In a land far from Equestria, nestled between the warm southern sea and miles of rolling hills, sprawled the capital of a small nation. Squat buildings of yellow stone, their edges worn and smoothed by years of sea spray, competed for space along skinny streets like a large poor family sharing a single bed. The coastline bristled with ports and docks and shipyards of every size that barely left room for the vessels that used them.
At the height of midday, the city brimmed with life. Strapping young jacks sporting bandanas with their ship's colors loaded outbound vessels with preserved fish and citrus fruits while their local counterparts unloaded shorebound crates packed with the everyday marvels of Equestrian manufacturing. Captains and Dockmasters argued over fees while Inspectors appraised the goods as they came and went. In the market, donkeys of all ages and stations traded their hard-earned silvers and coppers for goods both from home and afar. From the simple, everyday necessities of sugar and vegetables to the pricier treasures of pony-made products and gadgets.
But despite the tranquil atmosphere of the city, not all was as peaceful as it seemed. Inside the hilltop castle that overlooked the city, blood had been spilt.
A stout guard, his armor buckled and bent, burst into the throne room. "Your Highness!"
The King of Donkeys ceased his pacing immediately and looked up, his eyes hard as flint. "Report."
The guard snapped into a salute, or as close as his broken barding allowed. "Sire! We managed to push them back to the Eastern wall, but they had unexpected reinforcements that blindsided us. Most of my squad went down. Captain Archibald's knights are holding them off, but they're greatly outnumbered and won't last long."
"What about the third battalion, any word?"
"They..." the guard faltered, suddenly hesitant in his speech, "They were the invader's reinforcements. It seems they've sided wholly with the enemy."
The King scowled and furrowed his brow as dark thoughts clouded his mind. "Betrayal from within the ranks... I never even considered it." Who else could he send for support? Who among the guard was still loyal? No, there wasn't even time for speculation. It was action or nothing. "Round up whoever you can find that's left and mount a defensive front in the Long Gallery. Hold them off as long as you can, but if the situation becomes impossible... let them pass."
"M-my Lord?"
"You got fur in your ears? You heard me, now go!"
When the guard had fled the room and the thick oaken door shut behind him, the donkey king finally allowed his rigid posture to slacken. "What a mess," he muttered. He looked up at a framed portrait depicting a similar but much younger jack. "And on the anniversary of your death, no less. Seems Mother was right; trouble does follow us like a stray dog."
He sighed and walked over to his throne and sat down heavily. It would not be a long wait. Though he had confidence in his royal guard, he was well-versed in reading the flow of battle. He had an hour, maybe less, before whoever orchestrated the attack came swaggering through those doors like a strutting peacock. And then the real battle would begin.
Lightly testing his grip on his scabbard, he settled in to wait.
The hot, muggy air of summer pressed down on him as minutes passed. Sweat beaded on his brow and dripped along the curve of his lowered muzzle. His golden pompadour --a point of vain pride that had made countless unicorn diplomats impotently jealous-- hung limp in the heavy atmosphere. Not even the crimson banners stirred in the still, lifeless room.
"How has it come to this?" he muttered, his words somewhere between a half-whisper and a loud thought. "I've been a good king, haven't I? I ruled fairly, applied the law justly. I promoted trade and started no wars. So why must it end like this, in blood?"
If he'd expected a response, he received none. The images of his ancestors around the room --picked out in thread, oil, and glass-- remained silent.
Time ticked on, each minute bloated and heavy from trepidation and expectation. In the distance he could still make out the sounds of battle, but it was fading away as more and more voices dropped out of the fight. How many had fallen? How many would be left? He wondered if he'd be around to see.
