close to the truth. He wasn't a big stallion, at least not in size, but he had a certain something about him. The kind of something I’d seen some of the Royal Guards back at the castle displaying, a sense that this was not a pony to cross. The medals on his cloth uniform (obviously just back from someplace like the Amarezon, and boy did not I not envy him for that), and the smooth silver sword at his side ‘sealed the deal’, as it were. He wore his tail short and his mane shorter, which only served to accentuate his great, shaggy eyebrows, like monstrous caterpillars that’d settled down on his brow. It would have looked comical, were it not for everything else.

I had an idea.

“Put it on my tab,” I said smoothly, and the barpony frowned, before nodding. The buck raised his bushy eyebrows, and I hastened to clarify. I didn't want him to think I was coming on to him – that probably wouldn't end well. Not that I would have done it even if it were likely to go well, of course! “It’s the least I could do,” I said, lying through my teeth and nodding at his uniform. “I can’t imagine what it must have been like. Consider it thanks.”

He grunted. “Just signed up?” He growled.

I nodded emphatically – I need to get this just right if I were to get what I wanted out of it. “Yeah, something like that,” I said. Or nothing like that, but, well, ‘whatever’.

He grunted again. Yeah, not exactly one for conversation this one. He shifted, and I caught another glimpse of that sword that hung by his side in the grimy light – dear goddesses, it was beautiful! I'm pretty sure I was gaping like a fish, but... that sword!

Silver in colour and possibly in composition, it had a blade, a handle and a hand guard, like most any other sword you might care to mention. But this! This! The slim lines, the elegant proportions, even the understated decoration – I felt like a foal again! Tooled engravings on the grip, a sure sign of pre-classical working, and (was it?) (It was!) a horizontally-recurved cross! I’d only read about them in history books! Magnificent! Like some cruciform personification of beauty, it transcended the pony bearing it. No, he wasn't deserving of such a wondrous blade.

And since he so obviously was unworthy, it would be mine. Suddenly, I didn't care about gathering information, or worming my way up the ranks. That could wait. But one thing was for sure: that sword would be in my hooves by nightfall, no matter what I had to do to get it.

I forced a smile on my lips.

“Ah, I must say, that’s a lovely blade. May I ask how you got it?”

I caught a flash of a smirk on his grizzled muzzle. “No.”

Git. Regardless, us Bluebloods are nothing if not tenacious.

“Well,” I said with a carefully casual shrug. “We've all got our secrets, I suppose.” Despite my relaxed demeanour, thoughts rushed quickly through my head. Why wouldn't he talk about it? It could be a bad memory, but this buck didn't seem like the sort of fellow to shy away from bad memories. No, more likely something to do with me. It couldn't be my social skills; they were finely honed instruments of diplomatic power; similarly, my eternal charisma and lovable character were as perfect as I... wait a moment... that was it!

I was simply too perfect! To the point of being unapproachable, I must simply have overwhelmed his puny mind with my splendour. I was the progeny of a living goddess after all, and even if I hadn't quite received the genes for flight or the ability to move celestial objects, I was no lightweight.

So, what I needed to do now was to tone it down a bit. Appear approachable, friendly, even.

“Garçon!” I called, taking my eyes off that simply fabulous sword. The barpony looked over, snorted (the nerve!) and trotted back. Now, what was a suitably common drink? “A pint of your finest ale, if you please!” I plastered a grin larger than Fancypants’ ego on my face, then turned back to the guardspony.

“Soooo. How was the Amarezon, ah, mate? Can’t imagine going out there myself.” It was a guess, but a safe one - there weren't many places in Equestria where one could get scars like those. The barpony trotted off once more, presumably to get my drink, and the guard raised an egregious eyebrow. What, hadn't he ever seen a perfectly normal stallion before?

“Wet,” he grunted. What? Oh, the Amarezon. Did he ever communicate in anything other than grunts? Or one word sentences? I struggled for something to say, which was new.

“Wonderful.” I was about to add more, but I was interrupted as I saw a brown, frothy glass of... ale? What even was that, anyway? Slam down in front of me. The lamps above the bar cast a dim glow, making oily rainbows flash on the greasy glass. I sincerely hope he didn't intend for me to drink that.

I shook my head. I had better things to worry about.

“So,” I said, taking another glance at the drink and deciding to give it a minute, “I think introductions are in order! My name,” I grinned roguishly (force of habit, honest), “is Blueblood. Yours?”

“Grimy Skies.” He frowned into his drink. “Tha’ wouldn't be Prince Blueblood, would it?”

Finally, more than one word! Odd name, though, for a non-pegasus.

“Ah! You recognise me. Why yes, yes it would.” I put a pleasant smile on, but inside I was seething. My plan! It was all going horribly wrong! Even when I was trying to act common, my regal manner shone through. A curse of breeding, I suppose.

“Hm. ‘Splains it.” A small smile quirked at his lips.

Struggling with his syntax, I finally figured out his meaning. “’Explains it’? Explains what?”

His grin morphing into a full-blown smile, he slapped his leg. “The smell!” He shouted, roaring with laughter. Much to my dismay, the entire room joined in!

For a moment, I found myself speechless. What in Equestria did he think he was doing?

“Excuse me?” I snarled. I was as close to snapping as I’d ever been. I almost found myself missing Fancypants. Fancypants. At least he was bleedin’ subtle about hating me: this, this earth pony, couldn't even find subtlety if I stuck it on the end of his pretty little sword and shoved it into his skull!

The buck slowly stopped sniggering, and rested a hoof heavily on my shoulder (his hoof! On my royal personage!). After a brief moment, he began explaining.

“Well, the way I figger it, only a Prince or the entertainment,” here he pointed to a small stage in the corner of the grotty bar, where skimpily dressed mares paraded themselves scandalously for a crowd of raucous soldiers. “Wear perfume!” He burst into another round of howling laughter. I roughly threw his hoof off my body with a flick of my toned muscles.

Perfume? PERFUME? How dare he? This wasn't perfume, this was Au De Cheval! By Fleur’s! I didn't deserve to be mocked for preserving a modicum of dignity, did I? That colt was FINISHED! When I was done with him, oh-ho, not even the crows would laugh at his jokes! And their not-laughing would be the last thing his ugly, common ears would hear before I fed him to them! Oooh, he was going to get it.

After I finished my drink. Never leave a perfectly good drink to waste, that was my motto, even if it interfered with turning a certain ponies into mulch. Alcohol first, revenge later.

I eyed the dirty glass of whatever it was. Ale? It certainly looked like the descriptions I’d heard about it – brown and nondescript – but was it supposed to be so scummy? Like, seriously?

