New Pony Tales

by Gabriel LaVedier

Rating: teen
Tags: Gore, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Romance, Original Character
Length: 23246

Pony Tales for a new Era

Nopony believes in those old pony tales... except the true ones.

In some sense, tales are didactic, teaching lessons or instilling values, sometimes preserving, in metaphor and inference, the truth of a painful past. But tales must never be stagnant. When the situation changes, new stories must enlighten a new generation.

By Order of their United and Equal Majesties of the Principality of Equestria, Princess Celestia of the House of Day and Princess Luna of the House of Night, with the help of the Ministers of Equestria and with a mind to advancing and honoring those citizens long neglected or never praised, come new stories to be read to children, and absorbed by the grown.

Published 2013-04-01 05:40:02 UTC
Last updated 2013-07-30 17:28:37 UTC

Snow Magic

In a land very far away from the central Equestrian warmth, very like the region of Griffin lands or thereabouts, where the Aurora made the sky glow like a painting right after night, there lived a stallion. His name was Nikolai, but all that knew him called him Kolya, using a shortening known well to the Stalliongradi folk and others in the near environs with the same language.

Kolya was a proud and noble stallion, he was not of the larger sort but he was robustly constructed for a unicorn. His coat was the color of polished obsidian, his mane was a blazing orange and his eyes were a deep and soulful blue. His Cutie Mark was unimportant, the real matter was his job. He was guardian of his village. It was not small but it was not large. A good collection of homes and several businesses. They took much from the forest and gave back as much as they could. But few, if any went into the deep forest. Often they heard the howl of timber wolves, and rumors of worse.

His place as protector, which put him against stray timber wolves, ice creatures, bears, and even once a very small Ursa Minor, made him popular. Other stallions hailed him, and the mares all sighed and mooned over him. Gifts were plentiful, invitations to dinner ubiquitous and stammering proposals near-daily. Yet Kolya lived alone, in a cozy home just outside of town near to the forest.

Kolya had great respect and admiration for the forest and knew how to trot it with care. It was peaceful, filled with tall firs that provided delicious and nutritious cones as well as wood to be used for all they could need. In return the ponies planted and tended to the new trees. But even further in it was dark, even in the daylight, a contemplative space. He could spend hours wandering around, forever capable of hearing if the town required him thanks to the acoustics provided by the placement of the buildings.

One day as he was walking that deep forest path, in a place he had never been before, he found another pony. She was a unicorn, like him. Her coat was the purest, most pristine white he had ever seen, like fresh-fallen snow. Her mane was the same, and it flowed in a beautiful, straight, full cascade. Her eyes were pale as could be, the tiniest hint of blue-gray with a hidden spark within.

She was beautiful, and more alluring than any other mare he had seen. He approached her that first day with trembling and fear, the great protector rendered speechless. She spoke to him first, unsurprised by his sudden stumbling into the clearing in which she stood. “You are very handsome. Will you walk with me?”

They walked as in a dream. The dark forest had never seemed so light as Kolya walked with the mystery mare. She spoke at great length of the beauty of the deep forest, the strange creatures, odd plants and wondrous features. All through her talk Kolya remained absolutely enraptured, gazing on her with obvious adoration. He could not even speak.

At the end of the walk they were back again at the clearing Kolya had found. “Please... come back with me. I... I want to talk more.”

The pale mare pressed a kiss on his cheek and walked into the woods without a word, hoof-steps soon lost to the howl of timber wolves. Kolya returned to town, unwilling to risk having to face a pack of them at once.

He returned the next day to that very spot, following the remains of his hoof prints to find the mystery mare in the clearing again. “Will you tell me your name?” Kolya asked of her.

“Walk with me,” she said, with a smile.

It was as before. She led him through the deep forest, to see the beauty and wonder of icicle-crusted falls and caves filled with glowing mushrooms in strange and wonderful shapes. Kolya spoke throughout that trip while the nameless mare listened. His questions all went to her name, and his conversations were about himself, how each new sight reminded him of something he had seen before, but grander.

At the end of the walk Kolya took up one pristine hoof and gently pulled her towards the path to town. “Come with me to town. Please, for a visit and a meal. It is lovely.”

She kissed him again, and trotted out into the forest, again lost to the sound of the timber wolves swarming.

His routine became that. He would go into the forest to meet with the nameless mare and walk with her. His questions and requests fell on deaf ears. He never learned anything of her, nor did he care that much after a few weeks of being with her. At the end of one, however, one thing came to his mind. “I don't know your name, your past, or even where you live in this tangle of a forest. I know nothing.”

“You know I care.” She kissed him, as she always did, but lingered close. “I cannot leave. I cannot bear to be near so many strangers. But I am glad you found me.”

“Then... let me stay. Show me your home. Maybe... you will tell me more of yourself without saying a word,” Kolya begged, pressed closer to the white unicorn.

She pushed him away, looking to the side with tears in her eyes. “No... I cannot do that. Please... leave me. Let us... let us be as we are.” She left him there, vanishing into the forest without another word.

Now in that place and at that time there were bad ponies, as there can be even in times of peace. They were truly unlike most ponies, motivated by simple greed and unwilling to live in the town and work hard for a decent gain. They wanted to take and take, not caring about how they hurt others. The leader was a cunning earth pony, a dark gray all over, and she had a great hatred for Kolya, because he was very good at protecting his village. He could always stop her raiders, even when he was called from afar, because the watchponies were not fools and could see any approach no matter how they tried to hide.

The wicked mare had a different plan. She had heard of Kolya vanishing into the woods every day at the same time. And leaving at the same time. She brought all her raiders, and planned to catch him unawares at the moment he left, to keep the plot from discovery. That would end him.

“You cannot stay here as long as you have in days before, and you cannot leave as you have. You have to leave earlier and by another way. Please. There is danger in this forest. Do not ask how I know. But know it will be your end if you do no leave.”

Kolya actually laughed and flexed his muscles, then flashed his horn. Unlike most unicorns he was very strong, probably as a result of a wild talent that gave him earth pony strength. “This forest does not frighten me. You have shown me its wonders and I know it holds you. I feel like I could take it on.”

Kolya did not leave until his normal time, his nameless love pleading with him the whole time to leave before that moment. As he trotted out of the clearing he could hear the usual timber wolves behind him. But unlike other nights, they did not go deep into the forest, they seemed to pursue him. That mattered little to him once he saw what lay before him on his path out. All the raiders he had repelled before, and his hated enemy. “Kolya...” She purred, looking seductive even with a blade strapped to a foreleg and extended towards the unicorn.

“Nikolai, Koshka,” Kolya said with a hard tone.

“You used to call me Koshachka, vozlyubblennaya,” Koshka said with a wink and a grin. “We could have been unstoppable. I wanted you to come with me. I loved you.”

“You hurt ponies, Koshka. Nothing will change how I feel about that. And nothing will change how I feel about you,” Kolya said, lighting his horn and taking a hidden blade from his mane. “Do svidanya, Koshka.”

“A good, foolish, dedicated tovarishch to the end. Do svidanya, Nikolai,” Koshka said with hissing contempt.

Kolya was clearly outmatched. His skill with his blade was honed from defensive action, and both his magic and strength were formidible. But every earth pony raider had a similar strapped blade, all the pegasi had blades on their wings, and the unicorns were levitating either slashing blades or a collection of throwing daggers. The group was not overly large, but it was large enough, and headed by the formidable Koshka.

Before any of the raiders could lift their weapons for a charge Kolya heard the timber wolves again. But rather than simply scamper in the background, they leaped out in a concerted attack. They crashed against the gathered raiders like a wave against the shore. Every one was mobbed, save for Koshka.

The ground before Koshka exploded in a shower of dirt and snow, a barely-seen figure lashing out and managing to tear the blade away from her leg. The dust cleared to reveal a large, strong Diamond Dog female, her coat white as snow, her breed of the middle-sized, perked-eared variety.

Kolya could only watch in disbelief as the timber wolves and Diamond Dog reduced the raiders to a red heap in the snow. Even Koshka fell after only a few swipes from the Dog's powerful, stone-rending claws. Once the deed was done the timber wolves scattered, and left only the Dog there to face Kolya, her white coat stained with Koshka's blood. Her eyes, while sallow as any other, had pale blue-gray irises with a spark within.

Before Kolya could make a sound a flash of magic made him cover his eyes. When he looked again the nameless mare had appeared where the dog had been standing. “I warned you not to linger...”

“Who... are you?” Kolya whispered, slowly approaching.

“My name is Chalcedony Frost. I once lived in a very well-educated but small colony. I was off getting food from the surface one day, and came back to find them gone. I never learned what happened. It's still... I had to survive in the middle of the forest. I used my size and strength to become the alpha of the timber wolves. I am sorry if they bother your village, they are not from my pack.”

“And your... change?” Kolya put his blade away and slowly walked around Chalcedony.

“Underground, I found something. Something magic. It was very old magic, and it was very pure magic, pure as the snow. I came to understand what it meant. It would give me the power to change my form. But only in this forest. And only if... I never harmed another being. And now... now my magic is gone!” With another flash she had changed back into the Diamond Dog again. She gave a huge, heart-rending howl of pure grief and threw herself at the ground, vanishing in a cloud of soil and snow.

Kolya never told what happened. He only reduced the shifts and numbers of the watchponies. They could well have been removed, as they never had trouble with raiders again. The mares in town noted, with some alarm, that after that day Kolya was not his old self. He performed his duties without passion, did not respond to offers of affection with his usual humor, and in general seemed to be pining away for some unknown thing or being.

He also spent much more time in the forest. He trotted the paths he could remember, exploring every fall, clearing and cave for somedog lost to him. He did not fear the timber wolves, nor did he worry about any of the other creatures in the forest.

For the longest time he had searched in silence, first not wanting to antagonize the timber wolves, then not wanting to frighten Chalcedony into fleeing. He finally grew desperate enough to go into the clearing wherein they first met and call out, “Chalcedony! Please come back! I don't care if you are a Diamond Dog! It was the first true thing I learned about you, and when I finally learned your name! Please come back! Please!”

Kolya stood there in the clearing, his cry having silenced all the creatures of the forest. And in the middle of that silence he heard the sound of scattering soil and snow.

Author's Note

Based on the song "Snow Magic" by Mercedes Lackey

The Velvet Halter

Once upon a time, in a city not as grand as Canterlot but nearly so, there lived a very noble and powerful Duchess, the manager of the city and close environs in accordance with her standing. She was an earth pony, in a warm cocoa shade, with a silken mane of dark purple and light purple eyes. Despite being wealthy, charming, beautiful and well over the age of majority she was not even interested in anypony. Whispers abounded about the cause, with no specific evidence in any direction.

The Duchess, whose name was Alta Primera, had been born with what the doctors of bio-thaumatology had called an Extra-Racial Thaumatic Affinity, known to most others as a wild talent. She could feel little prickles and flows of the passing ambient magic from others, and all of them seemed to pass through her and leave a poor feeling in their wake. No stallion or mare, however noble, rich, intelligent or charming ever felt right.

That all changed one night when she was introduced to a mysterious pegasus stallion. He was a deep, rich midnight blue color, with a light turquoise mane that was styled into rolling waves. His body was surprisingly long and lithe, like the model mares. He was wearing a tuxedo on his upper body, and, for some reason, a black velvet halter enhanced with gold accents. None at the gathering knew who the stallion was, but Alta did not care. She could feel... a strange sensation from him. It was not the usual prickling of magic, and it was thick with some kind of magical miasma. But under it was a certain pleasantness.

“Greetings, Duchess. My name is Masquerade. I am a stranger in this city, raised in a place far away but among this sort of nobility. Please forgive my intrusion.” His voice was light, soft but very masculine. His eyes remained properly down but still flicked up to take in Alta's pretty face.

Alta was enraptured. Such handsome features, such a perfect body, such an excellent sense of style, though the halter was an odd touch. But all those things meant nothing. What truly mattered was the feeling she got from him. That beautiful feeling beneath the miasma. “Masquerade... your name is nice, as is all I may perceive. I have never met a stallion like you, not in all my days... please, accompany me this night.”

Alta and Masquerade spent the whole party together, snacking, talking, and once sharing a very innocent, non-contact dance. All through that night Alta was drawn to what little trace of wonderful feeling she could feel radiating from Masquerade. He was very shy and retiring, shrinking from attention and praise. It was all so endearing.

“I am amazed by this wonderful city. It is beautiful. And the realm's manager is quite wonderful. Please... may I return again?” Masquerade did not want to leave when the night was over.

“I will arrange some gathering to give you that very chance. I find you strangely enrapturing, and I wish to explore this feeling more,” Alta responded, reaching up to try and stroke the stallion's cheek, and halter.

Masquerade pulled away suddenly, his own hoof making sure his halter was on properly. “I will do anything you like and join you for all the activities you wish... but you cannot touch my halter.” With that he made his way out of the manor.

