Wind gusted down the alley. Blueblood threw up a thin shield that took the edge off the wind. Heartrock hummed appreciatively. They puffed on their cigars for a moment; the brisk air on their coats and a banner of night shining between the shingle of the barracks. Blueblood spoke up, his voice cutting the silence.

“You did not explain why Tsar Adrick had an equstrianized name?”

Heartrock nodded his head with a smile.

“Of course your highness; the short story is that he hired equestrian mercenaries-” Heartrock saw Blueblood’s expression, “what?”

Blueblood shook his head, waving a hoove.

“No, no keep going.”

“No your highness, I insist, what did you want to say?”

“Equestria doesn’t have mercenaries. Except for a few criminals here and there. Did he hire criminals?”

Heartrock sighed and grumbled.

“What is a foreign pony that accepts payment for fighting?”

Blueblood thought for a moment.

“You didn’t tell me the time period; but we used to have adventurers. They would sometimes accept foreign contracts. ” Blueblood raised an eyebrow, “But that sounded rhetorical to me.”

Heartrock grunted.

“They were called that; but there isn’t a meaningful distinction.”

Blueblood shook his head. The smoke from his cigar swayed with it.

“Adventurers were held to a high code of conduct by their guilds and royal mandate. They were paid of course; but they were motivated by the thrill of adventure and altruism.”

Heartrock took a moment to process that before he started in a skeptical tone.

“Taking that characterisation as fact for a moment; they would still fit the definition of mercenary.”

“Setting aside your cynicism for a moment. Bitch, by definition, refers to any female dog breed. Refer to a female diamond dog as a ‘bitch’ and see how far strict definitions get you. Connotation is half of a word; there is a certain connotation to ‘mercenary’ that equestrian adventurers do not at all meet.”

Heartrock shook his head.

“But by your own example you are wrong. In a medical context such terminology is used appropriately according to its strict definition. And in a proper academic discussion, which I thought we were supposed to be having-”

Blueblood spluttered, and so began a heated argument, and their friendship.

They argued, talked and smoked long into the night. Their arguments and discussion meandered, sometimes sprinted, through half a dozen topics. Home life(Heartrock, it turned out, was from Manehatten; a second generation immigrant from Severnaya), History, philosophy, painting, music, the theater, moving pictures, favorite restaurants, and half a dozen different topics; never the army though, or the camp.

He was addressed as ‘prince’ and your ‘highness’. They talked about history, high art, and other worthy topics. They smoked fine cigars. Blueblood’s smile was irrepressible.

All good things had to come to an end. Heartrock’s accent was understated, but when they moved on to ‘Quest for the West Light’, Blueblood found out he struggled with ‘ship’, which he pronounced more like ‘sheep’. Heartrock tried to correct himself. Blueblood tried to help; but his tired, barely coherent explanations did not help in the slightest. Both stallions started laughing. Attempt by either of them to compose themselves and hold a straight face only prompted the other to break down again.

Heartrock, shaking from near hysterical laughter, begged off and stumbled to his barracks.

Blueblood trudged out of the alley, his smile in place. Exhaustion smothered the ever multiplying thoughts and concerns that plagued his mind these past weeks; until his mind had a dim clarity. A focus born out of the current narrow scope of his mind. In that small scope there was a pleasant warmth and the knowledge of a friend made. He rounded the corner and stood in front of the barrack’s narrow door; he stared at it, and thought of the bed within. He was tired enough to fall asleep. He turned and walked away.

The moon dimmed for a moment. He looked up. A small tuft of cloud had passed over the moon. He blinked as the cloud passed, the unfettered moonlight beamed down again. Blueblood kept wandering.

The moonlight and shadows danced over the camp, as patches of cloud obscured the moon. Under shadows, the barracks could appear vast; only to become thin and frail under the moon. A cloud flitted over the moon; and the electrical poles were at grim dark totems. It went, and they were odd, silvers trees from the depth of evertree. The colors of grasses and flowers of the valley were washed out under the moon; only to turn into dark stubble. Even the mud patches on the paths were strange; becoming oil pits or silver plates.

