27th of January, 1882. 0300. The Pit.

“It’s time dearie.” The voice shakes Twilight from her fitful slumber, and Twilight opens her eyes, squinting against the harsh light crystals of the armoury. She blinks, as for a moment she doesn’t recognize her surroundings. Concrete walls, racks upon racks of weapons and a well worn wooden table with a set of floral patterned china mugs hanging on the wall. Madam Locke’s armoury. The lady herself is gazing down at Twilight with something akin to concern, which rapidly fades the moment she notices Twilight looking at her, to become Madam Locke’s usual wide and welcoming smile.

“I’ll put the kettle on, you just get yourself ready. There’s a hot bath available if you want it,” Locke says sweetly, and Twilight’s eyes gleefully widen at the thought. Even after a few weeks in the desert, she misses the hot baths that she would take every night in Canterlot. She would just lie back and let the stress of the day flow away in slowly curling tendrils of sweet smelling steam, only to emerge once her skin resembled a dried prune and all the bubbles had gone. Thus, the prospect of a bath is received by the young princess with the same enthusiasm as she would normally reserve for receiving a special edition of a newly published book. Twilight sits up in her bed, only for the world to suddenly immediately twist as the floor enthusiastically rushes up to make her acquaintance with a loud smack against Twilight’s cheekbone and shoulder.

Twilight groans as she picks herself up, to the accompaniment of the armourer’s giggles.
“I’ll never get used to hammocks,” she mutters, rubbing her cheek as she glances at the ancient armourer, who gestures kindly down the hallway, and so Twilight walks in that direction, rubbing her shoulder and grumbling as she does, towards one of the workshops where the light has been left on. Twilight walks into the armoury and blinks, immediately recognizing this room. This was the workshop where she and Rainbow Dash had had that fight. Twilight can almost feel the raw emotion that was spent that night still crackling upon her skin like static electricity. Twilight’s attention is suddenly captured however by an absolutely magnificent copper bathtub, tucked discreetly away behind a set of shelves crammed with tools. It hasn’t been filled with water yet, but that is the work of a moment for the sorceress.

Twilight snaps her fingers, the magic coming to her like an obedient puppy, and she watches as the bath fills with gently simmering water. Twilight smiles slightly and on a whim, sprinkles the bathwater with rose petals. Twilight’s smile widens as the refreshing scent lazily fills the air, its gentle note bringing back pleasant memories of skipping after Princess Celestia, miniature trowel held eagerly in hand as the elder Princess tended to her private garden. Then a thought suddenly strikes the young princess, and her eyes narrow mischievously. Bubble Bath always brings out her inner child and she might as well enjoy it, what with no cleaners or butlers trailing behind her here to whinge about having to wipe away the chemicals and gunk that would get stuck to the tub. A snap of her fingers, and suddenly a mountain range of suds is blooming out of the tub. The Sorceress steps back to admire her handiwork just as the door opens and Madam Locke comes in with a bucket of steaming water in her hands.
“I’ve come with water your highness, I- oh, my apologies,” she says quickly. “We don’t get many sorceresses here and-”

“Don’t worry,” Twilight says. “I didn’t want to use the Legion’s water supplies, so I used all the metal shavings and dust on the floor. It’s a material emancipation spell and I-”

“Don’t try and explain magic to me, Highness,” Locke replies. “Don’t take too long, they’re aiming to leave in an hour and whilst they’ll wait for you, it’ll upset everyone if they’re late.”

Twilight nods as the door to the armoury shuts behind Locke. Twilight turns around to regard her prize almost gleefully, and so she walks back to the bathtub with a broad smile upon her face, rubbing her hands together with relish, before she slips her night-dress off, to let it pool upon the floor. With a snap of her fingers, Twilight has summoned her emergency shampoo and her favourite soap, the smell of lavenders filling the air. Twilight shivers as she steps into the bath, sliding down into weightlessness and closing her eyes as the water welcomes her into its glorious embrace. Twilight releases a blissful little moan of absolute contentment as she stretches out in the bathtub. Twilight is almost completely immersed, her hair spreading out around her in a curtain of darkness. Twilight lets out a relieved sigh, closing her eyes for a moment and just luxuriates in the tender embrace of the water. Twilight then starts to scrub, gently sweeping the soap across her skin, humming to herself as she focuses on being relaxed, and tries to concentrate on the absolute weightlessness of her limbs in the water.