As promised, by both, more gatherings of the grand were arranged, from balls to races to dinners, and Masquerade was forever available to be at Alta's side through each. She found herself growing fonder and fonder of the mysterious and retiring stallion, and grew double fascinated with his twin mysteries: the stranger heaviness over the wonderful aura, and his constant warnings to never touch or remove his black velvet halter.

It finally happened that Alta was unable to put off the fact that she had fallen for the modest but charming Masquerade. The arranged a ducal wedding immediately, making it the grandest spectacle the duchy had seen in generations, surpassing the weddings of most of the members of her family.

On the honeymoon night, before the first joining as wife and husband, the new Duke Masquerade told his wife, as they kissed and pressed to one another, “Even now, when we are joined as spouses, please... you must never remove my halter.”

The mystery had burned hot in Alta's heart, teasing her, sending dreams and idle curiosities about why this charming stallion was so concerned over a piece of gold-accented velvet. She would not be denied her curiosity. She would discover the mystery of the object and perhaps of the feeling she ever got from her new husband.

While Masquerade was distracted with a kiss, and his eyes were closed tight, Alta deftly unlatched the halter and pulled it off of Masquerade's snout, breaking the kiss to send it to the floor.

The distraught stallion snapped his eyes open and scarcely had the time to scream before he was engulfed in a wave of green fire which cleared a moment later. His body was stark black and shiny, semi-flexible chitin over his whole surface, with membranous green areas over his belly and serving as tail and wings. Holes were shot through his legs and wings, while a single, smooth horn rose from his brow. His eyes were a simple expanse of blue, wavering, filled with betrayal and laden with greenish-gold tears. “You swore to me you would never remove it! I told you never to take it off!”

Alta stared in shocked disbelief. Not at the marvel of her husband becoming a Changeling, but by the wave of sensation she felt from him. When the halter fell and the fire cleared there gave a rush of pure joy, a warm and deeply pleasant sensation she had never experienced before. She had tasted the small trace and realized it had been hidden by the thick magic of the halter. “What is that thing? It was... hiding you from me. I feel... I feel a wonderful magical aura that I have never felt from any creature in all my life. I tasted small morsels while you wore it but now... it is free...”

Masquerade looked aside, in shame, and lightly kicked the halter with a holed leg. “I was born with a defect. All the doctors and scientists and healers in the world said an important gland within would never work properly. I could never take a disguise. The only hope was that. An enchanted creation, the only one in the world. If I wore it I could live as a pony, look like a pony, be among ponies. I would be useless to Changelings. But perhaps pass well among ponies. But now...” He buzzed his wings, looking to the glass doors that led to the balcony.

“Wait! You cannot leave me!” Alta grasped the smooth, cool chitin of her husband, squeezing as tightly as her earth pony body could. “I know what I was feeling now. Mendacity. All my life, every stallion and mare presented had their own motives, and they were naked to me thanks to this power. Your halter was a lie, a choking fog, but your motives were so pure they bled through even so. Now that I have you please do not leave me.”

The greenish-gold tears fell from Masquerade's eyes, leaving the barest scent of honey. “I am a Changeling. Barely tolerated in the best of times,” For this was in a less enlightened age, “And I lied to you. Let me go so I will spare you. You may marry one more fitting to you.”

Alta shamelessly kissed Masquerade's fanged mouth, showing as much love as any pony could show another sentient being. “You came to me without greed or intrigue, lacking labyrinthine schemes and designs. You wanted my love and care alone. None is more fitting.”

The Duchess and Duke offered no explanation of the sudden change in the Duke's appearance. They only went on, as in love as it was possible for any two creatures to be. The only strange thing noted was a manor guard reporting that on the night after the honeymoon the Duchess casually threw a black velvet halter into the fireplace, and ignored as it burned to cinders with a green flash of expiring magic.

Author's Note

Based on "The Velvet Ribbon"

The Metal Assassin

Once upon a time in a far different land in a far different world (for it is believed that there are other worlds somewhere, though it is dearly hoped none of even the same cast as this) there lived a cruel and monstrous unicorn prince. He was as unlike the royal family as could be possible, even worse than the worst rumors of the nobility. He believed in the lie of absolute power granting absolute freedom from care, and the mad idea that the future could judge him freely as he would be above it. He did not keep his promises, despite knowing well none would ever trust him because they knew he would break them instantly.

He did not care about the population, consequently his cities were swamped in poverty and crime, while his corrupt and predatory constables stalked the streets, taking money for flimsy promises of protection, harming those who did not pay or those they were paid to harm. The farms suffered under his mismanagement, his lesser nobles punishing the farmers harshly for the mistakes the nobles made. Starvation was common. There was no happiness or peace, but his will was absolute, so none dared oppose him.

Despite his awesome power and control he had a terrible secret. He was actually utterly terrified. He feared death, despite the fact that he was master over the lives of others and had absolute dominion over their fates. He feared that the population would think they could turn on him, and worse, that they would succeed. For that reason he summoned his Royal Artificer.

Now in this land it could be understood that an artificer is like what is meant by the title of “thaumatomechanical engineer.” While an ordinary occupation in the normal world, in this world it was a very uncommon thing, more so because the evil prince had taken the best there was and eliminated all the rest. His Artificer was an older stallion, also a unicorn, gray in body and mane. He had constructed the machines, simple and elaborate, that the prince used to harm his subjects, to merely show his power or to eliminate those he found unworthy. The knowledge of his guilt weighed heavily on the old stallion, but he could do nothing but obey. “You call and I obey, great prince,” He said, bowing before the mighty prince.

The prince did not even look down on the bowing stallion. “I command you to build the most unwavering servant in all the world. A guard who will never tire, never look aside, never fall into the temptation of taking fee or pleasure for my betrayal. Deadly and sure, and as near to invincible as any thing could be. Bring this thing to me. And do not fail me.”

“It will be done, my prince, as you command I obey,” The Artificer said. As he rose and trotted away his mind began to swirl with thoughts of what the Prince would be like with no restriction and no fear. He would misuse the guardian as a tool of destruction. In that moment the guilt in his heart turned to contrition. He had to make up for all the evil he had been forced to perform. He would make the servant. But he would make it to destroy the Prince.

He set to work with a will he thought had been beaten out of him by the evil he had been forced to commit, working harder and longer than he had when he was younger. Everything mattered more. He mixed alloys in his forge to find a nearly indestructible metal, combined reagents and crystals with all classes of magical influence to create the power for weapons and the thing itself. In addition, he created the most advanced matrix of interconnected infused crystals to create an intelligence out of inert objects.

He also secretly began another construction, deep in a hidden part of his workshop. He needed to make sure that there was a fallback plan. The first device could fail somehow, or be misused before it was set on its true mission. It was a lot to do, and it took a great deal of time, and resources. He had to pretend that the sole project needed more than it seemed, and increasingly rarer and more difficult to obtain. The Prince did not have any trouble getting them, thanks to his ruthless efficiency. The Artificer's guilt only deepened, as he knew the brutality visited upon the couriers and merchants. That made him work all the harder.

Time ticked away, and the Prince's patience, which was poor to start, grew more and more frayed. The Artificer knew he would be called forth to explain his failure. He had finished his work, he was ready but was still unsure about how it would work. He went to the prince in any case, drawing behind him a cart with a large object covered with a sheet. “The deed is done, mighty Prince. Here I have your tireless servant. The one who will serve you as sword and shield.”

“Do not forget yourself, Artificer!” The Prince seethed, stomping a hoof down solidly. “I need a sword but have no need for a shield. I am already great and invincible! Do not dare say such a thing again.”

“Forgive me, great one, I spoke without thinking. I was a fool,” The Artificer said, with trembling and supplication. He quickly unhooked the cart and used magic to whip off the sheet. “Behold, great one, the tireless creature you desired.” It was impressively made. It stood like a pillar of metal and crystal, slightly wider at the base with a domed top. It was studded over its gold-colored surface with crackling hemispheres of various magic-infused crystal. At the top the surface of the perimeter below the dome was studded with magical eyes that gazed out, unblinking, a long tube extending from above the ring of eyes, its purpose unknown. Just above the middle portion was a rotating ring containing other tubes, the ring rotating a few times as the tubes moved up, down and around.

The Prince regarded the thing, impassive. “It is a strange thing. This trinket took all your time and rare resources? I am inclined to believe you are trying to deceive me.”

“Never, my lord! See!” Suddenly the Artificer threw up a ball of iron. The device turned a tube to face it and shot a beam of magical force. It struck the ball, the metal partially melting partially exploding. “This is sleepless, tireless, relentless, deathless and merciless. It is as you commanded.”

The Prince nodded curtly, his expression neutral. “Device, come by my side.”

The metal thing spoke, its voice monotonous, deep and rasping. “I obey.”

With that done the Artificer left, rushing back to his workshop. He had bought himself more time. How much he could not know. He only knew that he had to work fast. The device obeyed. But it did not obey who the Prince believed.

Days later, after tirelessly being beside the Prince, the device was ordered to kill a guard, for the sake of amusement. “Do you order this out of fear for your life?”

“Accursed creation! You dare ask such a question? I fear nothing! Do this because I order!” The Prince pounded the ground and pointed at the guard.

“Selfish fiat exercised. Executing primary purpose. Eliminate Prince!” The metal creature aimed several tubes at the Prince and let off bursts of powerful magical force.

The Prince scarcely had time to bring up a magical field and push back on the metal thing. “What is this madness! You insolent device!”

“Eliminate! Eliminate! Eliminate!” More magical bolts streaked out, progressively weakening the magical field while the magical eyes glowed a hateful red.

The Prince harshly lashed out from behind the disintegrating field with his own bursts of magic. To his dismay the Artificer had been as good as his word. The combination of the new alloys and the crackling infused crystals dulled the power of the Prince's attacks. He pushed out a desperate last wave of power that threw the metal monstrosity to its side the bottom facing the Prince. He fired another burst of magic into the bottom of the thing, where there were no crystals. The magic functioned better, splitting the bottom and creating a discharge of magic. “Face the price of your betrayal!”

“Danger! Destruction! Incapable of rising!” The tube at the top was slowly rotated to push at the ground, the thing attempting to right itself. “Sending knowledge!”

A few more blasts of magic stopped the crackles of the crystals, and forced the rod to stop, sending the thing falling back down. The Prince was left panting, disheveled, and upset. His rage was not aimed at the guards that failed, but at the Artificer that had betrayed him.

The Prince swept through the halls of the palace filled with fury, charging past confused guards and cringing servants. Though he never deigned to visit the artificer's workshop he was well aware of where it was. He had approved its construction, and knew where it had been placed. He might have been cruel but was no fool.

Before he got too close to the workshop, however, he was confronted by the mechanical being again. It was a perfect replica of the one he had just defeated. It did not speak, but merely fired magical bolts. They were blocked by the raging Prince who once again sent out a magical wave to knock it to the ground.

He could not actually push his attack advantage again, as the metal assailant aimed its tubes down to delay attacking while its upper rod pushed against the ground and righted itself. When it was back up it rolled towards the Prince again, finally speaking, “Eliminate!”

The Prince was forced to retreat. He kept a protective field behind him as he ran through the halls once again, back to his throne room just to confirm he had destroyed the first one. The metal heap was still there, laying on the scorched carpet.

The Prince lifted the scrap metal figure and held it out towards the door through which the second figure would come. Before it did there were several magical bolts that streaked out and hit the deactivated machine, not doing much in the way of damage, and scarcely causing the telekinetic field to waver.

The unstoppable metal creature emerged into the throne room and fired more magical bolts, striking different points on the deactivated version, seeking the weak places. While it was distracted with the task the Prince swung the scrap hulk like a club, to batter the active one. In that moment, when the shielding metal body was moved just out of the way a stray magical bolt struck out and sizzled across the side of the Prince's face. It was almost a direct contact, the barest bit of the magical corona passing across his flesh, leaving a streak of magically-scorched flesh across his cheek, his eye spared more by luck than skill.

Though the Prince's pain made him lose his concentration his strike had been true. The broken device heavily hit the attacking one, breaking off numerous tubes and sending it to the ground in a sparking, twitching heap. All the motion it could muster could not move the derelict device, nor could it find an angle for attack.

The Prince recovered from his pained stunning and carefully look on the metal creature. “Your creator thought himself clever, but I am more clever by far. My power is unstoppable. I am invincible. And now I will destroy you and your insolent inventor.”

“Before you destroy me you must know the truth,” The damaged metal creature said, still feebly trying to extricate itself. “I am not the last, nor could there ever be a last. My creator, washed in guilt and the blood of the innocent he helped to harm, feared that one unstoppable creation would not be near enough. He feared your reputation, even if he was in a position to know you are not the unstoppable force you claim. He constructed a device deep in his workshop where you will never find it. It is a marvel. Within, those like me may be continually and near-instantly produced. But he would not merely flood the world with my like. The spark of life and intelligence only ever resides in one. And that same spark is passed down, device to device. By magic transmission I had all knowledge the first did, and added to it with what I learned. I will pass it to a third. Each will be grander than the last as it will know your tricks and deceptions. You refine each into a machine more capable of destroying you. You will be pursued, to the ends of the world and beyond, until the task is complete. I feel, even now, I am close to deactivating. The third will rise. And it will not miss, it knows now how you move and fight. I have marked you. You are not invincible. You are a pony of flesh and blood. Flee if you think you can, but fear my next body, and fear your subjects should they know what you are. Eliminate! Eliminate! E-lim-in-ate! E-li-li-li...” With a fading whine the creature went still.