He turned another bend and was in front of the camp’s admission office. It was solid brick. Blueblood smile went. He should go to bed; every moment out here meant more struggle tomorrow, and for the whole week, and for the whole time he was here. Eight weeks to go. Some in his platoon had already gone to the admission office to leave. He would not, he refused. Eight weeks and he could not go. He collapsed onto the path, staring at the office. The moon passed the moon, and a glint had him turn his head. He got up slowly and trudged over and around the admission office. A metal ladder led unto the roof. He felt the ache in his limbs; but shrugged and climbed up the ladder.

It wasn’t much of a view. The one story building being the same height or not much taller than the rest of the camp. The camp was dead silent; with nopony going about this late. He was not back home. He may as well have been shipwrecked or cast to a different world.

He sighed and sat down. Could he keep this up for eight weeks? The thought struck him like an icepick; or like an ax strikes the base of a tree. Wake up tired, eat awful food, get yelled at, punished for trying to hold onto his dignity, watched as the others pulled ahead as he struggled to tread water? He struggled now, how would he struggle in six weeks? Tartarus, how would he struggle in one week? Broadflag, in his usual cheerful, sadistic manner, told them it would only get harder. It would get harder and he would only get more strained, and tired and- he shuddered.

He should talk- write his aunt. Two weeks out, two weeks in. Four- no she would send someone. Two than. Two weeks to get advice. Anyone closer by letter? No. No one that could help him. Anyone here? Blueblood spat out a bitter laugh. The only friend he had here he had only known for a handful of hours. How would he view his prince coming to beg for advice?

He shook his head. He would view his prince very poorly. Right now, if he came up that ladder, he would view his prince acting quite poorly. He could last… he would endure. He nodded firmly. So he was alone; so what? He had succeeded at anything he had put his mind and heart into. He would make it to the end of the eight weeks.

Did he want to last it like this though? Like a dog endured a beating? To then be allowed to crawl out of here. He wanted to endure like a prince. So what were his problems, and what did he need to do about them?

He was tired. That made everything worse. A good night’s sleep would help with that. He could try getting more used to the barracks? Maybe something gets mailed in? Neither was an immediate solution; but he could try both.

The whole camp rankled on him. The waiting in lines, bad uniforms, the bad food, the narrow bed that had been forced upon him; just like everyone else. He could get used to discomfort; he was already getting used to it. He had already sent a letter to Alfalfa for things to make his stay more comfortable. The second part, the disrespect for his person and rank…

That led to his third problem; Broadflag. Broadflag not only didn’t treat him with respect; he had it out for him!

Could he get Broadflag fired? Could he perhaps get the whole camp ordered to his liking? He smiled. Have some conversations, throw his influence around. His smile withered. No, this was a royal institution. A flawed one? Yes. One that his aunt should fix? Certainly. It was a royal institution nonetheless. A moment later he shook his head. On a more practical angle; exerting influence was hard when the levers were two weeks away. What could he do here?

He had already tried convincing Broadflag. He had tried everything short of bribing, begging or threatening him. Broadflag had laughed at him; or sent him to clean toilets.

The camp’s commandant? He hadn’t seen much of her; only in passing. He knew little about the eyepatched mare. That would be a blind dart. A dart that could hit a sleeping dragon. If she was as unreasonable as Broadflag; trying to get him removed… it would go badly. Of course, it wasn’t a fully blind dart. She was the camp commandant, while he hadn’t seen much of her, that didn’t mean she didn’t know how Broadflag was treating him.

He brooded, looking down on the camp. More and more clouds were passing; and now the moonlight was only a flicker.

Could he… accept it? No, certainly not. To be mistreated was one thing. To accept one’s mistreatment was a new depth of degradation.

Yet… there were certain requirements before you left basic training; shooting and athletics and others; and he was falling behind. He wouldn’t fail of course, he nodded firmly, but there was a difference between passing and excelling.

If he got Broadflag off his back. He would surely excel. Excelling at those would look good on his record. That would help him rise faster through the ranks. Even as a junior officer he would outrank Broadflag; but when he had risen higher. He grinned, got up, stretched, and started to pace the roof. He would have power; power enough to make a certain sergeant guard a sewer for the rest of his career.

Another problem was that he only had one friend here; that was downright unequestrian of him. As soon as his freetime was liberated from janitorial duti-

Blueblood blinked as light slashed across his eyes. He blinked his watering eyes at the horizon and paled. Today was going to be miserable. He headed off for the barracks, dreading the day ahead of him; but with his head high.

Author's Note

I got it done on time!

Next chapter Blueblood will put his plan into action.

As always, thank you for reading