As was often the case these days when he found himself alone and unoccupied, his mind began to drift. Back to those balmy days of his youth when life had been easy and free. Back to one cherished summer in particular, and the jenny he'd met then. He could still recall her face; as clear and bright as though it had been only hours rather than decades since he'd seen her last. In his mind's eye he reached out and cupped her cheek with his hoof. She smiled back, fluttering her long, gossamer lashes. Her perfect lips parted, ready to answer that question he'd asked so long ago and-
There was a polite knocking on the throne room door.
The memory shattered as the king returned to the present. This was no time for fond remembrances.
"Enter," he intoned with as much regality as he could muster at a moment's notice. Silently, he pondered on this strange choice of action. He faced an enemy that brazenly invaded his home, yet showed decorum before entering his presence.
The mystery was quickly resolved as the doors swiftly swung open. Even if it wasn't a face that he'd known for years, there was no mistaking that ridiculous feather sticking out of his cap like a third ear.
"Mackie," he growled. "Of all the donkeys in all the world, it had to be you."
The invader's eye twitched at the name, but his face otherwise remained as still as stone. "That's Macaroni. You'd do well to remember the name of this country's future king."
Macaroni was a much younger donkey than the king. His body was limber and in its prime, with a jawline you could sharpen an axe on. His choice of clothing was, however, regrettable, as he always dressed to suit the current fleeting trends. This week that consisted of a red velvet vest with intricate gold stitching and a matching hat that flopped over either side of his head.
Still, knowing that it was Mackie behind the coup set several of the king's concerns to rest, regardless of how things turned out. The kid was ambitious, but not cruel. There would be no 'cleansing of the old regime' as had happened in the old days. Assuming, that is, that the kid could even follow through on this scheme of his. "The guards?"
"Injured, but they'll live to serve another day. I'm not a monster."
"True. Just a usurper."
"There's no need to frame this in such harsh terms."
"I'm just saying the facts. How you take it is up to you." He shifted on the throne to make the sunlight glint off his sword's jeweled pommel. "I don't intend on giving you the throne easily."
"I don't intend on giving you a choice."
"This foolishness only proves to me that you are not nearly ready."
Macaroni sighed and let his rigid posture loosen a little as a disappointed frown crossed his face. "Uncle, can't we just..."
"Don't 'Uncle' me in the middle of your coup!" the king scolded as he reared up to his full height in his anger, "If you're going to commit to something like this, then show some proper courtesy and do it right. I thought I managed to drill a notion of respect into that thick head of yours."
Macaroni rolled his eyes, removed his cap, and swirled it in a mockingly exaggerated bow. "Your Grace, King Cranky Doodle, Lord of the Sovereign Lands of Hinndia." He replaced his cap and became serious again. "It doesn't have to be this way. I don't want to fight you."
"Is that so? Well, you've got a pretty bad way of showing it." King Cranky walked slowly towards his nephew, the click of his hooves punctuating their back-and-forth dialogue.
Prince Macaroni scowled but held his ground. "This country needs someone in charge who will put its needs above his own. You're getting old; it's time for young blood to take command." Reaching to his side, he withdrew his rapier. The blade sang as it cut the air in a showy swirl.
Cranky was unimpressed. "So that's how far you're willing to take this? That you'd raise a blade against family? So be it." He unsheathed his own sword and let it sing. "Old, am I? I call that experience. Let's see if there's any strength behind your words, or if you're still just a colt playing castle."
Giving no time for further preamble, he rushed forward, sword at the ready.
Their blades clashed as Macaroni quickly threw up a defense, sending small sparks flying. They shifted their stances and clashed again, blow after blow, each meeting without giving an inch.
Macaroni was faster. His light blade darted in with quick strikes and jabs while he danced in and out of his Uncle's reach.
Cranky was not at a disadvantage, however. Though Macaroni had youth on his side, he had experience. His sword was broad and heavy; made for slashing rather than piercing, but he wielded it with practiced ease. Every stab and thrust that came his way he blocked or deflected with the flat of his blade. And though his swings were slower, they afforded him a much longer reach.
The entire throne room became their battleground, each pressing whatever advantage they could get as they tried to force the other into walls and corners.