After giving it a quick once over, I could see that half of the liquid had slopped out of the side after it’s... enthusiastic... delivery.

“Ah, barpony?”

“Yeah,” he grunted – oh, goddess, another one – and picked up a dirty glass to polish.

I nodded to the beer in front of me. “Could you stick a short in that?”

He perked up. “Per’aps I could,” he said, leering at the heavily stocked moneypouch hanging on the belt of my fancy new uniform. Drinks were free to Royal Guards, but spirits were one-a-night, and I’d already used up my quota on that buck of a buck. One-a-night unless, of course, the asker had a few bits to spare.

“Excellent.” I smiled. “In that case, do you mind giving me a full pint then, old chap? Frightfully obliged.” I went back to glaring intermittently between the guard and my still-not-topped up drink. In the warped reflection on the glass (more to do with its dirtiness than any refraction of light), I could see the barpony’s face turning odd colours. Huh. Weird lighting.

“’Scuse me, mate?” The buck at the bar spat out, like each word was poison.

“Hmmm? Oh yes, fill it up, chop chop. You might be able to get away with cheating somepony else of their money’s worth, but not I!” There was a collective intake of breath from those within hearing range, but I didn't pay any attention. Inside my head I was striking a heroic pose. Prince Blueblood: defender of the ordinary pony from spendthrift barstallions! That sounded good! Now if I just knocked the last bit off, maybe I could add it to my list of titles. Yeah, right between ‘Lord of the Eastern Isles’ and ‘Chancellor of Ca-

SPLOOSH!

All of a sudden, something cold and scummy and wet drenched me to the bone, running down my mane, and covering my hair in – UGH, something! The stuff doused me more thoroughly than my six-jet power shower back home, coating me in strange - brown? – liquid down to my hooves. Fluid dripped from my fetlocks, collecting in a pool beneath me.

“Wha-haHAHAAT?!” I sputtered out, a spout of ‘liquid’ spraying from my muzzle. Through the stuff dripping off my mane (my beautiful, gorgeous, mane!), I spied the barpony holding a cup. To be precise, an empty cup. To be even more precise, MY empty cup that FORMERLY held the ale that was now presumably pouring off my body!

No, he couldn't have, could he? Nopony could be that monumentally stupid, after all. Nopo-

“Get out of me bar. Now,” the stallion said evenly, his piggish eyes narrowed. “I don’ ‘preciate colts like you pissing about.” I decided that overestimating commoners wasn't something that’d be a problem again.

Nor, similarly, would that stallion be a problem ever again. I’d had it up to here with horseapples like that today, and the buck stopped here. Literally.

As I was going to end him.

I took a quick glance around the bar. Obviously some ponies had noticed who precisely I was (apparently the barpony was either too thick to figure it out or just didn't care), and so the crowd was anxiously waiting for something to happen. There were few unicorns – the majority being earth ponies, and most of the remainder pegasi – and of those, exactly none of them seemed like they’d be any threat whatsoever. Apart from that, I could probably bribe or bully everypony at the bar into ‘forgetting’ what they were about to see, and even if I couldn't at least I’d be getting out of this bloody army. A dishonourable discharge could be hushed up, but if I had to stay for too long in this place I’d go insane.

Only a few seconds had passed since the buck had spoken, and so I calmly rose to my hooves. I glanced forlornly at the empty glass, but it would probably have been crap anyway. After a moment, I turned as if to go. The bar almost tangibly seemed to relax at my ‘compliance’, and few quiet conversations even restarted. Simpletons.

I began running a few calculations; I had to do something big; impressive. It had to be enough to ensure that anypony hearing of the event would be suitably terrified of crossing me, but not so much that I was arrested. Again. So, imposing, dramatic, but not lethal. Got it.

I concentrated, and after a moment an icy-blue corona faded into being around my horn. A few ponies made curious sounds, but I ignored them, focussing on my breathing.

“One. Two. Three.” I muttered under my breath, then focused hard, forcing a layer of overcharge around my horn. The light grew bigger, brighter, crackling outwards and throwing crude shadows around the bar. “Four. Five.” I resolutely set my mind on the target: Barpony McIdiotface. I filled my imagination with his thin, priggish mug, setting a mental target. “Six...” I set up a solid contact with the floor. Had to keep grounded, didn't want to get hurt, after all. I readied myself.

“SEVEN!” In one great burst, I released all the energy I’d built up in an instant. There was a BOOM as waves of light blasted from my horn in a mighty flash. For a second, the entire room was bathed in a blinding glare. Then the light suddenly coalesced into a swirling vortex around my horn, before disappearing entirely. There was a pause.

“What -” somepony managed to utter, before he was interrupted by an immense CRACK! All the light, concentrated into a thin, crackling arc of sapphire energy erupted from my horn and threw itself towards the bar, twisting and spinning at colossal speed.

The spell, primarily designed to rip through magic shielding, and one of the most powerful I knew, tore through the ozone-laden air of the bar towards the shocked barpony. Some of the patrons were already attempting to stand – well trained, then, if ineffective – but none of the unicorns were making any move to stop me, just as I’d predicted. Not that they could do anything even if they’d tried, of course.

Time seemed to slow.

The bolt wouldn't be enough to kill him, obviously. Fame was a fickle mistress, and the paperwork even more so. The work involved in pulling something like that off! Phew, I didn't want to have to sort that out, it’d barely be worth the satisfaction. No, this was a warning. A shock, unconsciousness, some hospital care, he’d be right as rain in no time, hopefully with some hard-learned respect for his betters.

But he didn't know that. I relished the look of horror in his eyes as the magical lightning screamed closer. Closer. The blue energy spat and crackled, burning through the thick air of the bar, sweeping ever nearer to its inevitable target, who was frozen in place, terrified, now just feet away-

Some interesting facts about this particular spell. Created in the 2nd century by genius philosopher and mathematician Sunstrike the Sage, it embodies the power struggle at the time between the progenitors of two great Schools of magic: Sunstrike, and his legendary rival Starswirl the Bearded. Their differences were a matter of personal opinion. Sunstrike was of the view that the number seven was the most powerful number in all of magic, and the universe itself was based on magical manifestations of seven, whilst Starswirl believed that all forms of magic were equal, the strength lying in the caster, and you were an idiot to think otherwise. Well, we all know how that turned out. Sunstrike’s ‘seven-shot’ spells, as they became known, were notorious for their instability and uncontrollable nature, and so fell out of favour with the ponies at the time, leaving Starswirl as the grand and wise master of pre-classical magic, and Sunstrike forgotten.

