Reform

Chapters

Chapter One: The Results Are In
Chapter Two: The Pawn and the Professional
Chapter Three: The Edge of Equestria
Chapter Four: A New Model of Army

Chapter One: The Results Are In

Narda 12th Darkness, 1008ALB
It was grim reading, and had the contents of the binder in front of me come with no forewarning, I would probably have dismissed them out of hoof as absurd. For all I wished it to be otherwise however, the past seven and a half years of reports, letters and personal experience were difficult to ignore. The only real news was the scope of damnation.

Therefore I instead found myself doing my best to suppress the spread of the flimsy film of frost which had begun to form across the desk, even after I finally reached the end of the seemingly endless ring binder's contents and simply stared at the back cover for a while, thinking.

Eventually, I looked up into the gurning face of When Where and briefly considered going back, simply to spare myself the sight. That would not have changed the fact of the filly's nervous presence on the other side of the desk, however.

"This is the entire report?" I asked resignedly.

"Y-yes, ma'am." The Unicorn stammered, hurriedly getting up from her mat.

"You are quite sure?" I pressed.

When Where nodded, if such a term could be applied to the jerky movement. Combined with the scrawny mare's coat, I was reminded of a wingless pigeon. "Absolutely, ma'am - I can go and check again, i-if you want, that is..."

For all her deference, When Where had hardly left me a choice, lest I risk her plunging head first down a flight of stairs in haste. "No, this will be quite sufficient. Seek out the Military Secretary and bring him here at the earliest convenience."

The young mare curtsied, gabbled something incomprehensible and fled the office at such a pace that were this not the real world, the beige carpet would surely have been set alight in her wake.

Once privacy was restored by one of the Guards outside closing the door, I sighed and rose. I had tried and she had not taken the hint, but at least I had managed not to fumble such an awkward name in my weariness. The junior clerk had of course been sent as a sacrificial bearer of bad news by her superiors in the War Office, but she did not need that sort of humiliation added to her nerves.

Trying to push the topic from my mind for a moment, I turned to the condensation-streaked windows. Beyond, the snow covered city was beginning to stir as the long winter night drew to a close. Bakers would already be hard at work and the lamplighters would soon be along to snuff the gaslamps down the streets electrification had yet to reach.

I had already heard a petition at court to protect that profession from the march of modernisation and the resulting amendment to the National Heritage Bill was slowly working its way through Parliament in order to spare a few appropriately atmospheric or historic places such as Pell Mell from conversion, but most would still be disappointed by the scope. Others would fume at the disorder or 'hesitant hoof' of such a move.

Shaking my head at the hopelessness of universal appeasement, I plodded across the office and began idly examining the law books lining my shelves in the forlorn hope of finding another avenue of stress relief. They were a rather long winded affair compared to the old days, but far more functional for a thousand years of codification, refinement and reform under Tia's eye. An eye that had, alas, provenly wandered from other important matters as of late.

A knock at the door drew my attention and another sigh. "Enter."

The door opened and a wheezing When Where staggered in. "The... The Military Secretary... Isn't here... Ma'am."

I did not turn my head, content to merely look sidelong. "Miss Where, I do not think you quite grasp what is meant by the words 'earliest convenience'. It is five in the morning. I would hardly expect him to be awake at this hour, let alone at work. All the same, thank you for proving the presumption."

"Sorry, ma'am." When Where mumbled.

"T'was not I who was run ragged through the palace." I replied. "Nonetheless, I do grow weary. I shall retire to my chambers for a while. I suggest you rest as well Miss Where, and think upon the topic of prudence."

"Y-yes... Thank you ma'am." The grey mare said, still breathing heavily.

Once she had stumbled out, I cleared my desk of anything I would rather not have the cleaning staff seeing, locking most of it into one of the draws, save the ring binder. That, I took under one wing.

It almost seemed redundant to leave a message with one of the Guardsponies outside the doors to my sister's tower, considering that she was likely waking even as I did so, but I needed to be both awake and rested early this afternoon. Meeting Tia on the Eventide balcony or at her breakfast as I normally would, would push that back by an hour or more, especially if she raised the topic of the Report with me.

As soon as I entered my solar, I nudged the Moon on its way, to greatly oversimplify a process I have always quite honestly struggled to put into plain words. As always when I am early in performing my Duty, it felt a little recalcitrant in accepting the correction.

With that done, I summoned my safe and stowed the binder for later before readying myself for bed.

Sleep however, was elusive and when it did come, it was fleeting and troubled. As they had many times since that fateful day in Manehattan two moons prior, my dreams drifted unbidden back to that literally blasted stage...

My ears rang. I had not heard the explosion, but all the same it had left me in pain and primitive fear on the ground. That fear was mastered by discipline honed long ago however, and I rose amid the ruin.

The main thrust of the blast had taken the easiest route out from beneath the sturdy wood of the stage - directly into the audience. All sound was drowned by the shrill whine, but even if I could not hear it, I saw the screaming. Wide eyes, pinned ears, flared nostrils, flapping mouths.

Those in the front row were the worst affected, caught both by the brunt of the blast itself and the bulk of the debris it carried with it. Among the writhing wounded were the dead, or the soon to be, and among them...

Rarity, her coat and dress soiled with her lifeblood.

Time ground to a halt as a vicious anger rose in my heart. All the speeches, the campaigning, the effort devoted by so many decent Ponies to mend a grudge that had seen fifty generations of Thestrals isolated, neglected and exploited for the crimes, however abhorrent, of their long-mothers. All of it had been useless. The world was still marred by the sick malice to orchestrate such a craven assault upon the innocent, as at least one evil heart had proven. It was all too likely that many more quietly agreed, even as they paraded their hollow smiles.

Deep in a black corner of my mind, one that had lain silent for years and which I had hoped would continue to do so until my dying day, something stirred. Something of me but separate, an extreme which offered all the easiest solutions, and now said 'I told you so.'

In that instant caught between heartbeats, a mother hauled her foal away, horror writ on her face. Another mare was helping one of the injured drink a potion of some kind. A doctor? An adventurer? Maybe just somepony with an uncommon dose of prudence and the will to do good amid tragedy. Whispering Rushes, one of the campaign team, cleared debris in search of more wounded.

They had all paid the price for my weakness. A line had been crossed and there were other tools at my disposal than words to purge evil. I would see this murderous villain - this slayer of Generosity - swing from a gibbet, and that would be too good for them. Then I would root out the sympathisers and meet out their just desserts as well.

Yes, I was weak. I had gathered a harvest of death and failure for all to share and called it friendship, and the redress of past sins. If I had been strong, if I had taken the easy way, then none of this would have happened.

As seconds dragged past and the Moon rushed to an unbidden command, my weeping eyes ever strayed back to Rarity's body. A fair maiden with a good heart, one who had been blessed with the ability to push back against the greatest injustices of the world. To whom an uncountable debt of gratitude was owed by so many, almost certainly including her mur-

Because I was so transfixed, I saw her stir. Feebly, but corpses do not move. Usually.

I stumbled forward toward her, almost falling off the remains of the stage. What could I do? The healing arts I understood were crude, blunt instruments of a bygone age. Brutal things as likely to kill as cure.

But sometimes they did cure, and nopony had come to Rarity yet. They might not do so in time unguided, and even if I called for help... It would doubtless just be one voice among dozens, lost in the madness for precious seconds.

Rarity would not have her life valued above another and there were indeed others I could have tried to help first, but their existence never entered into my consciousness until the moment returned again and again in memory. Not that it mattered, cold pragmatism would have demanded no other course of action from me anyway.

I had dithered overlong already, amid the wreck of the stage and now over my own ability.

She would try it for me.

With that mental kick up the backside, I tore the ruined dress away and drew on magic which had probably not been used in centuries, spells I had never been very good with and only the mightiest of wizards could hope to emulate, ones which had ever fallen more within my sister's domain. The sort that burnt and staunched and did so with permanence.

Vast amounts of the raw stuff of creation flooded the air, much of it spillage which manifested in a miniature storm of wild magic. It was a dangerous amount, and not just because of the chaos unleashed.

A terrified shriek of the beast unleashed filled my mind, trying to stop the casting. How could the world be righted if I threw myself away so?

The easy choice was revenge. Justified, righteous.

But Ponies had put their trust in me, and I would be damned if I let that wretch extinguish my friend, my subject, a true beacon of hope in the world, a life I could save.

As my font drained, my field wavered and my sight tunnelled in upon itself, I chose the difficult way, and the beast was cast wailing back into its prison.

In the blackness that followed, a lantern guttered, casting a dim circle of light about itself in defiance of oblivion.

When I awoke, I was tangled in my eiderdown and my coat was matted with sweat, made all the worse for the thickness of winter.

It was hardly the first time I had been haunted by my past however, so by the time I had extricated myself, I was largely composed and thanks to the wonders of modern pumps, I was able to fill my bathtub without having to even leave my inner chambers in such an unpresentable state.

