The Mare With No Story And Other Promising Tales

Chapters

The Mare With No Story
Princess Luna and the Dragon Prince
The Soldier Who...
Finnick and Foible
The Duel
The Flying Ship
Three Brothers and Celestia

The Mare With No Story

Back in the day, everypony told stories. At day’s end (because there was bugger all else to do) they’d meet up somewhere public and share stories. Or sing songs, or play music or (ulp) read poetry. And everyone would have something to tell, or sing, or play, or (Celestia forbid) read. Well, everyone except one mare.

They called her Shy, because, well, she was shy. Excessively so. She was tall, having suffered from gangling early in life, and had big blue watery eyes. She could look awkward anywhere. She slept awkwardly. And try as she might, she couldn’t tell stories. She loved to hear them, sure enough, but when it came to telling you were better off asking a brick wall. You’d probably have better luck, too.

When it came to her turn, she’d stand, maybe mumble a few sentences, then sit back down and hide behind her long pink fringe. This got her the annoyance of some, and the pity of others, but no matter what they might think, it always made Shy feel bad. She hated not being able to tell a story, but she just couldn’t. Not in front of all those ponies.

Anyway, this particular story starts with Shy walking home. And it was a horrible night to be walking home in. Rain pelted at her horizontally, soaking her through, the wind blew right through her gangly legs, and lighting flashed and thunder boomed making her flinch. She was struggling on down the road, when suddenly, she saw a flicker up ahead. She stumbled onwards, and the flicker became a light in a window and the window was in... well, what looked like a tree. In fact, it was a tree, but with a door, and windows, and all manner of homely touches.

Now, Shy was wary of this place. She’d heard about the mare who lived in this house, about how she practiced dark magic. That almost stopped her from going in, but common sense won through. Come on, she thought, it’s cold, it’s wet, and it’ll be warm and dry in there.

So she knocked on the door, and it was opened by a purple dragon. He ushered her inside, and although she was afraid, she wanted to be warm more than anything else. Inside, there was a wide circle of ponies who Shy recognised. At the far side, a purple unicorn rose and smiled.

“Hello and welcome, Shy!” she said. “You’re just in time.”

“In time for what?” said Shy, in a quiet kind of voice (as if she had another kind).

“In time for the competition, of course!” the mare said, cheerily. “We’re having a competition of stories!”

Shy almost dashed back outside. Stories! She couldn’t tell stories!

“Whoever tells the best story will get the golden cup of stories,” said the mare, levitating a small golden trophy. “And whoever tells the biggest lie will win the silver cup of lies,” which was levitated too.

“So take a seat, why don’t you.”

The ponies shuffled over to make space, and Shy took her place. Awkwardly, of course. A mare in a stetson stood at the far side of the circle.

“Unaccustomed as I am t’public speakin’, I got a story about stories, so I reckon that’s a good place to start.”

So she told her story, and everyone agreed it was a pretty good story. Then a blue pegasus stood.

"See, I’ve got a story a bit like that one, but not quite.”

And she told it, and everyone said yeah, that was a pretty alright story. So it slowly worked around the circle, and the whole time, Shy was panicking. What was she going to do? She wished the ground would open up underneath her. Right, she thought, when it gets to me, I’ll just say anything, and then my turn will be over and I can just listen to the others. I don’t want to win, after all.

Then, all of a sudden, it was her turn. All heads turned, and there was an awful, long silence. Slowly, very slowly, Shy stood, unfolded her long legs and opened her mouth to say something, anything. But she couldn’t. Not with all these ponies looking at her. Her mouth went dry, her knees started to shake and she clammed up.

All she could say was, in her quietest voice, “I’m sorry, I can’t tell a story.”

The unicorn shook her head slowly. “Tut tut, Shy. You know what this means? You’ll have to pay a forfeit. Go down to the lake. By the lake, you will find a boat. I want you to bail all the rainwater out of that boat with your hooves, and nothing else.”

Well, Shy thought to herself, that wasn’t so bad. If she was quick, she could be back to hear the end of the stories. So she went over to the door (the dragon opened it for her) and went out.

The rain and wind had stopped, and it was a clear, still night as Shy went down to the lake. The boat was on the shore, as the mare had said. It was resting, half on the pebbles, half in the water. And, as the mare had said, it was full of rainwater. Shy went over to it and cupped her hooves and tried to bail the rainwater out.

Now I don’t know if you’ve ever tried to bail with hooves, but it doesn’t work very well at all. You can’t cup hooves, for one thing. Only a trickle of water left the boat each time. Shy was getting pretty annoyed. She was getting a little trickle of water out each time, and the boat was still half full! (Or half empty, depending on your outlook).

Shy was having none of this. She might have been shy, but she took no nonsense from inanimate objects. She cupped her wings (because she was a pegasus, of course), and started to bail it out like that. That was better, she was getting a decent amount out each time. Soon the boat was three quarters empty, and Shy climbed in to get the last of the water out.

Unfortunately, she was just getting into the boat when she put her weight in the wrong place and it lurched. She tried to stop it, but her awkward limbs just got twisted up and she fell forward into the boat with a THUMP.

And like that, she went out like a light.

After a time, she came to. She was lying on her back in the boat, and her head felt like someone had worked it over with a claw hammer. She was staring at a dark sky, studded with stars. So it was still night time, and not too much time had passed. She got to her hooves, and the boat rocked alarmingly. She stretched her hooves out to steady it, and to her surprise, not only did it stop, but her hooves didn’t get all tangled up like they usually did.

She looked, and saw her legs weren’t gangly and wiry any more. They were sturdy, muscular and red. She patted herself down quickly, and found her thin, toast-rack chest had been replaced with one you could beat horseshoes on. She leaned over the side of the boat, and saw her reflection looking back at her.

Green eyed, ginger haired, red coated, unshorn fetlocks, muscles like they’d been chiseled from stone. Oh, and she was a stallion.

As is only natural for such circumstances, she freaked out. She curled up in the boat, shaking. She shut her eyes tight. Then, she opened them. Nothing changed. She shut her eyes again, and opened them. Nope, still a stallion.

She did it again, over and over, expecting to see her usual hooves and her usual lanky legs, but each time she was disappointed. She steadied her breathing and sat up in the boat. Okay, stop worrying. Stop worrying. You can deal with this.

Eventually, with a deep sigh (and when you’re built like she was, you can sigh as deep as the freakin’ ocean), she started to row herself back to shore. She pulled the boat up (surprisingly easy now all her limbs were in accord) and took stock. It was clearly not the same shore she had set out from. The trees were different, for one thing, and the pebbles were a different colour.

That meant she was either somewhere else entirely, or she was just on the other side of the lake. All things considered, she knew which one she’d prefer it to be, and in that case she could just walk around, go and see the mare in the tree and ask her to use her freaky-deaky powers to fix all this.

With that in mind, she set off around the lake, trying not to look at her new hooves. She found a road in short order, and was walking along, when a mare stepped out in front of her.

“Oh goodness!” said the mare, jumping with what looked to Shy like not entirely genuine fright. “You scared the life out of me.”

“Sorry,” Shy rumbled. Then she blushed for having rumbled.

The mare looked her up and down, and Shy looked the mare up and down. She was a unicorn, white coat (but with maybe a hint of grey?) with a fabulously maintained mane. Shy decided she really liked her mane. It stopped her eyes from wandering.

“You aren't from around here, are you?” said the mare. “Where’ve you come from?”

Shy wanted to talk about the forfeit, the lake and the boat, but it all seemed so strange. She couldn’t bring herself to say it out loud.

“I don’t know,” she said instead.

“You don’t know? Well, alright, where are you going?” said the mare, kindly.

And Shy wanted to say about the tree house, the mare who practiced the dark arts, and how she could be changed back. But again, she just didn’t know where to start.

“I don’t know,” she said, after a bit of indecision.

“So, let me get this straight,” said the mare, in a very forthright manner. “You don’t know where you’ve come from and you don’t know where you’re going. You are, in short, lost!”

Shy shrugged and cast her eyes low.

“Well... don’t you worry about it,” said the mare, smiling and sidling up beside Shy. “My father's house is just down the way. We can put you up for the night.”

Shy thanked her profusely.

“Come along then,” said the mare, twitching her head down the path.

They set off. Shy walked beside the mare, keeping pace quite happily.

“So, what’s your name?” the mare said, idly.

“Shy,” she said, trying to control the rumble in her voice and not succeeding.

“Shy, eh? An odd name for a strapping stallion like you.”

She was glad it was dark. The mare couldn’t see her blushing furiously.

In short order, they reached the house. It was finely built, with pleasant, lilac-coloured stone, had purple tiles, and columns in a very nice neo-pegasus style. A merry light flickered in the ornate windows. They walked up to the door, where the mare stopped and turned to Shy.

“Don’t worry if my father is a little... abrasive,” she said. “He means well enough.”

She opened the door and walked in. Shy paused for a moment before following her in. Inside, the decorations were as lovely as the outside. Thick carpets, well upholstered furniture, crushed velvet curtains. Yes, a pony could live well in a place like this. A stallion with a fabulous mustache and a monocle sat in an armchair in the corner, smoking a pipe.

“Rarity!” he said, when he saw the mare enter. Then, when he saw Shy, he continued with, “who on earth is this?”

“This is Shy, father,” she said, standing by Shy’s side. “He escorted me home, and I’d like to repay the favour by letting him stay the night.”

“Escorted you home, eh?” said the stallion, rising like a vengeful sun. He walked over to Shy, and tried to look intimidating, despite barely coming up to her chin. He squinted, threateningly. “Out of the goodness of his heart, eh?”

“Father, don’t do this...”

“I have your best interests at heart, my dear,” he said, soothingly. Then, he turned back to Shy. “You have, I take it, treated my daughter with nothing but the greatest care?”

Shy nodded meekly..

The stallion nodded, his lip curled a little. “Well, I see nothing wrong with lending him the spare room. On the ground floor.”

“Yes, father,” said Rarity, rolling her eyes. “Of course.”

“Provided he is willing to lend his prodigious strength tomorrow for some chores.”

"Oh father...”

So it was, Shy got to sleep over the night in return for labour in the morning. The next day, at first light, she was up, hauling firewood in from a great cart. Oddly she found it easy work. She carried great logs to the shed at the back two, three, four at a time. It felt good to get her muscles moving. Once she thought she saw a flash of white and purple watching from one of the second storey windows, but she paid it no heed. After her work was done, she thought, she would go and see the mare in the tree.

But despite the luxurious house, the family had no servants, and seeing such a wonderful source of labour go to waste offended the father’s sensibilities. So after the firewood, there was water to fetch for Rarity’s bath, then there was breakfast to make and serve. Then there was dusting, windows to be washed, skirting boards to be scraped clean. Then there was dinner to make and serve and Rarity’s second bath to arrange...

Shy did the work of ten ponies that day. Luckily, she could.

That evening, she thought, she would go and see the mare in the tree house. Now was the time. She had finished her last chores, and was on the cusp of leaving, just opening the door a crack, when she heard a voice behind her.

“Leaving so soon?”

She turned, and saw Rarity wearing a dressing gown, with her hair tied up in a towel. Shy wondered idly how she managed to make wearing clothes look better than wearing none at all. Then she blushed for having thought that.

“N-no, I was just going out to fetch something,” she said.

The mare in the tree could wait, she thought. Tomorrow, she would go and see her.

But tomorrow, there was the same work to be done. Firewood, breakfast, bath, cleaning, dinner, second bath. The whole time, Shy was telling herself, this evening, this evening I’ll see the mare in the tree and I’ll get myself sorted out. However, that evening, though Rarity’s father had taken her aside.

“Say, it’s been awfully sporting of you to stick around and help us out here,” he said, leaning in conspiratorially, so close the smoke from his pipe almost made her sneeze. “Not as spry as I used to be, you know. Been awfully useful, having you around to lend a hoof.”

Shy shrugged and muttered that it was nothing. He just laughed and slapped her on the broad back.

“So modest! Ha! Well I was wondering if you might stick around a while longer. It’d be a deuced help having you around.”

Shy thought to say no, to tell him about the mare in the tree who’d return her to her old body, but then she looked at the stallion who had looked so tough and imposing two nights ago, and saw the bags under his eyes, heard the way he wheezed when he spoke.

So she said yes. She agreed to stay and help him and Rarity. And slowly, she became a friend of the family. Whenever Rarity would talk on about small scandals and big business, she would listen patiently and speak her mind. She’d offer assistance whenever Rarity came home in tears about some problem with a customer or an acquaintance. And she liked to comfort her, the way Rarity would smile bashfully and pretend she had never had a problem in the first place.

And Shy became friends with her father, too. He would laugh and joke with her, helping her with the more physical tasks, even though it clearly pained him to. And she appreciated his company, for he was such a font of good cheer and well-meaning bluster.

Then, one night, he asked to see Shy alone. He poured brandy and offered Shy a cigar which she was too polite to decline. She puffed and coughed in roughly equal measure. Rarity’s father smiled and smoked his own quite calmly. For a while, the only sound that could be heard was the grandfather clock, ticking away. Then, he spoke.

“I’m getting old, Shy my boy,” he said, and the wheeze was out in full force. “I haven’t lived well,” he waved his cigar vaguely, “and it’s catching up. I’ll soon be moving on from this mortal coil.”

Shy protested. He’d never looked better, he was fine, it was just the dry air getting to him, but he waved it all down.

“I know it, Shy. In my bones, I know it. A stallion gets a feel for these things, once he’s lived to an age like mine.”

He paused and took a sip of brandy.

“I want you to look after her when I’m gone,” he said, slowly. “I want you to do the decent thing. I want you to marry her.”

Shy’s mouth dropped open. She mouthed a response, but Rarity’s father went on.

“I won’t hear anything against it. I know it must seem awfully indecent of me, forcing you two together, but there’d be talk if the two of your were living together under one roof out of wedlock, and I know how dear Rarity can’t stand scandal.”

(It was, you see, a long time ago. Ponies worried about such things)

“And anyway, you must’ve seen the way she looks at you, old thing," He said, leaning in, one eyebrow raised and his moustache twitching. Underneath, a smile unsuitable for foals lurked. "She’s got her eye on you. Both of them, a lot of the time.”

Shy bit her lip. She couldn’t marry! She was far too young to marry, and not to another mare. It’d be... well, it didn’t bear thinking about. She tried to think of the right thing to say, the thing that that would get her out of the situation. But then, she looked at the old stallion, and saw that that was out of the question. She’d be betraying his trust. She owed it to him. Besides, she thought with a blush, Rarity had been giving her odd looks...

So she said yes. And within the week, Rarity’s father had died. It was his lungs in the end, they said. Rarity and Shy stood by the graveside, long after everyone had left. Shy held an umbrella over Rarity, for rain had been scheduled that afternoon, specially for the occasion. Rarity was leaning against Shy, her cheek brushing her neck in a way that made Shy at once uncomfortable, yet comforted.