Yet as the minutes dragged on, marked by the clockwork click of clashing blades, they seemed no closer to a victor than when they'd begun. Cranky's breathing became labored. Though he was by no means old, he was still not nearly as young as his nephew. He glared through sweat-blurred eyes as Macaroni once more darted back, well out of reach of his blade.
"Stop hopping around and fight! What are you Mackie, a donkey or a rabbit?"
"Whichever keeps me in the least number of pieces."
Macaroni jumped over an ankle-cutting sweep.
Cranky parried an incoming strike. The boy was good, better than he remembered. At this rate he'd win by stamina alone. Such an ignoble defeat. If only there were another way out.
As if hearing his thoughts, Macaroni retreated several paces back and lowered his blade.
"Backing out?" Cranky goaded.
"No. I'm giving you a chance. It's clear you're not going to win this fight, and I still really don't want to hurt you, but for the good of the nation I cannot let you remain on the throne. You're stuck living in the past, and this country needs someone who's looking towards the future. But to avoid any more bloodshed, how about you put away your sword, and I'll put away mine, and we speak like reasonable donkeys?"
Cranky snorted but sheathed his blade. Though he would never admit it, any rest came as a welcome blessing. His muscles burned from effort he hadn't asked of them in years. Bracing his legs to stop them from wobbling, he made his way back to the throne. "Fine. If you're so insistent on talking, then I'll hear you out. What future do you see that I apparently don't?"
A grave serousness entered the younger jack's eyes, unlike what he'd shown before even when declaring his intent to take the throne. "I see war. A war we are unprepared for."
"Pfft, this nonsense again." Cranky rolled his eyes. "We've been down this road before. The Storm Kingdom will not attack. They've upheld the treaty for over a century. Why would they break it now?"
"Times are changing, Uncle. Their king grows older and weaker by the day, while the heir-"
"The heir." he scoffed, "Like I said, this is familiar ground. I've heard all your wild theories about the Storm Prince."
"He is dangerous, Uncle Cranky!" Macaroni insisted, "Prideful and arrogant to the extreme. When he takes the crown, he will push to expand his territory and we will need to be ready."
Cranky hesitated. Could the situation really be that dire? He scoured his memories for the few times he had met the Storm Prince. The end results he could count on his hooves. Scant few meetings at political conferences where King Blitzkrieg had brought his son along. Cranky remembered a chubby brat, spoiled and coddled. Then from a later memory, a mean-spirited child. But there was little beyond that. Despite the warning signs, a young bully did not necessarily a dictator make. He concluded Macaroni's worries to be unbased, but deigned to hear him out, if only to have more time to recover.
"Even if what you say is true, we have our allies. The Abyssinians to the north. The swinefolk to the south."
Macaroni shook his head, the feather in his cap dancing with the motion. "It's foolish to rely on their goodwill forever when their nations dwarf ours and we can offer so little support in return. Our only hope is to unify our kingdom with another and build a stronger front before it's too late."
"So you say, but at what cost?" Cranky demanded, "You'd sacrifice our sovereignty? For what? To build power to oppose a threat that does not yet exist?" Old history lessons flashed through his mind of the previous attempts at donkey sovereignty. Mumbray. Pakmuleistan. Jackan. All crushed or absorbed by a larger non-donkey power within two hundred years of their founding.
Macaroni's gaze sharpened. "If need be. Nothing should cost more than the safety of our people, even our pride. Though it seems that that may be where we disagree." He lowered his gaze and let out a groan of frustration. "Why do you have to make this so difficult? This could have all been so easily settled with a simple political marriage. Yet since you seem so insistent on rejecting the Zebra Queen's offer-"
Familiar anger flared in him like a sunspot. "I'm not marrying that hag, no matter how many times you bring her up! I made a vow! If you think a political marriage is that important, then why don't you marry her?"