An aspect of this uncontrollability is due in part to volatile nature of the spell. Seeking inspiration from the natural world, Sunstrike looked to one of the most powerful forces in Equestria: lightning. After careful experimentation, he made a discovery: if one were to reduce the base magical composition of lightning down to the lowest possible level, it would invariably result in a multiple of seven. Every time he performed the experiment, he received the same results. Delighted with this finding, he knuckled down to produce his greatest work, sure that this would finally prove his superiority over Starswirl.

Unfortunately, or conveniently depending on your view, he died suddenly whilst testing one of his experiments, leaving his work to gather dust in the corner of the Canterlot Library. Perhaps more fortunately for him, said work was placed in a corner of the library which just so happened to have a wonderful view of the mare’s hoofball changing rooms.

Give me a break, I was a teenager.

It was during one of these excursions that I discovered the documents. Originally intended as a backup in case somepony wandered by and asked what I was doing, I was quickly drawn into the impressive magic within. I made a small study of them (again, I was a teenager. I was drawn to anything involving massive amounts of power), and then disposed of them. I mean, they weren't doing any good to anypony there, were they?

On a completely unrelated note, I’ll be publishing a paper on the Magical Properties of the Number Seven soon, so keep an eye out. All my own research, of course.

Regardless, the point of this is that the magic I was using was incredibly volatile. One mistake, and I could end up blowing a hole in the moon, and Luna would come down on me hard if that happened. She was still going on about the stocks, last time I heard. So, I had to take some precautions. Number one, concentration. If I lost my concentration for even a moment... well, Boom. Number two, direction. I had to keep at least half a mind on exactly where I wanted this spell to go, or, you guessed it, Boom. Number three, NEVER LET IT GET NEAR LIQUID. EVER. Remember all that stuff I said about this spell being based on lightning? Yeah. No liquid.

So, what with all these rules and precautions I was taking, I was somewhat nervous when something odd happened.

The spell was still moving swiftly towards the buck, when all of a sudden it began to turn.

Despite my iron will and solid concentration, the bolt was curving away from my intended destination. It was as if a great magnet was pulling it away from where I wanted it to go. I watched in slowly mounting horror as the bolt curved slightly, away from him, and downwards, downwards towards a puddle of ale on the bar top.

Working quickly, I brought my formidable mind to bear on the magic, and with every iota of my metal ability began to focus on turning it back around. Time slowed even further. I struggled intently, eyes straining, mind focussed on stopping it. For a moment, it seemed to wobble, inches above the bar top. A half second it paused, then, jarringly... struck straight down.

Right in front of my eyes, the blue energy struck the sticky liquid without a sound. That must have been what ended my control; the natural conductive properties of the liquid, mixed with whatever the buck used to clean his glasses (paraffin and gold dust, for all I knew) must have formed a powerful magical conductor, strong enough to rend direction of the energy away from me. On that note, if I could somehow market it... but this wasn't the time. The hotchpotch magical energy conductor behaved exactly as you would expect it to, and conducted the magical energy along the distinct trail, from the puddle on the tabletop, down the side of the bar, along the damp carpet on the floor and towards the wettest thing in the room.

Me.

“BU-”

In a flash of light, the energy discharged. I blacked out.

Then promptly woke up again, as I was sent soaring into an alleyway. After a short flight, I smacked into a solid brick wall with a sickening crunch. After a moment of dazedly observing the new Blueblood-shaped imprint, I slid to the ground in a heap.

“Ow,” I said observantly. At least the electrical damage to my nerves appeared to be numbing the pain I felt, for the moment.

“Yeah! And yer’d best be staying out,” sneered a voice from the doorway.

I glanced up, and past the mini-pegasi that were circling my head, I could spy the rat-like barpony in the doorway. Flanked by two hefty (and by hefty I mean fat) bodyguards, he was looking somewhat smug.

His goons nodded sternly along with his words, sending multiple jowls wobbling. They ought to be more careful, that much flab could probably crush a passing foal.

Noting my unresponsiveness, he smirked one last time. “Careful not to give yerself anuvver nasty shock, Prince.”He said, then slammed the door shut.

Oh joy, sarcasm. Yes, clearly the highest form of wit there was. If there was one thing I hated more than being thrown out of pubs in the wee hours of the morning – and it seemed to be a common theme recently – it had to be dealing with sarcastic ponies.

And I knew this wouldn't be the last I saw of him; I still had to sort out all the trouble of me making a bit of an idiot out of myself in public, and then there were all the forms I had to fill out to get that buck fired. I wasn't feeling as hyped-up as I was inside the bar (severe trauma could do that), but I still wanted to get back at him. Oh, and I still had to sort out that Vodka-swilling, wisecracking stallion, which probably meant that I wouldn't be getting my hooves on that sword. Ah well, you win some, you lose some. I’d just get the Royal Armourer to knock something ceremonial up for me. It wasn't like she had anything else to do.

Lost in my thoughts, I’d barely noticed the sounds of a disturbance from within the pub. But what I couldn't miss was the a dark body of a buck, complete with uniform, deadly silver accessory, and unforgettable eyebrows, fly through the air at great speed before impacting heavily into exactly the same bit of wall I did, before siding to a rest on a piece of ground nearby.

Through the door that was leaking yellow light onto the cobblestone, the barkeep stuck his nose. “And don’ think I missed you two cosyin’ up t’gether.” He shifted his beady gaze to me. “Ye can keep ya buckfriend, boyo,” he said, sniggering foalishly, before withdrawing once more inside.

Buckfriend? What was he blathering on about? He couldn't mean- oh.

I was suddenly very glad that I hadn't had enough time in the bar to get drunk. Drunk ponies couldn't run very fast, after all, and I had a sneaking suspicion that if the pony currently stirring from his position beside me had heard that, I was going to have to do an awful lot of running in the near future.

With a sudden burst of willpower, I found myself standing. If I could get out of there before he regained consciousness, I could retreat to my stronghold of legal reprimands and lawful revenge, and not be attacked by any enraged soldiers.

I began silently navigating my way down the filthy street. The back entrance to the bar was halfway down one of the Canterlot side roads, so if I could get to one of the main thoroughfares I was clear. Just a few hundred feet, I could see the light of the streetlamps beyond a pile of rubbish.

I could hear groaning behind me, presumably from the buck, so I quietly hurried myself. Around the broken drains, under a fallen tree branch, just a little way to go-

“OI!” A seriously annoyed voice shouted from behind me. Bugger, there went the ‘softly, softly’ approach. What now?

