Blueblood the Burdened

by Graymane Shadow

Rating: teen
Tags: Prince Blueblood, Violence, Gore, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Death, Drama
Length: 4749

Arrogant. Rude. Convinced of his own personal superiority. All true, but not without reason.

Everypony knows Prince Blueblood is spoiled, foppish, and most critically, an ass. Nopony would ever take him to be a serious threat - merely a small obstacle to their plans.

That's by design, but that doesn't mean Blueblood is happy about it.

A side story to my Four Princesses, Four Demons series, which began with Cadance the Unbroken. Readers of that series will notice a few connections, but this story is crafted to be enjoyed independently.

Featured from 7-26 to 7-29, peaking at #1. Thanks, everypony!

Published 2022-07-26 15:50:01 UTC
Last updated 2022-07-26 15:50:01 UTC

A Gentlestallion is Never Without a Reason

Blueblood the Burdened

The only sound in the air – beyond the expected sound of clopping hooves from the patrolling Royal Guards – was the gentle chirping of the crickets, singing their songs for reasons Prince Blueblood could only guess at.

From his vantage point on the roof, he could look up and see Canterlot looming over his estate, the illuminated spires looking like swords ready to fall on his head at a moment’s notice.

As if that would happen, he mentally chided himself. Nopony – no creature – thinks you’re enough of a threat for such a thing.

Attendees at the parties he still tried to frequent hadn’t noticed the change in his mood – after all, keeping up appearances was an underappreciated role for royalty – and he still did his best to be the life of the party, telling grand tales of ‘adventures’ of the sort that the kinds of ponies that attended parties in Canterlot wanted to hear.

Likewise, most of his staff hadn’t seen any real difference. Certainly, the prince was a little more withdrawn, but such a thing was often seasonal, and with winter having arrived it was normal for the prince to be a touch sullen, wasn’t it?

“It’s cold tonight, sir. You’d probably best head inside.”

Blueblood didn’t have to look back to know it was Stout Lance, one of his retinue of Royal Guards, and the closest thing he had to a friend.

But he supposed that last bit was natural. The Guard had seen the private side of him, been there through some of his worst trials.

Stout Lance had seen a good deal more than that.

“While I may not be as young as I once was, I am hardly old enough to keel over from a slight chill,” Blueblood replied, putting a touch of royal snobbery in his voice.

“Of course, sir,” Stout Lance replied, coming to stand next to Blueblood on his perch near the parapet. “But a night like this deserves a break from you glaring at it, don’t you think?”

Now Blueblood turned, fixing Lance with a gimlet stare as he fought back a smile. “Is this better?”

“Probably,” Lance replied with a shrug and a smile of his own. “At least I’m paid for it.”

Returning his gaze outward, Blueblood sighed. “I see the patrols have been reduced.”

“Yes. It’s been a few months since the demon incursion, with no sign of further…visitations. Princess Celestia felt it was an acceptable time to begin drawing down the increased security forces.”

Two months since demons had crossed into Equestria through a portal, challenging each of the Four Princesses in a battle of wills and fury, with the fate of the nation hanging in the balance. They’d even sent a manticore to attack Shining Armor, stating that they considered him a danger due to his potential as a rallying figurehead. All five of them had prevailed, coming out of the experience much changed.

Saying Blueblood had been peeved upon finding that last target out was putting it mildly.

“Not sure why they bothered beefing up security here at all,” Blueblood groused, giving life to the thoughts he didn’t feel he could voice around anyone else. “Shining Armor isn’t even bloodline royalty and gets attacked, while I don’t get so much as a firecracker in the mailbox.”

“Perhaps they thought your guards were too skilled to get past,” Lance offered with a wink.

Blueblood grunted. He appreciated the gesture, even if he didn’t believe it. No, the demons simply hadn’t considered him any sort of threat, passing over him as though he were leftover shrimp the morning after a party.

Were they really that wrong? a voice in his head whispered.