“It’s so odd, now he’s gone,” said Rarity, slowly. “He was always... there, you know?”

Rarity sighed and nuzzled Shy’s side gently.

“I don’t know what I’ll do. I just...”

Shy had been fully expecting her to cry, but she hadn’t expected the full force of it. Rarity didn’t embrace Shy so much as drape herself on her like wet laundry, sniffing and sobbing. Shy hugged her back with her strong hooves

“Promise me, Shy,” said Rarity, through the tears. “Promise me you won’t go.”

What could she say? So she said yes. Within a fortnight, they were engaged, and within the month they were married. And as they say, after love, and after marriage, there naturally come the babies in the baby carriage. In due time, Rarity gave birth to three foals, beautiful colts, much to Shy’s puzzlement. Two unicorns, and one pegasus, and she watched with pride as they grew up. They lived in the family house quite happily for many years.

Until, one day in summer, just as the sun was going down, the family made a fateful decision. They would go out on a family walk, just down to the lake and back to watch the sunset, and naturally that sounded like a wonderful idea. So off they went, Shy, Rarity and their three sons, down to the lake.

The sun was going down in the west like the big ball of fire it was, glittering off the pebbles of the lake shore. And sitting on the pebbles, with all the innocence of a loaded gun, was a boat. As they walked past it, Shy walked closer than the others. She inspected the boat, and found it very interesting indeed.

“Shy, what are you doing?”

“Just looking, dear.”

She ran a hoof along the timbers. It was very... familiar.

“What’s say we go out on the lake? I’m sure the view will be spectacular out there.”

And her family said that that was a fine idea. So, Shy went to push the boat into the water. She braced her hooves against the front and heaved. The boat glided down to the water, smooth as anything, until it reached the water’s edge, where it hit something. A rock, maybe. The jolt sent Shy flying, over the stern of the boat, and into it. She landed on her head with a THUMP.

The boat drifted out into the lake, as she drifted out of consciousness.

When she opened her eyes, she was on her back. She must have been out a long time, because the sky was dark and studded with stars. She went to sit up, but found her limbs didn’t end where she thought they did. And they all seemed to have had a falling-out while she was unconscious. She scrabbled and skittered on thin, yellow legs. Then she realised. Something was wrong. Oh no, she thought. Oh no, no, no...

She hauled herself over to the side of the boat and looked at her reflection. Sure enough, there were two, big watery eyes, four long lanky legs and a long, pink mane over her face. And, of course, she was a mare now.

Then a thought came to her, and fear ran down her back like an ice cube. Rarity! Her foals! She paddled the boat on with her hooves until she reached the shore, where she leapt out on to the pebbles. She ran up the beach, calling over and over again. The first house she came to, she burst in and said, as loud as she could.

“Has anyone seen Rarity? Has anyone seen my sons?”

The purple mare stood slowly. “Back so soon?”

Shy didn’t listen. “I said has anyone seen my sons?”

“Didn’t know you had any, Shy,” said a voice from the audience. “Didn’t know you had a family.”

Shy took a moment to look around. She was back in the tree house, back in front of the audience. She feared for herself, but feared for her family more.

“Yes, I have a family! I have a beautiful wife, and three handsome sons! Now, has anyone seen them?”

The purple mare walked up to her, smiling faintly.

“You’d better tell us all about them, first.”

So she did. She told them about the boat, about how she’d woken up as a stallion, how she’d met Rarity, how she’d been taken in, of her life with them, how the father had died and entrusted Rarity’s safety to her. How they’d married, had children. Every moment up until the moment she’d stepped back into the tree house.

When she finished, the unicorn considered it for the longest time. Shy stood, breathing heavily, her mane straggled across her forehead. Slowly, the purple mare levitated the golden trophy.

“More than anypony else, I think you deserve the golden cup of stories, for the best story.”

“But it wasn’t a story!” said Shy, desperately. “It’s all true.”

The mare laughed, and levitated the second trophy. “And for that, you get the silver cup, for the most outrageous lie I’ve ever heard!”

Shy wanted to say something, but the look the unicorn gave her changed her mind.

So, whenever ponies gathered to tell stories, Shy had one to tell. In time, she could tell other stories too, her eyes stopped being quite so watery, and she stopped walking so awkwardly. In time, she became confident. And ponies stopped asking her whether her story was true, because if you did, she’d only show you the silver cup and tell you, look, it was all a lie. It must have been.

Except, sometimes, when the sun sets over the lake, you can see her standing on the shore, looking out over the water. And maybe one day, she’ll set out in a boat to the shore where the trees are different and the pebbles are a different colour. And maybe one day, she won’t come back.

Princess Luna and the Dragon Prince

Long ago, the survival of Equestria was far from certain. It was threatened from every direction; from the dragons to the south, the griffons to the east, the windigoes to the north and the sheep of Connemara to the west. Don’t laugh, the sheep were as dangerous as any. After all, who hasn’t heard of Wooliam Wallace, and his famous battlecry, ‘give me liberty or give me mint sauce’?

You haven’t? Oh, well, I should probably tell you it sometime.

But our story isn’t about sheep. It’s about the other great danger to Equestria at that time; dragons. Back in the day, dragons weren’t the isolationist, apathetic creatures we know today. Once, they were mighty. The dragon king ruled from Ghastly Gorge to the Cape of No Hope, lording it over ponies, buffalo and sheep alike. He ruled with an iron claw, encrusted with jewels looted from other dragons and given as gifts in return for not burning cities to ash. Or at least, burning them less.

If you were a dragon, you learned that might was right, and as the mightiest of all creatures, you had the most right. Essentially, you always got what you wanted. It was a shame therefore, that the dragon prince wanted Princess Luna.

The prince was tall and proud, with a great flame-red ridge of spines down his back and teeth long as swords and sharp as diamond. However, though he had the body of a dragon, he had the heart and soul of a poet. He’d heard of Princess Luna’s beauty, how it was second to none, that her wisdom was greater than any, and that her lands were broad and fertile. Her lands, I said. Point is, he was infatuated. His thoughts were always full of this distant, mysterious princess.

Although the dragon prince was crushing hard, he understood that Equestrian customs were different to his own. So rather than burn their lands to the ground and take the Princess for himself (as was dragon custom), he sent a messenger to announce his intentions and to add a friendly note that he would be coming in person to collect his bride within a week. There was no mention of what would happen if they didn’t cooperate. Dragons, as I say, were used to getting what they wanted.

Now, when this message arrived, Princess Celestia panicked.

“You can’t marry the dragon prince!” she said, her pink mane (because pink was in style back then) all a mess with worry. “He’s vicious, cruel, and smells like a burnt sock-drawer.”

“Don’t you see, though?” said Luna, sighing. “That’s why I have to marry him.”

“You like the smell of burnt sock drawers?” said Celestia, trying to break her own tension. As it was, she just smiled a horrible, tight smile, with tears in her eyes.

“No, sister,” said Luna, gently. “If I refuse him, what will he do to Equestria? What will he do to our little ponies?”

It didn’t really bear thinking about. Dragons got what they wanted for a reason, after all.

“But...” Celestia cast her eyes low, “what will I do without you?”

Luna smiled sadly and shrugged. “I don’t know, sister. But I know you’ll manage.”

So, for the good of her country, Luna went south. A message was sent on ahead that she would make the trip down. She went unaccompanied down the long road, through Equestria’s green and fertile country, through the dusty land south of the river, and into dragon country. There, the burnt sticks of trees stood lonely in the broad red wasteland. Here and there, nervous clusters of buffalo and ponies sat in the burnt remains of their teepees and houses. Night fell at noon under the vast pall of smoke from a hundred thousand dragons. Loners circled ominously overhead, but they left Luna alone.

So, on she went until she reached the dragon hall, dug out under what would later be called the Macintosh Hills, but at that point, were known to all as the Spine Range. It was taller back then, and riven with caves. It was the closest thing the dragons had to a city, really. Smoke hung around it like a thunderhead.

She walked with her into the throne room, where the prince sat with his father on the golden throne. Well, it wasn’t really a throne. Dragons were still dragons after all, so it was more a giant pile of gold, acquired from half a continent of pillage. She was eyed enviously by all the other dragon maidens, because although he smelled like a burnt sock drawer, the prince was quite a catch by dragon standards. To them, she was just a nuisance. To her, they were absolutely terrifying. The dragon prince perked up when she entered, swanning down to greet her, his wings out wide.

“Dear Princess Luna!” he said, spreading his claws to embrace her.

“Your grace,” she said, bowing her head.

“This is your bride to be?” said his father, frowning as only a dragon patriarch can frown. His eye-ridges lifted a good foot at the edge and furrowed like a ploughed field in the middle.

“Yes, father. I’ve heard of her beauty, her wisdom and of her land, and I wish to marry her!”

Any other time, the dragon king would have ranted on about how his son should wait, choose a more suitable bride, but truth be told, this was probably as suitable as they’d come. After all, he thought in his slow reptilian way, marrying into the royalty of Equestria would open new opportunities...

So, instead of arguing, he said, “Very well! My son shall marry Princess Luna, and our two kingdoms will be joined as one!”

Luna opened her mouth to protest, but she was in dragon country now. In any case anything she’d said would’ve been lost in the roar of approval from the dragons.

So she was taken to her chambers, which turned out to be a cavern with a roof twenty feet high. There was no bed, but there was a complimentary pile of gems and gold. She lay on it miserably, trying to think of a way to get out of this mess. She felt her sister lifting the moon in her absence, straining against the unfamiliar weight (after all, the sun is a light thing by comparison to a ball of solid rock). She sighed, wishing she could see it wobbling uncertainly into the sky. What would it be tonight? A sickle moon, wasn’t it? How she loved sickle moons. How she loved all the phases of the moon, even the gibbous moon, which no one but her remembered.

And like that, an idea came to her.

The next morning, with the sun barely risen, she trotted to meet the prince.

“Oh prince,” she said, doing her best to sound excited, “how go the arrangements for our wedding?”

“Arrangements?” he said, raising one eyebrow. “I thought it would just be a short ceremony later today...?”

Her face fell. She glowered at him.

“What," she said.

The dragon wilted in the face of her stare. His spines drooped and he hung his head. “Well, I just thought...”

"THIS IS A ROYAL WEDDING!” she said, the Canterlot Royal Voice shaking dust of the ceiling. “If we are not going to be BEAUTIFUL on OUR SPECIAL DAY, the we hardly see WHY WE SHOULD BE MARRYING YOU AT ALL!”

The dragon prince quivered. “B-but of course, my sweet. W-what do you require?”

“A dress,” said Luna, simply.

“Just a dress...?”

“And a matching dresses for the bridesmaids, and a suit for you, and the decorations, and the cake, and the food for the reception, and the venue for the reception, the guest lists, the music, the portrait-painter...”

The prince broke out into a nervous sweat. All this sounded... expensive. He was just about to interrupt, but Luna timed a flutter of her eyelashes just right, and he melted like butter.

So he set about making arrangements. Or rather, Luna told him what arrangements to make and he paid for them.

Well, his father would pay for them. The dragon prince first had to talk to him about it all.

“Faaaatheeer...” he said, drawing it out like all children asking for uncomfortable sums of money.

"What is it now?”

“Well, you see,” said the prince, wringing his hands together, “my dear bride to be has some rather... specific ideas about our wedding.”

“You mean expensive?” said the dragon king, who wasn't stupid.

"Well, father, it might not be cheap..."

The dragon king sighed

"I don't know what the world's coming to," he muttered. "In my day, if we needed anything we just took it. Why, when I was your age..."

So he went on about the youth of today, and how his son should get his own hoard some day, but in the end, he relented. A dressmaker was called from Equestria to make the dress (after all, dragons are not known for their haute couture), and of course, because this was a ROYAL WEDDING, only the best would do. In the event, however, they got Stitching Time, whose only claim to fame was his inability to finish anything on according to deadline. He arrived with his great travelling case, full of pins, needles, thread, swatches, bolts of silk, cotton, wool, and of course, his tape measure.

He grovelled before Luna. You know the kind of thing. Oh my dear Princess, I am not worthy, this miserable pony shall endeavour to do as best he can, etc etc etc. It was all the same to him, really. The dragon king was paying him a mint for this dress. Luna wasn’t in the mood for sycophancy, though.

“Come on now, get measuring.”

“Oh of course, of course.”

So he set about taking her dimensions, comparing fabrics to her coat, muttering arcane phrases of colour, texture and machine washability. He rushed over to his drawing board, sketching designs.

“Yes, yes...” he said. “It should be ready within a week.”

Luna nodded skeptically. If Stitching said a week, he meant a month. Which was what she needed, actually.

Time passed as time does. In the sky above Equestria, the moon waxed full. And deep down in the dragon city under the mountain, so did Luna. And at the end of that month, Stitching announced that the dress was ready. Luna went down in the company of the three chosen bridesmaids (all beautiful mares with deep purple coats and great, leathery wings who had arrived last week). Stitching Time hit the floor like it was going out of style when she walked in, bowing and scraping for all he was worth.

“Your dress is ready, your grace,” he said to the floor, apparently.

And it was. Say what you wanted about Stitching’s approach to deadlines, he knew dresses, and he’d poured his heart and soul into this one. Every seam was perfect, every last bit of lace. The bridesmaids took it off its stand carefully and held it up for Luna to step into. Stitching bit his hooves in anticipation.

Luna put one hoof forward into a sleeve and... RIP. It split right down the middle.

“It appears you have made it too small,” said Luna, imperiously.

If Stitching Time heard her, he gave no indication. His face had fallen, his mouth flapping.

“I... I... I’m...”

“Take our measurements and try again,” said Luna, nose high in the air. “I believe all it needs are a few adjustments.”

Stitching Time nodded dimly, picking up his tape measure. He took her measurements again (all the numbers were higher this time, but he didn’t comment on it) and went over to the torn dress. Luna exited with her bridesmaids, trying to ignore the sobbing and sniffing.

Stitching Time went back to the dress, but he didn’t just make adjustments. He tore up the old design and started again. So of course, it took him another month to finish this new, plus-size design.

The bill went straight to the dragon king, who stared at it. furiously.

"Another dress?" he roared. "Why on earth would she need ANOTHER dress?"

"B-because the first as too small, father," said the dragon prince, flinching.

The dragon king ranted again about the youth of today, and how back in his day, they'd marry there and then, and that'd be an end to it. But, of course, in the end, he relented.

Stitching worked away, as plans for the wedding were drawn up, rejected, re-drawn and rejected again, as the dragon king’s short temper was whittled down further, and as his treasure pile depleted from the cost of the whole thing. And all the while, the moon waned and waned high above the world. And underneath, in the dragon city, so did Luna. All according to plan.

So it came to be, a month later, on the day when the decorations arrived (long, tall pillars capped with ram's heads. A sop to the sheep, perhaps?) Stitching Time announced that the dress was ready. Luna was once again ushered down to see her dress. Stitching Time bowed low and gestured to it.