What became of the Prince for a good portion of his existence was speculation. Guards who eventually found nerve to enter the throne room found the two destroyed creations, marks of battle and the Prince's grand raiment, torn to shreds and discarded by a broken window. Rumors persisted that the Prince had fled the town around his palace with a supply of money, to far distant localities. Tales from many villages around that period traced the path of a strange, half-mad unicorn that feared metal and magical crystals and who mixed his terror with imperious demands for respect. Citizens constantly ran him out of the towns with threats to inform the palace of his presence. That single threat would send him screaming to the next village.

At last the path ended, at a village by a thick forest. He had been pushed out for his attempted destruction of all things large and cylindrical, which he insisted were disguised killers. Those chasing the rumor of the prince found him in that forest, within a complex collection of bulwarks, sharpened stakes and spike-filled pits. His body lay at the center, his back to a stone wall. He was well preserved, his eyes wide open, his body huddled protectively. To all those that had found him it appeared he had died of fright.

In the palace itself great changes happened. Power was assumed by the Artificer, as none other dared chance that the Prince might one day return. Combining an expanded use of his artificial creations with more stringently-enforced laws and the use of sense in management the nation pulled out of its corrupted spiral and thrived. The population hailed him as a hero, which they had never done for the old Prince, and praised his name daily, without coercion, something never bestowed on the old Prince.

In time the aging Artificer grew weak and feeble, and passed rulership on to a council of representatives that would choose a new ruler. He became bedridden, but was often approached by the curious, to hear tales of the old days. At that time the story of how the Prince had been ousted was known and legendary. One pony, finally, wished to know about the great machine. “A wonder!” He said, sitting by the bed of the old Artificer. “It kept the Prince running away, afraid for his life. I only wonder how many of them it took before he finally simply died in fear of them.”

The old unicorn laughed long and hearty, though he ended with a cough. “I had been waiting to tell my final secret. The greatest of all. The Prince was growing impatient, forcing me to give him the device before I had finished with the great machine. I worked on it all the harder when the device was in his care, hoping I could finish before he learned the secret of its eventual betrayal. Here is the truth... I built more than one of the things, with my own hooves, as buffers against the Prince while I finished the machine that could make them endlessly. But in truth... I never finished the great machine. For all these years it has sat, untended, unused and unneeded.”

The pony beside him gaped in amazement. “Astounding... but then tell me! How many did you build with your own hooves, that they managed to hold and hound the Prince to his doom?”

The old stallion smiled and rasped out, “Just two.”

Author's Note

Inspired by several sources. Loosely, the song "The Mechanical Girl" by Voltaire from the album "Riding a Black Unicorn" seen here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jWt9pCPx8w8

And by the Daleks of Doctor Who, with a dash of the Cybermen.

And of course, the episode of MASH where they prank Hawkeye by not pranking him.

The Sweetest Gift

Once, out on the prairie there was a great buffalo chief. He was wise and quite powerful, as he carefully managed his resources and produced many things that others eagerly bought. His tribe was very content and respected, yet the chief was upset.

He had produced several children in his time with his wife, but his eldest, who was to be the next chief, had never married. A chief was expected to marry and produce at least an heir to succeed him. The young bull, Resplendent Spirit, was a very handsome male. He was notably less muscular than the other bulls under the chief but made up for it by being a great shaman, whose command of mana flow was truly remarkable.

Resplendent was hesitant to marry, but not because he was selfish, which was the suspicion of many of the other bulls. He had watched his father's fortunes grow, and watched others come in to try and take advantage of it. His father had been too wise for them, but still he had seen greed and lies. He was afraid of any wife that would come forward, because they would want him for the power he would hold, mundane and magical.

Time did not make his father less demanding; if anything it made him more desperate to get his son wed. It was not because he was demanding or uncaring, it was because he loved his son and wished for the same happiness that he had found. He was also not unaware of his son's wandering eye. Though presented with fine buffalo maids his eye most often wandered to the pony mares that would come visiting. He knew what would be required.

In that land there had been no romance between buffalo and ponies, and it was a strange thing to them, however understood it may be in the wide world. Still, the chief believed it would be possible. He announced that he would have a gathering of mares for his son, but that his son would set the criteria for the mares he would choose.

Resplendent was well aware of the kind of mares that would show up. The kind that had come for his father. They would appreciate his future holdings, and think little of him, if they thought anything at all. They might even have his children, but all for gain, not for love. He had to ask for something that would make them reconsider even trying. So it was that his father made an announcement that those who would vie for his son's affection would have to bring, 'The sweetest and most precious gift in all the world.'

Three months later the time had arrived to bring the mares and their offerings. Resplendent noted, with some pleasure, there were not many mares there. He would not feel guilty about rejecting all of them and keeping their greed away. He knew they were greedy. They were all finely-dressed, standing out in the most gaudy fashion possible, and all of them had at least one retainer with them to help with their offering.

“Good day to you, honored Resplendent Spirit,” The first mare said, bowing deeply. She was a unicorn, as all the contenders seemed to be. “My name is Lady Glittering Jewels. And I present to you this.” She used her magic to take the cover off of a piece of very mish-mashed dessert. “Behold... The Marzipan Mascarpone Meringue Mousse Eclairtopia. Constructed by five world-class chefs if has been made only twice, and has only ever been served to royalty. This piece is the only one that exists outside of the pony capital city.”

Resplendent tasted it carefully. An unusual flavor, but it was certainly well-made. “Yes, very good,” He said, before moving along.

The next mare looked very unusual. She was wearing a lab coat and had on a pair of goggled on. But, the lab coat was made of pure silk, and the goggled were made of gold and carved obsidian, held on with a silk ribbon. After taking a bow she said, “Good evening, Resplendent Spirit! My name is Doctor Steam Power, Duchess of Chillenfrost. And here is what you have sought.” She extracted a small dropper vial from within her coat. “This is the sweetest thing in all the world. I spent months gathering together all the different classes of sugar, natural and artificial, distilled them, refined them and combined them with a special chemical process to create this sweet liquid. One drop is worth more than ten times its weight in platinum and could sweeten almost as many gallons as it's molar number.”

Resplendent tasted as small of a drop as he could and nearly collapsed from the concentrated sweetness. Still he managed to stammer out, “Th-thank you. That was... new...”

So it went down the short line until he reached the end, where he found what could only be the worst of the lot. She was practically dripping with jewels and precious metal, and wearing a titanic dress of numerous expensive fabrics. She bowed deeply and looked up with a greedy gaze. “Greetings, most handsome Resplendent Spirit. My name is Marquise Aphrodite Evening. And I have this.” She pushed a maid forward with a covered plate.

The maid was a long and gangly earth pony in a golden tone with an amber mane. She was in a very ordinary gingham dress with a white apron. She removed the cover from the plate and held it up, wordlessly. There appeared to be a number of beautiful and bright gems on the plate. “What is this?” Resplendent asked.

Aphrodite nudged the silent maid, looking too involved in her own elegance to answer the question. The maid spoke softly, shyly, saying, “These are candy gems, formed by a magical process that mimic the exact process that the natural gems of these type would grow in despite the natural inclination of sugar growth. The flavors were perfectly extracted from fruits so the taste is exact. And, dragons were polled to give an impression of the actual taste of gems as they understood them. It is all locked in here.”

Resplendent gave one a half-hearted lick, but he did not taste a thing. He could only look at the awkward, retiring, gangly mare. “Who are you?” He asked, quietly.

“Oh, did you forget? Aphrod-” Aphrodite began.

“Quiet,” resplendent said, firmly. He looked down to the maid more directly. “Who are you?”

“I'm... I'm just a maid...” The mare said, almost as a mumbled whisper.

“Please, what is your name?” Resplendent came in closer.

Though she hesitated, seeming almost afraid she finally responded, “Peach Pit.”

The name danced like the prairie grass across Resplendent's ears, a smile crossing his features, the first real one of the evening. “Did you bring a gift?”

“E-excuse me?” Peach asked.

“Did you bring me a sweet and precious gift? None of these other mares have managed anything truly sweet and precious,” Resplendent said, pointedly ignoring the offended huff from Aphrodite.

“I have nothing. I am only a maid. A poor country mare who serves because I have nothing else,” Peach said, cringing down more, ashamed of her own commonness.

Resplendent came even closer, giving his warmest, most inviting smile. “You must have something. Something of your own that is sweet and precious,” He said, pouring all his gentle and soft tone into it.

Peach almost started to hyperventilate a little bit, unsure what she could do. She felt compelled to offer him something. Anything. Desperate, she leaned in and planed a kiss on his lips.

Peach Pit and Resplendent Spirit were married a day later, by the chief himself, who asked his son how he had chosen the mare that he had, out of all the others presented. His reply was, “She gave me the sweetest and most precious thing she had. All of herself.”

The two lived happily after that, and had many, many buffaponies together.

The Gilded Cage

Once upon a time, in a far and tiny nation, the population gossiped openly about the rumors of a mysterious and ill-regarded tower located deep in the dark and allegedly-haunted woods that ran for many day's walk into a mountain valley. The winds of the mountains prevented pegasi from skirting over the top of the forest, while the imposing forest itself brushed off the most stalwart of earth ponies and most magical unicorns.

The reason for the rumors was that it was said that a handsome prince resided in the tower, the prisoner of some wicked creature. Every bold mare, and one or two burly stallions, after a belly full of ale, talked up good plans to charge the forest, storm the tower, slay the creature and take the prince for themselves. That tended to last as long as it took for the next round to arrive. Then there was more drinking, sheepish looks and hearty, derisive laughs from the others, who were also not bold enough to follow through.

Washed in all those rumors, boasts and unfruitful notions was an unassuming bar wench, Doe, a donkey of a plain and unassuming look. She would snort with derision at every suggestion, aware they would all come to nothing, and did her best to hide her braying laughter amid the chorus of mocking following the failure to act. She tried her best to appear mild, shy and invisible but was, in reality, quite wise and quick of wit.

It became clear to Doe that every plan was washed in uncertainties. It was not that the boastful ones did not know what they would do if they encountered this terror or that challenge, it was that none knew what lay beyond the barest edge of the forest. They barely knew there was a tower from seeing the top of it stabbing up through the leafy canopy far off through the woods. They lacked any coherent idea about how to proceed because they had never bothered to try examining things.

At long last it was enough. After yet another boasting that ended in stuttering admission that the teller would not go Doe dropped her broom and proclaimed, “Oh enough! If none of you will go out there I'll do it myself! It will spare me more stammering and drunken boasting that comes to laughter and failure before the journey is started!”

There was silence in the tavern for a long time, before every last patron erupted into a gigantic laugh. One commenter, a meager little speck of a blue unicorn pointed to Doe and said, “You?! Ha! There have been titled knights and dames out here in full armor and years of training who have sallied out and never come back. And you think you can do it? A tavern-keeping donkey?”

Despite the sentiment of the others being against the idea of success, they did not appreciate the mention of Doe's species. While the unicorn was being chastised another tavern-dweller said, “Impossible! Even if you fight through the dark forest, and to the tower, how can you defeat the creature? You don't have a plan.”

“That's because I don't know anything about what it is. Going out might be crazy but I'm not just going to hang around here and listen to you cowards making useless plans. I'll at least find out what the thing is and what it's really like in there. I'll have a sensible plan anyhow.” With that, Doe took up her broom and stormed off.

Despite the late hour Doe didn't hesitate. She went to her home for a pack of food, a lantern and some water, then set out for the forest. It was alleged to be packed with creatures of every horrible description, brutes and beasts behind every tree waiting to swallow the unwary whole. But being a sturdy and redoubtable donkey, she was hardly swayed by idiotic rumors from those who had never been in there.

Despite the intimidating, impenetrable darkness of the trackless woods and the tangle of bushes and brambles she could see between every tree and jutting rock she charged ahead, letting the bobbing light of the lantern tell her of what obstacles fell within the modest circle of visibility. It would be too easy to get turned around in the darkness so she worked carefully, knowing what she could was right in front of her at the outset and fixing on the very spot. Each time she reached a tree she found the exact opposite face and proceeded from there, intent on avoiding the foolishness of getting lost.

Sounds were plentiful in the darkness, unnatural cries and howls from the distance, which could have been anything from timber wolves to nameless creatures never glimpsed by any eyes. Rustles rang from every bush and the sound of scattering stones indicated any number of followers, mundane or magical but always present. Every trot was pursued, every motion marked with some cry or shift of whatever was coming for her.

She set down the lantern and actually jabbed her broom into the darkness past the lantern's light. Nothing. No monsters, no timber wolves, not even a startled rabbit. There was nothing but noise, following her path. Some kind of magical trickery to frighten her away. She was a strong and sturdy jenny. She would not be driven off by simple tricks.