“I think I’ll go for a swim,” Blueblood announced. “If you’ll tell the servants to prepare the fire in my study, I’ll retire there for the evening once I’m finished.”

“Of course, sir.”

The best thing about swimming was that it gave Blueblood time to simply not think. As he beat out lap after lap, he pushed all the worries of the day from his mind, focusing solely on the next stroke, the next turn.

In the pool he didn’t have to be Prince Blueblood. He was just another pony, if a well-funded one.

It would have been easier to play his part if he liked the pony he was. He had once, but not for several years now. Not with his future seemingly set for a life of pointless parties and meaningless minutiae.

Finally, his body crying for rest, he sputtered to a halt, rolling onto his back to simply lay there and exist.

That was the problem, really. If this was to be his existence…he wasn’t sure he wanted it to continue.

“Will there be anything else, Your Highness?”

Blueblood shook his head. “The staff can turn in for the evening, Charity.”

The Head Maid gave a graceful bow. “Thank you, sir. Good night.”

Turning toward his private chambers, Blueblood ambled along, muscles feeling relaxed from his swim. Remodeling the manor to expand the pool from what had essentially been a small soaking tank to a proper competition size had been an extravagant expense, but nights like this helped reassure him it had been worth it.

Mind already focused on the bottle of brandy waiting for him, he eagerly turned the knob to the door of his study, pushing it open with one hoof.

Stout Lance was locked in a struggle with a mare behind him, who had a garrote digging into the guard’s throat.

Blueblood didn’t have to think – he rushed forward, barreling into the assailant, causing her to lose her grip on the wire as she was driven backwards into a bookshelf. A grunt escaped her as several of the smaller shelves came loose, their contents tumbling down onto her.

Whirling about, Blueblood moved to Stout Lance’s side. The stallion was unmoving, and for a brief second Blueblood feared he’d been too late, but the movement of his chest revealed the guard had merely been asphyxiated to unconsciousness. Dangerous, but not deadly.

Not yet, at least. Blueblood barely had time to turn again before he saw the assassin had gotten back to her hooves, knife held ready in her telekinesis.

But she didn’t move.

The two ponies stood there, staring at each other for several moments, tension building in the room as neither dared to move.

Blueblood studied her features, trying to recall why they were familiar.

Then it clicked. He knew exactly who this was.

“Drink?” he asked, breaking the silence.

The mare blinked.

Levitating over the bottle of brandy and two glasses, Blueblood began to pour some into the first.

“I asked if you wanted a drink,” he repeated. “It’s customary to respond to such requests, especially when they come from one of your social betters.”

A note of confusion could be heard in the “No” that followed.

Blueblood poured some into the second glass anyway, setting it on a nearby shelf before returning the bottle to the stand. “Suit yourself. I find a little libation helps settle the nerves before a fight.”

He saw the skepticism on her face, and smirked.

“Find it hard to see me in many fights, do you?”

“You could say that.”

“Was Stout Lance one of your intended targets, or just a case of ‘wrong place, wrong time’?”

“I thought he was you.”

Blueblood snorted. “It always amused me that ponies would comment on the fact that there were so many white coated stallions of similar builds in the Royal Guard. I’m told some of them even theorized that the armor itself enchanted them to look alike.” He shook his head. “No one ever seemed to guess that they were specially recruited to provide me with body doubles, for the times when I needed to be seen in one place, while actually being in another.”

He took another sip, appreciating the burn.

“That must come in handy when you want to skip a party,” the assassin replied.

“I may have used it to avoid attending the Gala on occasion,” he admitted. “A shame too, I would like to have had a chance to meet Rarity. My doubles are all instructed to play to the public’s idea of my character, so Sparklight was forced to be a bit of an ass to her.” A chuckle. “Rather ruined my chances of getting close to the Element of Generosity, I’m afraid.”

“Perhaps she’s the one who sent me to kill you.”

He couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his lips. “Oh, if only that were true. I may not be the hottest commodity on the market, but I do hope you’re being paid more for this job than she can afford.”

“Could be,” she replied. “Can she afford four hundred thousand bits?”

Blueblood felt the tiniest surge of pride upon hearing the price. “I suppose you’d have to ask her that, Miss Haze.”

Her eyes narrowed, and he could have sworn he felt the temperature in the room drop a few degrees despite the fire in the hearth.

“Would you prefer I call you Steel?” He smiled. “Come now, a contract killer of your status? You shouldn’t be so surprised that I know who you are.”

“Brilliant detective work,” she replied. “You figure that out just now?”

“While I do pride myself on my quick wit, I’m afraid not. I’ve known about you for some time.”

“Liar. You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know quite a bit about you, actually. Including how sloppy you’ve gotten in your old age.”

She took a step forward, bringing her face out of shadow and into the light of the fire. Cold silver eyes glared at him, her jaw set in a hard line.

“And yet I bypassed all your security without raising an alarm,” she goaded.

Raising his glass to take another sip, he nodded. “Oh certainly, and you picked a good night for it too. But that wasn’t the sloppiness I was referring to.”

“What exactly were you referring to, then?”

“Six months ago, Jade Heart, a bat pony mare who was protesting the construction of a new gem mine in Hollow Shades,” he began, telling the tale casually, as though he were dictating an order to a waiter. “You took the job on behalf of the mining corporation, making it look like she died beneath a rockfall. Lazy investigative work by the local police helped save you there – after all, prejudice against bat ponies is as old as Equestria – but the evidence and photographs were preserved for someone less crooked to come back to later.”

She didn’t say anything, but he could see his words had provoked a reaction in her.

“Three months before that, Sunny Fences, a farmer who refused to sell his lands to Trusty Hoof. Disappeared unexpectedly, leaving only a letter stating that he’d changed his mind and was planning to sell the land after all, with instructions to do just that.”

“Sounds like he made the right choice.”

“His body was thrown in a nearby abandoned stone quarry, where you probably expected it to sink to the bottom of the slurry pool. Unfortunately for you, decomposing bodies tend to float, not sink, and your knotwork on the weights you tied to him was not exactly worthy of the Filly Guides.”

She grinned. “None of that proves it was me.”

“It doesn’t,” he agreed, “but the local shopkeeper remembered a mare matching your description buying rope the day before the farmer disappeared. if the local sheriff hadn’t been friends with Sunny, I suspect the investigation would have ended there, but he’d kept the file open for me to come across it when I was looking into things.”

“Is that your latest rich pony hobby then? Investigating the disappearances of ponies no one really cared about, so you can claim you’re just like them?”

Blueblood felt a burn of anger in his chest. “Every single one of the ponies you killed had family or friends that cared for them,” he replied, his voice low, almost faint. “Every one of them were doing their best to survive with what they had, and trying to leave Equestria a better place for those that followed.”

“Oh, spare me the sentiment,” she retorted. “You sit here in your mansion, glutting yourself off the labors of generations before you, all the while you act as though you’ve earned any of it. A hard day for you is finding out that your dinner reservation was cancelled. Don’t act like you care about the common pony – everypony knows how you act.”

A cruel grin appeared on his face, which unsettled the assassin more than anything he’d said up to that point.

“Perhaps it is you who doesn’t know anything about me,” he replied.

“There’s nothing to know.” She stepped forward again, still holding the knife. “You’re a useless pony, a prince in name only.”

He took another sip. “That’s the public persona, yes. A carefully crafted one.” A sigh. “I was – am still, I suppose – Celestia’s fixer. The pony she sent to get their hooves dirty for the Crown, so hers could stay clean.”

“You?” Steel scoffed. “As if you’d ever risk getting your hooficure ruined.”

“As you noted, finances really aren’t an issue for me,” he replied wryly. “I don’t especially worry about having to have a pedi redone. Straight Shot, Baltimare, four years ago.”