“Stitching Time?” Luna said, sweetly.

“Yes, your majesty?”

“Are you implying I am fat?”

He blustered. Didn’t say any actual words, just made blustery noises.

“Because I remember asking for a dress, not a tent.”

“P-perhaps is madam would just try it...?” Stitching Time ventured.

Luna harrumphed and stepped forward into the dress. Of course, it was like wearing a bedspread. It may have been beautiful, it may have been radiant, but it simply did not fit. Luna sighed deeply and threw it off.

“This will never do, Stitching. I must have another.”

He sighed, deeply and miserably, and nodded. It would be done.

Well, actually, it wouldn’t. When the bill came to the dragon king, he roared with fury.

“MORE GOLD? What possible use could he have for gold? He’s a tailor for heaven’s sake!”

The dragon king would have no more of this. He very quickly came to a very loud decision. He stormed to his son’s quarters and burst in.

“That’s it, son! You’re marrying that damn pony this week!” he said, fuming. “She’s been nothing but trouble since she arrived. Worse than that, she’s been nothing but a giant waste of money!”

The son protested and whined. Oh the preparations aren’t complete, she’s still hoping for the arrival of the band, I’m not ready to commit just yet. His father swept them all aside.

"You. Her. In front of the altar. NOW.”

So it was agreed (under a certain degree of duress), that that’s how it would be. The guards were sent to fetch Luna and... wait, where did those guards go?

“They’ve been gone an hour,” the king muttered. “Send some more.”

So the guards were sent to fetch Princess Luna and... how odd, they didn’t come back. And the dragon king is getting angry, so he storms off at the head of a little knot of guards. Now, I haven’t mentioned this, but a dragon storming is an impressive thing. The mountains shook from top to bottom, such was his anger.

They reached her chamber, burst in, and found it empty. Well, apart from the guards. Ten hand-picked bodyguards all tied up with strips of... was that lace? One of them had a note pinned to him.

Dear Dragon King

Sorry I cannot attend the wedding. I am afraid I have been rescued by my loyal Night Guards. Thank you awfully for the room, and sorry about the dresses. Stitching Time has decided to come with us, despite your outstanding debt to him.

Yours sincerely, Luna.

The dragon king's eyes boggled and bulged. They wandered around the room, over to the hole rammed in the wall, beside the pillar. The pillar? Oh, it was one of the ones Luna had insisted on for the reception. Long, sturdy, and capped with a ram's head. One of the expensive ones made with reinforced iron. His fury built up. Steam poured out of his ears. Then, he remembered his treasure pile, much depleted from the wedding planning, remembered his son's constant whining about his bride, and remembered that, whatever else might happen, he was still king.

"Oh thank god!" he said, laughing with great, booming chuckles. "She's gone!"

So Princess Luna returned to Equestria to rule with her sister. The dragon king passed away within a few centuries (they said it was the stress), and his son inherited the throne. But he was no king. He was reasonable, generous and forgiving, and the dragon kingdoms fell apart in a flurry of squabbles and civil wars.

Equestria knew peace, for a time. Well, until the time of Wooliam Wallace. But that's a story for later.

The Soldier Who...

Once, there was an Equestrian soldier, walking back from the war. Back in the day, you were conscripted at 18 and held in service for twenty years, and if you survived, you were given your back pay and sent on your way. In this case, her back-pay consisted of three old, dry biscuits. How odd, the whole time she’d been in the army, she’d been fed, clothed and housed (not always in fabulous style, but nonetheless...), yet now she was a free mare, she had next to nothing.

Well, she pondered on that as she strolled down the long winding way back home. And home was a long, long way away, for the war had brought her out here to the ends of the earth, where you could see it curve all the way down into darkness. She trotted on, through a desolate land, where the sky hung dark overhead and the trees grew crooked. Mud sucked at her boots and rain fell all about.

She was still making her way home, when she saw a beggar by the side of the road, dressed in rags and propped up with two crutches.

“Alms,” he cried, pitifully, “alms for an old soldier who’s lost his forelegs!”

And the soldier mare’s heart was moved by this. So she went over to him, and passed him one of her pieces of bread.

“Here, brother. You need this more than me.”

“Bless you, ma’am,” he said, bowing his head. “Doubtless you’ll be rewarded.”

The mare nodded politely and set off, through the dark country where rocks stuck out white as bones on the blackened hills. Past the idle quarry and over a muddy stream, she soon met another beggar, dressed as the first, with bandages over his eyes.

“Alms,” he cried out, “alms for an old soldier who’s lost his his eyes!”

Again, the soldier mare couldn’t help but remember that, for a bit of luck, she’d be in the same position. So, maybe a little more reluctantly, she passed him a piece of bread.

“Here, brother. I still have one left. You need this more than me.”

“Bless you, ma’am,” said the beggar. “Doubtless you’ll be rewarded.”

The mare nodded politely again, and went on her way. Over hill and down dale she went, onwards through the Black Country. Past the ruins of an inn, past a windmill where the wheels ground for no one’s benefit. And, it wasn’t long, before she came upon another beggar, with no legs, bandages over his eyes, and only stumps where his ears were. He wore a deep, dark hood.

He didn’t ask for alms, though, and she thought of passing him by, but then she remembered. There, but for a little luck, went her. So she went over to him, and passed him her final piece of bread.

“Here, brother,” she said, putting it into his mouth, for he had no way to eat it himself. “You need it more than I do.”

“Fank oo,” he said, around the bread. “Naow, wob can I bo for ‘oo?”

“Pardon?”

The beggar chomped down on the bread and swallowed. He tossed his head, and his hood came down, revealing a unicorn’s horn.

“I said, what can I do for you?”

The soldier mare raised an eyebrow. A futile gesture, since the other pony was blind.

“I think you’re the one who needs help here.”

“I might be poor, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be grateful. You’re the soldier who handed out her bread to others when it was all she had. Yours is a rare breed of kindness indeed, and that deserves rewarding. Now, what would you like?”

The mare thought for a moment.

“A pack of cards would be nice,” she said. “Something to pass the time when the time comes to rest.”

“Ah, a pack of cards? Well, have I got a pack of cards for you!” said the beggar. And with that, he levitated one out of a fold in his rags. “Take this pack. If you play cards with this pack, you’re guaranteed to win. And take this, too,” by which he produced a sack, “because if there’s anything that needs catching, just open up the bag and tell it to get in, and it'll do just that.”

The mare thanked him, putting the cards in her jacket pocket and slinging the sack over her shoulder. On she went, down the muddy road which followed a muddy river along a dim and dingy valley floor. She hadn’t gone very far at all, mind you, when she saw three chickens rush across the path, and into the tall reeds beside the river. They were followed shortly by a yellow pegasus.

“Oh my goodness!” she said, breathlessly. “Help me, please! My chickens have escaped, and they’re sure to come to harm out here.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said the soldier, with a smile. “Watch this.”

She cleared her throat and opened the bag.

“Hey! You chickens! Get into this here bag!”

And like that, three chickens rushed backwards out of the undergrowth and into the bag. The soldier passed the sack to the pegasus.

“There, no harm done.”

“Oh thank you ever so much,” said the pegasus (still breathless). “Whatever can I do to repay this kindness?”

The soldier thought for a moment.

“I could do with somewhere to stay the night. If it’s not too much trouble, could I impose upon you?”

“But of course!” said the pegasus. “We don’t get many visitors in our neck of the woods.”

So she led the soldier down the path to a small, sod-roofed cottage on the edge of a ragged, tumbledown town. All the houses crowded around one big, handsome house, carved from a large tree, but the treehouse itself looked abandoned.

The pegasus showed the soldier in, showed her the bed (well, a sofa, but it didn’t pay to be picky), gave her some stew, and (once the chikens had been returned to the yard) they shared a bottle of apple wine. After all, as the pegasus said, when was she next going to have an occasion to open it?

So they had a chat, had a drink, and as the evening went on, the soldier noticed something out of the window.

“Say, whose house is that?” she said, gesturing to the big handsome treehouse.

“That? Oh...” the pegasus cast her eyes low. “That used to the library, but it’s been taken over.”

“Taken over?” said the soldier, puzzled. “Who’d want to take over a library?”

“It’s, um, chnglngs...”

“Pardon?”

“It’s changelings,” she said, glancing behind herself nervously.

"Pardon?" said the soldier, leaning in, one ear cocked.

"It's changelings, okay!" said the pegasus, ducking down and hiding behind her hooves.

The soldier raised an eyebow. “What on earth are changelings doing in a library?”

“Oh they’re up there from sunset til sunrise, drinking, fighting, playing cards and all other kinds of mischief," said the pegasus, miserably.

“Well!” said the soldier, standing up abruptly. “We can’t be having with that! Where is the librarian?”

So the pegasus led the soldier to the inn, where the librarian was drowning her sorrows.

“It’s terrible!” she said, weeping into her foaming mug of water. “The changelings are destroying everything in there! All my books, all my checklists! “

“Don’t worry,” said the soldier, patting her on the back reassuringly. “I’ll spend the night there and make sure they stay out this time.”

There was a gasp.

“Are you sure?” said the librarian. “Nopony who’s spent the night has ever been seen again. Well, never seen again whole.”

This was true enough. Many was the time they’d had to sweep up the little bones, all cracked for marrow.

“Don’t worry about it,” said the soldier, laughing. “I’m a soldier of Equestria, I served for twenty years and I’m still here. Water won’t drown me and fire won’t burn me. What do I have to fear? Besides, it’ll save her,” she gestured back at the pegasus, “the trouble of keeping me for the night.”

Well, if she was certain, there was no one in this town who was going to stop her. So she set out for the treehouse. The sun was just setting as she stepped inside. There was a wide table in the middle, and the walls were covered with shelves. The soldier settled in at the table, sack beside her, shuffling the cards idly.

No sooner had the sun gone down, though, than there was a scratching and a scrabbling under the floorboards. Then, changelings burst up through the floorboards, whooping, shouting and caterwauling for all they were worth. Some played screeching fiddles, others ear-piercing flutes, others beat drums with enough bass to shatter glass.

They were all hideous, gribbly things, each one more hideous and gribbly than the last. They quickly surrounded the soldier, hissing and sneering at her. The soldier turned slowly and met their blue, unblinking stares.

“What you doin’ ‘ere?” said a little scrawny one.

“Just resting the night,” the soldier replied, calmly.

“Restin'? There’ll be no restin' on my watch!” said a big, burly one. “You’ll stay up with us, makin’ noise, breakin’ stuff an’ playin’ cards!”

“Playing... cards?” said the soldier, with a smile. “By all means. I'd love to play you at cards. On one condition.”

“Yeah?”

“We use my deck.”

So they did. The changelings took the pack, shuffled it and dealt it out. One of them had to lend the soldier some spare change so she could play, but that didn’t matter. The soldier won every hand. Now, the changelings were cunning, Celestia's beard they were cunning. They could think their way out of a corkscrew without bending a knee, but even they were stumped. Pretty soon, the soldier had won a sizeable amount of money.

The changelings muttered amongst themselves. An old wizened one stepped forward.

“You’re clearly a good one for cards,” he said, with a sneer. “How’s about we up the ante?”

“How high?” asked the soldier.

“We’ve got sixty bushels of silver and forty of gold left, and we’ll bet it all against you.”

The soldier smirked. “Alright then, let’s see it.”

Ten changelings rushed out and returned six times, each with a bushel of silver. Then they went out four more times and returned with the gold.

So the soldier dealt again. The changelings schemed, they connived, they cheated (oh how they cheated!) but no matter how they played, the result was always the same. She won the silver, then he won the gold, along with the rest of the money she’d taken.

The changelings shrugged. It was a good game and he’d won his cash fairly. Which wasn’t to say they accepted this fact. The eldest changeling eyed the soldier, apparently lost in thought.

“Hm. Well played, soldier.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re a demon at cards, that I can’t deny.”

“So kind of you to say so.”

“You’ve won every penny we have.”

“That I have.”

“That you have indeed,” said the eldest, nodding wisely. He turned to the other changelings. “Right lads, tear her limb from limb.”

The changelings leaped into the air, teeth bared, hooves becoming claws, all poised to rip the soldier to shreds

“Wait!" she said, holding up the sack. "Before you kill me, tell me one thing! What do you call this?”

The eldest shouldered his way forward.

“It looks like a sack.”

“Does it now?” said the soldier, smiling. “Well, you’d better get in it, then!”

And with that, every single horrible, gribbly changeling was sucked up into that bag, screeching and complaining all the way. The soldier made sure to tie it up tight and leave a heavy book on it. And with that, she retired to the bedroom, and slept soundly.

The next morning, the librarian and her assistant went in to clean up whatever was left of the soldier, only to find her calmly shuffling her cards, hooves up on the big reading table. Their jaws dropped in unison.

All the librarian could manage was, “Bu.. but... but how?”

The soldier smiled to herself. “I tell you what, I wish everyone paid their gambling debts like those changelings did.”

She gestured to the piles of silver and gold. That made the librarian’s jaw drop further.

“But that’s not important right now,” said the soldier, getting up suddenly. “What’s important now is iron. Get me a blacksmith.”

With money like that knocking around, you learn not to question it. The librarian rushed off and soon enough, the blacksmith arrived, dragging an anvil and the heaviest hammer anypony had ever seen. The soldier laid the sack out on the anvil.

“How good a blacksmith are you?” she said to him.

“Pr’tty good.”

“Good enough to forge cloth?”

The blacksmith met the soldier’s eyes levelly.

“E-yup.”

The soldier grinned. “Prove it, then.”

The smith picked up his hammer and started to beat the sack. Immediately, the changelings start to squeak and squeal and shout.

“We’re innocent!” they cried out.

“The soldier tricked us into this sack!”

But the blacksmith paid them no heed, and beat away. Inside the sack, the changelings were battered black and blue. See, the one thing changelings hate more than losing is iron. Between the hammer and the anvil, something snapped.

“No! Please! Stop!”

The blacksmith frowned and gave the bag another thump.

“We... we promise! If you stop beating us, we’ll leave and never come back! No changeling will come near this town, from now until the end of time! Just stop beating us!”

The blacksmith looked at the soldier, who nodded. The blacksmith untied the sack, and no sooner was it loose, than every changeling in there, all beaten bruised and bloody, flew out. But just as they did, the soldier snatched at the old one, hooking his leg with a horseshoe.

“Except you,” she said. “I want your word in promise.”

“My word?” he said, writhing at the touch of iron. “You should never trust the word of a changeling.”

“Very well, I’ll get it in writing, then.”

And with that, she cut his leg, letting the green-blue blood flow. She dipped a quill into the wound and gave it to the changeling.

“Write that you’ll serve me faithfully when and if I demand you to.”

“This is blackmail!”

“Do you want the sack again?”

The changeling had never written so fast in his life. And when he’d finished, the soldier took the agreement and unhooked the changeling’s leg, and he flew off to join his compatriots.