“Where are you, you bloody poncy git?” The buck, significantly closer than before, shouted. Well, that settled what to do.

Leg it.

I galloped, cursing the higher power that put obstacles in such annoying places, heading towards the light of the main road. Behind me, there was a loud bout of incoherent swearing and a stomping of hoofsteps, followed by a series of cracks and crashes. I didn't have time to turn around, but I assumed that that was the buck storming through the barriers that had forced me to turn. I could hear him coming up behind me, but I was just a couple of dozen yards away from the exit of the alley now. Surely I could make it. That expensive personal training had to have some use, after all, and what better to put it to than outrunning an insane alcoholic?

I was closing in on the way out, now. Twenty yards. Fifteen. I was almost there, I just had to round the last blockage, aaaand....

“OOOF!” A voice grunted, and I let out (a very manly) squeal as the body of the stallion tackled me from behind, sending me sprawling to the floor. How did he get here so fast?

I struggled back to my hooves and was about to make a move, when I realised that I’d somehow got switched round in the tussle, and the buck was between me and the exit. I immediately began making plans. If I could just...

I concentrated on the metal bracket in the wall above the buck, and tugged it sharply down with a burst of telekinesis onto his head. Or rather, that’s what I would have done, had my horn not taken the opportunity to pack in with a spray of sparks and a sharp pain.

“Ah!” I hissed. Well, that was that for magic. I must have burned out, what with losing control of the seven-shot and all. I was lucky it wasn't more serious.

“You,” Grimy snarled. “You got me thrown out of the bar.” He stepped forward menacingly.

“Erm. Yes?” I giggled nervously (laughed in face of danger) and shifted my hooves (readied myself for a fight). “Sorry about that, all a misunderstanding really.” Grimy narrowed his eyes. My voice rose in pitch. “I'm sure we can sort this all out calmly and rationally...?”

He whinnied in laughter. “Sure.” I sighed in relief, but then he raised a hoof. “This is calmly,” he said, then raised the other, “and this is rationally.” He looked at me. “Got it?”

"Ah - yes?" I stammered out.

He stepped forward. Then again. And again, until his muzzle was pressed up against mine. He narrowed his eyes.

“It was a rhetorical question.” He ground out, then raised a hoof – and I doubted it was to make a pithy quote this time.

“No! Wait!” I cringed, covering my face with my forelegs, expecting for something to happen any second. Nothing did. I glanced up, and saw him raising an eyebrow queryingly.

“Please, enlighten me,” he said, spreading his front hooves wide.

“Ummm, I'm an officer! You can’t attack me!” I flashed my epaulettes proudly. “See?”

“You? An Officer? You’re kidding me, right?" He lowered his hoof and broke down laughing. I didn't move. "I thought you said you’d just signed up.” He stopped sniggering and looked hard at me, and I remembered the conversation from earlier.

“Special consideration?” I squeaked.

“Well then,” he said. “I suppose that only leaves me with one option.”

I perked up. “To go away and forget about it?” He snorted.

“No. A duel. To the death.”

Breakfast, Buffoonery, and Boasting

"That old duel with Grimy? Well, what can I say? I think under different circumstance we could have been friends, I really do. It’s such a shame we kicked off on the wrong hoof."
~ Interview with Prince Blueblood

“You did WHAT?” Auntie Celestia shouted, making the marble walls of the dining hall shake and dust fall from the ceiling.

I cringed as her words boomed loudly around my head. I hadn’t realised that Celestia was quite as proficient at the Canterlot Acoustic Projection Spell (CAPS, for short) as her sister, or even remembered how to cast it. In any case, I soldiered on through the ringing in my skull.

“I was – ow – challenged to a – bleedin’ heck – duel,” I winced out around my brand-new migraine. Buuuuuck. She sure knew how to throw her voice.

Luna rubbed her forehead, either affected by the spell or just plain frustrated. “We are beginning to see a pattern here, nephew,” she said, rolling her tone around exasperatedly, so yep, probably the second one. She had to have developed some form of deafness by now, anyway. “Were you, perchance, in a bar at the time?” Damn, she was onto me!

“Nooo,” I said, shiftily. “Not at the time...” It was the truth, after all, or at least part of the truth. Close enough, anyway. Probably.

“Coming out of one?”

“W-um... err – I say, ahem, well,” I stammered.

Luna and Celestia’s hooves made a direct course for the respective faces. Was that really necessary? Again? I mean, they must have gotten tired of it by now, and those hoof-guards couldn’t possibly be nice to be hit with.

After a good few seconds of aggravated head-punching, Celestia turned to her sister.

“Luna, how long do you suppose it would take to get a message out to every single purveyor of alcohol in Equestria that our nephew is now banned from... let’s say... everything?” What? What was she on about?

Wait a moment, this wasn’t that ‘forced sobriety’ thing they were going on about last night, was it? But- but-

“Everything?” Luna replied thoughtfully, massaging her chin. “Even cider?” Cider? No, they couldn’t!

“Especially cider.” Celestia said sombrely. No!

“Well then. A day? Although, would it perhaps be faster to simply send out a Royal Edict? Inform everypony in Equestria, just in case? Oh, and make sure to empty his cellars. I hear he has some wonderful vintages at Norcolt.” Wait. My cellars?

“NOOOOOOOOOO!” I shouted, diving in front of them. “You can’t! You can’t!”

“I thought we went over this yesterday,” Celestia said, a smirk peeking past her ‘confused’ visage.

“Well, maybe you can,” I conceded, “but you still can’t! It’s mine! MINE!” I licked my lips. They still didn’t look convinced. “I-I wasn’t even drunk!” I blurted out.

“Oh, really?” Said Celestia sceptically, raising a regal brow.

“No! I mean, Yes! I got thrown out too fast to get drunk! Ha! Take that!” There, let’s see them bang me up now!

Luna and Celestia glanced at each other for a second, biting their lips, before bursting into fully-fledged, unstoppable, laughter.

“What?” I said, irritably. They continued to be stuck in the throes of their histrionics, beating at the floor with elegant hooves. “What are you doing?” I repeated, and was ignored. Every time they seemed about to compose themselves, they looked back up at me and – for some reason – immediately burst into peals of laughter again.

“WHAT!” I shouted, employing a little CAPS of my own. The magically enhanced sound tore past my fragile morning vocal chords with a flare of power, and blew a cloud of dust from the floor away in a semi-circle in front of me. After a moment of looking impressive with the sun shining through it, it settled neatly over the just-cleaned windows and portraits on the walls. I winced – not at the dirtied room, we had cleaners for that and other rooms besides – but instead at the sensation of ancient and powerful magicks being compressed into one small ball and torn out of my throat. It was just as bad on the voice as the ears. But if this didn’t get their attention, nothing would.