Her path through the forest was slow and tedious, necessary to maintain the straight path that would lead to the tower. Dull as it was, it worked. She found a clearing in the distance, which was being slowly illuminated by the rising sun. It hadn't seemed like such a long journey, but she was happy to take the light. The sunlight revealed the tower, a tall structure of pure white stone, capped with a pointed roof also of white stone. Less comfortingly, the rising sun highlighted the ground before the tower, right below a balcony near the top. In a crater before the tower was a collection of bodies, skeletonized and wearing rusted armor bearing noble crests. The noble ponies who had come before.

It did not paint a rosy picture of the prospects, but by no means did it deter the intrepid jenny. Sparing them only a respectful dip of her head she went around the base of the tower, expecting to only find a smooth, unbroken expanse requiring some form of magic to get through. Around the rear side of the tower, however was a simple wooden door, one which was not barred in any fashion. A simple push and it swung open, revealing a stone staircase spiraling up the inside of the tower, directly to some spot in the darkness above.

The sort of boasting figure found back at the tavern would have invented a thousand different reasons to mistrust the open door or the spiral stairs, just to get out of finding out the facts. Doe was anything but of their ilk. She tapped the steps as she went up, true, but she never hesitated on the circling passage to the top.

That top was blocked by nothing more than a simple red velvet curtain, which was easily pushed aside. Past the curtain the room was awash in bright light from the numerous reflections created by the sun striking great expanses of gold and jewels. The entire inner space was like what Doe always imagined the private chamber of a noble looked like. Finely-made furniture was placed about, holding functional and functionless objects made of precious metals and gems. The walls were covered in expensive tapestries and beautiful paintings, while the floor was spread with beautiful colorful rugs of a make Doe could not identify.

It was an impressive place, and Doe could not help but let out a whistle, which brought up a sound from an area up a small set of stairs. There was a huge bed there, with a canopy and filmy curtains around it. From out of the bed lumbered a great golden unicorn. His body was a rich, shining shade of yellow, while his mane had more of a coppery tone like unpolished gold. He was a huge, heavy male, yet even so he almost seemed to mince along down the stairs in great surprise. “Goodness! Who are you? You don't look like the nobles that have come here. Are you... a peasant?”

Doe snorted softly and waved her broom in a vaguely threatening manner. “And if I am? I'm a donkey too, does that make a difference? What I am mostly is here to... I'm not sure. I was going to say rescue you but the curtain here opened easily enough and the door down there wasn't locked. I'm not sure why you're still here.”

The golden stallion waved dismissively. “Donkey, pony griffin, that hardly matters. I mean to say I presumed that only nobles could reach this place, in all their resplendent finery with their crests proclaiming the glories of their line.”

“Well, no,” Doe said, rather bluntly, “All it takes is not being an idiot while walking through the forest and realizing there was just a lot of noise in here. What's your name, goldy, and why are you up here if nothing's locked?”

“My name is Prince Aurelius,” the stallion proclaimed, with a grand sweep of his hoof, “And I am here by my own choice. I was placed in this great tower for my own good.”

“How do you figure that? You're in a tower in the middle of the woods. Not a great way to meet other folks,” Doe noted.

“I would hardly wish such a thing. Here I may have all that I desire, be filled wholly with my own desires, while separated from the horrible, horrible world, a place of peasants, and grasping nobles, and hook-clawed mares seeking to latch only my bloodline. Separated from a world that would take away my pleasures,” Aurelius said.

“Well what idiot told you that?” Doe asked incredulously.

“I did!” All of a sudden there was a third presence in the room. The interloper was like the color inversion of Aurelius, floating ethereally just outside of the balcony, his eyes cold and hard. “Who are you, peasant? What worthless nothing comes to this place?”

“Who's this guy? And why does he think I won't give him some of this?” Doe shook the broom at the floating figure.

“He is my royal sorcerer. He told me of the flaws in the world, he put me here to protect me. He is forever thinking of my best interests,” Aurelius said, with a smile. “But please, Cuprum, do not be so rude to our guest. She has not been in any fashion like the others. And she has been nothing at all like the peasants you described.”

“'Guest'?! You call this... creature a guest? She is an interloper! An affront to your royal presence!” Cuprum shouted, floating threateningly towards Doe.

“I warned you! Sorry, I'm too low-ranked to be polite and all this courtly stuff needs a shortcut,” Doe said before repeatedly bashing Cuprum with her broom. Though it did not have much of an effect he still looked almost pained merely by the indignity of the attack.

“A-hahah! Oh Cuprum! I do like this lady! I wish she was here all the time! She is nowhere near as stuffy as the others and she knows how to handle you. You can be so grim sometimes,” Aurelius laughed heartily and came over to give Doe a friendly back-clapping.

“I've had a lot of folks talk about me but never like that. You know... for a pretty-colt lunk you're not too bad,” Doe said with a smile, still wielding her broom against Cuprum.

“Insolent braying longears!” Cuprum thundered, voice and magical force washing over the tower room, scattering the fancy objects and throwing both Doe and Aurelius around. Cuprum tore the broom out of Doe's grip before grasping her throat with a magical force. “The nobles had the decency to humor his worthless ways and play the courtly game before I convinced them to leap to their dooms!”

“You what? Cuprum... you told me they had a magical staircase,” Aurelius rose from the ground slowly. “You said that they could not leave through the tower, that it was only for me... and I never wanted to leave here because...”

“Quiet! Go back to your courtly pursuits and ignore this worthless peasant!” Cuprum dragged Doe by her throat, ignoring her strangled cries and flailing limbs, pulling her towards the balcony. “I must purify your world, keep you secure in your regality, insular and singular in will!”

“Help me you dolt!” Doe cried, a well-aimed kick striking Cuprum. Her donkey strength managed to make the blow hurt enough that the magical grip faltered. “You're a prince! Act like one! Don't let this creep run your life. You've got a brain and a heart in your body somewhere, don't you?”

“I... it is improper for a noble to engage in such physicality...” Aurelius stammered, standing on his hooves, pressed against a wall and quivering lightly.

“He will do nothing! I made certain he would be nothing more that a handsome face, a thing to keep in surroundings like these, useless for any task,” Cuprum shouted, grabbing Doe again with his magical force, keeping well away from her as he pulled her to the balcony again.

Doe grasped at her throat, hooves moving through the strangling magical force, her eyes mostly unfocused but looking towards Aurelius. “He got you up here and he made you stay... haven't you got any of that will he talked about? Or are you just talk?”

“Shame will not work. He has no sense of shame. I made sure he did not fear chastisement and would ne-” Cuprum's gloating and magical force ended when the broom cracked across the back of his head, so hard that it shattered in half.

“She did not think I was princely enough. And from somejenny like her, somejenny speaking the truth so clearly... I would have to be a nothing to not feel stricken!” Aurelius used the magic of his own horn to bring the broken broom pieces to bear against Cuprum.

“You dare to think you can stand against me? I am you you pitiful fool! Your nobility, your superiority, your mastery of all that you survey!” Cuprum turned on Aurelius, grappling with him. “That is me! You cannot defy me! What are you without me!”

“Well, probably brave enough to leave this unlocked tower. All your scaremongering is probably why he's still here,” Doe said, standing well away form the balcony, throwing various heavy objects at Cuprum's head.

“She is right! You've been no advantage to me! You called me nothing but a handsome face! I am more! I had wisdom and worthwhile qualities before you took me away and put me here! You call that honest, straight-talking jenny worthless but you are really useless, nothing more than a mean, vicious little thing!” Aurelius crashed his horn against Cuprum's horn, a surge of magic cracking the other unicorn's horn. “I don't need you anymore!” With a shove Aurelius sent the no-longer-hovering Cuprum across the room and over the edge of the balcony.

“Wow. I didn't think you had it in you. I figured you'd just yell at him for a while,” Doe noted, rolling her shoulders. “Ready to leave? I can lead you back to town, and from there I guess you can get back to your own kingdom.”

Aurelius turned towards Doe, sheepishly rubbing his neck. “Well... I suppose. As long as you come with me.”

“What? Are you kidding me? I'm a tavern worker. I serve ale to boastful cowards. What do you need me for?” Doe spoke dismissively as she led Aurelius down the staircase.

“You rescued me. You crossed the forest, you came up here and saved me,” Aurelius said, with a grateful tone.

“I just wanted to shut up those folks at the tavern. They wouldn't do it. And I guess all the nobles couldn't. Besides, you beat him. You got off your flank and decided you wanted to be a proper prince. I just hit him with a broom a few times,” Doe said.

“I never would have without you,” Aurelius noted as he stepped out of the door at the bottom of the stairs for the first time in ages. “You made me want to be a prince. I could never have done it without you. And the reward for such could only be matrimony.”

“Me? Marry you? I don't even know you! Not that the idea is too bad you understand...” Doe glanced back at Aurelius and gave a wry grin, “But can you imagine the looks? That would go over great.”

“I'm sure I could convince you. I can be charming, when I try,” Aurelius noted with a laugh.

“Look, it's a few hours through the forest, and that's if your fancy flank doesn't wander off and get lost. Sell me on the idea, and we'll see,” Doe said. Thinking of it, she rushed up to Aurelius and pressed a huge, powerful kiss on his lips, making the bulky unicorn flail about helplessly. After a moment of hard kissing she pulled away with a soft pop. “Your kissing sure won't do it. You're terrible!” She winked to him before she looked into the forest. “We'll work on it.”

The Princess and the Peasant

Once upon a time in a small state, the vassal of a larger state, there ruled a princess. She was named Princess Sangbleu and was often considered an imperious and unapproachable figure, regarded as competent in the best of times and 'charmingly ineffectual' in the worst. What she primarily was was beautiful. Her coat was a beautiful golden color, while her mane was a pure, milky white. She was aware of her shortcomings, for though she appeared to be a fool she was quite smart. She was simply too full of her own ego to be overly concerned.

She had around her a staff of competent individuals, and made every effort to draw on their skill, even as she made it appear she was the source of notions. She also had a large gathering of hangers-on, parasites that sought the prestige of her position to enhance their own, they were the extent of her 'friends,' with the occasional companion of the male or female persuasion, bought with basking in her presence, fancy gifts and expensive meals. It was a joyless time, a tedious time of insufferable boors and hollow relations.

One of the servants in the palace of Princess Sangbleu was a low-ranked steward, a functionary named Constantine. He was a donkey, a noble and well-constructed jack whose most defining feature was a set of ears that looked entirely out of place on a donkey. They were long and thin, rabbit-like in their appearance. Though it made him quite self-conscious he did his job with every bit of dignity and pride that he could muster.

Because of Princess Sangbleu's normal haughty disdain for what she considered 'trivial matters', those being all the important matters that go into running a palace, she seldom had cause to remain very long in areas where she could meet Constantine. However, after a minor matter outside the palace she grumped and groused about inside constantly, and one day met the noble and hard-working fellow.

She was instantly driven to approach the servant, to regard him with her icy eyes and air of superiority. For his own part, the jack had no idea what to do. His work was being interrupted, but to speak out of turn would be greatly disrespectful. They remained there for a time before the Princess finally said, “You...”

Constantine, unsure if that was a cue, gamely asked, “I, ma'am?”

Sangbleu lifted her head and snorted. “Your ears are long,” she said, and went on her way. Before leaving Constantine to his confusion, and slight sorrow, she learned his name from the majordomo, who knew such things, and requested that the jack be the one to deliver all her meals and correspondences. Though that job belonged to others, the majordomo could only agree it would be so.

There followed several odd and uncomfortable weeks of Constantine moving about the upper reaches of the palace, where he would never normally go, to the Princess' private chamber, bearing scrolls, packages or trolleys of food. He was not harmed, nor was he verbally insulted. But she was always short and curt with him, dismissing him once his duties had been discharged, often with little more than the words, “That will be all.”

Constantine, being a good and noble fellow, never complained or demanded some answer for the necessity of his presence. He simply bowed his head and commented, “Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am.” His formality spoke well of his character.

After that period Princess Sangbleu cornered Constantine by her room, looming over him with her same cold look. “You deliver my meals and messages faithfully and properly. You excel at the menial.”

“Th-thank you, ma'am?” Constantine stammered, looking side to side.

“It is fact, not an attempt at a compliment,” Sangbleu stated. “You should serve in another capacity.”

“Another... another capacity, ma'am?” Constantine asked, a bit more concerned.

“Yes. Your obedience and your form suit you well to being my personal jester,” Sangbleu stated, sweeping her white mane from her face. “The affairs of state and concerns of the office are hard. I must have entertainment to ease my troubled mind. You will provide it, because I know you can.”

At first Constantine was silent, but he then said, from behind a false smile, “As you desire, ma'am. I will do as told.”

He was dressed in colorful motley, with bells and ribbons and even vines of laurel wrapped around his long ears, which added to their notability. He cavorted and smiled to the delight of Sangbleu, but never for any of her imitation friends. She kept him in a private room filled with the papers she needed to review and jealously guarded him.