“Fell off a balcony from his penthouse,” she replied. “Ruled accidental, he was a known drunk.”

“And a known drunk with such wealth would have had an anti-fall charm cast around his balcony, would he not?” He took another sip. “The Baltimare Police didn’t release the information that someone had nullified the charm only minutes before his fall, over concerns that copycats might try the same thing. No matter. Scarlet Arrow, Manehattan, a few months before that.”

“Found in a back alley with his throat slashed, three guards dead, the other three incapacitated,” she replied, interest creeping into her voice. “Police suspected a team did it, but never found any leads. The investigation lost steam when it was revealed he’d been involved in foal smuggling.”

“Yes, nasty business like that does have a tendency to damper the enthusiasm for justice,” he said. “Misdirection also helped keep them from seeing there was only one assailant,” he replied. “Some false hoofprints here, a few planted hairs there, and with that evidence they were even willing to ignore the three living guards telling them there had only been one attacker.” He shrugged. “The three guards I spared hadn’t done anything especially illegal that I could determine. Wrong place, wrong time, and I don’t kill for that if I can help it.”

He set the first glass down. “Also, it was a neck break that killed him. The throat cut was just more misdirection.”

“All information you could have acquired naturally in your position,” she pointed out. “None of this proves anything.”

“Quite true,” he replied. “Perhaps it’s merely part of my hobby, as you called it.”

“A hobby which ends now,” she replied.

“Going for the neck? Tends to bring the quickest end, but it’s so very messy.” He made a tutting noise. “Hard to make a clean getaway when your coat is soaked with blood.”

“I’ll manage.”

“Or perhaps you intend to cripple me first, like you did to Honey Pot in Vanhoover.” He saw the anger in her eyes grow, and suspected he’d touched a nerve. “The poor thing didn’t realize that her boss hadn’t believed her when she said she wouldn’t go to the police with what she’d seen. You saw to giving her what was coming to her, didn’t you? Slashed her legs to cripple her, then shoved her into a storm drain where she would inevitably drown, and the body would wash out to sea. Corruption safeguarded for another day.”

“Don’t you dare judge me for how I’ve chosen to survive,” she snapped.

“But why shouldn’t I?” he asked, seizing on the weak point he’d found. “After all, I’m better than you. I’m wealthier. I have power. It’s practically my duty to look down on a pony who kills innocents for money.” A glint returned to his eye. “Or is it for the thrill?”

A vein pulsed in her temple. “Shut up,” she snarled.

“Like I said, sloppy,” he taunted, bringing the other brandy glass to his mouth now, draining it in one go before waving it around. “Lacking control of your temper. A true professional maintains calm regardless of whatever petty insults are thrown their way.”

“I said shut up!”

Blueblood widened his stance slightly, preparing for her to charge. “It’s a wonder you’ve lasted this long, really.”

When the attack came, he was ready for it, sidestepping to avoid the knife swipe as he slammed his shoulder into hers once more.

Driven by rage more than logic, she lashed out wildly with her magic, seizing him and sending him across the room, where he slammed into a bookshelf much like she had earlier. Pain burst across his left side, but he ignored it, the cushion from the brandy making it easier. He rushed to get back on his hooves before she could come around for another attack.

If he’d been like her, he would have tried to draw the fight out, tried to make her pay for what she’d done.

But he wasn’t nearly that stupid.

Pulling the poker from the rack next to the fire, he swung at her head, causing her to duck as he’d expected. A last-second twist in the swing brought the poker into contact with her horn.

Her magic imploded as she cried out in pain, the knife dropping to the floor. Grabbing it for himself, he brought the poker down once more, striking her on the side hard enough to crack at least one rib. As the breath left her body, he slashed at her flanks with the knife, slicing her hamstrings. She collapsed to the floor, disoriented, struggling to breathe and scream at the same time.

He wondered if she appreciated the irony of her current predicament.