Apparently, I was wrong. The Princesses, for whom having had several centuries to get used to loud speaking worked wonders, were not as susceptible to the spell as I had hoped. Or, indeed, at all. The two most powerful ponies in Equestria merely rolled over and continued giggling like schoolfillies.

One who it did have more of an effect on, however, was a young serving mare who happened to be at the doorway. The maid, bringing breakfast, saw the Princesses in heap on the floor, a great noise echoing throughout the entire castle and the Prince standing over them like a vengeful demon and decided on the most logical choice of action:

Running and screaming.

Which she promptly did, turning and galloping away as fast as she possibly could. A silver platter, laden with food, clattered noisily to the floor behind her. The Royal Sisters stopped, startled.

“Finally,” I said, then stomped over to the mountain of toast, cereal and tea. I pulled out an only slightly sodden sandwich and bit into it. “It’s only a duel,” I sighed. “I don’t know why you’re getting so worked up about it, anyway.”

“Blueblood,” said Luna carefully. “Doest thou happen to remember exactly whom thou were challenged by?”

I waved a hoof dismissively. “Oh, you know. Just some old earth pony fella. Erm, Grimy Skies or something, I think.” I turned back the most important issue at hoof: my sandwich.

The newly standing Princess Celestia froze in place. “Did you just say Grimy Skies?” She said slowly.

“Hruph?” I said around a bite of asparagus and dandelion sandwich (with just a hint of orange juice). “What was that? Oh yes, Grimy Skies. You know him? Grumpy face, fancy sword, looks like he needs a good exorcism or two?”

“Why, yes, that’s who I-” Celestia said unthinkingly, before snapping to. “Blueblood! Please refrain from insulting my subjects in such a manner.” If that was the case, in what manner was acceptable then? Smoke signals? The postal service? Massive, fifty-foot high letters on the side of an important government building?

“So you do know him, then? Good, you can tell me how badly I’m going to defeat him.” This was gunna be a doddle.

“Blueblood.” Celestia said, suddenly serious. “Blueblood, please, be serious for a moment. If – if – this pony is who I think it is, then I would advise extreme caution. Grimy Skies is a highly accomplished veteran, serving in both the RAG and the Army as a war pegasus, he-”

“Whoa, whoa!” I interjected. “Wait a moment – war pegasus?”

“Yes, Blueblood,” she said frustratedly. “A war pegasus, highly trained and-”

“Stop,” I said, raising a hoof. “We can’t possibly be talking about the same pony here. He’s earth pony, for crying out loud! Not a war pegasus,” I scoffed.

Luna paused, and whispered to her sister.

“Celestia,” she said quietly, “isn’t that the one-”

“Yes.” Auntie Celestia said; face expressionless, before looking dead into my eyes. “Blueblood, Grimy Skies is not an earth pony.”

“But... wings?” I said, confused. Last time I’d checked, pegasi had wings. It was a bit of a distinguishing feature, really.

A grim look crossed her face. “No, Blueblood. He’s a pegasus. A pegasus who just so happened, very recently, to receive the Blue Acorn for outstanding tenacity and bravery under unforeseen circumstances, and was given six months leave for exemplary service.” She stared imploringly into my eyes, as if expecting something to suddenly click.

I was puzzled. Whilst Auntie was adamant that he was not, in fact, an Earth Pony; there was no way that Grimy would’ve been able to hide a hoofkerchief under that thin jacket, let alone a pair of frickin’ wings. And, like I’d just noted, wings were kinda included in the whole ‘Pegasi’ package deal.

That said, him being a pegasus would explain a few irregularities I’d noticed the other night. Hey, cut me some slack; I’m pretty observant when I’m not sozzled. Article number one, his surprising swift-hoofedness in the alley – I wasn’t the most athletic of stallions, but that sheer speed was ridiculous! Not only that; he’d taken a suspiciously long time to recover from being thrown into a wall, for one with apparent Earth Pony endurance. I’d seen some of the utterly ludicrous things that some ground-huggers could achieve – pulling immense weights, functioning for days without sleep, the most incredible endurance (cough) – it all seemed a bit odd that a simple knock would impair him so. I had recovered in only a few seconds, after all.

Perhaps he was a pegasus, then.

But that, then, begged the question: if he could fly, why had he not just flown after me in the alleyway? It was cramped down on the ground, but up in the air it would be as simple as picking apples off a tree, or swindling money off taxpayers. If he could fly, it would’ve been a question of how badly did he want to humiliate me. If he could...

If he could fly.

I baulked. S-surely not.

I ran through what I knew of him. He’d won the Blue Acorn – for what? It wasn’t exactly an honour given out on a whim; off the top of my head I could only name two other instances, and both of those posthumously. And to get six months leave: no stray arrow shot to the hoof was going to get you that sort of absence, I’d checked. The facts added up, but how?

I gulped, and turned back to Auntie Celestia. “They didn’t, did they? They- they couldn’t have.” My voice broke slightly.

Celestia nodded solemnly.

“With his... and his... my word.” I frantically ran through my conversation with Grimy Skies at the bar. I hadn’t mentioned anything relating to him being an earth pony, had I? Please, Celestia, say I hadn’t. All it would have taken was one slip, and if this pony was as large a hero as Auntie had implied, I might just be somewhat screwed.

I resolved to put the consequences of what I may or may not have done behind me, and instead to get working on how to solve this. It was too late for diplomacy, I feared. He was likely out for blood and I wasn’t about to blame him for it. But that would come later. First off, I had to figure out who he even was. Who is Grimy Skies? How did he become only the third stallion ever to be awarded the Blue Acorn, and word of it not reach my ears? How did something like... that... get done to him? And, now I thought about it, where did he get that sword? If there was any information to be found, I needed to find it, and find it now.

So, where does one go to acquire knowledge? A faint memory of hoofball and mares invaded my mind, and I smiled unconsciously. Yep, that’d do.

I was hitting the Library, and hitting it hard. Just as soon as I’d sorted out some contingency plans.

I entered the market with just the tiniest bit of apprehension. I knew I had to find some way of wriggling out of this now, I wasn’t going to get any help dealing with this one from my immortal relations. I had to find my own way, help myself. Therefore, I had six hours to think up some way of saving my life, and only infinite funds, a massive intellect, the love and appreciation of Equestria, and my undeniable sex appeal to do it with.