The ice cold water proved more than sufficient to clear away the remaining cobwebs. And once the needs of coat and wing had been tended to, I found a makeshift breakfast waiting for me in my solar - so much as the expert work of a chambermaid long accustomed to unusual hours could ever be considered 'makeshift', in any case.

I scarfed it down in a manner which would have been quite scandalous in public, then retrieved the ring binder and descended my tower.

The War Office was not located in the wing of the palace dedicated to office space, but in fact situated deep below the palace in the labyrinth of tunnels and old storerooms that had once been used to store both the local harvest and also supplies in the event of siege - a very real danger in the castle's early days as the primary bastion watching over not only the Canterhorn Gap but also the northern border with the then-independent Duchy of Cloudsdale.

I had been conducted around the entire place shortly after my return as part of my refamiliarisation, but that was some years ago and I had seldom had cause to venture into the depths since. Most of the officials I had dealings with normally either came to me or were to be found in the aforementioned office wing. Therefore, I took a number of wrong turns before I began to catch sight of uniformed soldiers and followed them like so many breadcrumbs to the right office.

The Secretary's secretary, a mare with a white coat tinted yellow by the electric lighting, jerked upright from whatever she had been doing as I entered unannounced. "Wha- Oh my, your Majesty!"

I did not concern myself with her suspiciously drowsy look. "I must speak with Lord Grimhoof urgently. Judging by the lack of light beyond the door, I presume he is not in. Where may he be found?"

The mare glanced at the door to the inner office before answering. "Erm... I'm afraid the Military Secretary isn't in Canterlot right now, ma'am. He's at his estate."

"At his estate?" I repeated, surprised. "Surely he cannot still be off for Hearth's Warming?"

"I don't th-think so, ma'am." The Earther replied nervously. "All I was told is it's for family reasons."

Which could mean any number of things, from petty excuses to a death.

I sighed. "When is he expected back?"

"He said he'd be back for next Curda." The mare said, then gestured toward a telephone on her desk. "I could try and call him, if you like?"

After a moment's consideration weighing the risk of indiscretion against practicality, I nodded. "Yes please. Inform him he is to return as soon as equinely possible, or otherwise empower somepony to speak for him. I have a matter to discuss with him that has been left too long already."

"Yes, ma'am." The mare replied before tugging the speaker set over her head and beginning to spin the dial.

After a few minutes of hearing half a conversation with first an operator, then some other intermediary before finally reaching the stallion himself, the secretary placed a hoof over the mouthpiece and looked up at me. "Lord Grimhoof says he can be back by tomorrow ma'am, around noon."

"He is to come to my office at half past four then." I instructed.

The mare relayed my words, then removed the headset. "He says he'll be there, ma'am."

"That will be all then." I said, turning to leave and covering my frustration that I should go to the effort of waking early at the time of year I am most deprived of sleep, only to find I might as well not have bothered.

I made the best of it and cleared my yellow box swiftly before attending a function at the Wingbardian embassy, which had been scheduled prior to the arrival of trouble in paper form upon my desk.

Soon thereafter, I found myself arriving at the private dining room reserved for my sister and I, along with our relatives or personal guests.

Most days, this was a grandiose way of saying 'Blueblood', but on that particular evening he was evidently elsewhere, leaving me alone in the room save for a pair of attendants.

Tia arrived ahead of my dinner, looking as frustratingly fresh as she usually did in the deep winter. Admittedly, it was something I mirrored at the height of summer when my duties were lightest. "I didn't expect to see you this morning, what with the reception. I'm surprised you have room for dinner as well."

"I have little love for Wingbardian cuisine - too much tomato." I replied.

"You liked the macaroons last week." She said impishly, moving toward the table and settling on one of the mats.

That caught me a little off guard. "Those are Wingbardian?"

Tia nodded.

"Then I suppose they can be said to comprise the 'little'." I replied.

Silence fell and our disparate meals were delivered. Most Ponies would consider the quantities involved in both excessive, but between an Alicorn's stature and the intense magical needs of our Duties, every bit was needed.

Tia cocked her head and broke the silence. "Something is bothering you. Nothing went wrong at the reception, did it?"

"I left early, but only to be here. Besides, I always feel a terrible boor sitting through Eyrite after dinner sermons." I shook my head wearily. "It feels as though I should join in, but Ancestors above..."

"I know." Tia agreed. "Real or not though, Eyr is perfectly harmless. I doubt the Ancestors would mind you keeping some Griffons happy by playing along."

"Somehow, I doubt you would have said that before." I said, fiddling with my roast vegetables.

"Earth turns, and it is wise to move with it." She said serenely. "The 'barbarian' faiths are less barbarous than they used to be, on the whole. As are ours... I doubt you're upset over the fate of a bushel of corn though."

"I am not upset." I protested quietly. "Merely concerned. Have you read the Dotted Line Report?"

"I hardly think this is a topic for the dinner table." Tia chided.

I would not let her evade that easily, however. Especially with such a blatant attempt at drawing upon the big sister card. "If not now, then too late. I have read it, and its contents are going to ensnare me for weeks, with or without you. But I would rather 'with'."

Tia didn't respond, carefully chewing on a scone. There was something in her posture...

I kept up a pointed expression, and eventually she caved. "You know you were always the more martial of us, Luna."

"That I do not deny, but you were never timid when it came to doing the necessary." I said.

Tia grimaced. "One begins to question the wisdom of fighting, the second time under the surgeon's knife."

It hadn't taken me long after my return to spot the differences in my sister's coat, the tell-tale shifts and swirls left by long-healed scars a less familiar eye would miss. She had never admitted the cause before though.

I shook my head again. "It was folly to lead forces when your death could mean a cataclysm."

"And what message would my hiding in the palace have sent, in those days?" Tia countered. "It was dangerous, but to be seen as craven would have invited disaster with greater surety. All the same, I did prepare contingencies."

"That stone you were going to give to Twilight Sparkle, before Grover..." I mused aloud. "So that is where it came from."

She nodded. "A piece of myself. Cadance could have taken on the Duties with it, if the worst happened. In hindsight, I do think you were right by the way. Looking at Twilight, having a little more formative time while things blow over seems to be doing her good."

"And what if things do not 'blow over'?" I asked.

"I won't let Equestria get dragged into a Griffonian succession crisis." She said, looking toward the window. "Once that resolves itself, the world ought to quieten down a bit. Perhaps enough to consider retirement again."

"Do not allow your gaze to linger in the east, sister." I warned. "What of the north, and the west?"

"Severyana can be brought back into the fold eventually." Tia said confidently, perhaps a little too much so. "Sooner rather than later, if their government keeps fighting itself like it has been. As for Johan, I don't think he will be beyond Twilight and the Elements' ability to manage, when the time is right and Velvet has her pieces in position to capitalise. And I know that with Equestria, Olenia and the Crystal Empire presenting a unified front, the Changelings shan't cause us problems either, for all their posturing. Chrysalis isn't stupid."

"Not stupid, no..." I tailed off and changed course. "Tia, I fear this house of diplomatic cards in which we reside may not have a sturdy enough foundation. Some of the figures in the Report are frightening. Were you aware that across the entire country - out of fifty million creatures, lest you forget - there are only forty thousand soldiers? I was not."

My sister turned her head back to me, raising an eyebrow. "There are three times that on the books, a hundredth of the GDP goes on them."

"Apparently the books are not accurate, which begs some questions as to where over half those Bits are going." I said.

Tia's gaze fell to her plate, where she nudged her last scone back and forth with her field for a moment before she sighed. "I'm sorry, but I have to leave this on your back Luna. You'll do a better job than I ever could with this."

"I understand. I may cause some ructions however, I trust I have your blessing to take what actions I must?" I replied, thoroughly burying a snipe that such decisions might well be the cause of this shocking state of affairs to begin with.

She nodded, posture easing significantly. "You worry about fixing things, I'll keep Parliament and the Court from defenestrating you."

"Thank you." I said with a relieved smile at the joke as very real worry ebbed. I had no fear of the limelight any longer, the Thestral friendship campaign had done for that, but Parliament remained a new, dangerous beast to me. One I would rather continue to approach with gradual caution lest it react poorly.

Tia finished her breakfast before she spoke again. "Enough of work for now. Did you know Blueblood was recently approached by a studio looking for patronage a couple of weeks ago?"

I made a negative grunt through a mouthful of parsnip.

She leant in conspiratorially. "You know how he is with modern art, but he thought I might be interested. I finally managed to sneak a couple of hours into my schedule to see one of those new talkies from them yesterday, and it's really quite something..."

The conversation flowed on from there, growing much more relaxed and cheerful as Tia regaled me all about the hilarious adventures of Stove Pipe and Bowl Over in pursuit of a 'stolen' bridge, which was in fact... Well, I ought not ruin the surprise. Given that the talkie was a wonder of the modern age that I had for once had the pleasure of sampling first, I enjoyed the opportunity to reverse the usual positions when it came to the technical aspects.