"I intend to!" Macaroni snapped, abandoning his decorum to emotion. He marched forward till his hoof stuck in his Uncle's face. "Once I take your throne, I will gladly wed her --or her daughter or even the Dowager Queen Mother if I have to!-- to unify our kingdoms."
Cranky brushed the hoof aside, nonplussed. "Why bother with me then? You can do all that as you are now."
Macaroni snorted derisively and took a step back as he forcibly calmed his temper. "I would, but it means so much less with you still on the throne and the state of my blood. If you were to break your vow and have a child-"
"I would not!"
"-regardless, that child would be in line for the throne before me. My marriage, however political, would be worth almost nothing."
As much as Cranky loathed to admit it, the kid's logic was sound. So long as his, the elder brother's, bloodline occupied the throne, no cross-royal offspring had a ghost of a chance at inheriting it. Of course, that logic hinged on him having a child. Something he had long sworn off. Unless, of course, it was with her. Yet no one seemed to take his oath as seriously as he did.
"I made. My vow," he said through gritted teeth, "I pledged my undying loyalty-"
"To some traveling merchant's daughter you met almost thirty years ago!" Macaroni interrupted angrily. With his feathers already ruffled and the mental stress of having to turn against his family, he let go of the formalities and all his prepared arguments and freely loosed his frustration. "I know! We all know! That's the root of it all, isn't it? Your problem is that you can't let go of this childish love affair over some jenny you knew for a week-"
"It was a season!" King Cranky roared before falling back into his throne as a melancholy nostalgia overpowered his rage. "The best summer of my life..."
"A summer you never left." With the relief of having finally said it aloud flooding his system, Macaroni let himself continue and fully vented his spleen. "Even now she's all you think about. You don't even look at other jennys, do you? Great-grandfather had four wives and you don't even have one. No wives means no alliances of marriage, no dowries to supplement the treasury, no heirs!"
Macaroni began to pace, not even sparing his Uncle a glance as he let loose. "But I was fine with that much! I was content to be an eventual successor, or even just a noble aiding my future cousin. But in the past years, you've gotten worse.
You maintain the old alliances and trade deals, but never adapt to anything new. Did you know that they can grow pineapples in Equestria now? Demand for ours has never been lower, and yet you don't renegotiate our arrangements. You can't keep the world the same as it was when you met her.
Our foreign policy is minimal, save for Equestria, which you favor. I've had to take it unto myself to keep in good relations with our neighbors and well appraised of our enemies. My concerns about the Storm Kingdom are not without evidence. They've been improving their dirigible technology by leaps and bounds and quietly annexing nationless villages. And it's not just them! The Abyssinians and the Diamond Dogs are gearing up to fight again and are both pressuring us to choose a side. Even our relationship with the Zebras is deteriorating. We used to be such close allies, but now their queen grows discontent with your silence and refusal to even acknowledge her offers."
Macaroni approached him, not as a rebellious usurper, but as family. He rested his hoof on his Uncle's and spoke softly. "No one is denying your love for her. The fact that you've held her this tightly, for this long, is evidence enough. But you're a king. And that comes with a responsibility to your people. You're tied up in the past and it's blinding you to both the present and the future. An honorable king has to either do what is best for his nation, regardless of personal cost, or step aside for someone who will. I'm willing to sacrifice my happiness for the good of our people. Can you honestly say that about yourself?"
Cranky froze and time seemed to stand still. A chill like he'd never known ran down his spine. He wanted to deny it, to stand tall and list the many deeds he'd done as king... but none came to mind. Had he really been merely maintaining the status quo, all these years? Surely not. He dredged his mind, hunting for a policy or a decree or anything to show he'd contributed something new... and came up with nothing. Perhaps... he was not a good a king as he had thought he was. To rule for this long and accomplish nothing, surely that was the sign of failure? And even worse; that'd he'd never even noticed. Yet to think that little Macaroni had put it all together and driven him to such a realization.