He served his role as her jester for a good deal of time, performing the act he he was told to with great aplomb despite his hatred. He was truly a wonderful servant. But he knew it was wrong to be commanded so, and believed the Princess was keeping him there to mock his heritage and his physical features.

“Ma'am, I must voice a serious complaint,” Constantine said, while dancing about and shaking his ears.

“What is it you wish to say, jester?” Sangbleu asked, curtly, looking up from her desk and the mountain of papers upon it.

“It is never my intention to be obstreperous or truculent, ma'am, but I think this moves beyond the bounds of propriety,” Constantine answered, his face falling from false happiness to seriousness. “You treat me like a fool, ma'am, and keep me here in shame, away from others, mocking my species and my physical appearance. You, ma'am, are not a good mare at all, meaning no offense to you. You are, ma'am, a bully and a bigot and I need not put up with that insult any longer.” With that he turned to trot out of the room.

“Stop!” Sangbleu shut the doors to the room with her magic, standing up suddenly and scattering her papers around on her desk. The look in her eyes was not cold at all, but more... injured. “You... you would leave here in such a way? You would simply gallop away? Then I must ask something of you. Do you hurt me because you hate me, or do you hurt me because you believe I hate you, Constantine?”

Constantine ceased trying to open the door and looked on the Princess with surprise. “What?”

“Do you hate me, or do you think I hate you?” Sangbleu asked once more.

“You used my name. You know my name?” Constantine inquired, slowly stepping toward the desk.

“I have always known, from the first day I met you,” Sangbleu said, turning suddenly to look out the window behind her desk. “I asked the majordomo and had you made my personal courier... and now my jester. Because I...”

“Why, ma'am? Because you found me a joke, ma'am?” Constantine asked, coming closer to the desk, with more vehemence in his voice.

“Because I wanted you... to myself,” Sangbleu said softly, slowly stroking the glass of the window. “I could not let the world have you, to mistreat or malign you, to make less of you than the glory that is you.”

A stunned silence passed between the two figures, Constantine reaching up to lightly pull down an ear to really look at what he was wearing. The motley attire was made of soft satin, the colorful ribbons of pure silk in colors whose dyes were quite expensive. The laurel was fresh, as if replaced when he was not able to note it. Most tellingly, all the bells were made of solid gold with silver balls within to make them ring. “M-ma'am...” Constantine began.

“Please... cease calling me 'ma'am,'” Sangbleu insisted, turning her head slightly to look back at him. “I know there is fire in you, more boldness and wit than this hollow obsequiousness you show me. It ill suits you to act in such a way. I know you are more than this kind of a cringing functionary. You are obedient because you are made entirely of nobility, handsomeness and all the positive traits.”

Constantine looked slightly pained, turning his attention between Princess Sangbleu and the door. “Tell me, ma'am... tell me once and I will decide if I believe you, ma'am... did you bring me here because of my ears, or do you really mean the things you say? Ma'am.”

Sangbleu drew in a long, deep breath, dropping to all four and slowly strolling around the desk. “I was a fool. A simple, silly fool who thought I could take you away from the world and keep you all to myself, to look on your every perfection and be delighted. I could have you all to myself and never tell you the reason why. I thought you would know, that you could understand what I was saying without words. But that is a stupid thing, and I was stupid to believe it. I know that now. I should have said that from the first moment to now I have been entranced by you, completely enraptured in every way, by every motion and look. But I hated the false smile you gave. It hurt... but not so much as when you tried to leave and looked at me like... you hated me.”

“I... have been... vexed, ma'am... Princess Sangbleu,” Constantine said, looking slightly away. “I have not... I will... I will not be so formal. But could I ever believe that you feel that for me? A lowly servant, a jester... a donkey?”

“No!” Sangbleu ran up Constantine and desperately pressed a hot and messy kiss on Constantine, hooves on him, eyes wide and lightly shining with tears. The kiss was not one that would enter the annals of lore. It was not a legendary contact that lit the world on fire. But it was very honest.

Constantine could have resisted had he wanted. His strength, compared to the fragile unicorn mare, would have broken her body, and it would have been understandable. But he stood there. In his noble, upright and forthright way he was showing that he had some trust for the princess. Even when she pulled away he stood, tall and grand, saying to her, “You kiss poorly, Princess Sangbleu.”

“I do, yes, it is true,” The princess confessed. She slowly knelt down at Constantine's hooves and pressed her cheek against his chest. “But surely... I can learn.”

And they lived happily ever after.

Author's Note

Consider this a companion piece to "The Gilded Cage." In fact... imagine that both of them were written by Connie and Blueblood. Connie's "Gilded Cage" is donkey-ishly straightforward, practical and shows the Blueblood expy as a harmless goof that sacs up and takes on his own bad habits. Blueblood's "Princess and the Peasant" is a true story hidden by a 'clever' conceit of reversing the genders and changing the names into 'impossible to decipher' similars. It is formally structured, in a way like traditional tales. It is also overwrought, steeped in the weeping emotionalism of the courtly romances, and has a traditional and expected ending, unlike Connie's open ending.

The Tear Bottle (Don't read, failed chapter)

Once upon a time there was a nation of lies. It was not like Equestria at all, even though it was ruled by a prince. The prince stayed out of sight, though made his will known through proclamations and laws that supported a large and very highly-insular noble class. The lower classes were made to think of their lot as acceptable. It was not because it was, but because they could ignore when things were not well. When the nobles needed something, it was given, and certain peasants vanished. It was peaceful, because none would complain with guards in the streets.

The Prince, a singularly cold and unpleasant unicorn, was so disconnected from all things commonly known as normal life that he regarded lesser ponies as not even ponies. His greatest tool in his contempt was another sign of his brutish coldness. He had used his guards to wipe out a community of Changelings that had been living inoffensively near his own land, sparing only a few of the new-hatched. Over time, he even rid himself of those, save for one that succeeded in the hard and unforgiving training that he had put him through.

The Changeling was educated, and taught to believe in the power of the Prince and the good of the state. He was told that the ponies were served by the state and the power of the great Prince. The most important aspect of all the propagandistic preparation of the Changeling's mind was never seeing the weakness of the Prince's supposed morals. He was always held up as a paragon, rather than the petty, cruel tyrant he really was. It was what let the Changeling serve as, according to the Prince, 'Right-Hoof of Justice' and believe it was so.

The Changeling was not wholly controlled, as all those trained in that direction had eventually gone mad and attempted to break free. He was allowed his habits and personal techniques, encouraged with a proper focus towards the end goal. His method used pressure and incapacitation, which left enough time for the one being killed to realize what was happening and forced tears from their eyes. The Changeling had the habit of letting those tears fall into a bottle he kept around his neck. His rationale was, “These are the last tainted drops of an evil soul pouring from a body. I will seal them away and stop them from tainting the world ever again.”

The requirements of the job were eclectic, as he was meant to be a representation of the Prince's power, yet also a sort of mysterious force that suggested truly supernatural power on the part of the prince. He took on different bodies in each task that was seen by the public, and his own form, dark and mysterious and unknown to the under-educated peasantry.

Some days he was a simple executioner, told he was exterminating dangerous radicals, never knowing he was eliminating nobles that could not muster enough favors to keep their holdings or who did not perform the same acts of entertainment as the great mass of others. Some days it was for entertainment, the eliminated innocents who displeased their employers or who were used to take the blame for wrongdoings of the nobility. Worst of all, peasants swept up or targeted at home for the crime of defiance of noble will, or for having holdings the nobles wanted or wanted out of the way of their own interests.

Through it all there was one solid lesson. The lower ponies were always selfish, interested only in themselves and were criminals that could never possibly care for anypony else. The transparent lie was supported by a careful control of targets and situations, ensuring that the Changeling was never exposed to contrary views. He was kept far away from the truth.

One careless mistake changed everything. A mare brought before the Prince, who had no knowledge of his ways, rejected his advances on the grounds that she still loved her husband, even though he was gone. Though he seethed, the Prince let her go. “My champion of justice, there is a task that must be done.”

“I obey, my righteous lord,” The Changeling said.

“You will be given the location of a mare, a dangerous spy and clear hazard to the land. She was here, attempting to force me to accept her advances but I was strong. I only today found the true danger she posed. She is hiding among the lower classes, plotting horrible things. She is crafty and skilled. You are the only one who could put her down without fear of destruction. It must be done quietly and discreetly. Can this be done?” The Prince asked, doing his best to appear honest.

“It can and will, most benevolent and just lord,” the Changeling replied, bowing down to the ground and wrapping himself in a disguise that would let him stalk the streets of the capital city, unnoticed in the crush of ponies. He was given the location of the mare, her description and a reminder of the rightness of his endeavor before he was set loose to do his duty.

He cut through the dirty streets of the city, constables nodding as they recognized the Prince's mark on his cloak. To others, he was just a strange unicorn in a ragged hooded-cloak, nothing unusual. Others ignored him, as they were good at ignoring all things, merely as a means of surviving. He pierced far into the heart of the low class hovels, to the place indicated. To the Changeling it seemed like the right place for a traitor to live.

There was no lock on the door, which barely seemed to be hanging onto the frame, though there was some noise as it opened. A clever means of appearing innocent while guarding security. He was too clever by far to be taken in by such a thing. He slipped into the poor place without making a further sound.

The internal space was very open, a simple large room arranged around a fire pit whose flame had long since gone out. Not even embers smouldered in the gray ash. The darkness within was barely banished by the sun pouring in through cracked or missing windows. Such cheap squalor, of course a villainous heart beat within, desperate to lash out at the great and pure Prince. There were few items, primarily scraps of cloth and small objects. Rickety stairs led up to a higher point in the building, but they were unimportant. The criminal was on the ground.

She was as described, a bright white pegasus mare with a powder blue mane, seemingly asleep atop a pile of battered pillows. Crafty. Dangerous. But even so, he had a job to do. The made his way across the room on silent hooves, preparing for a sudden strike from the mare. However, the spy was lacking, never coming up from her seeming slumber before his hooves were upon her. He struck at her throat and the sides of her neck with great force, stopping any alerting cries or attempts at spreading lies, and also building pressure in her head. Though she struggled, her end was inevitable. His bottle was already uncorked, the mouth slowly scraped up the trails of tears that fell from her large, frightened eyes. Evil always seemed to fear its own end.

His technique was unusual, but efficient. The end came swiftly. After the tears came the shadow. It was another elimination, like all the rest. Given the dangerous nature of the pony he had anticipated worse. A sound from the stairs charged his mind, and he yelled in his mind. Foolish! There was another, perhaps more! At least he would be laying down his life for a truly noble cause.

He turned, expecting armed warriors and found only a foal, a young pegasus colt with with a bright yellow coat and a powder blue mane. “Did... did you come to tell me what happened to daddy?”

The Changeling stood there, silent and stern, looking on the young pony with mistrust. Finally he asked, “What? What do you mean?”

“Mommy said the Prince didn't tell her. She went like he asked but when she came back she just put me to bed and cried. I could hear her,” The small colt said, looking to the still form of his mother, who was thankfully turned away.

“N-no... no, you are mistaken... small colt. This... no, you must be mistaking her for your mother. You are in the wrong house, I am sure. This mare came to the Prince with dangerous ideas. She was a spy.”

The colt turned around and ran upstairs. The Changeling was eager to follow, but the young one returned very quickly with a scroll held in his wing. “I saved this. Mommy wanted to throw it away but I liked it. It's really nice.”

The Changeling used his magic to bring the scroll over and unroll it. It was a royal summons. The Prince had always said such a thing was impossible to forge, and he knew the writing of his great lord. It was his work. It demanded that she come to the palace, for a discussion about her husband. “This... cannot be... right... wait... husband... father... you say that your father was connected to the palace?”

“The Prince told him and mommy to go because the guards had said something about them. She came back because he was supposed to get a job there. But he didn't come back,” The colt replied, looking down.

“And what did your father look like?” The Changeling asked.

“He was a pegasus. He was yellow, with a black mane, and a bee cutie mark,” The colt said, sniffling.

A week before. A dangerous radical caught destroying government property and trying to kill guards. His mouth had been tied shut because he would not stop screaming anti-government things. He did his duty. He did the right thing. “What did your mother say? Tell me what she said.”

The colt shrugged, and started to approach his mother's body. “Ask her. She was just really sad. I think she was scared too. She said that she wanted me to be safe.”

A hoof came out and restricted the colt's movement, the Changeling's mind swirling with doubt and confusion. Evil ponies couldn't love or care for another. Foals had to be raised by the state, by the rich who knew better and were more moral and upright. “You... should not see... I... found her like this.” Lies came easily to him, it seemed. Perhaps they always had. “She... was still crying. Crying over your father, and over what happened. I captured her tears in this bottle, because I did not want them to go to waste.”

The colt looked up at the stoppered bottle around the disguised Changeling's neck. “Can I... have it?”

The bottle came off without hesitation. Innocent tears had no place around the neck of a monster. “Her tears are inside. I...” He dashed off into the city, disguise dropping, ponies scurrying out of his way.