The conversation had brought something to mind however, and so before I retired for the morning, I examined the absent stallion's records, placed a request with the military archives and met with a mare of the shadows.

Author's Note

Luna's frustrations are only beginning...
If you wish for more context with regards to events and topics covered in greater or lesser detail in this story (such as the bombing or the system of government) do be sure to visit the companion blog here. Feedback is always appreciated!

The character Dotted Line belongs ultimately to GhostOfHeraclitus. He is name-dropped here only within the context of his role in the Equestria at War mod canon and any agreement his creator may have with the development team.

Chapter Two: The Pawn and the Professional

Amarda 13th Darkness, 1008ALB
Exactly on time, there was a tap on my office door. "Yes?"

The door opened and a helmeted head craned around the corner. "Your Majesty, the Military Secretary is asking to see you."

"Let him in." I ordered, shuffling the reports I had been reading to the side. After my discussion with Tia and research that morning, I had elected to begin with the finances of a particular unit.

A rather dishevelled steel blue Pegasus stallion, perhaps in his fifties, plodded into my office. "Your Majesty." Grimhoof said, to my pragmatic pleasure clearly struggling not to yawn in the royal presence. Tiredness would erode his guard.

"Apologies for pulling you from the affairs of your estate at this sensitive time, Lord Grimhoof." I said, not allowing the barb to reach my tone. "Please, do sit."

Grimhoof shook his head as he moved to the mat in front of the desk. "It's a tamping pain ma'am, if you'll pardon my Olenian. I was helping my youngest leaving home, you see."

I nodded to allow the spike of exasperation to pass before shoving the ring binder across the desk to him. "You are familiar with this, I trust?"

He glanced down at the confidential stamped cover. "The Dotted Line Report? Inside and out ma'am, I liaised between the investigative committee and the army. That's why I felt comfortable taking time off."

"As I recall, you served in the Cloudsdale Royal Legion for some years before you came to this posting." I said. "Tell me, in your expert opinion, are the contents of this report accurate?"

Lord Grimhoof ruffled his wings uncomfortably. "That was almost ten years ago, ma'am."

"That is recent enough for my needs." I replied.

"And I was just a captain." He muttered awkwardly.

"Excellent, a perfect position from which to test the pulse of the ranks and observe the rarefied air of the general staff." I said.

Grimhoof fidgeted. "Not to mention, we hardly left the barracks. You really might do better asking somepony else, ma-"

Fed up with his procrastination, which spoke volumes in itself, I suddenly rose and banged my front hooves on the hardwood of my desk, taking care not to smash the thing in the process.

The Pegasus' head jerked up.

Holding his suddenly undivided attention, I allowed a touch of the old royal tone to fill the office. "Lord Grimhoof, We are not here to play games. The safety of Equestria is at stake, so you will answer our questions or We shall be most displeased. We doubt you would like to see that."

Grimhoof's mouth worked for a moment. "Permission to speak freely?" He asked at length.

"Freely and candidly, if you would be so good." I said sharply.

"Well ma'am..." He hesitated again, but gathered himself before I was obliged to do so for him. "I can't speak for the whole army, and not to cast shade on the old filly's club - good mares the lot of them - but when I was in the Legion, there was a lot of braid and not enough steel, as they say."

"Elaborate." I said, unfamiliar with the expression.

"The ranks were a bit, erm... Threadbare. Ma'am." He admitted uncomfortably. "We had the full establishment of officers, but a lot had no command. The captain-general just had us doing paperwork. Cost cutting measure, I'm told."

Given his wording, he was likely one of those officers. It would hardly be surprising for a stallion in the regular military to be the first shoved into a desk job. "I see. What would you say was the cause for this lack of funds?"

Grimhoof shifted again. "Well like I said ma'am, the budget simply couldn't cover a full brigade, not without doing away with uniforms and weapons. In my day, we had three regiments worth active and half strength in training and reserves."

"An increase in funding would be enough to bring numbers up then?" I queried.

He shook his head, albeit uncertainly. "More Bits are always welcome, ma'am, but I'm not sure it would help. We weren't turning away recruits you see. Not enough that I noticed anyway. The reduced numbers were probably the only reason we got by at a stable complement."

I tapped a rear hoof against the edge of my mat thoughtfully. "And why do you think that would be?"

"I really couldn't say with confidence, ma'am." Grimhoof replied.

"Speculate." I ordered.

He considered for a long moment, long enough that I suspected a few options were being rejected. "For the record, this is just an educated guess ma'am. But I'd say there's not enough interest. It seems like everypony wants to work in weather or accounting these days, at least when they don't want to be the next Open Goal."

I hoped he wasn't right. There was little that could be done about such a problem in short order. But who was Open Goal, and why accounting...? Best not to distract myself.

"The Royal Guard have an entire section devoted to them, can you comment on that?" I asked.

Grimhoof glanced toward the door, or perhaps more accurately the pair of stallions beyond. "No." Turning back only to be caught under my stare, he hurried on. "N-not without speculating as an outsider or quoting the Report, ma'am. The Guard fall under the auspices of the Royal Office. But-"

I blinked. "The Royal Office? They deal with stationary supplies for the palace! Food! That sort of thing."

Released, Grimhoof tried to regain some balance. "I really could not say, ma'am. That's just how it is."

"I see. What about the Report's commentary on disciplinary discrepancies?" I asked.

"Every unit has its own little traditions." He shuddered. "Let me tell you ma'am, when we hosted the captain-general of the Duke of Mareborough's Own, I nearly threw my wing out trying to get my leg up so high for that strange salute they use. Unnatural, I say."

I shook my head, opening the ring binder and flicking through to a particular section. "No, Lord Grimhoof, that is not what I mean... Here we are." I cleared my throat. "'Collected data and witness testimony strongly suggest that instances of leave being granted for inappropriate causes, improper dress, tardiness and even flagrant insubordination are distressingly frequent within nearly every de facto extant formation within her Majesties' Army and Army Air Force. For example of the former misdemeanour, one Sergeant Hobnail of the Vanhoover Vanilla Guard is on record as having requested leave four times within two years to attend her grandmothers' funerals, the biological improbability of which need not be stated, even if her account that at least one turned out to in fact not be quite dead is believed. Specific figures may be found in Subsection B, figures 14-19. In light of such incidents and their perception, the aforementioned being hardly unique, it must be concluded that there is a systematic laxity toward existing protocol and enforcement of discipline.' What do you think of that?"

The Military Secretary's eye twitched.

I gave him a moment.

He eventually cobbled together a response. "I-I mean to say that, well, I never saw any of that in the Legion. At least not among the officers."

Of course not. Doubtless, all of them were fine public school fillies like himself who would never consider taking leave immediately following, say, an important report being published. Or fleeing the country, for that matter.

"And what of the other ranks?" I asked aloud.

"I never had much reason to mix with them, ma'am." He said. "Like I said, I just filed paperwork."

I nodded at the confirmation of suspicion. "Very well. Since you are clearly so versed in the ways of the bureaucrat and as the chief liaison between the army and government, I am sure you can recommend a member of the War Office with whom I could work to further my investigation."

"Investigation?" Grimhoof whimpered.

"No need to sound so horrified, secretary." I said charmingly. "I am sure you agree that an oiling of such a long-neglected institution is vital to the country's interests."

"Yes, ma'am." He mumbled, ears twitching nervously. "I'll find somepony."

"That will be all then, good day." I dismissed.

The Pegasus stood, saluted and staggered out of my office as though all four knees had turned to rubber, likely with finding a telephone in the forefront of his mind. So far nothing incriminating led back to Grimhoof himself, but a number of his likely friends were beginning to look fiscally dubious even upon a casual examination like the one I had performed and he might well have felt the need to tip off said friends.

Which was precisely why I had requested the Cloudsdale Royal Legion's full finances ahead of time, why I had chosen my closing words carefully and why an agent from SMILE would be quietly following the Military Secretary for the next couple of days to see exactly who he contacted.

Evening court had been exceptionally frustrating. Word had inevitably got out and spread at the speed of rumour enhanced by modern communications, yet with all the accuracy that term has always entailed. Therefore, rather than the usual mix of petitions, requests for patronage and disputes the parties did not wish to bring before the judiciary, the great hall was flooded with nobles, hangers on and reporters to the point that the Guardsponies on duty were forced to seal the doors in order to prevent a dangerous crush.

The so-called questions ranged from guesswork to wild surmise, and largely were delivered by means of accusations. Complaints over tax increases yet unthought of, militarisation of schools and conscription that were all clearly in preparation for an invasion of the Buffalo, the Dragons, Stalliongrad, Wingbardy and Ancestors alone know who else. It all began to blur as time and again I rebuffed them with the exact same meaningless response:

"The investigation into the current state of the armed forces has entered a new phase. Any results and planned action based upon them which can be released without compromising the needs of security, will be released upon its conclusion."