When had his nephew gotten so wise? This didn't sound like the logic of a boy at all.
King Cranky looked upon his nephew with new eyes. Like a statue made of dust, the image of a cocky young upstart eroded away. What was left behind was the figure of a brave young jack. Strong enough to overtake the royal guards. Smart enough to argue his uncle into a corner. Wise enough to look ahead and see what must be done. Determined enough to make it happen. Most of all, dedicated and loyal enough to make the choice between family and country, and put country first.
He couldn't think of a better candidate to put on a throne.
Cranky sighed and reached up to remove his crown. It was such a simple thing, little more than a circle wrought in gold and copper, yet the weight behind it was immense.
"Perhaps... you're right," he said at last. "I've been lead by my heart for so long, and in peace and prosperity, that was fine. But now, maybe we need someone who can lead with his head."
Macaroni lowered to one knee in deference. "I will do my utmost to rule as you would have."
Cranky laughed. "I hope not! Apparently I haven't been doing a very good job of it!" Skipping ceremony, he rose and placed the crown on his nephew's head, abandoning the throne in every sense.
"Not quite the ceremony I imagined when I was little," Macaroni joked it settled between his ears.
"Take it or leave it, Mackie."
"I thought it'd be heavier."
"Give it time."
A moment of silence passed between them. "Well," Cranky said, "I should get some maids to start moving my things then. Can't have a former king sleeping in the current one's room."
King Macaroni tensed. "Ah... about that. It might not be the best idea for you to remain here."
Cranky looked at him hard for a second, then bobbed his head in agreement. "You may be right. That could cause some confusion. Well, there's always the winter palace."
"That's..." the younger donkey coughed as a particularly difficult expression crawled over his face. "What I meant was that you cannot remain in the country."
Cranky arched an eyebrow. "Oh? And right after I gave you my crown as well. Kid, if you are trying to push my patience-"
"Oh for the creator's sake, use your head Uncle! Despite your failings, you were not a bad king and are still loved by the populace. There will be... resistance to this change of rulership. And I can't risk our internal stability on some extreme loyalists trying to restore you to power; with or without your consent."
His arched brow fell into a furrow of contemplation. "Another excellent point. Keep making those and you might one day be half the king I was. So where am I supposed to go then? As you've put it so clearly, I'm not in my prime anymore."
"I don't know. Maybe take a journey and finally seek out that merchant's daughter you've been pining for?"
It was as though a bank of clouds he'd never before noticed suddenly burst and let in sunlight for the first time. He could do that. He could just... go. No worries about managing the national budget or making diplomatic meetings. For the first time since his father had placed the crown upon his head, he was free of obligations.
"That's... not a bad idea," he murmured, but in his heart of hearts there was a grand celebration underway. He could find her! He would find her! And at last, they could be together again. Perhaps not in royal luxury, but if his crown and castle were all it cost to find his love, then it was a price he was more than willing to pay!
"Of course, that's probably going to have to go." King Macaroni pointed to something just above Cranky's head. The donkey craned his neck to look up, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Just the normal ceiling and the extended end of his pompadour.
And then realization struck like a ballista shot.
"No..." he breathed, "Not that. You can have my crown and my country but that's a step too far!"
Macaroni shook his head. "It's got to go."
"Kid," he said warningly, a bit of that fire returning, "I have been growing and maintaining this mane since before you were born. Why should I have to give it up now?"
"For exactly that reason," Macaroni replied placatingly. "You've kept the same style so long, it's far more recognizable than you think. If you plan to slip away quietly, you're not going to get five steps out of the palace without being spotted. But cut it, and you're just another face in the crowd."
Cranky chose to ignore the side comment about his plain features. "Is it really that well known?"
"It's practically a national symbol at this point." Macaroni's voice dropped to a frustrated grumble. "I'm probably going to have to grow one myself just for donkeys to take my rule seriously."