The changelings fled the town and scuttled back to their hive. Once there, they told everyling who’d listen about their terrible trial, and soon enough, changelings big and small were all on the look-out. Sentries were posted, guards were tripled, compassionate leave was cancelled. Security was tightened, with the express intention of ensuring that, under no circumstances could the soldier with the sack get in.

So the librarian was forever in the soldier’s debt. She let her stay in the library by way of thanks. And of course, with all the money she’d won, she was able to live well. Better than well, she could live like a king.

Which is exactly what she did. She settled down in the town, living comfortably for a time. Then, when she got bored of being comfortable, she got married. And then, because her life wasn’t quite exciting enough, even being married, she had a child. She had a son, a beautiful colt. And all that was left to do was to watch him grow up into a stallion.

Well, no, actually. Because the colt fell sick. Seriously sick. The kind of sick no one could figure out. The librarian checked every book she owned for a cure, or even a diagnosis, but came up blank. Even the soldier’s fantastic wealth couldn’t buy a doctor to come even close. Things were serious.

When things get serious, they often get desperate. So the soldier dug out the agreement that old changeling had scribbled down.

“Wherever you are,” she said, “you are needed here.”

And like that, in a flash of smoke and a whiff of burnt tin and almonds, the old changeling was there.

“Oh, it’s you,” he said, frowning. “What do you want?”

“They say changelings walk the line between what’s real and what’s not. They say you know all the secrets of death,” she said, because flattery always helps to grease the wheels. “I need you to find out what is wrong with my son.”

The changeling pulled a face like a plumber on a sinking ship.

“I'm no doctor, I’m afraid, but I'll see what I can do.”

The changeling picked up a glass of water from the bedside table and set it on the little colt’s forehead.

“Look in there,” he said, “and tell me what you see.”

The soldier peered into the glass, and her blood ran cold.

“I see death," she said, her voice wobbling.

“Oh? Do you now?”

“Yes, an old withered biddy.”

“Where is she?”

“At the foot of my son’s bed.”

“Oh, well then,” said the changeling, and he tipped the glass of water over the child’s head.

“What are you-” the soldier started to say, but was cut off by her son leaping out of bed and embracing her tight.

“She was standing at the foot of your son’s bed, so he’d surely recover” the changeling explained. “But if she’d been standing at the head of your son’s bed... well, that would be fate.”

The soldier eyed the old changeling.

“If you show me how to do that, then I’ll call it quits.”

The changeling smiled. “Very well. The trick isn’t the glass, it’s the water. It has to be just so...”

So it was that the changeling was given the agreement and was freed, and the soldier learned how to predict death. And just like that, she put half the doctors in the district out of work. Because if you wanted to know if someone would recover, you asked for the soldier who had chased the changelings out of the library. The soldier who could predict death. And she’d go to your house with nothing but a glass of water, and if she saw death at the bottom of your bed, she’d throw the water over you because, of course, you were going to recover. But if she saw death at the head of your bed... well, that was fate.

All was well for a time. The soldier charged enough to stay in food and shelter for her and her family, but not so much no one could afford her. All was well until the lord called for her.

For you see, the lord was not reasonable. He got what he wanted, and damn the consequences. So when he called for the soldier, he was fully expecting nothing more than a face full of water and then he’d be up and about. He had not expected to be told that, actually, death was at the head of his bed.

“What?” he blustered. “Impossible! I can’t die!”

The soldier shrugged. “That’s fate, I’m afraid.”

“Damn fate! I can’t die! I won’t die!”

“An admirable attitude,” said the soldier, “but you can’t just put death off like that.”

“I got out of taxes, I can get out of this,” said the lord, grinning desperately. “And do you know why? Because you’re going in my place.”

“Why would I do that, my lord?”

“Because although I may be dying, I’m not dying so quickly I can’t order your execution.”

And he could, mind. In those days when roads weren’t what they are today, news was slow to spread. The lord could have this pony executed and the royal sisters wouldn’t find out for years.

So what could the soldier do? She couldn’t just be executed. Then what would she do? What would her family do? So she pleaded with death.

“Oh death, please don't take him.”

"Not as simple as that, pet," said death, in a voice like closing curtains. "You're asking a lot, and you'd better provide something from your end."

The soldier panicked. "Take me instead then! Take me! A life for a life!"

She looked back in the glass, and sure enough death had shifted from the head of the lord’s bed to the foot. She splashed the water on the lord, and no sooner had she done so, than death came for her. All her limbs went limp, and she could barely stand.

“Please, death!” she cried out. “Give me an hour! No more! Enough time to say goodbye to my husband and child!”

Death rolled her eyes. “Hurry up, then. Get busy livin' or get busy dyin'. One or t’other.”

So the soldier was brought back to her house and put in bed. She had to be helped every step of the way, as she got weaker and weaker with every passing minute. She bid farewell to her husband and son, and laid her head back on the pillow. She felt death looming over her.

“Well, if you’re quite finished,” said death, lifting her scythe.

“One last thing,” said the soldier.

With the last of her strength, she pulled a sack from under her pillow.

“Do you know what this is?”

“It’s a sack," said death, puzzled.

“Well then, you’d better get in it!”

And with a rush of air and a woosh of noise, death was sucked mercilessly into the sack. Quick as she could, the soldier tied up the sack as tight as she could. Suddenly, the soldier felt much better. She felt like going for a walk.

So she did. She strolled out into the middle of the Everfree Forest and hung the sack from the highest branch of the tallest tree.

When she returned to the village, however, she found that death had simply ceased. A pony sentenced to execution stood up from the block with his head still attached. A foal run down by a cart simply got up and walked on. Soldiers in the middle of battle struck at each other, but no one died. Because, after all, death was in a sack on the highest branch of the tallest tree in the middle Everfree Forest.

Things went on like this for a while. No one lived in fear of death, which brought out the best in some and the worst in others, but by and large, things were good. Until one day.

The soldier was sitting on her front porch, admiring the sunset, when an old, wizened stallion stumped up the path towards her.

“Hullo,” she said, brightly. “Can I help you with anything?”

“You can, as a matter of fact,” he said, viciously. “You’ve done a stupid and terrible thing, and it’s all the more terrible because you don’t see how stupid it is!”

“Excuse me?”

“I am an old pony, as you can see,” he went on, in a creaking tone of voice. “I had maybe an hour left to go. I had made my peace with the world, with my family. I was ready to go and see that better place ponies always go to...”

His eyes misted up, and he stared longingly into the middle distance.

“Until you showed up,” he said, glaring back at the soldier. “Until the soldier who put death in a sack showed up. The soldier who denied me my peace and left me to stump around in this crippled, creaking old body! And not just me! Think, how many ponies were ready to go? How many ponies have been left to remain old forever? Ponies you robbed of their peace.”

He tutted and shook his head.

“What should I do then?” said the soldier, a tad desperately.

“Release death,” he said, his eyes locked to hers. “And let my life reach a natural end. Let all lives reach natural ends.”

Well, what was the soldier to do? She did as she had to. She went deep into the Everfree Forest, found the tallest tree and shimmied up to the highest branch. There still hung the sack.

She took it down and took it home. With a heavy heart (for she knew she would be one of the first to go), she bid farewell to her husband, and her son (who had grown into a fine young stallion in this time).

“Alright then, death,” she said. “Make an end of it.”

And with that, she opened the sack. The very moment she did, though, Death leaped out and rushed towards the window.

“Where are you going?” cried the soldier.

“As far away as I can get!" she replied, as she disappeared out of the window. "I'm not going anywhere near you and your sack again, that's for sure!”

The soldier tried to chase after her, you can't catch up to death any more than you can outrun her. She stood for a moment, watching the old biddy disappear off into the distance. Well, what was she to do? She couldn't linger, now that everyone was dying again. It wouldn't be proper. She had to seek death by another means. So she decided to seek the changelings, who never play by the rules, even the rules of life and death.

Surely, she thought, they would want to tear her apart after she stole their gold and imprisoned them. She set out to find them, bidding farewell to everypony she knew, certain that at the end of the journey, lay certain death. She walked for a week, she walked for a month, she walked for a year, searching everywhere for the changeling hive.

Eventually, she reached the tall crooked spire of the great hive. She trotted up to the doors and knocked.

“Excuse me,” she said, as politely as you please. “Can you tear me limb from limb and rend the flesh from my bones? Can you break the rules and kill me without death?”

A window opened and a changeling leaned out.

“Are you asking for it?”

“That I am.”

“You want to be torn asunder by the teeth of a thousand furious changelings?”

“Yes, I do.”

“You want us to use your skull for a cup, your skin for a drum and your teeth for harp-pins?”

“Very much so.”

“Well, I daresay we could...”

The changeling was just about to open the door, when he saw the soldier was carrying something.

“Wait a mo', what’s that?”

“This?” she said, holding up the offending object. “It’s just a sack.”

The changeling screeched and slammed the door shut.

“Come on, it’s me!” the soldier shouted. “The soldier who humiliated you at cards!”

There was the sound of slamming bolts inside the hive.

“The soldier who held you captive against your will!”

The click of a mighty key.

“The soldier who coerced one of you to teach me how to predict death!”

The scraping of a table being dragged in front of the door.

“Surely you want me dead!”

But there was no response from the hive.

The soldier sighed. The changelings wouldn’t take her, and neither would death. So there was only one option left. To cut out the middle mare, and seek out the better place ponies went to when they died.

Now, she had to search for it by hoof, so she walked. She walked for months, she walked for years, up hill and down dale, east of the sun and west of the moon, until finally, she found it. A pair of wrought iron gates at the top of a mountain. A pegasus with a snow white coat stood guard.

“Please, can I come in?” she said.

The pegasus looked down his nose at her.

“When did you die?”

The soldier opened and shut her mouth as she searched for the right answer.

“I... I haven’t died. Death wouldn’t take me, and the changelings wouldn’t break the rules and kill me, so I came here on foot.”

“No date, no entry,” said the pegasus, sternly.

“B-but I want to go in!”

“We can’t just let anyone in here,” the pegasus went on. “Everyone can only come at their due time.”

The soldier slumped by the side of the path, dejected. To have come so far, to be so close, yet still out of reach. And just as she was thinking this, she saw a familiar figure creaking up the path to the gates. The yellow pegasus.

She hailed her as she passed.

“Oh! It’s you,” said the pegasus, smiling faintly. “I remember you. You’re the soldier who saved my chickens. I didn’t think I’d see you here.”

“Me neither,” said the soldier. "I had to walk all the way here, and now they won't let me in..."

She sighed. Then, she had an idea. She handed the pegasus the sack.

“Tell me to get in that sack,” she said, “and when you’re inside, tell me to get out.”

“What are you trying...?”

“Just do it, please? I’ll be in your debt.”

So the pegasus did just that. She told the soldier to get into the sack, and the soldier was powerless not to. The pegasus walked up to the gates, told the guard her date of death, and was admitted inside.

In the sack, the soldier waited to be told to get out. She waited, and waited, and waited, but the pegasus never told her to. So overcome was she with the wonder of the place, this better place all ponies went to, that the pegasus completely forgot about the sack.

She let it slide off her back and disappear through the clouds. The sack plummeted down, back into Equestria, where it landed in a hawthorn bush. The seams snagged, and it tore open. The soldier clambered out, choking back tears. She cast her eyes up, but the hole in the clouds had closed, hiding the better place from view. Without anywhere else to go, she set out down the road again, to wander this way and that, until death came, or she walked off the edge of the world.

So if you ever meet a soldier, wandering the highways and byways of Equestria, whatever you do, don’t play cards with her. Because she just might be the soldier who...

Finnick and Foible

Now, Finnick and Foible are two famous ponies from the Black Country, way out west. Further west than Vanhoover, further west than the land of Connemara, even. If Equestria is the breadbasket of the world, then the Black Country is the mine, forge and workshop of the world all rolled into one. There, the furnaces burn cherry-red all night long and the sky itself is soot-stained, so that even on a clear day there's still big black smears.

And this is where Finnick and Foible come from, working in the mines, factories and forges. And one day Finnick and Foible are down the coal mine (one of many, for the Black Country's full of coalmines). Finnick's pushing a big, heavy cartload of coal back up the tunnel, when he sees Foible hacking away at the ceiling. Now, Foible's an earth pony, and he's got this big old pick, so heavy he needs both hooves, up on his hindlegs, trying to dig the ceiling. So, Finnick stops and asks him.

"What y'doing, diggin' away at the ceilin'?" he asks.

"Well," says Foible (and his accent means he says it 'weww'), "there's a new pit-pony (except he said it 'pit-paonay') coming down 'ere, and he's a real tall bugger, so I've gotta make this mineshaft tall enough f'r'im."

"Why don't y'just make the floor deeper?" says Finnnick.

"Don't be stupid," says Foible, "it's his head that won't fit."

As you can see, Finnick and Foible aren't exactly the brightest tools in the box, but that's not even the worst of it. You see, Finnick and Foible, they liked to bet on the races, and this one time they won really big. So they think, well what are we gonna spend our wealth on? In the end, they decide to hire a couple of cows, so they'll have nice fresh milk. Something of a rarity in the Black Country, fresh food.

So they go down to the hiring fair and pick up a couple of cows. Very reasonable wages for reasonable hours, and they take 'em of a field near their houses. 'Course, it's not much of a field, it's a little spit of grass between the colliery, the tar works and the canal, but the cows are happy with it. But then, Finnick spots a probelm.

"Foible, mate," he says. "How are am I gonna know which cow I hired?"

"'S a good point, Finnick," says Foible. "Tell y'what, you tie a bow to its tail, then we'll know for sure."

"Great idea."

So Finnick does just that, he ties a little ribbon to the cow's tail (it always pays to have a bit of ribbon about your person) and they go off and think no more of it. Well, until they come back the next day to milk the cows, only to find some bugger's untied the ribbon!

"Oh hell," says Finnick, "What we gonna do now?"

Foible puts a hoof to his chin for a bit.

"I know," he says. "You have the black one, I'll have the white one."

But Finnick and Foible never were too good with animals. I remember when Foible built a new henhouse for his couple of chickens. Finnick sees it while passing by and remarks on it.

"That's a nice looking henhouse," he says.

"It's alright," Foible replies, "but the roof leaks sommat awful."

At which point, Finnick notices the roof, which is made out of a single, flat sheet of chain-link wire.

"Oh well, of course," says Finnick. "You forgot to put a slope on it."

As I say, not the brightest tools in the box. Of course, that's not the worst of it, 'cos there's the time Finnick and Foible tried to get to the colliery over the Metropolitan Line. They're already a bit late, so they try to shave some time off by taking a short cut over the railway tracks. Finnick gets across fine, but when the 10:43 to Woolverhampton came along, Foible's still only halfway across. So he runs off down the track as fast as he can. He runs and he runs and he runs until they're going through a cutting, with big banks up on either side. One of the stallions pulling the train shouts ahead to him.