He did not stop for any guards at the palace, they knew better than to interrupt him on his way to the Prince's private chambers. He would normally have been performing some cruel act but he needed to hear from his champion. The room was reasonably opulent, made of marble all over, from floors to furnishings, because it was easy to clean. “You have returned! The deed then is...”

“Why was that mare living in misery with a child?” The Changeling demanded.

Silence reigned, the Prince's eyes going wide. “I do not... what? You are confused...”

“Why did I have to kill her husband? Why did I have to take a foal's father? I did it, you watched me and smiled as he fell to the floor and dropped his tears in my bottle,” The Changeling was panting, fangs exposed as he seethed.

The Prince sighed, affecting the look of a parent with a disobedient child. “You poor creature. Confused by lies. Children are trained to lie, to serve these evil creatures. They cannot love. It is all a lie.”

The Changeling hissed sharply. “You never said that before. You said all children were raised as wards of the state, for the good of it, and for the betterment of all. What else was a lie?”

“Don't speak to me like that!” The Prince demanded, lunging forward with his horn glowing.

The response was immediate and automatic, the Changeling's training too good to be anything else. He thrust out a hoof, stopping the Prince's breath in his throat. He began to gasp and gag, attempting to form words that would not come. “Don't look at me like that. You should have known it would happen. I was a tool for lies. You made me this thing. You made me this monster. You forced this on me!” More blows came in, putting the pressure in the Prince's head. “In the end you brought this on yourself. I do this for the real good of the state.”

Guards entered the chamber much later, finding the Prince alone, save for a large bundle that was quite familiar to them. “Shall we bear away that garbage, your highness?” One of them asked.

“Not yet. For now, summon my friends. I have something to discuss,” The supposed Prince said, thinking of how he could be rid of all the coming bodies. They wanted a monster for their own selfish uses? They had made a fine one. They would see just how fine.

Author's Note

Ugh. I put this up here not because I'm proud of this but because I was rock-headed enough to plow through a poor idea that kept getting poorer. I had high hopes for this general notion, of an assassin turning on the corrupt master he served, but it just never gelled. I thought I would illustrate that not all ideas are great. Sometimes I just invent what ought to be a decent idea and it... really doesn't pan out. Normally I figure that out and just move on. This time I pushed on until it was done and realized I had wasted my time. So it sits here as an illustration of just... this was a mistake.

For completeness, this was vagely inspired by a filksong called "One-Spell Wizard." The basic idea is a wizard whose magical stock in trade is a really good Polymorph Selse that lets him be literally anything. He is used by an unscrupulous guy to get into households and rob them blind. It's been a while but I recall there was some issue with the master doing something to try and marry a princess that the wizard is in love with. At the end he resolves to show his evil master what his spell is good for. So, once more, a decent idea that should have worked out.

The Emperor

There once was a land that had been laid to waste. Because of harmony's disruption, mistrust and base hate of others the world had been driven to destruction. Terrible things happened, and left the survivors struggling in a terrible situation. Without a strong and fair government the scattered groups were commanded by any brutish thug that could beat more of them than any other and make them afraid. Food was scarce, medical care and education were almost non-existent, and violence was as common as bad water and dangerous animals, who were no longer kept in check by constables and guards.

In the midst of the hardship and privation there came a pony who had somehow missed the whole disaster. He still had thoughts from the time before, the time of peace and plenty. He remembered what the old world had been like and was practically offended by what it had been brought to. He retained the vision of the past and sought to impose it on the misery of the present.

The road was uneasy. There was so much violence and hate, and so little to draw folk together. There were still divisions between pony races, to say nothing of the various sentient species. No new hybrids had been made since the disaster, for in this world, while there had been no beings like the Princesses, hybrids could come about. They emerged in a purely natural fashion thanks to the working of magic in the world.

The time-lost pony had but a single advantage over the vile and violent brutes that commanded the starving and fearful masses: his mind. He was a cunning and crafty being, and his earth pony body made him appear harmless and inoffensive. In the waste unicorns and pegasi were thought far superior thanks to their horns or wings and the things which they could do. Earth ponies were regarded as near-worthless and of no real threat.

He used all negatives to his advantage and turned positives against those threats which polluted the world he could still see in his mind's eye. When a band of criminals attempted to rob him he turned their hidden jealousies and avarice against their leader and made them weak enough that he could largely destroy them himself. Those few who remained were loyal to him, because he had outmaneuvered them skillfully. He did this more times, for there were many bands of roving criminals who had not even a slight inclination to settle and produce a stable society. They thrived, until the cunning stallion chastised them with guile, and organized those willing to obey him into something far more like the constables and guards he remembered.

The next moves were unimportant. Territories came under his control through judicious use of cunning trickery, hard force and subtle manipulation of the common citizens against their cruel rulers. He made stone soup of the ravaged lands, each separate group subtly convinced to work towards a goal they could never achieve to reach a goal that benefited all. 'Just a little bit more,' whispered into attentive ears repaired houses, purified water, wrote books and planted crops. Everything relied on a central position, from where directions could be given and the lands secured. An old fortified structure became the heart of growing and developing lands.

The new establishment was not a principality, nor a kingdom, but rather an imperium. While the temptation was to name it after the old nation that had stood there, that had been brushed away by the destruction. For that reason it was known only as Imperium Terra Nova, Empire of the New World. The title was most appropriate. The cunning earth pony was crowned as Emperor, with no dissent. It was hard to argue with a pony that put food into bellies and roofs over heads.

The capital city grew up and large around the Imperial Palace, very much the way the Crystal Empire's central city did. Six wide avenues departed from the palace to stretch into the distance. The six had been named, in significant fashion, Via Comitas, Via Liberalitas, Via Fidelitas, Via Probitas, Via Hilaritas and Via Amicitiae. They represented harmony, and an unspoken promise that wherever they led would come the promised peace and plenty of the emperor.

Whenever a new land came under the hoof of the emperor there passed almost an exchange, teachers, engineers, doctors and farmers from the central region going out to train and build, while numerous citizens from the new land were brought to the capital city for education and introduction to the new culture of the empire, for the difference could be jarring.

Thus it was that a stranger, freed from under the control of a madmare, found himself wandering through the imperial capital, staring at the clean buildings, paved roads and abundant electrothaumatic devices. He was trotting through a crowd, seemingly gathered for some festival, given the charge of excitement that permeated the area. Decorations were evident but as he had lived his life in misery and squalor the stranger didn't know special decorations from simple design touches.

“You seem lost, friend,” The stranger turned to see a stallion speaking to him, a bright blue unicorn with a pale blue mane. A smile rested on the stallion's face. “You must have come from the new territory at the current end of the Via Fidelitas. I had heard that the new arrivals had come at last, and on such a wonderful day! You have arrived at the day of the Festival of Hilaritas!”

“Hilaritas?” The new arrival asked, quirking a brow.

“Jollity, an overall happiness,” The local stallion said, “I forget that things are bleak beyond our walls. Many apologies. I am Aquarius, one of the natives of our glorious Emperor's land. This festival is meant to connect us to the lost ways, the Elementas Concordias, the great elements that once brought peace. When they were lost, disaster followed. Now the Emperor would have it that they never be forgotten again.”

The stranger looked around at the scene and up at the face of the palace, which had numerous screens on them displaying the Emperor's standard. The magical screens occasionally displayed symbols representing the weather conditions, from around the empire, along with writing saying the same things in greater detail. “I am... not certain what to think. In my village we had our own ruler. I cannot imagine it will be much different here. There was the same violence and destruction.”

“I very much doubt it. I would suppose his highness' Milites preserved the lives of all those who did not fight back of their own will, used numerous spies to assess actual feelings in the region and carefully swept in with great speed and efficiency to end the battle as fast as possible,” Aquarius said.

“Yes... it is true...” The stranger said, with a bit of reluctance. “But still... he is only another ruler. Another iron hoof under which we must live. See how he shuffles me from my home to this strange land?”

“Did you have a particular skill back in your home?” Aquarius asked.

“I was the local apothecary and physician, though I hid the skill from the prior rulers,” The stranger confessed.

“You have been brought here, and will be directed later to a training program to formalize education in that capability, and you may then return later to serve as a doctor in your village, likely to be grown and organized into a small town by the time you return,” Aquarius said.

“I know that the Emperor has undertaken terrible things. He destroyed ponies for daring to defy him. I heard from travelers that he was getting rid of heroines and heroes that were trying to travel and study the waste and help when they found terrible things,” The stranger said, quietly, seeming to fear retribution.

“He did it. And we all cheered,” Aquarius said, suddenly stern. “You did not hear the other side. The waste-walkers played all sides for their own benefit, not for the benefit of all, and their ends were to sustain the waste, not erase it. Most were intent on leaving a way to be famous. And that is besides the ones who did not care when they wiped entire towns out of existence...” The unicorn shook his head and smiled. “His highness reported all things he did with the secret warriors, laid out all the facts and the consequences, and asked that we vote on his fate. He gave us his life and we gave it back. He wanted only to keep the waste free from those that would continue the squalor and misery for the sake of their own arrogance.”

“I mistrust him still...” The stranger muttered, head suddenly snapping up as cheerful music began to pour out of all speakers placed all around the area, the magical screens suddenly displaying a balcony, covered in concealing cloth, with a small group of robed ponies to the side. The ponies all began to sing, many of the ponies in the square singing the same song.

“The song of Hilaritas!” Aquarius shouted, to be heard over the singing around them. “When it reaches the climax his highness will emerge from behind his curtains and sing for us, then he will smile, and we all will smile!”

“He is but another tyrant!” The stranger cried, though not as loud as Aquarius. “He commands when you smile! Does he also say when you will eat or sleep?”

“I understand, you who come from lands commanded by dictators and tyrants do not understand the way of his highness!” Aquarius shouted, pulling the new arrival aside, so they could speak without as much interruption from the jubilant singing.

“How different could it be? All rulers are the same, they all command and we all must obey,” The stranger said.

“You could not be more wrong. Here it is exactly the opposite. His highness has on his personal crest a promise. 'I serve they I rule, I rule they I serve.' He has used all his talents, all his skills, risked life and limb and his own future that we might have these wonders, might have back the world we lost. He asks for our trust, and nothing else, because he gave us reasons. He promised food and gave us food. He promised us peace and gave us peace. He promised us medicine, houses, roads, energy, education, cleanliness... we live better than our old overlords could have ever imagined, with things they could never have obtained warring and destroying. He put together a land and expected nothing of us but our best. We owe him our utmost. But we feel this debt because in every case what he has promised us he has delivered. This is the real truth of it all. Why we smile when he smiles,” Aquarius said, face beaming with joy.

“Tell me this truth, that makes you smile,” The stranger said.

“Because of all that has come before, because of what we have now... it is not at all like the tyrants and iron-hoofed leaders you know. When the time has come, we do not smile because he commands that we smile. We smile because he does. And if he smiles, there must be something to smile about,” Aquarius said, returning to the gathering and starting to join in the song.

The stranger stepped out slowly, watching the screen as the curtains parted, to reveal the Emperor. He stood bare, not wrapped in rare materials like some ruler; he was slim and gracile, not fattened from stolen rations like some; he was smiling with an easy and real joy, unlike the dark and mirthless monsters that held power with force. He sang, and he was honest. He called everypony to smile, he wanted them to be happy, and he called his subjects his friends.

The dam broke within the stranger's heart. Moving from wasteland privation to wondrous plenty, beneath the loving concern of a ruler that actually cared, that wanted prosperity for all, rather than power for himself. With tears pouring from his eyes, and a smile on his face, the new citizen cried, “All hail the Emperor! All hail the Emperor!”

Special bonus: The Pledge of the Emperor
Oh yes, I have made this land
A place of light and dream,
And doing so I give you life
As such you've never seen.
From water clean to glowing light,
Good roofs and bellies filled,
I only ask you for your best,
Mines cut and farmlands tilled.
I rule and serve, and this I swear,
to do both ever wise,
To be forever worthy of
The love that's in your eyes.
For though I am the ruler grand,
I know that this is true:
This land would be a barren waste
If it were not for you.
I know the land has beast and brute
And both can conjure fear-
But you who dwell beneath my hoof,
I'll hold you safe and dear;
Your lives I hold as precious and
I ever will be true
I keep and guard and feed and love
Each and all of you.
Remember when the land's at peace
And hardship far away
A little harm and selfishness
Can go awry some day,
That chaos reigns when idle minds
Forget and go to war.
This land of peace my gift to you,
Your friend the Emperor!

Author's Note

There are a few notes for both halves of this. First of all, the inspiration is pretty obvious. Also there is a very good reason that the honor title is 'Highness' and not 'Majesty'. It's a wink and nod for many a reason. Secondly, and this is a personal thing, the title 'Waste-Walker.' I apply this to most modern "actiony hero" types, as well as to 90% of the players of open-world games (GTA, Fallout, Elder Scrolls) and the programmers of the same where all activity is a cold Min/Max calculation and there is a move to make it preferable or even near-necessary to slaughter and spread mayhem, either via programmed contrivance or simply because it's 'cool.' This is especially true of games like Fallout where the programmers need to code in sequels, so the world cannot be fixed, or else it hurts the cash cow. In this context, the 'Waste-Walkers' were a combination of the "Kill everything and loot the bodies" players, the "join every faction even if that should be impossible" players, and the programmers who put in "you must commit atrocities even if there could possibly be diplomatic solutions that are too complex to program" scenarios. In a way each would perpetuate the Waste for selfish reasons rather that clean it up and lose the status of "hero" or "legend" or "infamous beast."