It was a statement constructed to appease the moderates, for the more hostile newspapers would publish pieces proclaiming a mad scheme for world domination or bemoaning the radicalisation of foals and the conspiracy theorists would rave about communists from another world regardless of what I said. Trying to shut them up with logic would of course simply be taken as evidence by both that there was indeed something being hidden.

Nonetheless, by the end I had been tempted to simply throw a copy of the Report at them and see what they made of it, if only for the satisfaction of watching the hypocritical about turn in the form of denunciation aimed at the same target. There was simply no winning.

No wonder Tia wanted to retire. It certainly left me with my head resting in maudlin fashion upon my desk scant minutes after my artificially relaxed exit from the hall.

A knock on the door brought my head up from the desk. Upon my response, a helmeted head poked through it. Were it not for the fact his shift must have ended by now, it would have been nearly impossible to tell this Nightguard from the previous by virtue the enchantment upon their armour.

That is, until the Unicorn spoke. "Your Majesty. There is a tradesmare outside who wishes to see you. Shall I send her away?"

"Who sent her?" I asked.

"The War Office, ma'am." The Guard replied.

"Send her in then." I said. "Politely."

A moment later, a middle aged mare in a smart, functional dress entered and curtsied. "Your Majesty."

"You would be the mare Lord Grimhoof recommended, I presume?" I asked as she approached the desk.

"Buff Envelope COU, ma'am." The Earther said. "Permanent Secretary to the War Office."

"Oh excellent, that ought to simplify getting some real changes made." I said.

Miss Envelope gave me a sceptically critical look. "Getting some real changes made? Ancestors preserve."

I raised an eyebrow in response. "I take it you do not approve?"

"It's not my job to approve, ma'am." Envelope replied. "Worry is another matter however, and those five words, or their next of kin, tend to be good cause for alarm."

"I should hope that I am rather steadier than some buffoon selected by electoral dice." I said, a little refreshed to meet somepony with the sense not to cower at the slightest hint of disapproval.

"The trend is a very strong one in my experience, ma'am." The bureaucrat smoothly replied. "One hundred percent, in fact."

Silently, I wondered if my sister made up any portion of that figure. Probably not, unless this mare was from a remarkably longaeval dynasty like the Apples. Her Mark, being hidden, provided no clues.

"Well, there is a first time for everything." I gestured at the ring binder, now slightly foxed, as Twilight Sparkle would say. "I take it you have read this."

Hazel eyes flickered down, then up. "Yes, ma'am."

"Brilliant." I said, flicking through now-familiar pages. "Then we might as well begin with the state of the Guard, considering how much space they occupy..."

"That's a Royal Office matter ma'am, not a War Office one." Envelope said.

"The Military Secretary said as much, and that is something I intend to fix by making them your business." I said.

The civil servant's eyes went wide. "Oh ma'am! We can't possibly make such a radical change to the administrative apparatus, the consequences could send the country spiralling into anarchy!"

I cocked my head. "Whyever would that happen?"

She took a deep breath. "You see ma'am, among its many roles, the Royal Office manages palace staff and oversees the functioning of other ministers' departments. Administrating the administrators, if you will. Since the Guard fulfil both criteria within the context of security, it only stands to reason that they come under the Royal Office's oversight as part of the Government Accountability Act, in order to ensure that no department - including the War Office - attempts to obfuscate or undermine the workings of government by illegally concealing, destroying, releasing or otherwise leaking documents, as well as investigating such plumbing 'accidents' should they arise. They also ensure the safety of those within the palace grounds and our embassies all over the world, provide first response in the event of disaster and support local police when requested. Riot control, crowd management, armed raids and the like. For the purposes of military command, being tied to the Royal Office, Captain-General Hoarse Bluster answers directly to yourself and your sister ma'am, in your roles as marshals." Buff Envelope explained. "If you went ahead with your proposal just like that ma'am, none of that would be possible without degrading crisis management and grinding the running of government to a crawl."

It took me a brief moment to line all that up in my head. "Where does their funding come from?"

"Bundled into the Royal Office budget, ma'am." Envelope replied.

"Which at least explains why equipment procurement also falls under that office." I concluded. "Equipment that I note from the Report, is centuries out of date."

"That would be an acumenical matter, ma'am." The mare said.

I eyed Buff Envelope, making little effort to hide my shortening temper in light of her study nerve. "The present situation cannot be allowed to stand."

She looked thoughtful for a brief moment before responding. "Well, I suppose in light of the recent findings and with your permission, we could set up an interdepartmental committee with an eye toward examining the feasibility of adjustments to the liabilities of the Guard and sundry without compromising administrative efficiency and efficacy."

Not wishing to go so far as to create a scene, I shunted the pages of the ring binder to a fresh section at random, one I had merely skimmed out of fatigue before Grimhoof had raised the topic. "Let us leave that then - for now. What have you to say about the declining recruitment figures?"

Envelope looked annoyingly cheerful. "That is hardly unexpected ma'am. How many bronze smiths and flint knappers are there in Equestria today?"

I raised an eyebrow. "More than none, I should think. Do continue your analogy."

The smile was unmoved. "Indeed ma'am, more than none. But jobseekers tend to migrate wherever there is an active market for them, in proportion to demand. Since we have not been at war in any meaningful manner for three centuries, the soldiering market, so to speak, is rather depressed."

"I get the impression that you have been meaning to say that despite all evidence to the contrary, there is nothing wrong with the defence of this country." I said coldly.

That did have an impact, as the smile turned bitter and a sort of resigned humour crept into her voice. "No, of course there is ma'am! It's a joke, it's always been a joke! And as long as you leave defence in the care of the local authorities, it will remain a joke. I mean, most of them are greedy and dashed good at it, some are earnest but inept, and the few that combine the best of both are so disorganised that you prefer the incompetents."

"So you mean to say they need a varied approach?" I replied. "Discipline, education and leadership."

"No ma'am. I'm saying that defence will never get any better as long as it's subject to all that skylarking in the local courts." She stabbed a hoof toward the window. "I mean, just imagine what would happen if you put weather management on the back of the local authorities."

I cocked my head, a little less frustrated now Envelope seemed more interested in solutions than obstruction. "The weather?"

"Yes, give the counties ten million each and ask them to look after themselves." Her ears angled forward. "We wouldn't have to worry about defence, Equestria would be an arid swamp covered with perpetual hurricanes within a moon, and half of the continent with it!"

I tried and failed to imagine what an arid swamp would look like, let alone how one could achieve its creation. "That sounds like an overreaction, Miss Envelope."

The mare leant forward with an intensity that almost pushed me back. "Is it, ma'am? Well, that's what's happened with defence. Why? Because nopony thinks defence is serious the same way weather management is serious. Those clowns all think nothing like the Wars of Yakyakistani Succession or the War of the Sisters - begging your pardon ma'am - could happen today, and if it did then somepony else will deal with it anyway, the Elements probably, so nopony does anything and the local authorities all use the money saved from pay and privileges for their own immeasurably clever ideas."

"Even as, lo and behold, another succession crisis jumps to the smashing table." I mused. Her words made sense, even if they could be construed as a push in support of her department. "And of course the string of failures the lack of funding generates makes the army look bad, which drives down morale and interest in enlistment since nopony save a clown would want to be humiliated for a living on pay they could earn in a factory, while also discouraging investment to reinforce failure."

Envelope nodded. "You understand the problem ma'am."

"In which case, it sounds like centralisation of funding and organisation would go a long way." I said, rear hoof beginning to tap as my thoughts raced with the political logistics of that. "If the fiefs can be made to wear it. Mayhaps We should pay a visit to witness the situation personally, the better to speak with rightful zeal?"

"Oh I wouldn't advise that." The Earther said, the fervour of a moment ago fading almost unnaturally fast.

"What is it this time?" I snapped, my patience not being so elastic. "A centuries old edict demanding that a Diarch may not venture forth from her home in the second week of the year?"

Envelope's gaze drifted past and somewhere above my right ear. "Well, I suppose there is an argument to be made for the risk of illness. Pneumonia, frostbite, hypertonie..."

"Secretary." I said warningly.

"As you wish, ma'am." Buff Envelope said, not looking all that fazed.

Chapter Three: The Edge of Equestria

Melada 17th Darkness, 1008ALB
Simply gallivanting off into the hinterlands in search of an army base to perform a surprise inspection of, while doubtless useful to confirming the unfiltered state of affairs, was not on the table for me however. In spite of what foals' stories might have one believe, the lives rulers of functional countries lead are an endless stream of paperwork, meetings and events to attend or preside over, much of which are difficult to cancel or postpone without causing major upset within the delicate political web of the country. Goodness knows how Tia had stayed sane with her even busier schedule.

Overwork might excuse how she had allowed things to slip so far, if the Report was to be believed. Not to speak ill of my sister, but being perpetually buried with genuinely and immediately vital work does wonders for justifying procrastination over the most detested aspect of one's vocation, the one that might bring the temptation of the easy path which Tia had refused every single time if any other option lay open to her.