"Oi! Mate! Run up the bank!"

"Run up the bank!?" says Foible, incredulous. "I'm barely outrunning you on the flat! How do you think I'll do goin' uphill!?"

Mind you, they lived in a pretty rough place. You should've seen it. Finnick's place, in particular. Y'see, the whole terrace backed on to a cut (the local word for a canal), and each house had a privy on the cut, to take the... effluent away. Of course, the canal flowed pretty slowly, and there was a dyer's works just up that dumped all their stuff in too, so the water was a pretty unpleasant kind of greenish soup. It was a game for the local foals to push the privies into the cut, just for the hay of it.

Which is why, one day, Finnick comes up to his son and says, "Little Fin, was it you what pushed the privy in the cut?"

"No, dad," he says, not making eye contact.

Finnick sighs. "Little Fin, let me tell you a story. You know Celestia and Luna, right?"

"Yes dad."

"Well, back when they were fillies, Celestia had a favourite cherry tree. She loved that tree, loved to sit in its shade, loved the fruit it gave her. And one day, for whatever reason, Luna got her hooves on an axe and cut it down. Now, when Celestia found out, she was furious. 'Who has cut down my cherry tree?' she raged. 'Oh I cannot lie', says little Luna, 'it was me what cut down your cherry tree'. And Celestia didn't beat on her sister, break any of her stuff or punish her at all. She forgave her totally."

"So I'll ask you again. Was it you, Little Fin, what pushed the privy into the cut?"

"I cannot lie, father," he says, "it was me what pushed the privy in the cut."

At which Finnick gives Little Fin a clip round the ear.

"Ow! Dad! What happened to fogivin' me? Celestia forgave Luna!"

"Yeah, but Celestia wasn't sitting in the tree when she cut it down."

See? Pretty rough place. But it was also a pretty dangerous place too. The Black Country was always at risk of getting invaded, back in the day. After all, as everyone knows, where there's muck, there's brass. And there was a lot of muck in the Black Country. Griffons, wolves, bears and sheep were always turning their greedy eyes towards the Black Country, angling to conquer it. The griffons in particular. They used sleeper agents, who were sent into the Country years in advance to gain the trust of the populace and ingratiate themselves. Then, when the time was right, they'd start sending information back.

So, one day, this griffon gets off the train in the Black Country. He's got orders to find the agent, but all he has is the name; Foible. So he goes over to the porter and asks him.

"Excuse me," he says, "but do you know anyone around here called 'Foible'?"

"Well, there's plenty of ponies called Foible around here," says the porter, with a shrug. "There's Foible the baker, Foible the cobbler, Foible the carpenter, Foible the miner, Foible the blacksmith. I mean, even my name's Foible."

The griffon glances either way, and decides to try his luck.

"The red crow flies at midnight," he says, surreptitiously.

And like that, the porter's eyes light up.

"Oh I see! It's Foible the spy you'll be wanting!"

But anyway, yes. War did happen, and of course Finnick and Foible did their patriotic duty. Now, all wars are bad, but this war was hell. Ponies were dying from diseases and wounds, and to cap it all off the rations were bloody awful to boot. Under those circumstances, it wasn't long before Finnick and Foible decided to get themselves invalided.

Now, it was at this time that they got a new officer. He was a fine strapping stallion, Canterbridge educated, with an accent like cut glass. He arrives one day, to see the men in the infirmary, but finds them all glum and miserable (as well they might be, given the situation). He decides to try and cheer them all up.

"Come on chaps!" he says, in what he thought was an encouraging voice. "You didn't come here to die, did you?"

At which point, Foible pipes up, with his thick, Black Country drawl.

"Nao, sur, we came 'ere yis-tur-dye."

The Duel

Once, there was a captain of the Royal Guard. Well, I say once, there’s always been a captain, but this one was something else. He was a legend in his own lunchtime. Brave, bold and brash, he’d fought everywhere, from the wet and cold moors of Connemara to the dry and dusty streets of Khandahoof, from the bleak and blasted hills of the Black Country, to the impenetrable woods of Sylvania and Ruritania. He’d been there, done that, and come back with a constellation of medals. Some days, despatches were nothing but reams upon reams of his exploits. He was, in short, quite a fighter.

But sure as the sun’ll rise in the east, this kind of stardom breeds arrogance, and in his swollen breast, it bred like rabbits. The captain knew he was as good as they said he was, and didn’t mind reminding everyone who didn’t say he was. He was insufferable at parties.

And it was at such a party, that he met Her. She was beautiful. Long, flowing mane, a delicate, white coat and big, blue eyes. He fell head over heels in love with her at first sight. He swaggered across the dance floor towards her like a pony who’s had a nasty encounter with two bricks. Ponies parted as he approached, trying desperately to get away from the old blowhard before it was too late. The poor mare was caught completely unawares as he swanned up behind her and tried his usual wooing strategy.

First, dazzle her with his natural charm.

“Hey there, how you doin’?”

That got her attention. Second, compliment her.

“You look like you’re doin’ good.”

Third, impress her with some feat of derring do.

“Did I ever tell you about the time I stormed a griffon position in the Black Country, single-hoofed?”

And tell her he did. Of how they were pinned down by crossbow fire, how he’d stormed the place alone etc etc etc. Long story short, he talked her senseless. All the poor mare could do was stand there listening politely and hope for a break to interrupt with a well-timed ‘excuse me, I have to go powder my nose/meet my aunt/shuck corn’.

She might have been there all night, if a shy, polite voice hadn’t interrupted.

“Excuse me,” it said, “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”

She turned, and saw a rather dull brown earth pony with a rather dorkish haircut. He looked a little nervous, not to mention common, but she’d take any road out.

“No, I don’t believe we have,” she said, with a smile.

Behind them, the captain rattled on about the time he defeated the armies of the king of Pachystan, but they paid him no mind. They were busy, getting on with the business of getting to know each other. He told her all about himself (a humble clockmaker by trade) and she told him about herself (a proud dressmaker by profession). She told him about her dreams, he told her his reality. She laughed like champagne flutes, he chuckled like a log fire. They averted their eyes, for a brief moment, and she bit her lip.

It couldn’t last long, though, before the captain noticed he was no longer the centre of attention. He acted fast, storming over to the earth pony.

“And just who do you think you are?” he asked the poor clockmaker. “And what do you think you are doing?”

“I... I’m... I was just talking to Miss-”

“Huh! Such insolence!” he said (although he secretly didn’t know what insolence meant). “How dare you make assumptions above your status.”

“If you don’t mind,” said the mare in question, “we were speaking.”

The captain didn’t hear her, though. He tended not to listen to mares, although he expected them to listen to him. He was funny like that. Mind you, he was still a good fighter, which explains what he did next rather neatly.

“I cannot let your presumptuousness," (another word he didn’t know), "regarding this young lady go unpunished. I challenge you to a duel!”

Well, the poor clockmaker couldn’t well refuse, could he? Well, he could, and was about to, when he caught the eye of the mare, and his heart swelled.

“Very well then,” he said.

The mare, who had been trying to tell him ‘no don’t do it, you’ll die you idiot’ through a simple shaking of the head, sighed and rolled her eyes.

"Ha! A duel it is, then, tomorrow at dawn. What’ll it be then?” said the captain. “Swords? Foil? Epee?”

The poor clockmaker’s mouth opened and shut. He was no fighter. He was only here on invitation of his brother, and knew nothing of duelling. Luckily, the lady did. She stepped in abruptly.

“Sir, he doesn’t need to choose his weapon yet. Not until the duel.”

The captain sighed and grumbled. “Fine, then. Tomorrow at dawn it is.”

“Tomorrow at dawn,” said the clockmaker, gulping, as the enormity of what he’d just done sank in.

But... he was still a clockmaker. And while you have to be smart to be a soldier, you have to be intelligent to be a clockmaker. That meant being able to calculate within a gnat’s whisker, being able to tell all the details ever so clearly. So he thought all that night how he might best the greatest fighter in the land in a duel to the death.

The next morning, the sun rose in the west briefly, before going back below the horizon and rising in the east (the Princess, in her defence, had had a rough night). Before it had time to rise very far, though, the captain was at the clockmaker’s house, hammering on the door.

“CLOCKMAKEEER!” he shouted, waking the whole street.

“Do come in,” said the aforementioned maker, politely.

The captain edged his way through the door under the weight of all his weapons. He had thought it only fair to give the poor clockmaker a wide selection, after all. There were foils, rapiers, sabres, spears, Billistani scimitars, Connemaran claymores and even a pair of Sylvanian hunting crossbows. He came into the clockmaker’s tiny workshop and dumped the weapons in a pile.

“There, take your pick,” he said, smiling.

“I’ve already decided on the weapons,” said the clockmaker. He gestured to a small tray on the worksurface. It held two cups of tea and one empty vial. “The duel will be by tea.”

“Tea? A duel by TEA?”

“Yes,” said the clockmaker, smiling. “One of these cups has been poisoned. You choose a cup first, and I shall take the other. Then, we’ll drink, and whoever has the right cup...”

The captain opened his mouth to protest. This was unorthodox, this was against regulations of some kind or the other, but he stopped himself. The fool had chosen.

So he picked up a cup.

“Very well, then,” he said. “Let us duel.”

The clockmaker nodded and took his own.

The captain raised his cup to his muzzle. He sniffed it. It didn’t smell odd, but then again, some poison was odourless, wasn’t it? Maybe he wouldn’t know until he tasted it. The clockmaker was eyeing him over the rim of his cup, both eyebrows raised.

The captain sniffed the tea again. Was this the poisoned tea? It might be, or it might not... Had the clockmaker rigged it? Did he know which cup was fatal? The damn clockmaker was still looking at him. He hadn’t taken a sip either.

The captain sniffed a third time. What if it wasn’t poisoned? What if the clockmaker died? Welll, that’d be fate, wouldn’t it? It would be suicide, technically, poisoning your own tea like that. But then again, it was a duel. Somepony had to die, didn’t they? But... his mind returned to one question.

This cup. Was it, or wasn’t it?

The captain’s cup was shaking in his hooves (was it? wasn’t it?). His face went grey and started to sweat (was it? wasn’t it?). Slowly, very slowly, he lifted the cup to his lips (was it? wasn’t it?) and started to tilt it back. It just touched his lip, only barely, when he whipped it away and slammed it down.

“No!” he shouted. “I can’t do it! Forfeit! I forfeit!”

“Why?” said the clockmaker, who hadn’t touched his tea either.

“Because... because...” the captain flailed for an answer. “Because there’s no skill to it!”

“Would there have been otherwise?” said the clockmaker, laying his cup down slowly.

"Yes!”

The clockmaker cast his eyes at the weapons on the workshop floor.

“Name one you can’t use better than me.”

The captain cast his eyes about. His gaze lingered on a few he hadn’t quite figured out, but he couldn’t name a single one he couldn’t beat the clockmaker with.

So the captain had to concede defeat for the first time. He became wiser, if not necessarily quieter. He was always sure now, though, to mix in the story of how he once lost a duel into his usual diatribes. Ladies loved a bit of self-deprecation (or so he’d heard).

Of course, the clockmaker couldn’t claim it had been an honest win, since he’d stacked the odds in his favour. He was, after all, using his greatest weapon. The one between his ears.

One final thing. That year, a lady (a dressmaker by profession) quit Society, and sought out the clockmaker. I’d like to tell you they got married and lived happily ever after, but... well, whatever happened between them stayed between them. I haven’t heard hide nor hair of them since.

The Flying Ship

This story, like so many stories, starts with marriage. Not with love, because in marriages like this one, love isn't really a factor. This was the proposed marriage of Princess Jade of the Crystal Empire to Prince Al-Butyeh of the Ottomare Empire.

Both Empires were vast. The Crystal Empire stretched all the way from the frozen steppes of the Crystal Mountains in the West, to the deep dark woods of Marescovy, to the edge of the distant Himallama Mountain range. The Ottomare empire meanwhile covered all of modern-day Bilistan, Pachystan, Hind, Camelu and Saddle Arabia.

The marriage, on paper, looked watertight. It would ensure that the two greatest superpowers in the world would be linked by marriage, thus ending the possibility of war between them, it would ensure the safety of trade routes over land and sea, and it would doubtless mean years of peace and prosperity for all involved. There was just one small problem, which didn't even appear, which no one even considered, until the day when Prince Al-Butyeh was presented to Princess Jade.

It all went fine to begin with. Al-Butyeh arrived on time with his entourage of bodyguards, retainers and general dogsbodies. All was well as they entered the Palace of the Crystal Heart (the Krummlin, as it was known). All was well as they were admitted up along the long and winding stairs of the palace, past row after row of crystal guards, armed and armoured to the teeth. All was well, in fact, until he walked into the throne room.

Row upon row of nobles and courtiers knelt as the Prince entered. The announcer cleared his throat, and called out over the bowed heads.

“Prince Al-Butyeh of the Ottomare Empire!”

At the far end of the hall sat King Diamond XVII. He was quite a sight, seated in the grand crystal throne wearing his flowing red robe of state lined with white fur (a reminder for any griffons in the crowd who was in charge). Hovering at the king's side was his trusted advisor Chancellor Sombra, and at the other his beautiful daughter Princess Jade.

This was the first time the Princess had ever seen her husband-to-be. All that morning she had been pacing her quarters, wondering if he'd be as handsome as they said, with his deep, black hair and handsome moustache. They always said he was good looking, for a goat. She was therefore a little put out to see that, as handsome as he may have been for a goat, he was still... well...

That wasn't to say she was a snobbish mare (Although strictly speaking, she was, being royalty and all), but the Prince really didn't look her type. She grimaced as he walked (no, swaggered) forward, a long curved scimitar by his side, goatee trimmed to a point and his kaftan billowing. He looked like the very image of a Baabary corsair (As in, from the Baabary states of Mareocco and Adalgeria). Very handsome for a goat, handsome to any other mare perhaps, but not to her.

The Prince spoke, and Chancellor Sombra translated.

“He greets you, your majesty,” said the Chancellor, his head bowed, but his eyes forward, “and requests your daughter's hoof in marriage.”

“I thought we'd already-” started the king.

“A formality, sir,” Sombra muttered quietly.

“Oh! Of course!” said the king, rising to his hooves and stepping towards the Prince. “So, a proposal of marriage is it?”

The Prince bowed his head and said that yes, yes it was.

“Well, that's as may be,” said the king, his eye twinkling. “But what of her dowry?”

The Prince smiled and clopped his hooves together. Two camels staggered forward under the weight of something covered in a velvet cover. With a flick of the hoof, the Prince twitched it aside to reveal a model boat. Well, I say a model boat, there was a bit more to it than that. It was carved from solid gold and shone bright as day. The sails were made of silk lined with gold leaf, the timbers were carved so delicately you could see the knots and whorls in them. This was a cut above any old model boat.

