Blueblood Has A Point

When Twilight ventured to Spike's room that evening to check on him, she saw two stacks of papers on his desk now, one of notes from the diplomacy lessons, and the other a fresh set of campaign notes. Twilight chuckled. "So, how'd the O&O game with the ambassador go?"

"It was pretty fun!" Spike said as he put the last of the miniatures away, making a mental note to fix up the paint jobs on the vamponies; the enthusiastic play had chipped their paint in a few places. "I had to come up with some modified griffon rules on the spot for character creation, but Blizzard picked up on it quickly and really got into the roleplay."

"I think I heard something about a Warrior King. You let him play royalty?"

"It's more that he earned a crown along the way." He chuckled. "I think Blueblood enjoyed it a little too. I used a pre-made necromancer build for him, since he looked a little lost when I tried to walk him through from-scratch creation, and I thought he might like a class that uses minions. But as hard as it is to tell with him, I think I saw a smile even when Blizzard wasn't looking at him."

"I really appreciate you stepping in." Twilight lit her horn and wrapped her magic around the miniature box, lifting it with care as she helped him tuck it away in its proper place. "Ambassador Blizzard has been in a much better mood, and I think I'm finally getting somewhere with a formal trade agreement between us. Blueblood's lessons paid off, huh?"

"Kinda?" Spike said with a shrug. "They were useful tips, but I wasn't just going through the motions. I actually like Blizzard. You know, when he's just being boisterous instead of a boisterous jerk." He pulled a blank piece of paper over, starting to jot down fresh notes, labelling it About Blizzard. "Did you know that he's a storyteller back home? He's a trained warrior, because all adult snow leopards are part of the militia, but that's what he was doing before he became an Ambassador. He preserves and passes on stories."

"...Huh. You know, that puts some of his behaviour in a different light." Twilight's ears twitched thoughtfully. "He really emphasized wanting to know if I lived up to the stories. It was no doubt all our acts of heroism that made him want the job in the first place." She let out a chuckle of her own. "Maybe he's even a bit frustrated that no bad guys have crashed the party so he can see for himself what I'm like in a fight."

"Probably!" Spike responded with a grin, noting down just that. "After the game ended he asked me all kinds of questions about saving the Crystal Empire. He acted a little offended I that hadn't told him right away that I was that Spike."

Twilight let out a slight laugh, then caused Spike to put the note-taking on hold as she pulled him into a hug. "I'm proud of you. You picked up some new lessons, but most importantly, you made a friend."

"Yeah." He hugged back. He was still getting used to her having feathers, but it did make for a cozy hug. "I'm feeling better about taking over for Blueblood, now. And I think I'll be writing some new rules, ones of my own, for future diplomats."

"That's great!" Twilight suddenly had that look in her eye as she grinned. "You could write a whole book! I could be your editor! And then we--"

He held up a claw. "No offense, Twilight, but after what happened after you and the girls published your book, I think I'll pass on going the same route."

Twilight blushed at the memory. "Well. This would be more how-to and less autobiographical..." She trailed off when she saw Spike shaking his head. "Okay, you win, no books... but I'm still proud of you, Chief Ambassador Spike."

He smiled. He was really starting to like the sound of that.

"...And that was when I told Tirek, 'all of my friends.'"

The dining-table-turned-gaming-table had one more creature at it now, and Spike was in the process of handing out the snacks, miniatures, sheets, and dice. Twilight had just had a blank sheet hoofed over to her, alongside a thin book labelled Dead On Arrival: Rules For Playable Vamponies And Other Undead, and she was diligently filling out the former with aid of an abacus.

"Hah!" Blizzard's paw hit the table. Spike silently retrieved the dice that had started to roll away. "I would bet that fool of a centaur didn't expect that!"

"He didn't!" Twilight agreed, not looking up from the sheet. "But he didn't see the danger in it, either. He didn't believe in the power of friendship, and even if he had, he wouldn't have expected Discord to be able to use it effectively after everything. So once the surprise wore off, he hoofed him right over with the rest."

"And then he pawed over that necklace you mentioned earlier."

"Precisely! A gift given out of true gratitude and friendship was exactly what we needed. The resulting magic was as strong as everything Tirek stole, and then some." She set the paper down. "Alright, here she is. One Vampony General, since turned good and now loyal to her Warrior King."

Spike nodded, passing Blueblood his necromancer's sheet and Blizzard his warrior's. "Sounds good! We're going to do a little timeskip, so the vamponies will have had some time to integrate before this next adventure."

"Oh, oh, could the General have a private library that she's been tending to since she was liberated?"

"Sure, Twilight."

"And my warrior will have been taking part in fighting tournaments when not ruling his undead subjects!"

"Right, I'll note that down."

"And my necromancer will have been continuing his research. He hasn't given up on potentially finding a way to revert a vampony back into a living pony."

Spike smiled, catching the sparkle in Blueblood's eyes that he was almost sure couldn't be faked. It would always be hard to read the prince, but he found himself wondering what Blueblood might have done with himself if he hadn't been royalty, and been thrust into politics.

Would he have played more games like this? Or, would he even have chosen a life similar to his character's, a researcher who kept mostly to himself but nonetheless worked to make a difference?

Spike supposed he'd never know. Blueblood would likely keep tight-lipped if asked, or even tell Spike what he thought he wanted to hear. But he did find himself hoping that he might keep coming back to his table. He was a good roleplayer, and surprisingly good team player, not having made a move to hog the spotlight once.

Maybe the two of them could be friends, after all. In small doses.

Legends would be told for countless generations, of the war between the living and undead.

Bards would tell tale of the age when vamponies sought to rule the land, and render the creatures that they needed the lifeblood of to survive into mere livestock. They would speak of the darkly charismatic Vampony Lord who'd worked them into a fervour and convinced them that it was the only way to end the hunts against their kind.

Then they would tell of the Warrior of the North, the feline who had ventured through the eternal snowstorms down into the land of the ponies. They would tell of his recovery of the ancient sword strong enough to kill the Vampony Lord, would sing their praises of the climactic duel where he slew the tyrant in honourable single combat.

They would also tell of his kindness. For when the Warrior of the North beheld his enemies, he did not turn the sword upon them and slaughter the vamponies who, beneath their black armour, looked thin, hungry, and frightened. When they threw themselves to the ground, he showed them mercy, welcoming them beneath his own banner.

The Vampony General was the first to bend knee to the new Warrior King, rallying her people to take the new path that had been so generously offered, and for the first time, living and undead fought side-by-side, not as master and minion, but as equals and friends.

The Warrior King sought out a powerful unicorn necromancer, who was able to mend the wounds on dead flesh, and helped create elixirs that would nourish a vampony in the same manner as blood. Together, they returned an army on its last legs to better vitality than they'd ever known in life, and with it, restored hope to a people.

Now, when evil raises its head, we look to the deathly soldiers who have put themselves on the front lines time and time again, in the names of the honourable warrior and the diligent necromancer who helped them cast off their shackles and gave them a second chance.

And the rest, as they say, is history.