Fortunately, my aforementioned schedule already contained an engagement to oversee the opening of a new Marine Sciences wing at Albion University, which placed me within a short train ride and a final teleport leg of Somland Sea Fort, the headquarters of the 18th Brigade. Minor alterations to return travel plans would have to be made, but after the Thestral campaign, I trusted my staff to not only deal with it, but to do so quietly.

My sudden evening arrival on the shore of the island went without fanfare or indeed, any significant activity, unless one counts sending a few sleepy seals lumbering toward the ocean's embrace. A small harbour town lay on the far side of the island, but from where I stood within sight of the mainland, the only sign of habitation were the squat, sloping walls of the fort and the southward-facing coastal battery it hosted. The black serpent colours of the 18th fluttered from a pole atop the nearest bastion, carried high by the stiff sea breeze.

Not wishing to set off any wards meant to prevent fliers from making an easy escalade of those walls, I instead cantered up the trampled track from the beach with my two bodyguards, circling around to the fort's main gates. A sentry's cry would have been carried away on the wind, but still there was no visual sign of activity either, even to my dark-accustomed eyes.

Growing suspicious, I refreshed my memory of a number of useful spells as we made the final approach to the open gates.

As we entered however, the only assault we faced was launched upon our ears by what sounded like a pile of collapsing armour making a spirited, yet hopelessly tuneless, attempt at the national anthem.

Inside the fort's main courtyard, several hundred Ponies were arrayed in what could be charitably be called ranks. Strangely, barely any of them were in uniform, with the vast majority dressed in a hodge podge of everything from simple scarfs against the cold to the sort of gear often associated with arctic explorers.

"Regiment, attention!" The castellan in charge bellowed once my carefully measured pace had brought me out from under the wall.

Of the two other soldiers present, one snapped into a straight posture and the other, encumbered by wearing half a brass band, clattered messily and became marginally less obscured as she continued to attempt to play.

Nodding with apparent satisfaction as the anthem mercifully wound down, the castellan turned and marched smartly up to me, stopped and rigidly saluted. "Welcome to the Somland Isles, your Majesty. The regiment is awaiting your inspection."

My eyes darted toward the two young, hopeful looking Unicorn mares, then back to their officer, noticing the strong family resemblance. Mother and daughters most likely.

The space in which I could respond without seeming rude almost exhausted, I trepidatiously tapped the front of my barrel with my right forehoof. "The pleasure is mine castellan, I am sure. May I ask, how did you become aware of my visit?"

She looked surprised at the question, but nodded toward a long but otherwise nondescript building hugging the wall to my far left. "Your messenger met with Dame Black Bristle this morning. Sorry she's not here now ma'am, didn't think it'd be a good idea to have her out here with that cold she's got. They're both in the barracks right now with Cook, if you want to speak with them."

"Thank you..." I prompted, wondering who had leaked.

"Lady Castellan Forlorn Hope, ma'am." The yellow Unicorn replied. "Acting commander of the 18th."

"Acting commander?" I asked.

"We're the only active regiment of the 18th right now ma'am, so I suppose GHQ didn't see a need to officially bump me up after Countess Captain-General Spring Steel retired." She explained.

I nodded, somewhat concerned that she had to speculate on the matter. "Do lead on then, castellan."

She turned. "Regiment, prepare arms!"

The single armed soldier reared, then twisted her left foreleg so that the rifle resting in its crook could be caught by the right forehoof.

Fully aware of the mirthful eyes of my bodyguards on me, I walked up to her and looked over her uniform, then the weapon. Even rearing, she was hardly taller than me. "Splendid. This is a Lilia, correct?"

"Yes ma'am." She said without so much as a twitch.

Modern enough to be serviceable, at least they had that going for them.

Nodding, I moved on to the bandmare, who gained a rather constipated look when she realised my attention was upon her. "A most inventive arrangement."

The relaxation of the young Unicorn's tension was betrayed by a horn squeaking as I turned back to the castellan.

"A fine... Unit." I said diplomatically. "Might I ask where the rest of them are?"

"Like I said ma'am, Cook's in the barracks." The officer said. "The cold sets off his rheumatics dreadfully."

I ruffled my wings, a response in equal parts to her and the wind. "Allow me to rephrase. Where is the rest of your regiment? I am led to believe such a formation normally comprises over a thousand mares."

"You'd be right ma'am, usually. We're a mite understaffed right now, but let me assure you that the soldiers under my command are the finest this side of Albion." Forlorn Hope said with the sort of pride only a mother can muster.

For my part, I could not help but wonder if that said more about her 'regiment', or of others along the Stalliongrad border.

"How do you watch the walls?" I said aloud.

"With difficulty, ma'am." She said. "We make do."

"I see." I lied to get the blasted conversation over with.

"Would you like to inspect the support staff?" The castellan asked, nodding over toward the mob of civilians.

"I am sure they have more pressing duties to attend to." I said. "As unfortunately do I. I will be in the barracks."

As Forlorn Hope busied herself, I went about addressing the plumbing.

The interior of the barracks was not in poor repair as I had feared it might be, or even dirty, but it felt like nothing so much as a museum as my hoofsteps and those of my guards echoed down the silent central corridor. What most stuck in my memory was a notice board I passed, still holding a yellowing newspaper clipping dating back over twenty years.

Eventually, muffled voices drifted from a nearby doorway and I followed them.

"-too many spices, don't you agree? Cook thinks they're driving all the local herb growers out of business, and it doesn't even taste good." A cracked voice said.

Entering, I saw a young Unicorn mare in a smock resting on one of the beds in the room, apparently trying to sleep. Her efforts were being contested however, by a wizened old Diamond Dog sporting a beard that almost reached the floor and a rather well-tailored but stained old uniform with a sergeant's braid. Buff Envelope, of all mares, lay on a mat across the room with a resigned look on her face.

Her expression swiftly changed to perhaps misguided relief when she spotted me, however. "Oh thank the Ancestors. Your Majesty."

"And don't get Cook started on saffron." The Diamond Dog continued to ramble. "Cook thinks it's-"

Envelope rose and nudged the fellow toward the door. "While it has been a pleasure, I'm sure her Majesty has confidential matters to discuss. So would you be so kind...?"

The elderly Dog shuffled around and saw me in spite of the bushes that shaded his deeply sunken eyes. Said brows shifted in a manner that suggested surprise. "Hurmph? Err... Princess. Yes. If it's all right?"

I gave a small nod. "You may go."

As soon as the door had closed behind the Dog, I turned back to Miss Envelope. "You needn't have been so abrupt."

The civil servant sighed. "Much as his lectures on the topic suggest he is a fine gastronomic facilitator ma'am, over the past three hours I have thoroughly investigated and demonstrated a theory that Sergeant Cook couldn't spot a subtle hint if it dressed itself as a Harpy and danced the tango to the tune of 'Pay Heed All Ye Who Wander Here', complete with Borean choir."

"Never mind that." I cut in. "Miss Envelope, what are you doing here?"

"Checking in on Dame Bristle, ma'am." She replied.

"And I suppose it was just happy accident that you happened to turn up just ahead of me, in time to arrange a parade." I remarked.

She shook her head. "Oh no, ma'am! I was merely fulfilling the requirements for your safety laid out in the royal security arrangements. The base's staff had to be placed on alert, wards checked and so forth. The preparations have to be overseen by a senior member of the War Office and with all the hee-haw going on thanks to the rumours and your sister's enquiries, I could not possibly delegate."

"It does rather spoil the point of a surprise inspection." I said.

"Such is the price of keeping the royal body safe, ma'am." Envelope said, faux-regretfully. "Besides, I'm sure you can learn all you came to know from their best-"

Envelope was interrupted by a hacking, phlegmatic cough. "'Orry..."

"Oh, how remiss of me!" Buff Envelope exclaimed. "Ma'am, this is Dame Black Bristle, administrative overseer for the Albion region. She can fill in the details of operations here far better than I can."

I looked the stricken mare over. "Are you sure you are up to it, Dame Bristle? Not to put too fine a point on it, you look like death warmed up."

"Ne'er bedder mham..." The minor noble replied, hauling herself upright.

I gave her a sidelong glance, but she was an adult. "Miss Envelope, I feel I ought to reiterate. I found a formal parade awaiting my arrival, including the civilian staff. The aspect of 'surprise' has not been so much lost as charted in painstaking detail and included in the latest publication of every school geography textbook."

She smiled. "Then you have already seen what a splendid recovery is underway."

"'Splendid recovery'?" I spluttered. "Close to extinction, more like."

"Oh, quite the opposite ma'am!" Envelope protested. "The 18th Brigade was the responsibility of the Boyars of Severyana before the revolution, but since no such authority exists any more, command fell directly to the crown and therefore, the War Office. They suffered terrible losses during the revolution, desertion mostly, but thanks to a brisk recovery effort, we expect them to be back up to strength by... Do jog my memory."

"Hen Hurteen." Black Bristle answered.

"This is merely one of the regiments yet to be reached then." I suggested. "The others are in training?"