However Twilight has no sooner done this than she hears the clattering of hobnailed boots coming down the corridor, heading straight for this room. Twilight summons the magic to her hands, but before she can summon the magic to shut the door, a notion strikes her. No one locks doors in the fortress, and if the Legionnaire runs into a locked door, he’s bound to get suspicious, and that would cause problems for everyone. The entire fort has been up in arms since the attempt on her life after all. Twilight is also in the middle of the first bath she’s had in three weeks and she’s not about to let that get spoiled. Twilight snaps her fingers once more and a bedsheet drops over the tub. No sooner has she done this than the Legionnaire trots smartly into the room. Twilight closes her eyes, feeling the sheet start to get damp. Whilst Princess Celestia has assured her that she doesn’t need to worry about breathing anymore, Twilight would rather not have cause to put that theory to the test.

Twilight hears the Legionnaire whistling a tune as he walks towards the bath-tub, the clatter of his boots sounding all too loud to Twilight as her heart pounds in her ears. The Legionnaire walks right past her, and Twilight can hear the Legionnaire pick something up.

That’s it, get what you came for and leave, please! Twilight thinks anxiously. It is starting to get uncomfortably hot under here, especially when she’s having to remain stock still lest any movement betray her presence. However Twilight hears the unzipping of a bag, and then she hears the voice of none other than Rainbow Dash muttering to herself, along with the clanking click of metal on metal as something large is being unscrewed and taken apart.

“Hmm-hmm… La Légion marche vers le front… Come on girl, one last clean, you deserve that much,” Twilight hears Dash murmur, and for a moment she wonders if she’s been rumbled. However, as Dash continues talking, she realizes Dash isn’t talking to her.

“That’s it, sorry about that girly, figure you could use some extra oil. There we go, that wasn’t so hard was it… Celestia help me, I’m going nuts,” Dash mumbles, over the sound of brushing and scraping. “But yeah, at least you don’t chat back,” Dash continues as Twilight shifts slightly, trying to lift a little bit of the bedsheet to get a look at what’s going on outside.

Dash has her back to Twilight, and she’s sitting on a bench calmly taking an absolutely colossal rifle to pieces. Twilight can see a cleaning kit spread out on the bench next to Dash, and the caporal is going through the cleaning kit and cleaning each part of the rifle with the calm demeanour that suggests intimate familiarity.

“So yeah… Twilight and me,” Dash says to the rifle. “I don’t even know why I’m even thinkin’ about this. It’s been two years; two years of this and that. She’s probably got some young prince waiting for her, I’m just complicating matters.” Dash sounds rather downcast at the prospect. “But if she does… why isn’t he with her? Or is he some kind of little bitch?” Dash asks the shadows. Twilight bites her lip, resisting the urge to scream out the answer. There has been no one else. There had been attempts of course, young lords that had been attempting to curry favour or climb the rungs to the highest steeple, or else sorcerers seeking to discover the secret to immortality, as though Twilight would be careless enough to breathe a word about the deeply intimate and personal ritual Celestia had performed in the cathedral of heaven over her pillow. They had all been delightful or horrific, but none of them had struck the careful chemistry that had been built by her and Dash. They were soft, spoiled and pampered where Dash was hard and lean. They were flabby whereas she was sculpted by a brutal fitness regimen. None of them had been to the ends of the earth or stood against the changelings with her.

“I mean, she’s a princess, I’m a mess,” Dash says as Twilight watches her putting the bolt of the rifle back together. “She’s got the world at her feet… she doesn’t need me. But she wants me, bad, I can see it in her eyes, same as last time… but she knows she can’t have me. Or at least not without breaking the orders of Her Royal Snootiness, and we both know that only ends one way,” Dash muses bitterly, slapping the bolt back into the breech of the rifle and screwing the massive weapon back together, the cleaning done. Twilight silently watches, feeling her head start to spin. A human would have passed out by now, and even for an immortal it’s more than a little unpleasant. Twilight can feel herself starting to sweat, but now Dash is getting up and putting her cleaning kit away, and allowing Twilight to get a good look at the monumental weapons system she’s been working on.