Thus, the market. What other place could I possibly find a solution to my problem than this melting point of equine despair and depravity, darkness and death, the ultimate depth to which ponykind could sink; the proverbial Tartarus; Hell on Equestria; Discord’s bedroom; call it what you will! Why, Auntie Celestia said ponies actually work here! Farmers, country ponies, the working classes, allowed through the Walls of Canterlot to peddle their petty goods to the noble populace! Ugh, even as I saw foals playing happily in the dappled sunshine, I could smell the sweat of a dozen brutish farm labourers earning – sweet mother of Luna – an honest living! I shuddered in my custom-made buffalo leather boots.

But it was here, in this unholy place of cutthroats and pickpockets and commoners, that I was to find my salvation, if I just knew where to look. So, steeling myself, I ran my eyes over the bustling square. From the old and creaking sign proclaiming “CANTERLOT OPEN-AIR MARKET” (I’d campaigned to get the ugly thing removed, but apparently it had ‘historical value’), to the rows of rickety stalls and salesponies (which I’d also campaigned about, but had been again rebuffed, for entirely different reasons), to a gaggle of ponies in threadbare clothing who looked suspiciously like the group from Clopton I’d met the other day, to a group of mares with medical-related cutie marks, giggling and chatting in a sunny corner, to a tired, pudgy buck who had apparently stopped working to stare creepily at said mares, to a- wait a moment! I turned back to the peeping Tom.

He was exactly what I needed!

I trotted over, avoiding the various disgusting spills and detritus in my path. The stallion, purple in colour with a dodgy manecut sat there slack jawed, staring unabashedly at the group of twenty-something medical students. Or at least they looked like medical students. Definitely too young to be nurses, and certainly not doctors, why, some of them seemed younger than me! From my (quick) look I could say that they were way out of lover-boy’s league. Which was, from my perspective, a distinct plus.

I quickly formed a plan.

“Good evening, my good pony!” I interjected suddenly into the poor stallion’s brooding. “You know, I couldn’t help but notice that you’re a bit of a pathetic sap. Do you disagree?”

“Wha- who are you?” He said, quickly, jerking his head away from the direction of the mares.

“I said, ‘do you disagree?’” I raised my eyebrow pointedly. I didn’t have much time. If this didn’t work out, I still had half-a-dozen other things to try before giving up.

“A-around mares? Um.... I suppose so...” he scuffed the floor with his hoof and glanced down.

“Weeeellll...” I was more going for ‘pathetic sap’ generally, but meh.“Yes, you most certainly are!”

“Ok,” he said, eyes downcast. Glad he saw things my way.

“Wonderful! Now we’ve got that sorted, we can get down to the nitty-gritty. First off, what can I call you?”

“F-Feather Duster.”

“Well then, Mr. Custard: judging by the way you were looking at those fine specimens of fillies in the corner,” I nudged his shoulder and winked, “I reckon you’re looking for a special somepony of your own, am I right?” I sniggered inwardly. Dusty here was about as likely to actually get a fillyfriend as Auntie Luna was to start playing party games, but I wasn’t about to tell him that.

Featherwieght, or whatever he was called, looked around glumly, murky green eyes nervously flicking back to the corner every few seconds. “I’m alright, thank you,” he murmured. “I’ve – I’ve got no chance with them anyway.” True, true. But he didn’t have to acknowledge it! I was trying to blatantly take advantage of him, not crush his self-esteem!

“Nonsense!” I cried, throwing a foreleg around his weedy shoulders. “Why, I believe you have every chance in Equestria of bagging one of those buxom babes!” I waved a lazy hoof at the group of nurses and as one they swooned. “See? They’re falling for you already.” I said smiling winningly.

“If you say so,” he said, doubtful, then suddenly shook his head. “Wait a moment! Who even are you?” He rose to his full height (a good few inches shorter than me, not that it was important or anything), and squinted square into my eye. I batted him away.

“Pah!” I brushed off with a wave of my hoof, ignoring him completely. “That’s not important right now! I’m just here to get YOU,” I prodded his chest, “on a DATE!”

“Is this a joke?” he said warily.

“Of course not!”

“Um. Ok then. I think.”

“I glad we agree! So, what I need you to do is go over there and ask one of them out. Go on!” I prodded him again.

Feather froze. “W-what?” he stuttered, looking for all the world as if I’d just asked him to attack a dragon with a banana. Which was nonsense, of course: should I ever need any dragons killed with fruit there were plenty of foolhardy knights wanting a cheap thrill. And I was all out of popcorn, so it would have to wait until later anyway.

“It can’t hurt, can it?” I said enthusiastically. Although, it would be fun if it did.

“No!” He yelped, like I’d just stuck a pin in his flank.

I raised an eyebrow theatrically. “’No’ as in ‘No, it can’t hurt’, or as in ‘No, I won’t do it’?” I said.

“The second.”

“And whyever not?” I said, faux-angrily. “I’m not giving up my time for nothing, you know!”

“I’m, I’m,” he stumbled.

“Yeees?”

His eyes flicked back to the mares nervously and he gulped. “I’m...”

“Yeeeeeeees?”

“I’m scared!” Feather Duster shouted, causing half the marketplace to stop what they were doing and look at us. He cringed, and I waved them on. After a moment, everypony shrugged and continued.

“So... you’re too scared to go over and ask one of those mares on a date, correct?”

“Yes,” he said after a second, then looked up angrily. “I’m not like you, y’know! With your- stuff, and your- other stuff! Whoever you are!” He kicked at the ground, causing a small puff of dirt.

“Hmmm,” I said in fake consideration. “Well, then, let me give you some advice.”

His head whipped up like lightning. “You can help me?”

“Correctamundo, my dear chap! Now I want you to take what I say very seriously, do you understand? I’m not saying this for my own good.” Well, I was, but just being seen in my vicinity would probably help him despite my ‘advice’, so it didn’t really matter what I said.

“I understand,” he nodded eagerly.

“I want you,” I paused dramatically, “to consider how ridiculously gorgeous I am.” I gestured to myself and nodded.

“Wait, wha-“

“Just consider it!” I interrupted, indicating my toned legs. “Take my legs, for instance. You can’t help but notice how irresistibly perfect they are, right? Not too muscle-bound, but certainly not flabby, just... sex. Sex in leg form, you understand.”

“How is this supposed to help me in any way?” He said.

“All in good time my good pony, all in good time,” I said, cheerfully condescending, then continued. “Not only that. This flank is the stuff of legend! I tell you, friend, mares with flanks that pale in comparison to mine often come up to me and confess, ‘Blueblood, oh, how I wish my flank were half as perfectly exquisite as yours!”