Unlike Honey Pot, no storm drain awaited her.

Dropping both weapons, he put all his magic into wrapping a grip around her throat, squeezing off her air supply. Her forelegs beat against the rug as she desperately tried to focus her magic, tried to stand up, tried to do anything to stop him.

Contempt oozed from his tone as he bent down to speak. “You’ve never been on the other side, have you? Never felt what it’s like to have Death clawing at your hooves. You lived to see fear in terror in the eyes of your victims, but you never thought it would happen to you, did you? You were too special for that.”

Her eyes bulged, terror filling them completely as she tried to gasp a plea.

His face a mask of unconcealed disgust, he released his grip.

“This is more mercy than you deserve,” he growled, stepping back as she greedily drank in a gulp of air before her throat could swell. She coughed, slowly writhing on the ground as she came to terms with having been spared by a pony she'd thought to make a victim.

Taking a breath of his own, he turned to check on the stirring Stout Lance before he pulled the alarm cable that would send his security team scrambling.

If it had been cold earlier, it was positively freezing now. Flurries of snow drifted down, slowly soaking Blueblood’s fur as he stood on the roof much like he had earlier that evening.

Below, he could see various guards and other ponies making a search of the grounds, officially trying to find out how the assassin had gotten into the manor, and if they’d left any accomplices behind.

He didn’t doubt that was a reason for the activity. The primary reason, of course, was that they wanted to look busy. Wanted to be seen running about, giving the appearance of being on alert in case someone even higher up came to see what they were doing.

Celestia was visiting the Crystal Empire, and likely hadn’t been informed of what had transpired just yet. And Luna, well…he doubted she’d be putting in an appearance. To say their relationship was non-existent was being polite; she had outright expressed her distaste for him on several occasions shortly after her return, even while he was in earshot. The only thing she hadn’t done was come out and slap him personally.

Hazards of choosing the image of a spoiled playboy as cover, I suppose. Though she has eased off on the insults of late.

At least Stout Lance was going to be okay. It was something positive he could cling to, some evidence that, however he might have erred, it wouldn't bring injury to somepony who didn't deserve it. Presuming that whoever he'd irritated enough to send an assassin didn't simply send another one.

As he continued to stew in his own thoughts, the rustle of wings behind him broke his reverie.

“It would seem a bit foolish to be out on such a night without protection against the elements.” Luna’s voice carried neatly over the din of the searches below, and he turned, brows raised in surprise. She was wearing an elegant cloak, which folded neatly over her wings as she retracted them.

“With my sister abroad, matters of state fall to me,” she continued, approaching him casually, tossing her hood back. “An assassination attempt is not something I leave to an assistant.”

“It wasn’t much of an attempt,” he said, without thinking.

Now it was Luna’s turn to raise an eyebrow.

“An assassin enters your home, bypasses all the security arrangements, gets you alone in a room, and you say that it ‘wasn’t much of an attempt’?” She laughed. "I knew you were arrogant, but I didn't know it was that bad."

He opened his mouth to answer, thought better of it, and instead turned back to look over the grounds once more.

Luna joined him at the parapet, matching his gaze.

“As it happens, I know about your former role for my sister,” she continued. “I am aware that, given my past behavior, an apology will sound hollow, but I offer it nonetheless.”

He nodded, accepting the apology, such as it was.

"I suppose the arrogance has some justification," she added, smirking now.

A smirk of his own. "I have been known to prove my worth from time to time."

That drew a heavy sigh from her. "If you'll take an old mare's advice, don't tie your self worth to what you can do. It only leads to dark places." She shook her head. "Places I suspect you're all too familiar with."

"Perhaps," he replied.

"My sister does her best to help Equestria, but she is not above making mistakes. Cutting you loose like she did is one of those."

He blinked, surprised to hear her speak so frankly.

Seeing this, she chuckled. "I was never the diplomat my sister was. Which is part of why I've come here this evening."