“He offers you the Stamboul, your grace,” said the Chancellor. “The finest ship ever to grace in the shipyards of Khandahoof.”

The king's eyes were riveted on the model. He imagined how it would look at the dock in Murmanesk, how the timbers would shine like gold in the sunlight, how the sails would flash at dawn and dusk.

“Is that it?” came a voice.

It was the Princess. All eyes turned to her, and saw her face was a picture of outrage.

There was a great hubbub and kerfuffle. Prince Butyeh looked up in consternation, Chancellor Sombra almost choked. The King slowly looked around in confusion.

“My dear,” he said. “It's the finest ship in the Ottomare fleet. It is more than worthy of your hoof in marriage.”

The Princess strode forward and gave the model a critical look.

“It looks like any old boat to me,” she said, with a shrug.

There was a gasp, and a rippling thud of swooning ladies.

“But my dear-”

“Father, your grace, I'm your only daughter. Don't you think my dowry should be something a bit more... impressive?”

King Diamond XVII raised a hoof to argue, but he stopped himself. She made a good point...

“Your grace, it is a perfect gift,” said Chancellor Sombra, a little worried.

“No!” said the King. “I demand a more spectacular dowry for my only daughter! I want... I want...”

“A ship that can fly!”

All eyes turned to the Princess, who was smiling just a bit too much.

“Yes, a flying ship,” she repeated, composing herself.

“Sir, I really think-”

“A marvellous idea!” the king boomed. “Send word to every corner of the kingdom. I promise my daughter's hoof in marriage and half of my empire to whoever can make a flying ship!”

Princess Jade smiled to herself as the court descended into consternation. Prince Al-Butyeh left in a huff along with his entourage, shouting until Chancellor Sombra's ears went red.

* * *

So the word went out all across the land. King Diamond's soldiers went from pillar to post, from bordello to boondock, and from moor to mountain bringing the King's proclamation, and it wasn't long before it came to the deep dark Taiga Woods. In those woods there was a cottage and in that cottage there was a family. An old woodcutter, his wife, and his three grown-up daughters. Now, the first two daughters were daughters to be proud of. Strong, brave, forthright, honest and reasonable, they were all you could hope for and more. Their names were Inkabella (Inky) and Blinkovina (Blinky).

The third daughter though, was... well... the third daughter could best be described as Pinkamina, because she defied all other definition. It wasn't that she was a bad child, strictly speaking, she was just... different. She was never where she needed to be, always off looking for friends, looking for trouble, spending hours daydreaming rather than working, and when she was there, she was always in the wrong place at the wrong time, getting under everyone's hooves. She was, in short, a nuisance.

So, they were sat around the table one night, when Pinkamina (Pinkie) rushed in with a piece of paper in her mouth.

“M'm! Drd!” she said.

Her sisters rolled their eyes while her parents gave her a stern but forgiving look.

“Spit that out, Pinkamina,” said her father. “What is it?”

“The King's proclamation!” she said, excitably, spitting out the sheet on to the table. “He's offering the princess' hoof in marriage and half the empire to anyone who can build a flying ship!”

The sheet unrolled on the table, to show a poster. In all sixteen languages of the Crystal Empire, it explained the King's challenge. A flying ship, for his daughter's hoof in marriage and half of the empire.

There was a round of doubting chuckles from the family.

“Pinkie,” said her mother, kindly, “what on earth would you want with that?”

“I could build a flying ship!” she said, barely slowing down, “and I could marry the Princess and get half a kingdom and then we could move into a palace and have mountains of gold and jewels and stuff, and and and-”

“Honestly Pinkie,” said Blinky, sighing. “You really do spend too much time daydreaming.”

“Yeah,” Inky chimed in. “Even if you could build a flying ship, what makes you think the Princess would marry you?”

“Princesses only marry princes,” said Blinky, ever the expert on the political landscape. “They have to, you know.”

“Don't worry about it. You're best off here,” said her mother, patting her on the back. “Flying ships and princesses is the business of ponies who understand that kind of thing.”

Pinkie hung her head and sat down, half-listening as her family chatted about wood-cutting and rock-farming.

Secretly though, she kept the poster tucked under her foreleg, and when she went to bed that night, she lay awake reading and re-reading it. To any individual capable of presenting to his grace King Diamond XVII a ship capable of permanent flight, will be presented half of the Crystal Empire, and the hoof of Princess Jade in marriage. There was even a picture of the Princess, and that made her as determined as anything

She sighed and rolled it up. She was just about to go to bed, when she heard her sisters whispering.

“Come on, Inky!”

“Yeah, yeah, I'm coming.”

“She asleep?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Okay,” said well, it sounded like Blinky. She paused. “Should we take the poster?”

“Nah, we'll be fine without it. How hard can it be to make a flying ship?”

Blinky chuckled softly as she and her sister trotted downstairs. Pinkie though, stayed in bed.

Her sisters meanwhile, prepared for the work ahead. They took what food they needed, which is to say, a couple of loaves, some cheese, couple of hard boiled eggs, a spot of butter, a jar of jam, those cakes mum had been saving, dad's best saw and his second-best axe. With that all that in a sack, they trotted off into the woods to get to work. Soon enough they came to a clearing and set to work. Inky cut down the trees, and Blinky about sawed them into planks. All night they cut and sawed, and by the morning they had an impressive pile of planks, sanded and arranged neatly in rows. They sat back on a log and enjoyed some much-deserved breakfast.

“Whew, we've made a good start on it,” said Blinky, digging into one of the cakes.

“Yeah, I bet we'll be done in no time,” said Inky. “Although, why are we doing this? We can't marry the Princess.”

“We're not going to, silly. We're just going to get half the kingdom. The King'd never let a mare marry the Princess.”

“Yeah,” said Inky, nodding. “Course, we'll have to build a flying ship first.”

Blinky opened her mouth to answer, but... well, how did you build a flying ship? Luckily for her, a distraction arrived in the form of an old stallion shuffling through the woods. He saw the two sisters ahead and ambled over.

“'Allo,” he said, smiling faintly. “Been hard at work have we?”

“What's it to you if we have?” said Blinky, defensively.

“Building a flying ship, are we?” he said, leaning against a tree.

“How do you know that?” said Inky, her mouth open in shock.

The old stallion shrugged. “Why else would two strapping young mares like yourselves be out here in the woods, sawing planks?”

Blinky bristled. She was not strapping. “What do you want, then?”

“Want?” he said. “Nothing more than a bite to eat and some company. You wouldn't happen to have something for an old stallion to sink his old teeth into?”

Blinky and Inky exchanged a glance.

“N-no,” said Inky. “No we don't.”

“Yes, we've no food for you,” Blinky added. “Go on your way.”

The stallion snorted and trudged back off into the woods. Meanwhile, the two sisters got back to work, setting the planks together, trying to assemble the flying ship but... well, they couldn't. They simply couldn't figure out where this bit should go, where that bit went, where these planks ought to be. They started to argue and bicker and soon enough, Blinky threw her hooves up in despair.

“Oh it's useless!” she said. “I told you it was impossible, didn't I?”

“Impossible?” Inky sneered. “It was your idea in the first place!”

“Was not!”

“Was too!”

And so on and so forth in the grand tradition of siblings, they argued and bickered all the way home. Their mother and father asked them, where had they been, what had they been doing, to which they replied nowhere, and nothing. Of course, Pinkie knew otherwise, but she stayed silent. It was a small house after all.

Her sisters had failed to build a wooden ship. Well, she knew she could do better than them, couldn't she? So that night, she crept downstairs, after Blinky and Inky had muttered and grumbled to sleep. She raided the pantry, taking only what she needed, just a crust of bread and a little rind of cheese. She knew she'd be done making the flying ship by morning, so she only really needed a snack, right?

Silently, she left the house (taking dad's third best axe with her) and trotted out into the dark Taiga Woods. Now, she knew it was unwise to start work on an empty stomach, so she found a little clearing, propped the axe up against a tree, sat herself down on a log and had a snack. She'd barely unwrapped the bread and cheese though, when somepony came stumping through the woods to her. Three guesses who it is. Your first clue, he's old.

“Shurrup,” the stallion muttered.

“Excuse me?” said Pinkie, looking up from her snack.

“Oh? Nothing,” grumbled the stallion, stumping closer.

He sat down besides Pinkie, wrapping his old, tattered cloak around him.

“Can can I help you?” she said, smiling tentatively.

“Maybe,” he said, giving her a sidelong glance. “I know for a fact I can help you.”

Pinkie raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, that I have expertise in the field of aeronautical design.”

Pinkie's expression didn't change.

“I can help you build your flying ship.”

“How did you know I was-” she began.

“Never you mind. Point is, I can help you.”

Pinkie's face lit up. “Well, let's get started then!”

“First thing's first,” said the old stallion, raising a hoof to calm her. “It's a shame to start work on an empty stomach, don't you think?”

Pinkie looked down at her cheese and bread. It wasn't much, to be sure. Barely enough for herself, really. And building a flying ship would be hard work...

She broke the bread and cheese and passed half to the old stallion. He took it and chewed it. Pinkie joined him, chewing her own. And you really did have to chew it. It wasn't the fine white bread and wonderful soft cheese you get nowadays, this was in the days before weather maintenance was so common and before the Glascow agreement opened up the dairy market. It was tough half-stale bread and hard cheese, but they ate it all the same.

The old stallion smacked his lips as he finished. “Wonderful stuff,” he said, with a grin. “Now, let's see about this ship of yours...”

So they worked. Well, Pinkie worked, all that afternoon, all night, and all the following morning, while the stallion shouted the directions to her.

“Should be perpendicular!”

“You didn't bring a protractor?”

“That is easily the worst bevelled edge I have ever seen.”

“Nearly only counts in horseshoes and hoof-grenades! Get it exact!”

Knowing that, you can perhaps see why it took them so long, but by the end of it, there stood a fine ship resting on two tree stumps. It didn't gleam gold in the afternoon light, nor carry any great arsenal of weapons, but Pinkie knew it was a good ship because it was hers. She scrambled up to the wheel, but the old stallion stayed on the ground.

“Aren't you coming with me?” she hollered down.

“No, I'll stay where I am,” he shouted back. “You take your ship on to the King, and show him what's what!”

“I will!” Pinkie shouted back with a grin.

“And remember, wherever you go, pick up every traveller you see on the way!”

“I WILL!”

And the ship lifted into the sky.

* * *

What sights! What a view! For Pinkie, the Taiga Woods were the world. Trees from dawn 'til dusk was what she knew. She'd never been beyond it in her life, but now it was spread out below her like a green blanket draped over the land. More importantly, she could see the edge of the forest. Beyond it, lay long rolling hills, which gradually led to sharp snow-covered mountains, and beyond that, if you squinted and the clouds weren't in the way, you could just about make out the long white spire of the Krummlin.

Pinkie spun the wheel and swung the ship around. The sails cracked, and the ship sped along high over the woods. It dipped low over the trees, firs brushing the hull as it cleared the edge and flew over the farmland beyond.

She was quite happily enjoying sight-seeing, when something caught her eye. A pony was trudging along the road below her. Pinkie considered breezing on by but, well, she'd said she'd pick up travellers, so that's what she did. She swung the ship down and brought it down right in front of the pony, who turned out to be a purplish unicorn.

The landing... wasn't perfect. The hull scraped along the ground throwing up clouds of dust and dirt, and the anchor tore a rut across the road. When the ship ground to a halt, it listed to one side. Pinkie rushed over to the side and peered over. There was a coughing and spluttering from below and a face looked up, frowning curiously.

“I'm sorry!” said Pinkie, quickly. “I've never flown one of these things before!”

“Don’t worry,” said the unicorn, patting herself down, “no harm done.”

Then, giving Pinkie a quizzical look, she said “Are you heading to the Krummlin by any chance?”

“Yep!” said Pinkie, grinning back. “I'm going to present this ship to the King, and he'll grant me his daughter's hoof in marriage and half the empire!”

The unicorn's expression only became more quizzical. “What a coincidence, I'm going to present my skills at magic to the King's court. I'm a magician by trade you see, and I need to get to the Krummlin. You couldn't give me a lift, could you?”

“Sure!” said Pinkie. “Hop on board!”

The unicorn levitated herself up onto the deck, and neat as you like. Pinkie was open-mouthed in surprise.

“How'd you do that?” she asked.

“Oh, self-levitation's not so hard,” she said, checking a hoof idly. “Once you figure out how to open a box with the key on the inside, it's foal's play.”

The unicorn looked up at Pinkie and smiled. “Oh, but where are my manners! They call me Sparkle where I'm from, on account of me being such a bright spark.”

“I'm Pinkie,” said Pinkie.

“Nice to meet you,” said Sparkle. “Right, let's get going, shall we?”

“Yes, right, let's.”

Pinkie took to the wheel again, expecting the ship to lift itself up, but it didn't. It stayed quite resolutely grounded.

“Oh. Oh dear.”

“Having trouble starting it?” said Sparkle. “Don't worry, I've read about this. Common problem with flying ships is they need jump-starting. If you land them they tend to stay landed.”

“Jump-starting...?” Pinkie ventured.

“Yes,” said Sparkle. “Like this.”

And like that, she planted her hooves on the deck, her horn glowed, and the ship rose up. The wind caught the sails and the ship strained at it's anchor.

“How'd you do that?” Pinkie asked incredulously.

“Oh, lifting ships isn't so hard,” said Sparkle, smiling. “Not after you realise that everything falls at the same speed, no matter how much it weighs.”

Pinkie raised the anchor and they took off towards the Krummlin. Soon they were flying over orchards, row after row of apple trees bearing ripe red fruit. Pinkie considered flying low enough to pluck a few off, but she didn't trust herself to start stunt-flying just yet. It was just as well she was flying high, because that meant she saw the second traveller, labouring down the road with two, no, four saddlebags full of apples. Pinkie swung the ship alongside her, accidentally mowing down an apple tree in the process.

“Sorry!” she shouted down to the mare on the road. She was a fellow earth pony, as it happened, wearing a rather ratty leather hat.

“Now what in tarnation is all this?” the mare shouted back up.

“We're going to the Krummlin,” said Pinkie, peering over the side of the ship. “How about you?”

“Me?” said the mare. “I'm looking for something to eat.”

Pinkie raised an eyebrow. “You're carrying your own body weight in apples, though.”

“Three times my body weight, actu'lly,” she said with a smirk. “But that ain't no thang. I could eat all these apples and still be hungry.”

Pinkie decided not to press the issue. “Well, would you like a lift to the Krummlin? I'm sure there'll be plenty to eat there.”

“If'n you say so,” said the mare. She hoisted herself up the anchor chain, saddlebags and all. The ship dipped and wobbled as she came aboard, but Pinkie kept the nose up. Pinkie offered her a hoof.

“I'm Pinkie,” she said, “and this is my ship.”

“Nice t'meetcha,” said the mare. “They call me Applejack, on account of my prowess at growin' apples.”