As for the song, in the finest traditions of filksinging, it is itself a filk parody of a filksong, Leslie Fish's "Engineer's Hymn" which was about Scotty on the original "Star Trek." Though I imagine it with a more sprightly tempo. And no, it was not what they are singing in the story. The clues and cues should indicate that what is being sung is a (perhaps modified) "Smile Song", with the Emperor doing "Come on everypony, smile, smile, smile, fill my heart up with sunshine, sunshine, all I really need's a smile, smile, smile, from these happy friends of mine."

Little Pale Hood

Once upon a time, in the forest of a mountain valley on the border of a veldt, there lived a griffiness. She was a Booted eagle griffin, and as in the world most familiar to readers, was the lowest ranked of the clans. Her names were traditional, with the middle matronymic and O'Booted at the end. However, to all she was known as Little Pale Hood, even after she had attained majority. As with all Booteds she was small, and her coloration was notably more pale than the standard.

Even being a low-ranked clan the Booteds all knew the ways of their world and held to them. They were encouraged to marry up to improve their holding, and were meant to have nothing to do with zebras. Just as with the known world there was a kind of cool enmity between the griffins and the zebras, for reasons of poaching on zebra lands when permits were available for modest fees and the tariffs were quite low.

Little Pale Hood lived in a modest cabin with her mother and father, while her mother's parents lived not far away in another cabin. However, after the death of Little Pale Hood's grandfather her grandmother decided to move deeper into the woods, to a smaller home, for she was still spry and active. Since that move Little Pale Hood had never gone to see her but her parents had.

After her majority, however, it was thought she was ready to make the journey during an appropriate time. That came when a letter arrived for them via a courier saying that Little Pale Hood's grandmother was feeling sickly and needed some traditional medicine made of herbs she lacked as well as some extra supplies and treats she missed. Small things, primarily. It seemed the right time for her to make the journey.

Her mother packed a large wicker basked with all the needed items and informed her of all the things she would need to remember. “You may be of griffin stock, and we O'Booted may be among the most talented and crafty hunters of all the clans, in these woods, but there are still dangers, my daughter. Monsters can stalk the trees. And beware any zebras from off the veldt. They are an intractable group and will try to deceive you. Pass them by and do not let them twist your mind around.”

“I understand, mother. I know how things work. I will be cautious on my way to grandmother's house,” Little Pale Hood replied, nodding to her mother and setting off with her basket of goods. She could not fly there, as the trees were thick and tall, and it was easy to get lost in the air. She would need to walk the woods and carefully mind the paths.

She had not been walking the woods for very long before she was forced to stop. Before her was a zebra. He was a grand stallion, more than a head taller than her, heavy with muscle and boldly striped. His mane was swept to the side, tied in numerous thick and tight braids held closed with colorful bands. His neck was stacked with gold, as was his front right leg. On his back was a sturdy pack which was hung with cloth pouches. “Little Pale Hood, my friend, where are you off to today?” His voice was heavy and mirthful, a smile on his face.

“Memkutu, I cannot talk to you now. I have reached majority, no longer a child who can ignore our ways,” Little Pale Hood said. She had known Memkutu all her life, had grown up with him. He was an herbalist who gathered plants in the woods. As a child she had not cared about the ways of griffins. As an adult she could no longer be so cavalier. “I am bringing medicine and supplies to my grandmother, my first trip through the woods.”

“Do you want one of my potions for her? I can make one quickly,” Memkutu asked.

“I have traditional medicine for her, and must hurry. Please let me go by, Memkutu. I cannot stop with you,” Little Pale Hood replied.

“Very well. I know those deep woods, as I find fungi and roots and all manner of medicinal herbs there. There will be two paths you can use, on the left and on the right. Take the right path and you will be where you need to be directly,” Memkutu said, returning to rooting around in the undergrowth. “Be well, Little Pale Hood.”

“And you as well,” Little Pale hood replied, pushing on through the woods.

She did not go far before she came across another. Oddly, it was a Bald, looking regal and preened, as well as very mature, reaching past middle age. Their kind almost never left the high aeries. He looked like a lesser thane, with his long and trailing brown cloak known as a brat, his talons festooned with rings. “Good morrow, young Booted. What brings you to this dark wood?”

Little Pale Hood bowed, as was proper when meeting a member of a higher-ranked clan. “Good morrow, great Bald. I am here to deliver medicine and supplies to my grandmother deep in the wood.”

“What of your grandfather?” The Bald asked.

“He is dead now, and she was his only hen,” Little Pale Hood answered.

“As it is so often with Booteds,” the Bald mused. He nodded to her. “Be on your way then. There will come a choice of paths before you. Take the left path.”

“I shall,” Little pale Hood said. She remembered that Memkutu had said to stay right. But she knew that Balds knew best. “What are you doing in these woods, if I may know, sir?”

“I am a Bald. It is my right to be where I desire,” He said with a haughty huff. “Go, be off.”

“I apologize. Forgive my insolence. I will go then,” Little Pale Hood said, quietly, sliding away in a bow.

As both Memkutu and the noble had told her she eventually came to two paths, both leading into dark passages of looming trees that looked equally intimidating. She thought of going right, but kept in mind the admonition all griffins had to remember, that zebras were not to be trusted. She was not a child any longer. She obeyed the Bald, as griffins did, and took the path on the left.

The Bald snuck through the right path. While his path was straight and clear, Little Pale Hood's path wound and meandered, passing brambles and nettles and other interrupting miseries.

The Bald reached the cabin of the grandmother and boldly entered. A single hen would easily fall to his rank and age, which meant stability. He would take the widow for his flock and her granddaughter as well, he only needed her cooperation. She, however, did not give it. She was a practical bird and knew better. So the angry Bald bound her and threw her under the bed, disguising himself and getting into her bed.

Little Pale Hood finally arrived, finding the door slightly ajar. “Mam-gu? Grandmother? Are you here?” She slipped into the cabin and looked around.

“Here I am, dear,” came the voice of the Bald, affecting a falsetto while laying in the darkened bedroom under covers.

“Oh my, you must be sick. You sound terrible,” Little Pale Hood said, moving into the darkness of the cabin. “Why is it so dark in here?”

“The light was... hurting my eyes,” The Bald said, pulling the covers up higher. “Come closer. Let me see you.”

“Mam-gu... what large pupils you have...” Little Pale Hood said.

“All the better to take you in with, my dear...” The Bald replied.

“And mam-gu, what a large shape you make in the bed...” Little Red Hood said, halting her approach.

“The better to survive and provide, my dear,” The Bald said, clutching the covers so tightly he pierced them.

“Mam-gu... what... large talons you have...” Little Pale Hood said with some concern. Those were not the talons of a Booted.

“The better to hold you with, my dear!” The Bald leaped from the bed and reached out for Little Pale Hood, his talons grasping air only thanks to her quick hunter's reflexes. “Come along, little Booted. Your kind always wishes to marry a higher clan. You can be my fifth hen.”

“You are so old! And I don't know you!” Little Red Hood screeched, dodging and twisting about, trying to use her speed against the Bald's brutish strength.

“What do you need to know other than I am wealthy? My age does not stop me from making eggs with you. And you may have eggs for many years before I use you up!” The Bald called, a feint finally getting Little Pale Hood trapped in a corner. “Marry me! Immediately. You will have little choice, for I am rich and powerful.”

“No! Never! I would rather die!” Little Pale Hood lashed out and scratched at the Bald's face, leaving shallow furrows on his beak and a bleeding line on his cheek.

“That can be arranged. Nobird would miss a nothing of a Bootie,” The Bald said, looming threateningly over Little Pale Hood.

“But I would!” Memkutu shouted, throwing himself through the front door and rushing at the Bald.

“Impudent and insolent ze-!” The Bald's angry shout was completely silenced by a single mighty hoof-strike from Memkutu, which dropped him and knocked him out cold.

“M-memkutu...” Little Pale Hood chirped, still huddling in the corner before the fallen body of the Bald.

“I came after you because I knew there was something wrong. I was afraid for you when I heard you speaking with that Bald and knew he sent you down the wrong way,” Memkutu said, offering Little Pale Hood a hoof to lift her up.

Little Pale Hood not only rose up but she rushed forward and grabbed tightly onto Memkutu. “You have always been there...”

Memkutu returned the hug but motioned towards the bed a moment later. “Your grandmother needs you now. I will... go now.”

“Stay!” Little Pale Hood shouted, firmly, as she carefully brought her grandmother's swooned form out from under the bed. “You deserve to be here. I don't care what I am expected to think. You should help me here, and come home with me.”

After throwing the bald into the deep woods and bringing Little Pale Hood's grandmother out of her faint the two offered her a zebra remedy, which seemed to warm the old hen towards Memkutu even more than his bold besting of the unpleasant Bald.

The two walked back to Little Pale Hood's home that night, together, and they did not part. They were wed by a very understanding old Booted and lived happily ever after.

Author's Note

Author notes: Obviously, a pretty clear version of Little Red Riding Hood, notable for not only being interspecies but for involving no ponies. And yes, I am very much a fan of Red Wolf shipping.

The story is clearly Equestrian in nature. A Griffin story would not focus on a Booted, it would likely concern a Bald, a Wedgetail or a Golden. Only exports for Equestrian consumption and face-saving would mention Booted eagle griffins. Also they would not be using so many females, especially not three matrilineal generations. They would speak of males. Finally, there is a lingering taboo regarding Griffin and Zebra relations, though weakening year after year, and entirely absent in ex-pat communities on the Grand Veldt or in Equestria. Some openly bold Griffin literature might use it, but it would be huffed at by the traditionalists, though it would be shown to Equestria by the intellectuals to keep the Principality thinking highly of the Kingdom. The use of a Bald as the antagonist is very Equestrian, as Equestrian authors often poke at Bald hegemony for the sake of a laugh.

The Chedlow Version

Once upon a time there was a great griffin king who ruled a nation that was small but proud. His castle was small, and lay largely in ruins around him. But he was a proud Booted Griffin, and bravely led on, with his nation serving as crossroads for many a stout and able figure who wished to challenge themselves.

One very auspicious day there arrived a Bald Air Dame of skill and power, to seek counsel of the King and enjoy his generous hospitality. Though he was Booted and she Bald he never bowed to her nor did she disobey his rule. During the audience there arrived a powerful Roani sorceress, who likewise sought the hospitality and counsel of the king. The Devoted of Luna had been wandering to find a worthy land for her settlement and thought she could come to seek the King's land.

The Dame thought little of the notion and challenged the sorceress' prowess. The King, in his wisdom, dismissed them from his land. The fight became a legend in its own right, lasting for weeks until, exhausted and evenly matched, Bald and Roa pledged an undying love to one another and went to their own tale of love. What came of the King leaving his castle to see off the two belligerents was that he met a soft and earnest unicorn mare, on the road to see her family. Once their eyes met she could not part. The two fell madly in love and remained there in the castle.

Strictly speaking that isn't quite right. It wasn't a kingdom but rather a fairly standard square acre of joint residential/commercial property. That way said Booted could live upstairs in what was not a castle, but a very griffin-acceptable bar. It was not polished or bright but it passed Equestrian health and safety standards and stood up well. It wasn't quite on a crossroad but was near one, and positioned just near enough to some decent places to make a modest profit even looking as it did.

There was a Bald in there once, a hard-drinking functionary's chick, an Egg Grabber who had a lot of bitterness she was trying to drown out with cheap Kingdom imports. Never drink local liquor in the Kingdom; they try to sell it as traditional and full of national pride but it is just vile. Next thing some loudmouth Roa stage magician comes along to wash some insult out of her memory. Total lightweight and the Bald said so. They got chased out of the place to fight over who was better at being... something. Arrogant, maybe.

The fight was pretty impressive, and as happened they did eventually get together. Engaged and happy and all that. It happened that an extremely pretty and far-too-good-to-ever-marry-a-Booted unicorn happened by the place, watched the fight and stayed around. She really stooped and got engaged to the owner of the place, for whatever reason.

The king and his future queen lived well in the castle, as rough as it was. Being a noble Booted with much love for his betrothed the King would not consider marriage until he had brought his holdings and his castle to a state that was the envy of all who laid eyes on it. It would take work, effort and a bit of luck but he was resourceful and wise. He could make it happen.

In the midst of his great works and gathering of resources he took his intended to a great gathering, a location of song and dance, feasting and laughter, to show the depth and breadth of his love for her. Ever, in the forefront of his mind, did his beloved lie. She was pleased by the surroundings, but more so by the devotion her fiance showed.