"Well, if you know the story, you probably know her reasons," he replied, trying not to sound too bitter. "The magic of friendship and all that."

“Refomation is a good option to keep on the table, when possible.” She shrugged, knowing that his mind had likely wandered to Nightmare Moon. “But there are some threats, powerful creatures and servants of darkness, that Twilight and her friends are not prepared to meet. That is where ponies like us come in."

It was the second time he’d been surprised in as many moments. He hoped that wasn’t about to become a habit.

“I realized shortly after I met you that something was…off. You play at being the charming ass, but the act never reaches your eyes.”

“You can only attend so many parties before they start to feel like a chore," he deflected.

“I realized I had seen the same look in the mirror, many years ago,” she continued, a tiny smile appearing on her face at his expression. “Surely you did not think you were the first pony with a talent for killing that’s done Celestia’s bidding?”

He didn’t like thinking of himself that way, but it was true. He did have a talent for it, distasteful as it was. But talent wasn't why he'd done it.

She continued. "Ponykind has not always had the peaceful era that it now enjoys. I give thanks every day that the ponies of this era enjoy the innocence that they do. And I stand ready to do what is necessary to protect that innocence...which is why I've come here tonight, to ask for your help."

Meeting her gaze, he took a breath. "You want me to go back to my old life."

"I do."

It felt too good to be true. An escape from the monotony he loathed? A chance to mean something more again?

“You know I am no expert in magic,” he said, wanting to make things clear. “Adept in a few spells, certainly, but I cannot possibly hope to match might with the threats you face.”

“Not all threats are magical in nature,” she replied. “And while it is true that my magic far exceeds yours, you possess talents and skills that I lack. You know Equestrian politics. You know the underbelly, the denizens that inhabit the dark places.”

Raising an eyebrow, he snorted. “Is that supposed to be a complement?”

“Merely a statement of fact,” she clarified. "You once told my sister that helping protect the forgotten pony was what motivated you. If that is still the case, then come to dinner tomorrow night. We'll discuss the future in greater detail."

Stepping back, she spread her wings, flapping them a bit to fling the snow off. "And if that is no longer the case...I make no judgments. I know what it is like to feel as though the bloodstains will never wash off."

"I learned long ago to stop looking," he replied with a shrug. "And I'll think about the offer."

She nodded solemnly. "Just remember that Steel Haze is not the only one of her kind still lurking in the shadows."

With a kick, she sailed into the air, curving upward toward the Royal Palace, leaving him alone with his thoughts. He couldn't deny the excitement that had welled up inside when she'd offered him the chance to make a difference again. But now that his dream was being offered to him again, a certain reluctance weighed on him.

Was this really what he wanted? He'd originally gotten involved almost by accident, then stuck with it, at first out of love for Celestia and the desperate situation of the era, later because he liked making a difference. Things had changed, time had passed, and he was no longer the bright starry-eyed young buck eager to prove himself as more than a spoiled colt holding an empty title.

The images of Honey Pot's body rose to mind then, almost as if called up by some other force. He felt the disgust, the anger that she'd had to suffer so. But he tempered it with the knowledge that her murderer had been brought to justice. And he'd been the one to do it.

Yes, this was what he wanted. Problems and all, he wanted to be the one who helped protect those who couldn't protect themselves.

Finally feeling the chill of the snow, he started to trot back toward the door to the staircase. A warm bath sounded like just the thing he needed to mull things over before bed, and it might help him relax enough to actually get some sleep.

Yet something still bothered him, poking at his mind as he reached a hoof out for the door handle.

How had Luna known the assassin's name? Had the Guard reported it to her? That seemed unlikely, since they were still here investigating things. He supposed it was possible she'd checked in with them before flying to the roof, but...

He looked up in the direction she'd flown, dangerous thoughts swirling like the snowflakes falling into his eyes.

Had she...?

No. Surely not.

Shaking his head to clear it, he went through the door.