“And eating them, I shouldn't wonder,” Sparkle mumbled, but Applejack was polite enough not to hear.

And on they flew. Past the orchards, there were valleys, little neat ones with streams running along the bottom. All was quiet and tranquil, with only the hush of the wind in the grass. Pinkie was feeling quite restful, when suddenly the sail creaked in the breeze. There was a high pitched squeal, and a yellow pegasus shot up besides the ship. Pinkie brought them to a halt.

“What's wrong?” she said to the pegasus, who was hovering nervously.

“Oh, no, nothing, nothing serious,” she said, her mane falling across her face. “I was just listening to a hummingbird when your ship creaked and startled me.”

“Wait a moment,” said Sparkle, shouldering forward. “There's no hummingbirds in the Crystal Empire!”

“Oh? Aren't there? I'm sorry,” said the pegasus, quietly. “I must've been listening to one in the Amarezon then.”

“But that's thousands of miles away!” Sparkle protested.

“Please, could you be a little quieter, if you wouldn't mind? My ears are very sensitive.”

“I'll say,” said Applejack, joining them on the side of the ship. “What do they call you, then?”

“They call me Flutter,” she said.

“How would you fancy coming with us to the Krummlin?” said Pinkie.

“Oh I couldn't,” she whispered. “The big city is much too loud. I'd much rather stay here in peace and quiet.”

“But surely you'll want to see the capital,” said Pinkie, earnestly.

“The great library!” said Sparkle.

“The famous restaurants!” said Applejack.

“The zoo?” said Pinkie, out of desperation.

Flutter looked up slowly, giving Pinkie a sidelong look.

“A... zoo...? Like... with animals?”

“I assume so,” said Pinkie.

Flutter dashed on deck in an instant.

“Okay then,” she said, smiling ear to sensitive ear. “Full steam ahead!”

Everypony on deck looked at her.

“Well... if you don't mind.”

Pinkie took to the wheel again, spinning them to point towards the Krummlin. The ship flew on, over the valleys and on to the moors, where sheer cliffs stuck out and threatened to shred the ship if she made one error. Pinkie had to take the ship up to avoid running aground as they rose into the mountains. She was carefully avoiding one particularly nasty looking cliff when the ship hit a cloud. Well rather, they rose through it, but there was a thud as it met the deck in puff of vapour.

“Mrfrgl” came a voice from inside the cloud. Then, as the voice woke up, “Whzzt?”

Pinkie stepped forward. Lying on the deck, looking exactly like someone who's just been rudely awoken, was another pegasus. Her coat was rather a fetching shade of baby blue, but her mane looked like she styled it by sticking it in a bucket of rainbow. She rolled over slowly, revealing her two wings tied down against her body.

“Whass going on?” she mumbled.

“Er, you've just come aboard my ship,” said Pinkie. “Welcome?”

“Ship? What's a ship doing up here?” asked the pegasus.

“It's a flying ship,” said Pinkie. “I'm taking it to the Krummlin to see the King to get the hoof of the Princess in marriage and half the empire.”

“That right?” she muttered. “Sounds fine by me. I guess I'll come for the ride, then.”

Flutter padded over. “Excuse me, ma'am,” she said, quietly (as if she had any other way of saying anything), “but why are your wings tied up?”

“Huh? Oh, that's 'cause I'm so fast,” she said, with a yawn. “If I don't tie my wings behind my back, I could fly around the world with one flap. 'S why they call me Dash.”

“Well, welcome aboard then, Dash!” said Pinkie, cheerily. “Make yourself at home!”

“'Kay,” said Dash, curling up on the foredeck and going to sleep.

So on they flew up over the moors, and soon they were over the pine woods that clustered around the foot of the mountains. Snow lay thick on the trees, and everypony's breath misted as the ship glided over the treetops. All was eerily silent, until a sudden shout interrupted it.

“Hey! You there!”

Pinkie rushed to the side with everypony else (making the ship list to one side. It was riding a little lower now) to see what the commotion was about. There, perched at the top of a pine tree, was a white-grey unicorn mare, hanging on with one hoof and waving frantically with another. Her back was laden with saddlebags, and she was wearing a fabulously embroidered jacket. Pinkie steered closer.

When she was within a foot of the tree, the unicorn hopped aboard as neat as you like.

“Ah, thank goodness, I thought no one was coming,” she said, patting herself down.

“Were you expecting someone?” said Pinkie, quizzically.

“Well, not as such,” said the unicorn, taking off her bags and dumping them on the deck. “But I was rather hoping for a lift to the Krummlin with a passing pegasus or griffon. You see, I've come across something rather fine, that I think the nobles will simple fall over themselves to buy.”

She opened one of her saddlebags and took out a bolt of pale blue cloth. It sparkled in the sunlight. Pinkie reached forward to touch it, and found it ice cold.

“Snow silk,” said the unicorn, smiling broadly. “Woven from the high ice of the mountains. It'll fetch a mint in the capital.”

“It's incredible,” said Pinkie, staring at it. She looked up. “Welcome aboard, then!”

“Thank you, Captain...?”

“Pinkie,” she said, offering a hoof.

“Captain Pinkie,” said the unicorn, smiling. “You may call me Rarity, because rarities are my trade.”

And so they flew on. Soon, the trees thinned and they rose into the mountains. And there things got interesting. The wind blew and the snow flew in flurries, battering the little ship this way and that, and Pinkie was barely able to keep an even keel. Her passengers wrapped themselves in a spare sail, huddling together for warmth, but Pinkie stayed at the helm. She knew, if she could just get over these mountains, then the Krummlin would be in sight, and the Princess would be hers.

On they flew through the blizzard, and slowly it began to clear. The ship started to descend, out of the clouds and snow and mountains until there it was.

The Krummlin stood out in the centre of the capital, shining like the half-mile high shard of quartz it was. The ship flew slowly towards it over farms and soft rolling tundra, and the passengers amused themselves. Sparkle calculated the area of each field in square metres, while Applejack calculated the crop yield in square meals. Flutter peered cautiously over the edge, watching the birds fly past while Rarity pondered whether she could paint a message on the side of the ship saying 'For curios, jewellery and fine fashion, come to Rarity's Rarities'. Meanwhile, Dash was still sleeping on the deck.

Pinkie was just bringing the ship down to give her passengers a better view when somepony fluttered up beside the ship. Pinkie looked across and saw a grey pegasus with a blonde mane. On her back, she carried a bundle of sticks. Well, it was a little more than a bundle really, more of a half-ton. She was straining under the weight.

“Excuse me,” Pinkie said to her. “Do you need a hoof with that?”

The pegasus looked over to Pinkie with one eye. The other stared off at cross-purposes.

“Yes, please,” she said, puffing and panting.

She fluttered on to deck and dropped her wood on the deck. The ship dropped and lurched alarmingly.

“Do you really need all that wood?” said Dash, who'd been rudely awoken by the turbulence.

“This is no ordinary wood,” said the newcomer. “Wherever I lay this wood, an army will spring up. I'm taking it to the Krummlin as a gift to the King.”

“Well, come with us,” said Pinkie. “We're going that way.”

The pegasus fell to the deck, kneeling before Pinkie. “Oh thank you so much!” she said. “I don't know how much longer I would've lasted.”

So on they flew, and soon they were out of the farmland and flying over the city itself. Ponies peered up at the ship, and peered all the harder when they saw the passengers. Rumours spread and runners were sent. At the palace, a guard rushed into the throne room.

“Your grace!” he said, panting excitedly. “It's been done! Someone has built a flying ship! It's flying towards the Krummlin as we speak!”

The King broke into a smile. Chancellor Sombra broke into a scowl. Princess Jade's face fell.

They all rushed downstairs, flanked by armed and armoured guards. They can't really have done it, thought the Princess. Unicorn magic is all very well, but a ship flying by itself is pure science fiction.

They trotted down the steps of the Krummlin just in time to see the ship touch down in the middle of the street. A crowd had already assembled to gawk in awe and wonder, and one of the passengers was already shouting about what fabulous discounts there were to be had at Rarity's Rarities.

“Make way for the King!” shouted a guard, and everypony knelt.

The guards shouldered a path through the crowd as a gangplank landed and the flying ship emptied. The seven passengers disembarked, and the King raised an eyebrow. Every single one was a mare. The passengers didn't kneel, earning them a disapproving look from the Chancellor.

“Well!” said the King, putting on his biggest grin. “Who has built this fine-looking vessel?”

All eyes turned to Pinkie, who stepped forward, head up and smiling.

“I did, your highness,” she said.

There was a ripple of mutters and whispers in the crowd. The King's eyes boggled. Sombra looked like he was about to faint. A mare? It was unheard of. The Princess, though? She was looking at this mare rather critically.

She can't be much older than me, although she does look older, thought Jade. She could do with a good wash, mind. And a haircut.

The mare smiled over at her, and the Jade blushed. She didn't even know she'd blushed until she realised she was looking away bashfully. Good lord, was she really looking away bashfully from some upstart from the provinces? She turned back and gave the mare an imperious stare that made her look a little hurt, and the Princess tried not to feel sorry for her.

Sombra's mind, though, was on other things. Damage control for one.

“Your grace,” said the Chancellor, breaking the Princess' train of thought, “this is clearly an extraordinary circumstance. Never before has a mare been offered the hoof of the Princess before.”

“That's true,” said Sparkle, “but never before has it been offered in return for a flying ship.”

Sombra gave her a glare. “Know your place!” he snapped.

“Don't you tell her what to do!” said Applejack, stepping forward. “Why, she's as good as any o' y'!”

Sombra looked like he was about to burst, when the King raise a hoof for silence.

“It is indeed an unusual situation we find ourselves in,” he said, slowly. He may not have been a great thinker, but he sure spoke like one. “We will consult with our advisers on the matter. Until it has been resolved, the individuals in possession of this flying ship will stay at the palace, at our pleasure!”

Pinkie smiled and her passengers cheered. Except for Rarity, who'd fainted dead away, a grin plastered over her face.

So they were given rooms in the Krummlin. Fine silks, plush cushions, soft feather beds, hot and cold running water. To Pinkie this was a life of unimaginable luxury. She lay back on her bed and stared at the ceiling. I suppose when I marry the Princess, I'll get to live here permanently, she thought. Sure, she'd miss her old mum and dad, but she'd still take the time to visit them out in the Taiga woods, when royal business brought her there. She'd bring gifts for her parents, and even for her sisters.

Actually, if she married the Princess, that technically made her the Prince, which meant she could offer her parents a place in the castle. And her sisters, of course. They could all live together under one roof, and never have to worry about draughts or stone soup again.

Yes, she thought as she drifted into a doze. When I marry the Princess, things will all be alright.

* * *

“It is absolutely imperative that that mare does not marry the Princess,” said Sombra, pacing back and forth in front of the throne.

The King was sitting passively, slouching a little while Princess Jade sat beside him attentively. Alright, she was thinking, this doesn't have to be a total disaster. You didn't know someone would actually manage to build a flying ship.

“Can't you just say you didn't mean it?” she said, hopefully. “I mean, take it all back and pretend you never made that promise?”

Sombra stared her down. He had the stare of a particularly disapproving leopard, if it were behind the desk at the DMV.

“Your father is the King,” he said, slowly. “If he starts taking back promises, his word will mean nothing, which will mean mistrust, which will mean conflict which will mean war. Simply saying that it won't happen is not a solution.”

Sombra went back to pacing, muttering to himself. Something about surrounding himself with idiots. Then, he stopped, and his face broke into a smile.

“Ahh, I have an idea, your grace.”

“Mm?” said the King, looking up sleepily.

“We will set the suitor challenges,” he said. “If she fails any of them, then she will not marry the Princess, who can then marry the Prince of the Ottomare Empire, who I feel it should be noted, has been sending us threatening letters.”

The King looked unconvinced. “I don't know. What if she passes these challenges?”

“She won't,” said Sombra, his smile spreading into a grin, “because these challenges will be cunningly and ingeniously devised to be totally unwinnable by anypony on this good green earth.”

“How do you know?”

“Because,” said Sombra, grinning with all his teeth, “I'll invent them myself.”

* * *

Pinkie was woken by shaking. She opened her eyes and blinked blearily to see...

“Come on, sugarcube,” said Applejack, “they're demandin' to see us downstairs.”

Pinkie hopped up off the bed, trying to recollect the bits of the dream she'd just had as she followed Applejack downstairs. Something about the Princess in socks...

Soon they were joined by the other passengers on the stairs. Sparkle was complaining about being interrupted in the middle of some serious mathematics and Rarity was lamenting the loss of her beauty sleep, but everyone was silenced when they entered the grand hall.

A single table dominated the room, but one was more than enough. Especially when they saw what was on it. Now, Pinkie was a pony of the Taiga Woods, used to going to bed hungry. She was aware that, somewhere in the world ponies ate things like nut roast and spinach roulade, she just never thought she'd be in that place. In fact, there was a good deal more than just nut roast and roulade on that table. There were roast parsnips, peppers stuffed with rice, dates, figs, great big boiling tureens of soups and lentil stews of every flavour imaginable. The smell of Hindi curries and Equestrian hay fries hung in the air together, and the colours were something else. Here was a pot of Sylvanian goulash as red as sunset, while over here was a steaming bowl of Ruritanian borscht as purple as crushed velvet.

Pinkie stared, her mouth watering.

“Hello my friends,” said Sombra, walking forwards and looking happier than a cat who's found a particularly slow mouse. “We have decided to put the captain of the flying ship to the test. If she is to marry Princess Jade, then she will have to pass a few challenges. The first of which,” he said, gesturing to the groaning table, “is to eat every last scrap.”

Pinkie's jaw dropped. I mean, she was hungry, sure, and had lived in a state of hunger for most of her life, but this? She knew there were limits.

“Any questions?” he said, still smiling at all and sundry, taking in their dropped jaws and expressions of disbelief. “Good. See you again when you've finished. Or when you give up. Whichever comes sooner.”

And with that, he left. Pinkie padded forward to the table, eyeing it suspiciously.

“I don't like the look a' him,” said Applejack. “He's no good.”

“I think you're missing the point,” said Sparkle, stepping forward. “And the point is that unless all this food goes, Pinkie won't marry her Princess!”

Sparkle eyed up the table critically.

“Hmmm, maybe an invisibility spell until we can find a better way to dispose of it-”

“NO!” shouted Applejack, aghast. “Y'can't just waste food like that!”

She cast her eye up and down the table critically.

“Only one thing to do, with a sitch-oo-way-shun like this.”

She sat herself down at the head of the table, tying the tablecloth around her neck for a bib.

“I'll eat it all for y',” she said, rubbing her hooves together.

“You really think you could?” said Pinkie, in no small amount of awe.

“It'd be my pleasure.”

So Applejack got stuck in. It would be sordid to describe how she went about it, but suffice to say, half an hour later the table was clear, every plate was clean and Rarity had fainted again.

“The horror...” she was murmuring. “The senseless carnage...”