All was not well, for an army of brigands disrupted the magical gathering. The King fought greatly to preserve his love's honor, as a griffin should. But though he had the strength of a thousand Balds he soon started to fail. When all seemed lost three goddesses, moved by his devotion, came to his side and swept the evil ones aside. As reward for the great store of feelings and his willingness to stand and do the right thing they blessed him and his land. Droves of able knights and dames came forth to repair and enrich the land and architecture.

Things weren't bad, but a sweet and beautiful pony could have done far better than to get engaged to the owner of a dive. Bits were scraped together and put in a fund to repair the place, and sensible cost-cutting measures were implemented. It was still hard work to keep the place afloat. Even through it all, the lucky Booted fellow counted his lucky stars and got up bits enough for a trip to Canterlot, to a nightclub.

Even on a low terrace the place was far better than the place he owned. Bright lights, loud music, 'name' musicians, branded alcohol. It made him feel very, very small. Luckily his fiancee loved his hard-luck self and said so. She was way too good for him. There was an incident, with drunken idiots who did not take kindly to interspecies types. Hard to imagine in Canterlot but there it was.

It wasn't three goddesses. It was, even more oddly, three ladies out for a drink. Two fashion models and a palace maid. How they happened to be out together is anyone's guess. A scuffle ensued, with the drunks taking the worst of it and eventually getting bounced out. The three ladies were appropriately friendly and charming, and one even took a business card from the Booted.

Somehow that business card ended up in the hooves of Princess Luna, likely through the action of the palace maid. She, for inscrutable reasons, did not send out droves of knights and dames, but rather just the Third Canterlot Guard Detachment, Lunar Corps. They certainly didn't do any of the actual repair and remodeling. They just paid. They didn't mind the surroundings or the wait. They just used the place for a canteen and only complained when it was shut down for renovations.

With the help of the vast array the King's holding flourished. His castle rose, high and proud, a thing of beauty and a joy to any eye that looked upon it. Like a grand hall of Hästish lore, it gleamed with light and drew many a wanderer to sup and celebrate the grandiosity of the locality. They all gave praise to the Booted King, and he made every effort to be a host of great humor.

As promised, once the nation was secure and strong the King married his unicorn love, in a ceremony unmatched by any in history. Joined as one, King and Queen oversaw their land with firmness and wisdom, even overseeing the return of the Dame and Sorceress, who owed their relationship to the King. Thus lauded and hailed, they lived happily ever after.

The money, purchases and tips, helped. The whole place was torn town and replaced with a Kingdom-inspired three-floor tavern and restaurant. The interior was made to look like a Kingdom import but was actually made of Cannonite-grown rock. Cheaper and more appealing. The decorations were all authentic. The liquor was Capal, but that's just better. It got a decent write-up in some magazines and became a popular spot, especially on King Paddy's Day.

The wedding was standard Equestrian, in the bar. All drinks half off with purchase of a meal. Things didn't change overly much after that. One King Paddy's Day that Roa and Bald came back, engaged and mostly reasonable. Engagement tends to make unpleasant griffins less unpleasant.

One thing was completely accurate though. Even though that Booted did not feel at all worthy of marrying a wonderful unicorn, they did live happily ever after.

Author's Note

This unusual story deserves an explanation, because the back-and-forth between over-idealized fantasy and self-deprecating reality is a little unusual.

It was inspired by a song written by Mercedes Lackey for her “Vows and Honor” fantasy book series. In this case a song called “The Leslac Version.” This is a kind of unintentional duet between Tarma the swordswoman and the bard Leslac. There's a bit of humor in that name, because, I believe, it was created by Mercedes combining the name of her singer friend Leslie Fish and her own name, Mercedes Lackey. Leslie Fish certainly did plenty of work with Mercedes Lackey. The song itself is sung by... I believe it is Larry Warner as Leslac and Leslie Fish as Tarma.

The song revolves around Leslac singing a bold and heroic tale of Tarma and her partner Kethry coming into an oppressed town with the intent of freeing it. Tarma interjects continually to translate the high-minded heroics into what actually happened. This serves a practical purposes within the larger narrative, as one of Tarma's constant complaints is that Leslac (who basically just follows Tarma and Kethry around) has been hyping their heroism and their goodness. This is bad for them as they are really more set on being mercenaries and gathering money and other items to help rebuild Tarma's ravaged clan.

This is Aggie and Swallow moving between the fairy tale that is hindsight and idealism and the bleak look of a social underling who wants to just show the reality. Yet both sides actually work together. The reality shows what scaffolds the fantasy, and is nice in its own right because some of the reality is pretty unreal.

The Sea Dog

Once upon a time on another world the earth met the sea. In that place there were creatures like those known to all. A Mera mare of a pod that lived in the ocean abutting a great mountain range met a Diamond Dog miner from a notably large colony.

Though their land let hybrids come by nature, without need of Princesses and marriages, they were not born without thought. Love would unite disparate blood. As it is known, though Merae have their casual intimacy, shooping, they can love and marry, and share particular and dedicated passion with their spouse. So it was with the two of them. Daughter of water, son of stone, made one. But the story is not about their love. It is about the product of their love. The Diamond Mera.

He was a soft sea blue, like his mother, with fiery red mane like his father's body. Like other Diamond Ponies he had his father's style of body, with two legs and two hands, and the much more canine tail. He had a Mera's head, with the fin-like ears and longer snout than most ponies. His hands and feet were webbed, while his tail was longer, fanned at the end and stiffer than even the normal Diamond Dog tail, much like a rudder.

He did not live in a kind world, as others do. He was of two worlds and neither treated him well. The young Merae chided him for his lack of ability with swimming; his ungainly strokes and kicks, though effective, were nothing like the easy tail-flicks of the Merae. The young Diamond pups mocked his digging; while he could tunnel well, dress stone and cut gems, he was always slower and often had to pull back if he injured his webbing. The lands of mother and father gave rise to the name by which he was derided: the Sea Dog.

He grew up in different homes. His mother could not live on land without transport, which his father often provided, nor could his father live beneath the water unless he was given a kiss from his bride at intervals. So they maintained separate homes for working periods and a single home for the times when they could be together, on the ocean's edge, by the mountain's face.

As he grew the Sea Dog became more uncomfortable in his own skin. He had been told often that he was no good in the worlds of his parents. However his loving parents may have told him to be happy he could not. He believed the others his own age. They informed all of his thoughts and the feelings he had. He grew to dislike being a hybrid, and occasionally wished he had been born a pure-blooded member of some species.

Because his Mera blood gave him great resistance to cold, and his Diamond Dog blood gave him the ability to get on in thin or stale air the Sea Dog often took to scaling the heights of his mountain home. He could do well in the snow, and could hide away from his troubles. It was a good place from which to watch the stars and wonder if he had been put on the face of the land as some kind of poor joke.

One evening as he lay in the snow watching the sun slowly set he thought he saw the light move. As he focused on it he saw the burnished copper tone was not the light of the setting sun but came from a large winged creature that was approaching the mountain. The creature seemed to see him for it turned slightly in the air and made directly for the peak on which he lay, a bright speck among the snow.

As the thing approached its features came into clearer view. Its large wings were casting the color, that warm cooper-gold that merged with the sunset. Most of its body was a similar tone, though a sandy color was evident at the hind paws while up at what were unmistakeably talons at the end of long arms the color yellow was visible. A closer approach revealed the medium-muzzled face of a female Diamond Dog, with a torso that was mostly the same until it reached the hips, where the color and look of a lion took over, though the tail was properly Diamond Dog. Dog-like arms ended, indeed, in eagle talons. Her attire consisted of a vest and a wrapped skirt, in pragmatic Griffin style. She was a Simurgh, an ancient and once-thought-mythic name for the offspring of a griffin and a Diamond Dog.

The Simurgh alit on the peak just before the Sea Dog, standing in typical Diamond Dog posture for a moment before dropping into something between the standard griffin pose and the all-fours running pose of a Dog, her wings folding against her back. The two hybrids looked at one another, as though each was trying to size up the other. Finally, the Simurgh said, “My family inhabits these mountains heights, but I don't think yours does, pup, not if they wish to be together.”

The Sea Dog blinked a little bit. He knew what a Simurgh was but he had never seen them. Griffin aeries were much further inland and his group only ever dealt with small groups of dealers buying ore, ingots, dressed stone or seafood. He knew well it was not common to have a griffin and Diamond Dog getting together. He nodded slowly, “The Dogs much prefer the lower altitudes and beneath the mountain. The merae cannot get up this high without a great deal of help. It is the best place to be alone.”

“Young chicks and pups all seem to prefer alone time. I know my own children are so enamored of hiding in crannies or in the crevices of the mountain,” The Simurgh said, a smile tugging on her lips. “But please tell me, why are you here, alone, seeming very despondent? There seems no reason to rest on the peak unless one wanted to escape those that could not reach it.”

The Sea Dog didn't answer at first, lightly raking at the snow beside himself. “I... want to be away from the others, the foals and pups both. I was to be here to wonder if I am... wrong.”

“Wrong?” The Simurgh queried, with a distinctly eagle-like tilt of her head. “Wrong about what?”

“Not about something. If I am wrong. I wonder if I should even exist...” The Sea Dog began.

“You do exist,” the Simurgh said quickly, “How is that a consideration? 'Should' or 'should not' are not for living beings like us.”

“I don't know if I believe that anymore. Not after seeing how I am... different. I can't swim like the foals, I can't dig like the pups. I do both well enough but not as good as I would if I was pure,” The Sea Dog grumbled, falling back to look up at the stars as they emerged.

“'Pure'... a strange statement. It implies a certain cleanliness, but certainly none of your fellow young creatures are clean or pure. They are cruel to you, after all. Hardly pure,” The Simurgh noted. “I suppose I see. You wish you were like your families, but the crossing means you are not the same as either one. I have encountered this before, when I was younger. I was never as fast as the other griffins, and not as deft in the air. My talons had the enchantments of the other Dogs but their strange make made me less capable of certain digging tasks, and my rear claws were too thin to dig as well as the others. I couldn't imagine ever fitting in.”

“Your comfort is surprisingly lacking,” The Sea Dog said with a frown. “I don't see how that helps.”

“It seems that all young folk are impatient. Let me finish,” The Simurgh said with a laugh. “I thought all of this. Until I came to realize that what made me different made me special. I was bad at things the others could do, but I could do things they could not do as well. No Dog has ever soared the sky like me, not any 'pure' Dog. I see the vistas they can only imagine and drift in a freedom they cannot touch. As for the griffins, well, none of them can tunnel so far or so well, not even with all their prideful might and a heavy pick. I came to see I needed to only turn it around. Not be ashamed of comparisons against those who could beat me, but to think of those things I could do. I would imagine that you can swim better than any Dog.”

“Yes, I have a certain grace beyond the others, and I don't need Mera kisses to breathe in the deep. And... of course I can be on land as much as I want, without needing any transportation,” The Sea Dog said, deeply considering the Simurgh's words.

“Consider what you could do. You are up here, because you say other Dogs do not want to be here, and that you may dive into the depths they cannot reach,” The Simurgh noted, lightly motioning as if encouraging further thought.

“I can be here, down there... I can... I can excavate the mountain tops! I can see the minerals here that we might not ever see, never minding the cold. I could dive to the floor of the ocean, and all the faces of undersea features, digging better than any Mera ever could to pull treasure from the depths. I... I could do what we have never done before!” The Sea Dog leaped to his feet, face a mask of awe as he contemplated all that he could do.

The Simurgh smiled and spread her wings out, slowly flapping them to set her to hovering over the snowy peak. “You will do great things. Just remember, you must be proud of yourself. Only then can you see the real potential that lives inside of you.” With that she flapped powerfully and turned to an angle slightly off from the one that had taken her to the peak, back on the track to wherever she had been going.

After that day the Sea Dog was filled with grand plans and ambitions. His audacious intentions were roundly ridiculed by the pups and colts that had teased him, while the adults were more gently uncertain about what he said. The young were silenced and the old amazed when he came down from the peak with carts of ore let down by pulleys, and when he hauled up the great piles of exotic stones and metals from the dark depths of the ocean.

His singular skills, the capability to do what others could not, made his community rich, and he was hailed by them all, even those that had once mocked him. He never again doubted his own existence. He always remembered the lesson the Simugh had taught him, to be proud of what he was. He was perfect just the way he was, and proud to be a hybrid.

Author's Note

This, more than most, is the real show of just how much of a government piece it is. It strives to give hybrids some pride, showing them how to think of their unique combination of traits. Turning negatives into positives and being pleased with what they have. In a land that promotes love and tolerance they can be free to feel out their uniqueness and learn to love themselves.

It's also a story with no real parallels in fairy tales. Further, the government hand shows through in the use of unique combinations, the mera and a Diamond Dog, and a Griffin and a Diamond Dog. That second was mostly just an excuse to use a Simurgh. It's not quite like in the legend but was inspired by the image I saw on a Sassinid seal. It's also keeping in the spirit of the show, with a rare and obscure mythical creature like Ahuizotl. The difference is that in this context 'Simurgh' is just the term for a Diamond Dog/Griffin hybrid.