“...” said the buck, obviously struck dumb by the sheer awesomeness that was my flank.

“Oh, but it’s true,” I said. I clopped my hoof on the ground. “You! The charming mare in the corner! Do come over for a spell!” I gestured at one of the fillies that Mr. Pathetic-with-ponies-and-ugly-to-boot had been drooling over.

Blushing and looking as if she might faint at any moment (always a danger in my company, I fear), the filly trotted daintily over and stood, lust clear in her bubblegum-pink eyes.

“My dear, lovely mare,” I began, ignoring the increasingly incredulous looks I was getting from my new friend and the increasingly lecherous ones from the filly. “I have a question for you!” I grinned enthusiastically, but inside I was wondering just how much it’d cost to get her to forget this conversation ever happened. Something involving physical contact, probably.

“Unngh...” she moaned in excitement, before quickly catching herself and wiping the saliva off her muzzle. “Aaa- yes?”

“Tell me,” I said grandly. “What do you think of this flank?” I turned to give her my best angle.

“Oh my CELESTIA, it’s beautiful!” The nurse shouted in ecstasy, a hoof to her forehead. “May I... may I touch it?” I thought it over for a second before deciding it couldn’t hurt.

“Only you, my dear. Only you.” I sang.

She moaned, whimpered, and otherwise acted as if she were about to explode from pure bliss as she gently brushed a hoof over my hair. “It’s so, so, GORGEOUS!” She sang in astonishment. “And you’re so muscular! I want to touch it forever! OH!”

“Now, before you faint, what do you think of my dear friend, um, Feathery Dusthead here?”

The mare blinked and seemed to notice Featherbrain for the first time. “Oh. Hi! You’re friends with famous ponies!” Well, I didn’t like to brag...

“Um, okay,” he said, blushing quite red now.

“Hmm, well, you do have a promising amount of flank. Way too much of it, of course, and not attractive at all.” The buck’s head lowered with each statement. “But, if you worked to tone it, and make it the best flank it could be, why, I think it could even be a quarter as good as... Blueblood’s.” She fluttered her eyelids.

“What, really?” He said disbelievingly. I was quite put out by her comment. A quarter as good? As me? Fatty-fatty-feather-face?

“But it’s terrible right now. Just so you know. Like, really, yuck.” She said shortly.

Right, now that was over with. “You’re dismissed,” I said, waving her away.

“C-could I maybe get a hug, Prince Blueblood?” She pleaded.

“I am sorry my dear,” I wasn’t. “But I have very beautiful, wonderful and incredible things to do now that are much more important than you. So be a darling and get the heck away from me, there’s a good filly.”

She blushed, giggled, and scampered away.

“Wasn’t she just hideous?” I remarked in disgust once she was gone.

“I was actually about to say that she was strikingly pretty,” Leather Mustard said, quite seriously. Pff. Newbies.

“Well, there’s no accounting for taste,” I muttered. “So, you understand?”

“I understand nothing of what just happened,” he said flatly.

I frowned. “Put it this way: do you think that I was born so completely, utterly perfect?”

“Maybe?”

“Don’t be stupid. Of course I was! But you have to work at it, see? To be fair, I have a few advantages – being me and being me – and you have a few disadvantages, but the point remains! If you ever want to be one-tenth as utterly fabulous as ME one day, you need to knuckle down, Dustbowl,” I said. “And I can help!” I threw a hoof over his shoulder. “I just need you to do me one teensy-weensy favour first.”

The day dawned bright on Equestria.

The birds sang, the Canter River gleamed like a jewel, the sunrise reflecting off the whitewashed walls of the castle dappled the landscape for miles around, and Equestria slowly began to shuffle into its morning routine.

I awoke, head propped up on a stack on dusty books and eyes bleary with a night filled with absorbing knowledge. Useless knowledge, as it turned out.

Not one – not one – of the five hundred and seventy three thousand volumes that lined The Library’s ancient shelves had a single jot of information about my enigmatic foe. Not one mention, line, reference, anything! Equestria’s premier source of knowledge had, for the first time, drawn a complete blank. And that meant that all that stood between me and a quick death at the business end of a duelling spell was Feathers-for-brains and his acting skills.

Wasn’t that a thought that just filled you with confidence?

I peeled my face off the embossed dragonscale cover of a particularly unedifying tome and dressed in a mute haze. Moving over to my walk-in wardrobe, I reached for a particularly grim black suit unconsciously. It seemed appropri-

Abruptly, I shook myself and dumped the expensive outfit in a pile on the floor. Really, what hope had I if my own subconscious was rebelling?

I switched to the hangar holding my Royal Guard dress. Unlike the golden plates which I had seen adorning the Guards which roamed freely about the castle, this was designed for use in the deep rainforests and jungles that decorated the southern border of Equestria. A thin, sturdy fabric dyed in the richest crimson from the Zebra homeland and embellished with gold buttons, the handsome ensemble was a contributing factor in me choosing to serve in the 11th Horssars. Onto it, I carefully pinned the numerous award and titles that I had accumulated over the years. There was my MEE, of course, and the massive shiny one saying “Greatest Nephew in Equestria”, and, well, I had lots, that’s for sure. I polished the gleaming awards with a burst of magic, brushed my teeth, then spent fifteen minutes sorting out my mane and tail. One has to look one’s best for the public, after all, even if they’re just there to watch somepony get their head blown off.

I roughly shook my head again, and resolved to quash all of my clearly unnecessary fears. There was nothing to be worried about!

Looking myself up and down in the full-length mirror on my bathroom wall, I decided that the only thing that could possibly accentuate this sort of outfit would be some kind of hat. No uniform was ever complete without a hat, after all. Unfortunately, I only had about two dozen hats, and none of them seemed to go! I mean, Military never went out of fashion, so one would suppose that I would have something, but after five minutes of frantic searching, I could find nothing that had that perfect mix of rugged individualism and casual practicality that was needed to pull it off. Disgruntled, I teleported down to the (recently re-cleaned) dining hall.

My aunts were absent, which was odd, but not uncommon. They had their duties to attend to, and actually running the country meant that I ate at odd times anyway, so I did miss them occasionally. Shame, but I think I’ve probably had enough of being lectured by now.

That reminded me, how was Hole Punch doing? I’d have to check and make sure he hadn’t blown up anything too important. He was a bit useless, that one. However, I reasoned, he couldn’t possibly break things that badly. I was only leaving him alone for a few hours, after all!

I heard faint hoofclops at the door, and a maid trotted in carrying a tray of hay toast. I raised an eyebrow, and she blushed and curtsied, before setting down the silver platter. I waved an absent hoof at her and she curtsied again, before trotting off.