"Oh no ma'am, the deployment phase is two years away at least, but we are standing in the beating heart of the project!" Buff Envelope proudly declared, against all apparent sense. "It's taken years to recruit and train all the proper staff to get this far, but thanks to Dame Bristle, progress has exceeded expectations by at least twenty percent."

Black Bristle nodded agreement before coughing mightily, prompting mild relief to overtake abashedness on her face.

I frowned. "If this paper mill is all that has been achieved in twelve years, then I say to continue to pour effort into this farce of a brigade is folly. Disband it and use the resources saved to reinforce other units."

Both mares' ears flicked back with shock. "Ma'am!"

"When we can afford it, we can reinstate the 18th - with an actual fighting contingent." I continued.

"Ma'am, if you do that then the entire eastern flank of the border could be left in chaos for moons if not years." Envelope protested.

"Whatever do you mean?" I queried.

"There are a large number of extremely busy departments based out of Somland, ma'am." She explained. "For a start, there's the contingency department of course, for riots, wild weather, monster attacks, epidemics, floods or forest fires... In such a crisis, the military plays a key role in damage mitigation and coordination of relief, and there simply aren't any units we could move in to replace the 18th."

"Then ere's the emogra- demographics department." Black Bristle picked up carefully, dabbing at her muzzle with a hoofkerchief. "Terribly sorry. They're conducting a full survey of Albion - the region, that is - right now so we can draw up ossible recruitment figures and build a plan for how best to advertise to and train prospective candidates. Ich brings us to the building department, who are currently planning the new Lesnoy Training Facility to replace the old one outside Petershoof, which should be underway in oo- two years ime. All hat in cooperation with the finance department; dealing with cash flow budgets and accounting... Hen there's the purchasing department to procure equipment, forecasting usage and contacting suppliers-"

"What, pray tell, are they purchasing for an empty field?" I cut in, partly in the quiet hope Buff Envelope would intervene and spare the clearly struggling mare from embarrassment.

Thankfully, she did, gesturing down the long, terribly bland room and its many beds. "Everything, ma'am. From tanks to toiletries, and not just for the building site. The entire north-eastern sector would grind to a halt without them. And they'd not be able to do their jobs here without the maintenance department of course. Normally that means cleaning, catering-"

"Wat Sergeant Cook oesn't oo - we budget around him ese days." Bristle put in.

"Thank you, overseer." Envelope said. "There's also a technical subdivision for making sure everything purchasing buys stays working. And for the welfare of the staff there's the equine resources department for managing leave, insurance, distributing salaries, as well as workplace disputes and the like. And finally, administration, the glue that holds it all together, liaising between departments and typing everything up."

By the time the cheerful conclusion arrived, I was rubbing my face against an upturned hoof, just to make sure I was not dreaming. I understood the complexities of running the palace, or logistics on campaign, but we never used to have insurance, formalised cash flow forecasts or administrators for other administrators back in the day. At least other than myself and my sister for the latter, I suppose.

"You see ma'am, this is all critical work to the functioning of the nation's defences." Buff Envelope cheerfully concluded.

I raised my head again and laughed despairingly. "Perhaps, but there is one key component missing!"

"What is, ma'am?" She asked, bemused.

"Miss Envelope, there are four soldiers!" I exclaimed, hardly able to believe that the Permanent Secretary to the War Office could miss such a thing. "That is what an army base is for! Soldiers. Mares-at-arms! Defending the nation!"

"But ma'am, all these vital tasks we just listed must be carried out with or without soldiers." She replied.

"Why?" I pressed.

She blinked. "I-I don't understand."

"I do not know how else We can vocalise it." I said. "Why?"

"Well erm, ma'am, ould you keep a school running in a ghost town?" Black Bristle suggested. "Or maybe edder in this case, would you build a school in the desert just in case somepony inds oil and settles a new town nearby?"

"That is completely different, the army must be ready to protect any part of the country at a moment's notice!" I countered.

"Oh Princess! We at the War Office don't measure our success by corpses but by activity, and the activity is considerable - and productive!" Envelope said. "These three hundred Ponies are terribly overworked. Of course they are, the full establishment will be almost twice that once recruitment begins in earnest. I'm sure Dame Bristle would be happy to release some of the paperwork coming out of the base to y-"

I banged a hoof against the floor. "No! No she will not! Enough is enough! Sack them!"

Buff Envelope shook her head vigorously. "Out of the question, ma'am! We need these administrators, otherwise there will never be a standing brigade and then where would we be? A security risk, chaos, looting even."

"Then sack the ancillary staff and do some cleaning yourselves." I said.

Envelope's expression turned almost mirthful. "Ma'am, the unions would have our guts for garters!"

I reconsidered and took a breath, she did have a point. "Very well then. Sack half the administrators, half the ancillary staff and use the money thus saved to recruit some soldiers and start actualising this paper brigade right now!"

Buff Envelope opened her mouth, but I raised a hoof warningly.

"I do believe that you yourself bemoaned that defence is seen as a joke, secretary. The domain of clowns even. If it is, then We intend to close the circus by the most immediate means at our disposal ere more suffering befalls." I said with finality, wings partially unfurling as I loomed. "I do not care one jot if there are delays in procuring equipment. Nor do I care if some unionists are upset. I dare say they will be even moreso when they are reduced to eating wild grass. Which is precisely what will happen if Altidya Revoltsova makes good on her threats to seize the remainder of Severyana and her brigands roll down from the north to create yet another famine with their insane land 'reforms'."

The civil servant tried again. "Ma'am-"

I didn't let her. "I know what you are going to say. Soldiers making a pretence of strength are better than a real and overt weakness, and more easily amended when the lack is merely material. If you can find a creative way to transfer the surplus staff elsewhere to spare their jobs without compromising the gathering of troops, I commend you, but there will be an increase in numbers and it will be in reasonable proportion to the savings made, until further funds can be assigned."

A glimmer of hope flashed through Envelope's eyes.

I stamped on it. "And if my position on what is 'reasonable' differs from yours upon reading the figures, secretary, then there shall be repercussions. Or for that matter, if I find those figures to have been, shall we say, presented in a conveniently attractive light."

Buff Envelope's posture was not cowed, but her tone was certainly guarded when she eventually broke her silence. "May I speak, ma'am?"

"You may." I said, refolding my wings.

"I agree there must be change, ma'am." She began carefully. "I will of course do everything in my power to carry out your instructions as efficiently as possible, but I cannot simply summon the funds to recruit soldiers out of thin air, let alone train them. The defence budget was assigned to the various brigades and departments at the start of the fiscal year and a great deal has already been spent on wages, equipment and so on. Not to mention that any staff laid off will still have to be given redundancy pay. The same is likely true of the territorial forces as well, and I have very little authority over their management."

I tapped a rear hoof for a moment, thinking. How much to say? And for that matter, what? The royal coffers were an option, but funding entire armies is expensive business even for a sovereign. The territorial forces were funded by the fiefdoms, rather than the crown itself for good reason. Then I had it. "You mentioned equipment. Much of that can surely be resold for profit, seeing how it is currently simply collecting dust."

"Oo would we sell to, mham?" Asked Black Bristle, rather more overtly nervously than Envelope had been. "Egging your pardon, but it's not ike we can just auction off field guns to the ublic."

My brain buzzed with ideas. Prince Rutherford would doubtless appreciate a new way to make big bangs, and envoys from President Kemerskai's government had been pestering Tia for weapons and recognition (in that order) only a few days ago. Not to mention the Olenians and Aquileians wanting a look at our tanks recently. Selling licenses and example models alone could raise a plentiful sum to fill the gap until proper funding could be arranged. Obviously supporting a renegade state would sour relations with the Imperial court in the case of Kemerskai, but middlegriffs could clean the books if it came to it. Further afield, there was the ongoing civil war in Saddle Arabia and it was just possible Aestlonia and Maretonia might have still been interested in buying some more deterrence to aim at Karkadannistan, assuming they had not found a buyer since Princess Zaida and Duke Kyrippos dropped those hints during the state visit at the last games.

"I am confident there are foreign powers who would be more than happy for a sample of our engineering..." I replied, inwardly feeling somewhat dirty at the thought of war profiteering.

"Of course meaning no disrespect ma'am, but are you sure we really want to be feeding instability in other countries right now?" Envelope asked. "There's a very good chance somecreature could get hurt!"

"That is rather the point of a weapon." I replied flatly, in contrast to my heart's view. "They are all adults and quite capable of weighing those risks for themselves."

"I suppose we could put a health warning on the barrels?" Black Bristle suggested.

Buff Envelope nodded slowly. "That should ensure they are properly informed, legally speaking..."

I ignored how moronic that sounded to stay focussed upon the issue at hoof. "Very good. Start evaluating the stocks and send a memorandum to the Foreign Office that Equestria is open for business."

Author's Note

Karkadannistan, Aestlonia, Stalliongrad, Olenia, Aquileia, Wingbardy, the Griffonian Empire and its breakaway Republic are all countries in the world of EaW.