Flutter was just trying to revive her when Sombra strolled back in. He saw the empty plates and the hollow tureens, each one fastidiously licked clean, and his face went from smug to astonished in 0.2 seconds.

“But... how?” he managed.

Pinkie for her part, simply shrugged and smiled. Sombra, on the other hand, was fuming.

Of course, he'd planned for this eventuality, so Sombra took them along to the royal bath house. After such a journey and such a meal, he'd said, surely Pinkie would like a bath to clean her up and relax her, to which Pinkie replied she'd never had a bath before but would be intrigued to try one. Sombra tried a forced chuckle.

“Of course,” he said, smiling a more honest (if slightly more disconcerting) smile “as one of your challenges, the bath will be boiling hot. I hope you don't mind.”

Pinkie flapped her mouth to object, but Sombra swanned off again out of the bath house, humming to himself. Pinkie stared into the bath house door as it was made ready. Inside, two burly earth ponies were chopping wood and building a big fire under a huge black iron tub. Already flames were licking up the sides of it.

“Oh, now that's hardly sporting,” said Rarity, peering inside.

“I'm gonna be boiled alive, aren't I?” said Pinkie.

“Nonsense,” said Rarity. “This miscarriage of justice cannot go unthwarted!”

With that, she levitated a length of freezing cold material. Gently, she laid it across Pinkie's back.

“Put that in the bath, and you'll be fine.”

Pinkie took it in with her, trying to ignore her numbing back. The top of the tub was bubbling and frothing and Pinkie was on the verge of turning tail and giving up, but she had faith in her friends assertion.. She laid the fabric on the water and in an instant, it cooled, hissing and steaming. She stepped in after it and, well, the water was as pleasant and warm as you like. She settled in, shrugging her shoulders happily.

The two ponies fuelling the fire weren't going to be dissuaded, though. They knew what Chancellor Sombra wanted, and they weren't going to disappoint him. So they kept heaping wood on the fire. One stabbed at it with a poker while the other worked a pair of bellows. Slowly, the water got hotter and hotter, and Pinkie started to fidget.

Quick as a flash, Rarity threw another bolt of silk in for Pinkie, and the water cooled. So the ponies started to pile on more wood and blow with the bellows. So Rarity threw in another bolt. And so on and so on and so on.

By the time she ran out of silk, the two earth ponies were exhausted, lying limply on the floor. Pinkie by comparison, was looking as fresh as a daisy.

“Now, are you quite finished trying to boil my friend alive?” said Rarity, giving the two fireponies a harsh look.

They murmured that they were. They were loyal to the Chancellor, but not that loyal. Pinkie hopped out of the bath and towelled herself down. It was only then that she looked back into the bath, and saw all the precious million-bit snow-silk had melted. She turned to Rarity and grimaced.

“Sorry.”

Rarity shook her head. “It's quite alright,” she said, smiling as best she could. “I... I can always find more.”

Pinkie strolled out of the bath house, her companions behind her, straight into Chancellor Sombra. And the King, and the Princess. And a ring of guards.

“I see you've bested the second challenge,” said the King. He glanced quizzically at Sombra. “I assume you have the third and final challenge?”

“I do,” said Sombra, glaring swords at Pinkie (he was long past daggers now). He cleared his throat. “The final challenge is as follows. You are to fetch the water of the spring of life and death, in the land of Sandmarkand.”

“Where's that?” said Pinkie.

Sombra waved a hoof vaguely. “Oh, about two thousand miles that way. Collect the waters, and return here in one hour.”

Pinkie's jaw dropped. An hour? There was no way! She was about to say 'no, this is impossible, when a voice spoke up behind her.

“An hour? You think I need an hour to do it?”

It was Dash. Her wings were straining against the ropes tying them down. Sombra gave her a smile.

“You think you could do it faster?” he said, an hourglass in his hoof.

“In seconds,” she said, grinning. She turned to Pinkie. “Untie my wings, and I'll get you the water.”

Pinkie untied her wings and gave Dash two jugs to carry the water in.

“Very well, then. Begin.”

Sombra turned the hourglass, and sand started to flow.

“Watch this,” she said, with a grin. And like that, she shot up into the air. She turned to face south-east and shot off in a flash of technicolour light.

Going at the speed she was (i.e., something like twice the speed of sound and about half the speed of awesome), she passed over the lands of the Crystal Empire and soon enough she was blitzing over the deserts of Sandmarkand. She did one pass over, eyes peeled for the spring, then went back for another. On the third, she saw a little patch of green in amongst the brown. She swooped down and sure enough, it was the spring, surrounded with big trees with broad leaves. She landed heavily on her hooves and trotted over to the spring. She filled the jugs then... stopped.

The shade of the trees around the spring was rather fine, truth be told. The weather was very warm, and Dash had been flying for miles. Her wings ached and her eyes stung. A little rest in the shade couldn't do any harm.

So she lay down, curled up, and drifted off to sleep...

Meanwhile, at the Krummlin, consternation ruled.

“Where can she be?”

“I knew something like this would happen, I just knew it!”

“Never send a pegasus to do a unicorn's job!”

“Ah knew there wuz somethin' wrong with her.”

“Everyone, I think I can hear someth-”

“The hourglass is already three quarters gone! How long can it really take her?”

“I think I know where-”

“I can't believe she'd-”

“SHUT! UP!”

Silence fell. All eyes turned to Flutter, who coughed politely.

“I was just trying to tell you, I can hear her,” she said, in a voice that could maybe be a whisper when it grew up. “I can hear her snoring, and I can hear running water, so she must be asleep at the spring.”

Sparkle put a hoof on her chin. “Hmmm, we need to wake her up then.”

“But how?”

Sparkle smiled slowly. “I might just have an idea. Flutter, which direction is she in?”

Flutter pointed and Sparkle nodded. She levitated a stone and closed one eye.

“Eighty degree, parabolic trajectory, n=a/m squared,” she muttered, “allowing for atmospheric pressures, wind speed, Coriolis effect...”

Her magic stretched like elastic, drawing the stone back.

“And, with a little luck...”

TWANG.

The stone rocketed up into the air. It flew high over the city, over the mountains, over all of the Crystal Empire until it started to descend. It fell quickly to earth over Sandmarkand, zeroing in on the spring of life and death, then on a blue pegasus sleeping under the trees.

THONK. “OW!”

Dash sat bolt upright. How long had she been asleep? Wasn't there something she was supposed to be...

The jugs! The water! The challenge! Oh bugger!

She leapt to her hooves and sped off. Over the desert, over the dunes, over the Crystal Empire, smashing barriers of sound, magic and anything else dumb enough to get in her way. She gritted her teeth and pressed on as the world ahead went blue and the world behind went red. She stopped at the Krummlin and sped down, landing in the courtyard in a cloud of dust.

Out of the dust, Dash strolled forwards, one jug balanced on either wing. She laid them on the ground in from of Sombra with a little chink, just as the last grain of sand tumbled through the hourglass.

“Hey Chancellor, I got you a drink,” she said, with a truly insufferable grin.

Sombra snorted and gritted his teeth.. “A test, I believe is in order. To ensure these really are the waters of life and death.”

He clapped his hooves and a songbird was brought forth in a cage. The water of death was poured over it and, well, it died( which made Flutter well up and whimper). Then, they tested the water of life on it. Sombra's eye twitched as the bird flapped back up onto it's perch, well as could be and Flutter insisted she have a look at it to see that it was still okay.

“It would seem we've beaten all your challenges, Chancellor,” said Pinkie, grinning.

“Seems so,” he said, nodding, his face blank. “Seems so.”

He turned to the guards. “Seize her.”

“Wait, wha-” she managed, before the Crystal guards descended.

One hoofed her in the stomach and another threw her over his back while she wheezed for breath. Dash tried to beat them off, but they pinned her down with weight and numbers. Rarity fainted away and Flutter was restrained without a fight. Sparkle and Applejack did their best, but neither magic nor brute strength could save them.

“The executions will be tomorrow,” said Sombra, simply.

They were all taken to their rooms, and kept under lock, key and guard.

* * *

In the throne room, Sombra and the King were in a spot of bother. Princess Jade wasn't taking the news well.

“Listen, it's for the best,” said Sombra, hooves out, trying to calm her.

“For the best? You're going to have them executed and you're telling me it's for the best?” shouted the Princess. “Whatever happened to 'we can't just break our promises', eh?”

Sombra sighed. “That pony has to die, for the good of the nation. This country needs an heir, and we can't let some little competition get in the way of that.”

“So what am I?” the Princess said. “Just some pedigree dog to be sold off to the highest bidder?”

The King wilted under the tirade, but Sombra kept his expression of insufferable nobility.

“The future of the empire depends upon your marriage.”

The Princess huffed and stormed out. She managed to stay in a huff all the way into her bedroom. As is traditional, she threw herself on her bed and sulked. Why shouldn't she marry this mare, who came in on a flying ship, with her fluffy pink mane and strange friends? Why did Sombra have to be so unreasonable about it? What on earth is wrong with me? What am I doing worrying about her all of a sudden? She fumed at the unfairness of it all.

* * *

Pinkie slumped on her bed despondently. Well, this was the end of the line, she supposed. No royal wedding, no living in luxury for the rest of her days. Just a short trip out into the yard and a quick bit of axe work. No chance to say goodbye to mum or dad, or even Blinky or Inky. She bit her lip. Now wasn't the time to cry.

She was distracted by a tap at her window, which was odd because she was was on the fifteenth floor. She hopped off the bed and trotted over. Hovering just outside the window was a grey pegasus with blonde hair, a big roll of wood on her back and eyes that seemed to be having a disagreement with each other.

“You!” said Pinkie as she opened the window. “What are you doing here?”

“I've come to help you,” she said, smiling.

“But... why didn't you get captured?”

The pegasus shrugged. “They didn't spot me when they arrested us. I'm good at blending into the background, you see, but that's not important. What is important is the plan.”

“Alright,” said Pinkie. Then, after a pause, “What is the plan?”

“You remember what I told you about this wood?” said the pegasus, grinning. “I'll lay it all around the Krummlin tonight. In the morning, we'll have an army. With it, I'll storm the palace and free you.”

Pinkie laughed. “Brilliant!”

The pegasus turned to go, but Pinkie called after her.

“Wait! I don't even know your name!”

“Call me Doo!” she called back. She flipped an eyepatch down over her left eye. “General Doo!”

* * *

So all that night, Doo went around the palace, laying the wood out in neat, regimented rows in the streets. She muttered to herself as she worked.

“1st lancers here, 12th and 17th light infantry on the left flank, 22nd Guards regiment in the centre...”

A few night-watchponies saw her, but paid her no heed. She was, after all, very good and blending into the background.

* * *

The next morning, Chancellor Sombra woke up feeling unusually good about his life. He hopped out of bed, certain that today of all days would be a good day. He strolled over to the window, ready to take a nice breath of fresh air to start his day. He heaved the big panes open and stopped.

There, standing in the streets around the Krummlin, was an army. Hard-faced ponies in thick armour, pegasi lancers fluttering their wings impatiently, unicorns sparking their horns like flints. His jaw dropped. At the head of the army, a grey pegasus in golden armour flew, an eyepatch over one eye.

“King Diamond!” she shouted, her single yellow eye flashing with anger. “I demand to speak to the King or his representative!”

Sombra straightened his back. “That would be me!” he shouted back. “The representative, I mean.”

The pegasus hovered up to him, flanked by two lancers carrying banners. On the banners was a symbol of two crossed twigs.

“I demand that you release your prisoners this instant, or I will free them by force!”

The question of 'you and what army' wilted on Sombra's lips.

“I... I will speak to the King on the matter,” he said, backing into his room and fleeing to the King's quarters.

The discussion was brief, and contained the phrase 'what were you thinking you idiot' a lot on both sides. At the end of it though, Sombra came out with the prisoners.

“Under the, ah, circumstances,” he said, head hung low, “I have- the king has decided that it would be wisest to surrender the Krummlin to you. We pass the prisoners into your care, and the promise of marriage will be upheld.”

There was a mighty cheer from the assembled troops, and from Pinkie and her friends.

So that's how it was. The marriage was arranged within a week, and although everyone agreed it was a very odd thing for a Princess to marry a mare, they also saw the sense in it. After all, a promise had been made. The Ottomare Empire kicked up a fuss about it, and war looked on the cards for a few weeks, but a show of force by General Doo (relishing her new position) put paid to that.

Everypony settled into life at the Krummlin. Sparkle became the court sorceress, feared and respected, Rarity became a tailor by royal appointment, making the finest clothes for the finest ponies, and Applejack settled down to a farm just outside the city. Flutter was a little disappointed to find there wasn't a zoo in the Crystal Empire, but she that didn't stop her from making one. Dash formed the first flight display team in the Crystal Empire, and she gained a reputation for both incredible daring and remarkable laziness.

And Pinkie? Well, Pinkie did as she said she would. Her family were invited to come and live in the Krummlin and spend their days in luxury. Inky and Blinky agreed without a second thought, but her parents stayed behind. It wouldn't do, they said, to go rushing around at this time of their lives.

So Pinkie settled down to the business to ruling half an empire. And, when in the fullness of time King Diamond left the throne, she ruled the whole thing lock, stock and barrel, helped of course by her friends, her family, and her loving wife.

Oh, and one last thing, I almost forgot. Chancellor Sombra didn't keep his job as Chancellor. He was exiled in short order, but that didn't keep him down. After all, revenge is a dish best served when they least expect it.

Three Brothers and Celestia

There were once three brothers, who performed some great kindness for Princess Celestia. Posterity is silent on what exactly it was, but it can be assumed it was something major, because she offered the three brothers an astonishing reward. They could have anything they wanted. Anything at all.

So she asked the first brother. “What would you like?”

The first brother puffed out his chest and looked proud and stern. “I am a smart stallion,” he said, because he may have been smart, but that didn't mean he was modest, “but I wish to be even smarter. I want to be twice as smart as I am right now.”

Celestia clapped her hooves, and like that, he was twice as smart, and could calculate pi to sixteen digits. Then, she turned to the second brother.

“And what would you like?”

“I too, am a smart stallion,” he said, because pride ran in the family, “but you know what? I want to be smarter too. I want to be twice as smart as my brother.”

Celestia clapped her hooves, and like that, he was twice as smart as his brother, and could calculate pi to thirty-two digits, and list all the capital cities of the world in order of altitude. And with that, Celestia turned to the third and final brother.

“What would you like?”

“I am not a smart stallion,” he said, because pride ran into him and tripped over, “so I’d like to be smarter. I want to be twice as smart as both of my brothers combined.”

Celestia raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure? That’ll make you smarter than any stallion alive.”

“I’m prepared to take that risk.”

As he says, he’s not a smart stallion. Or, indeed, a stallion at all.

For you see, Celestia claps her hooves, and just like that, turns him into a mare.

And now, he can calculate pi to sixty-four digits.