Cranky sighed. It was... a loss, but no greater one than he was already prepared to pay. If a haircut was the price of a ticket, then a haircut he would get.
"It'd be best if you slipped away quickly and quietly," Macaroni apologized. "Doubtless some scout or page is already running to alert the city guard to my actions."
"You think the citizens would be more willing to accept my disappearance than if I were to willingly pass the crown in a public ceremony?"
The younger jack grimaced and wiped his brow. "You know how my father was. Some ponies aren't going to like me on the throne. Better if you're long gone by the time they find out. Plus, the sooner you leave, the closer you'll be to finding your jenny."
The kid was still inexperienced at political manipulations, but Cranky found himself agreeing anyway. Now that the idea had been seeded, he couldn't get it out of his mind. His legs itched to leave already, to make for port to start the journey he'd fantasized about making for over half his life.
"I'd better get packing then."
He turned to walk away, "Before I go, one last thing." Like lightning, he drew his sword and made a slash at his nephew's head. Macaroni fell back in the throne in a panic as he tried to dodge the blade. He braced himself for the pain... but only felt a slight tickle brush past his nose. He opened his eyes to see a crimson red feather, severed at the base, slowly drifting to the floor.
"There." Cranky sheathed his weapon but let his grin show. "Now you don't look quite as much the fool as you usually do."
Cranky --no more, no less than that now-- took in a deep lungful of sea air. There was always a tinge of it in the palace, but it was so much stronger down at the port.
A gust of hot humid wind blew by, rifling through the bristly stubble that peppered his scalp like a poorly kept lawn. It felt... refreshing. He couldn't remember a time when his head had felt so light; either from the mere lack of hair or the missing weight of the crown. It was, in all senses, a liberating sensation.
He stepped to the side as a group of sailors pushed past, ferrying barrels onto a vessel. No one stopped for him. They barely even gave him a second glance. Begrudgingly, he acknowledged that his nephew had been right about his hair. At least it would grow back in time.
He maneuvered through the port with a skill previously used to maneuver through crowded ballrooms. Coins jingled in his saddlebags; enough for passage on any vessel and hopefully enough to live well off of for a while thereafter. Pressing them down were a few mementos he'd elected to keep. A locket that had been his mother's. A dagger that had been his father's. An unfinished artist's draft of the royal portrait, featuring himself as a young foal alongside his parents and his brother, Grumpy. A yellowing scrapbook, half-filled with preserved mementos from that one summer of Elysium dreams.
And at the very top, protected by expensive enchantments and preservation charms: a charcoal sketch he'd made years ago when his mind was sharper and the memory fresh. And though time had proved kind and the memory strong, he kept it all the same.
His ears perked up as the musical, sing-song cadence of the Equestria language grew stronger. He rounded yet another warehouse and its source came into view.
As far as ships went, it was pinker than most. Salt and spray had dulled the paint, but the sails were still as rosy and vibrant as sunset clouds. Heart-shaped portholes gave it a friendly appearance that contrasted with the rough and ready sailors aboard that looked as tough as any other, even with their rainbow coats. The Harmonious Wave was less a passenger vessel and more a merchant ship, but its captain was known to be amenable to the odd piece of living cargo paying its own way. That, and it was the only ship leaving before sunset which was bound for Equestria.
Equestria. Cranky had been there a few times in his youth, but only ever on diplomatic trips. And, of course, that one fateful summer abroad when he'd fallen in love. He knew it was a large country, bigger than his homeland and its neighbors combined, but that did not put him off. It was where he had met her, and would be a fine place to start his search.
The gangplank creaked under his hooves like the shifting weights of the scales of fate as he left behind the soil of his homeland.
"Wait for me, my love, my Matilda," he murmured to himself, his voice thick with both longing and determination. "Even if it takes years, even if I have to walk the whole of Equestria by hoof, I promise I will find you and we will be together again."