Chapter Four: A New Model of Army

Curda 28th Darkness, 1008ALB
Having effectively snuck away, I could not tarry more than a few hours on the Somland Isles before beginning the journey back to Canterlot to wait for news.

Which is not to say I was idle. Aside from the daily yellow boxes of documents to go through that pursued me even across the country and my duties within the realm of dreams, there were more appearances, evening court sessions and the like, on top of further study into the Report.

To tell the truth, Buff Envelope confused me somewhat. On the one hoof, her outburst had seemed genuine and her name was attached to several of the more damning portions of the Dotted Line Report such that I would have expected her to be overjoyed by my support, and yet she had done little but obstruct thus far.

Nonetheless, I had been pleased to read that the Military Reform Act drafted by my sister had begun its long march through the battlefield of Parliament just that morning and had, going by the minutes, caused quite an uproar.

This was hardly unexpected since in spite of its grandiose name, the Act largely consisted of an amendment of crown authority, formalising what in truth already existed as a safeguard against a predicted blowback, and also a simple and undisguised doubling of funding for the land army and Army Air Force. This was actually a smaller figure than it might sound, as a large majority of that increase was simply catching up for almost half a century of inflation since the last budget adjustment, plus an allowance for Parliament to make a show of actually doing something relevant - and on the sly looking after their own interests - by bargaining down the numbers somewhat. Most of the real protest was against the perceived increase in crown authority.

Not at all coincidentally, a carefully disguised bill containing legislation to toughen up anti-corruption measures had been debated and passed less than a week earlier with far less comment, thanks to the reformists within Parliament. After all, while the numbers were not vast on a national scale, this was still a vast sum of Bits to even a very wealthy Pony. Enough that, as Tia had put it in discussion of a different issue, it might be tempting to those responsible for use and distribution to choose contractors who might not necessarily be the best, but who just so happened to have gone to the same school as them. On the smaller scale, it would also hopefully help with some petty incidents of missing equipment that had cropped up during both of our digging, mostly old muskets and other obsolete gear probably sold off by underpaid quartermasters.

Just as I was beginning to consider preparing for the biweekly open dinner in the Great Hall, my work was interrupted, as was becoming a common occurrence, by a knock on the door.

"Yes?" I called, dropping an empty piece of paper over the document I was presently reading.

"Another tradesmare from the War Office, your Majesty." The Nightguard on the door introduced less than helpfully.

I simply made a beckoning gesture and the helmet retreated to be replaced by When Where, carrying a couple of thin folders in her field. She curtsied nervously. "Your Majesty."

"Come, sit." I said, beckoning again. "What brings you here?"

The young Unicorn did as instructed. "I've got the first drafts for the predicted sales figures, ma'am." She began passing one folder over to me at a time. "Albionic stores, Baleshire armouries, surplus naval guns from the last refit of the Celestial Sea Fleet, licences sales and minutes from the first meeting of the Recruitment Acceleration Committee."

"About time, thank you." I replied, opening the first. After eleven days of near silence, I had been close to paying the War Office a personal visit for an update.

The contents of the first three folders were encouraging; several hundred thousand Bits simply from selling off obsolete rifles and field guns, some of which would still be most appealing to somecreature in a backward part of the world, especially since the Tobuckian arms industry collapsed. The naval guns were even better, since the navy was by far the least atrophied wing of the military and so was both modern and had little need for expansion. A tidy profit for little real loss, even with the anomalies in accounting. Unfortunately upon probing, the Olenians had apparently since launched their own tank program and the Aquileians had been uninclined to outright buy example vehicles for economic reasons, but the latter had suggested a part exchange deal for some of their own advanced infantry armour designs.

Since the Falcor War had at the time been in very recent memory, the majority of my martial remedial study had focussed upon it in the years following my return, which made me all too aware of the potential value of such an agreement, if Aquileian knights were anywhere near as potent as their Wingbardian counterparts.

Accordingly, I set that folder aside to show to Tia, since even if she would likely have little personal interest, an important diplomatic decision ought to be made in at least nominal unity.

Then I came to the minutes, and the corners of my mouth first sank, then inverted their positions into a deep frown. "Miss Where, please bring the permanent secretary to us. As fast as you may without plunging down any stairs, if you would be so good."

The mare had fled the room before the final comma was reached.

In the meantime, I fumed and ignored the spreading frost as I considered and discarded opening after opening, mostly for the sake of not emulating the imagined practices of ancient barbarian queens upon an esteemed member of the civil service.

The inevitable knock eventually came.

"Cease dithering and allow them in." I snapped before the Guard had the opportunity to get his head around the door, let alone speak.

The lonely crest vanished and the two civil servants entered, the door practically slamming behind them, propelled by an unsettled hoof.

"Thank you Miss Where, do sit and try not to be overly alarmed." I instructed, gesturing toward a mat beside my map table.

"Your maj-" Envelope began with dignity as the younger mare scurried out of immediate blast range.

My voice reverberated in the confined space, sending ears pressing reflexively against heads and drowning the hum of my horn as I brandished the offending document in front of the permanent secretary. "It has been nigh on two weeks, and this is what you give us? Hast thou lost thy mind!?"

"What do you mean, ma'am?" Envelope asked after a beat, presumably once the ringing had cleared.

"'Motion to adjourn committee pending investigation into procedural failures in recruitment schemes re additional benefits seconded and passed.'" I quoted. "Do correct us if We are mistaken Miss Envelope, but the causes for the lack of recruits are either already speculated upon in the Dotted Line Report or are rather plain to see: One hundred and ninety Bits a year is hardly better pay in exchange for vastly greater hazards than one would expect in a factory. The army is a laughingstock. Furthermore, there has been a degradation of the awareness of Equestrians to their own defence."

"You mean to say they've all gone soft, ma'am." Envelope said.

"No, secretary." I replied dangerously. "We mean precisely what We said. Equestria has not 'gone soft', there remain plenty with the drive of a soldier who simply channel it elsewhere. Sports, weather management and the like."

"Excellent, the investigation has a starting point to expand upon and quantify. After all, the precise impacts must be weighed in order to ensure an optimal impact of any actions taken to encourage enlistment." Buff Envelope replied.

I do not recall when I stood up, finally prompting the flicker of a flinch out of Envelope, but I swallowed my rising anger and lay down once more. "How long will this investigation take?"

"Not long ma'am, only about four moons?" Envelope speculated.

I considered how long the Military Reform Act might need to finish its journey through Parliament, before which I could not take much legally binding action anyway without potentially upsetting the political balance. "You have two weeks. From then I expect finished recommendations ready for enaction."

The civil servant looked shocked. "Ma'am! It doesn't work like that. A thorough investigation takes-"

"Secretary, it could be said that We have been around rather a long time." I cut in coldly. "Long enough to have learnt the ancestral tricks of the trade. You will not filibuster this program. How did Mr. Line put it again? Let us see..." I opened the introduction of the binder that had become my constant companion over the past weeks and scanned toward the bottom. "After the most serious and urgent consideration, the War Office insisted on a rigorous examination of all branches of the MP for North Meadshire's query before producing a consultative document for consideration by all interested bodies laid out above and seeking comments and recommendations to be included in a brief for a series of committees who have produced the individual studies compiled within this report joined to a feasibility study and budget analysis also contained herein for consideration by the Diarchs." I looked up. "We do believe 'thorough' has been achieved, and surpassed."

"But ma'am-" She began.

I interrupted again. "The needs of your review may be met by simply setting hoof upon the street and asking the common folk what they would like. Take it from long experience, the actions of Ponies cannot be quantified or accurately predicted by statistics. The deadline stands, and We suggest you get to work."

"Very well ma'am." Envelope said, rising. "I'll put out feelers, but I don't hold out much hope..."

"GO!" I shouted, sending more than a few papers spinning through the office.

Envelope went. When Where seemed unable to move.

As I got up to try and thaw her out of her shock, Envelope's expression lingered in the back of my mind. She would need encouragement to avoid any 'unfortunate delays', no doubt.

Isurda 30th Darkness, 1008ALB
"I am afraid that unless you can provide watertight evidence of your claims Mrs. Petunia, I cannot justly order the appropriation of that land from Mrs. Hog's farm in your family's name. Might I suggest you consult your parish records, or attempt monetary remuneration?" I said.

"Monetary remu-ner..." The shorter farmer mumbled rather loudly.

"Offer to buy it, Mrs. Petunia." I clarified.

Preferably with money, rather than another dowry. I added silently to myself as the farmers departed. Apparently, the mercifully civilised legal battle had begun between their grandparents thanks to a contentious marriage. Beyond a scuff at the floor from the disappointed party, neither seemed interested in making a scene, as happened on occasion.

None tonight though, and as those were the last of the petitioners for the evening, my anticipated moment had arrived.

"The court recognises the interest of the country." I declared, as per tradition of four centuries.

That was the signal to the ushers to allow the waiting journalists into the great hall, from which they were barred during petitions for the sake of not having oft-private matters publicised, or more accurately, to prevent the whole affair devolving into an attention-seeking circus. Joke or protest petitions were common enough without spreading them across the tabloids.