Glancing at a clock, and mindful of the time, I grabbed a couple of pieces of toast (no butter, dairy made me fat) and teleported once more to the front of the castle. There, dressed in my livery of royal blue and silver, stood an earth pony stallion.

“Sir?” He said, shivering and expelling clouds of fog with every breath. I briefly wondered how long he’d been standing there, before deciding I didn’t actually care. He stamped his hooves to keep warm.

“Hmmm?” I answered. “Oh, yes. Be a moment.” I snaffled down the last few pieces of my dry toast, checked my hair in a small conjured mirror, and nodded to the servant. He let out a relieved sigh, and then whistled piercingly. After a moment, a team of four more ponies came huffing and puffing around the corner, hauling an ornately decorated carriage, also in my colours, behind them. I tapped my hoof impatiently at the spectacle, wishing I could use one of those fancy ‘time control’ spells I’d heard about. I didn’t want to be late to my own duel!

The coach, lavishly embellished with ivory and silver, pulled to a smooth halt before me. The ponies pulling it took a quick break, panting. I permitted them fifteen seconds of recuperation, more than generous really, and then hopped inside via the hastily erected spindly staircase.

The interior was cloaked in luxurious blue velvet, with carved inlays on the oak-panelled floor. Set in the side opposite to me was a large, glazed, window, which at the moment had a spectacular view of the hills of Equestria sweeping away in broad strokes from the base of Canterlot Mountain. Facing each other were a set of matching cushioned seat, two across. I selected the one nearest to the door, which I then closed with a flash of magic. As I sat, the magical warming charms activated, heating the brougham to an acceptable temperature, and fogging the window somewhat.

When I was comfortable, I tapped on the wall briskly. The stallion whinnied something at the ponies pulling the cab, took their seats on top, and after a second of pulling, I began smoothly down the winding, weaving path from the Castle to Canterlot proper.

[b

I barely noticed the scenery that rushed past the window as I made my way down the mountain. It wasn’t that I had seen it before, though I had, and nor was it that the juddering, rough ride was distracting my attention, though it was. It wasn’t the twisting, turning snakes of apprehension that curled in my stomach, or the loose thread in my starch-stiffened collar, or even the thought that I could genuinely lose this duel.

No, the thing that stopped me from sitting back and enjoying the morning air was a sudden, strange consideration: what in Equestria was I doing?

I didn’t have to be here. That was a fact. Even if I was opposed to simply walking away, there were a thousand and one ways I could’ve slipped out of it, reputation intact. A few strings pulled here, a couple of bits towards ‘growth-targeting investment portfolios’ there...

I could – should – have bucked this guy three ways to Sunday, and here I was giving the undertaker an extra customer! Heck, all it’d have taken was a quick word to the constabulary and he’d be at their Majesties’ pleasure before you could say ‘ten to fifteen years’!

And yet, here I was. Was from it some form of masochistic pride that I continued? I could knock on the wall, and in twenty minutes I’d be back at the castle. Twenty more and I could have a meeting with the Mayor of Canterlot; ‘old Grimy’ would be behind bars before he even figured out that he’d been stood up. All it would take was a knock. Just a knock.

And then this would all go away.

Just a knock. I raised my hoof.

“Sir!” A voice shouted from outside, and I jumped, my foreleg a fraction of an inch from the wall. Quickly, I noticed that we’d stopped moving.

I steeled myself. This had better be important. “Yes?” I called.

“We’re here, Sir,” he called back.

Oh. Suddenly, all thoughts of running were emptied from my mind. For a moment, I just sat there unmoving. Then, I looked up.

“Well, then. Best not to keep him waiting, what what?”

He wanted a fight? He had one.

I strode down the hill at a fair clip, my steward trotting along beside me. From my perspective, I could see a smallish field, flanked on all sides by light forest. Clumped in tight groups were ponies ranging from the curious noblesse (“Did you hear? The Prince is going to be here!” “To the death, oh my.”) to some of the various businessponies that infested Canterlot these days (“Fifty bits on Crack Shot!”) to some uniformed guards. A quick scan of their faces revealed Shining Armour, of all ponies, along with a few subordinates.

Despite being confused by what they were saying (who in Equestria was ‘Crack Shot’?), I was confident I could win them over, given time. In fact, winning this would probably boost my public favour to all-new heights!

There was a rough cobblestone path leading down the steep embankment, and I made my way quickly. Due to the way that it had been constructed, the ponies in the field couldn’t see us until we got all the way down, and the sun had risen just above the hills surrounding the field, pooling light into the small valley and further restricting their view.

I was about to make my entrance, when suddenly a brainwave hit me. An idea.

A bit much, perhaps, but ever so tempting.

I changed my angle somewhat, aiming for a rocky outcropping directly between the sun and the meadow, indicating for my servant to follow. The ponies below continued gossiping, unaware, and after a few moments, I was in position twenty feet above the plaza, but out of sight. The sun was directly behind me, and the angle made everything – trees, ponies, flowers – cast long, shallow, shadows. In fact, the angle was such that if I were to walk forward just a few paces, and stand in just the right position-

I walked forward a few paces and stood in just the right position. Suddenly a great, dark silhouette was cast over the field, turning day into night.

The ponies – perhaps fifty in number – jumped like startled rabbits, and began glancing nervously around. I heard panicked cries – “Who turned out the lights?”, “Help!” – and, my personal favourite, “It’s Nightmare Moon! Run for your lives!”. They continued looking frantically. One by one they saw me, and their jaws began to drop.

I stood above them, nothing more than a regal profile before the sun that burned like some glorious seraph behind me. As it passed though my lustrous white coat, the brilliant radiance caught me just so, forming a dazzling aura of flame, and at that moment, the wind whipped up causing my mane and tail to flutter as gloriously, as brave as any battlefield standard. From my brow, a spiralling alabaster horn erupted, and from the horn came a mystical cerulean shine. The sound of ghostly trumpets (created by my spell, not that the enraptured crowd below knew that) echoed majestically across the land and the steward, equally in awe but hiding it better, stepped up beside me.

“Announcing the presence of His Royal Highness Prince Blueblood the Majestic, Crown Prince of Equestria, Grand Duke of Buckshire, Lord of the Eastern Isles, Major-General of the Royal Guard (11th Horssars), Air Commodore, Lord Chancellor of Canterlot, Ark’at of the Wandering Tribes, Patron of the Arts, Defender of Tranquillity, and Order of the Plough 1st Class.” He paused, and eyed the crowd “All rise.”