It took several minutes for the reporters to enter, bereft of their cameras for judicial reasons. Several courtiers and general onlookers took the opportunity to slip out, while others arrived.

At the last, I did have second thoughts that perhaps I was being hasty. But speed was necessary to ensure the safety of my subjects. The border between the 'weakness' of refusing to make the wrong choice and true, objective weakness had been crossed and my task was to uncross it, without stumbling over that insidious, all too close boundary of blood in the opposite direction.

Hoping this would not go down as a black day in history, I stood from my throne and spread my wings to draw silence. "Before I take any questions, I have an announcement."

I waited for the last ebb of muttering to hush before continuing. The wait was not a long one thankfully, lest the carefully memorised words prepared that afternoon flee my mind.

"I am sure all of you could name several catastrophes over the past few years that have placed our homes and loved ones in mortal peril, from abroad and within. You would be right to be alarmed when I say there are more incidents far less known, which only the actions of the Elements, or other noble individuals prevented from becoming world news. Though of course the army cannot and should not be asked to guard against every threat imaginable or otherwise, most could have been prevented by timely intervention of the brave mares who take up arms for the home they love. Indeed, and in spite of adversity heaped upon them by their own rulers, every day they risk life and limb to attempt that very thing and receive little thanks for it, from above or below. The time has come for this to change." I inserted a carefully timed pause to let the kick sink in. "A little over two weeks ago, I said that any further comment upon the investigation into the state of the military would have to wait until its conclusion. I have now to break that trust marginally, for while a censored edition of the findings is not due to begin publication for another fortnight, they clearly dictate the need for swift, sweeping action, the first phase of which has already been sent to Parliament for amendment. Beginning from the Twelfth of Watery, the recommendations held within the final report will begin to take effect and a recruitment drive will begin to fill the ranks to a standard equivalent to the other modern powers of the world in order to ensure our proud soldiers have the tools and support they need to keep us all safe, day or night... Any questions?"

The room exploded, figuratively.

"ONE AT A TIME, IF YOU PLEASE!" I bellowed after it became clear the chaos was entrenched. A few notepads near the front of the crowd blew out of hooves, claws and fields to land deeper within. Then I picked a reporter at random. "You first."

The honey-coated mare started. "Oh! Ink Blot, Tall Tale Squabbler..." She gathered herself. "How is the government going to fund this?"

The question of Bits was an anticipated one and I already had an easy answer lined up, thanks to my sister. "An increase in overseas exports of certain goods will play a role, but the Military Reform Act currently being debated in Parliament will cover the initial stages by diverting funds from the southern rail network expansion, which is currently dormant anyway due to consultations with the Buffalo. A number of industrial investments in the north-west are also being reconsidered, but Princess Celestia can answer that in more depth. Next!"

The next reporter was quicker off the mark. "Silver Pincher from the Financial Times; how will this affect the Bit in the average purse?"

"At present, not at all unless one happens to be involved in the rail or shipping industries or the army itself, since a pay rise to catch up with inflation is included in the initial reform package." I said before pointing again at random into the crowd.

"Smear Text, from The Minder." A red mare wearing a flat cap said. "What will the proposed reforms mean for working conditions within the army?"

"Other than the pay increase I have already mentioned, nothing will change in the first round." As I spoke, I realised that sounded rather bad and hurriedly raked my memory of the Report for an upbeat to end my response on. "However, that is merely first aid, so to speak. Plans have been set forth for benefits to serving soldiers, such as fast-tracked and discounted access to sports events, concerts and cinema upon displaying valid identification. Next, please."

My hoof fell upon the single Hippogriff in the hall, sage with a blue mane, who raised a claw and spoke in accented Equestrian. "Caral Ridge fram the Daily Fish. What will these refarms mean for the Royal Navy, an' where will the new recruits be sent?"

"Only a few minor changes to organisational procedure will affect the navy, since they are already functioning to an adequate, modern standard. As for the soldiers, I can only say that the planned reforms are geared toward ensuring the efficient fulfilment of existing policy." I said after quick consideration.

"Deep Delver, for the Diamond Enquirer." The next indicated stallion said with a relaxingly smooth, bass voice. "What does this mean for the status of territorial units, and the traditional autonomies?"

"Plans have been laid for a centralisation of command structures in the event of war." I replied. "In such an unfortunate scenario, territorial units must report ultimately to the General Staff for the sake of efficiency and unity of action. At other times however, local officials will retain their current authority, albeit in closer communication with central command to ensure qualitative coherence in training and equipment. Politically, a military reorganisation should not have any impact upon the functioning of government."

"Are you not worried by the suddenness of all this?" Asked a Unicorn mare with a thick Cloudsdallian accent and more than a little lagomorph about her upper jaw. "Oh, sorry. Runny Rennet, Ghastly Gazette." She added hastily.

A few glares shot about the crowd at the interruption, but since nopony seemed immediately about to follow suit, I humoured the earnest mare. Indeed, I smiled in the face of opportunity. "Worried? No. I am confident in the ability of the War Office to swiftly deliver the promised reforms they have worked so diligently upon these past moons. My only concern comes from the fact that as of this moment, Equestria is dangerously exposed to any who would do us harm. Time is against us and does not permit gradual change, therefore more drastic measures are left as the only open path to recovery. But recovery there shall be from this moment of danger, that you may take as my sworn oath."

Pencils scribbled feverishly, and my smile broadened just a little.

Melada 1st Watery, 1008ALB
This time, the Guards outside let the civil servant enter without further ado. Given the soporific feeling radiating from her, I would hardly have been surprised to hear snores coming from outside, if it weren't for the excellent soundproofing.

"Miss Envelope, good to see you this fine evening. You look like you have had quite a day. Do sit." I said, carefully ignoring the copy of Equestria Daily on the desk.

'BETTER LATE THAN NEVER? SIX YEARS ON FROM DEVESTATING WEDDING ATTACK, PALACE ANNOUNCES DRASTIC DEFENCE REFORMS' the headline read. Some had been less flattering, such as the Albion Chronicle.

"And last night as well, your Majesty." Buff Envelope replied, massaging her forehead with a pastern as she took the offered mat. "But I'm glad to be able to tell you we've come up with some drafts that will let us keep your promises. The initial predicted figures from the Somland reshuffle are also in there as a case study."

"I had every confidence in you." I said.

The mare's ears flicked as something registered in her mind. "Quite so, ma'am. I have it here."

As Envelope drew the overstuffed folder out of her satchel and passed it to me, I resisted twisting the spear. Instead, I silently opened the folder, carefully extracted one of the hastily mouthwritten papers and scanned through it.

Once satisfied with the sample, I set the folder down. "My compliments."

"If it's to your liking ma'am, I can have it finalised into an amendment for the Military Reform Act for Parliament." Buff Envelope suggested.

I shook my head. "You will do no such thing."

Protest welled visibly in her throat.

I cut it off, however. "You may have a well earnt night's sleep and send it off in the morning. I will finalise the draft myself."

Baggy eyes drifted, blinked and refocused. "Yes, ma'am. Before I go though, a word of warning. This is only the groundwork for real changes, as you put it."

"I would expect nothing else. Have you given any thought to where to proceed from here?" I asked.

Envelope smiled and drew a folded piece of paper from a pocket in her dress. "For years, ma'am."

I opened the paper. Inside was a list of bullet points, each with concise notes attached. Many of them were almost verbatim from the Dotted Line Report, but something about the battered paper seemed off to me.

I looked back at Envelope. "Just how many years, if you don't mind my asking?"

"About fifteen ma'am, depending on how you count." She replied.

Eleven years before the Report was even begun. "That is remarkable patience."

Envelope raised an eyebrow. "If something is worth doing, it's surely worth doing properly."

"We find ourselves in accord." I said. "However, there is the matter of prudence. One must adapt to the moment, Miss. Envelope."

"That's not my job, ma'am." She replied. "Somepony has to steer the middle path, or we'll all end up in a ditch."

"Prudence of another sort then." I observed.

"Yes, ma'am." She nodded toward the door. "If I may?"

"Of course, good day to you." I said, then added as she was walking out; "Oh, and muzzle up. We can reform the reforms in good time, Ancestors willing."

"I look forward to it with baited breath, ma'am." The bureaucrat said in the doorway.

The door closed.

After a moment, I looked again at the paper still held in my field.

Uniformity, pay, incentives, rehabilitation of the army's image. All at the top of the page and the first three marked with a fresh tick. The fourth was underlined.

Clever mare.

There was little time to ruminate however, I had an extensive draft to finalise tonight and after that... The coming moons would be no less busy.

Author's Note

Thank you for reading! If you liked (or disliked) the story, please do rate it and leave a comment. Constructive feedback is so very helpful in improving my writing.
The appendices for this story are available here.

Coral Ridge belongs to the ever-excellent Eltirions, thanks for letting me cameo him.