The weapon is nearly two metres in length, and Twilight recognizes it as an En-Kar Mk IV High Velocity Rifle, of the kind she’d seen from time to time in the armoury. It’s a weapon designed for taking on armoured targets such as walkers, or else punching holes in walls. They normally have iron sights fitted, but this one has been jury-rigged with a set of optics. Twilight bites her lip slightly as she turns her head to watch Rainbow Dash pick up the weapon, pull out a pin and fold the weapon in two, before slipping it into a gun-bag and starting to lug it to the exit.

Twilight watches the girl head towards the exit and lets out a sigh of relief. Her knees are cramping up and her skin is resembling a dried prune.

The hobnailed boots suddenly stop. Twilight watches the Legionnaire drop the bag then reach for her belt. The rasp of oiled steel on steel and the creaking of leather fills the armoury, and the click of a pair of cocking lugs being pulled back before snapping forward makes Twilight’s heart lurch and her blood turns to ice. Twilight holds her breath.

“Who’s there?” Dash snaps, turning around and drawing her pistol. Twilight bites her lip as Dash starts walking into the armoury, and Twilight can see her walking right towards the bathtub.
“What the fuck is this?” Dash mutters. “Who left this load of.. laundry here? Merde, it’s still wet.” Dash is now incredibly close to Twilight. Twilight can almost hear the Legionnaire breathing, can feel how tense the Legionnaire is.

“If you’re another fucking Khan, you’d better show yourself or I won’t be held accountable for what I’ll do!” she snaps, and suddenly Twilight feels a hand grabbing her breast on the other side of the sheets and Twilight shrieks out before she can stop herself, wriggling in the tub and overbalancing, causing it to tip backwards and unceremoniously deposit a naked Twilight on the cold armoury floor at Dash’s feet, at the same time slopping a torrent of lukewarm water over Dash’s formerly pristine white trousers. Twilight flails desperately as the suds and water flows out around her, grabbing the now translucent and sopping wet sheet and tugging it around herself to preserve her modesty.

“Fuck!” Dash shouts in astonishment. Twilight gazes up at Dash and draws a deep breath to explain. The Legionnaire, however, has turned white, nearly as white as the sheet that is wrapped around Twilight. Her eye is wide and her mouth has practically dropped open. Dash’s hand is shaking as she points her pistol at Twilight, but her hand then drops to her side. The only sound Twilight can hear is the rasping of the Legionnaire’s breathing. Dash’s mouth opens and closes, no words emerging, but Twilight can see how wide her eye is. She can see the fear etched into every line of face and neck, along with other more primal emotions that she doesn’t want to even speculate about. Silence hangs in the air between the two women, a silence born of unasked questions and unknowable answers.

Twilight draws her breath to speak, but suddenly Dash turns upon her heel, her pistol tumbling from nerveless fingers to clatter resoundingly upon the ground. The Legionnaire sprints for the door, leaving a naked and confused Twilight in her wake. A whirlwind of thoughts flows through Twilight’s head, her heart rattles like a machine-gun. For a moment, Twilight is struck speechless by what has just happened.
After a long moment, the stunned and confused princess awkwardly picks herself up, fumbling as she slithers to standing. A plan of action hesitantly starts to form in Twilight’s mind. She has to go after Dash, has to go and explain. What she’s going to say is another matter. What can I say? Twilight’s eyes harden and her back straightens, her half-unfurled wings snapping back into her back. Hang it all, she’s my friend… I’ll come up with something.

Twilight snaps her fingers and the water upon her skin, and upon the floor, vanishes into thin air, leaving nothing but a ghost of the scents hanging upon the breeze. Twilight summons the gown that she had planned to wear later in the day to her side with a snap of her fingers. A second flick of her fingers, and she’s clad in the rich luxurious gown of state that she is required to wear as a Princess, her crown and baton of state (she refuses to call it a cane or a sceptre) appearing in her hands.

Twilight slips her feet into her ‘royal slippers’, the flat shoes that she wears when travelling to and from engagements. Whilst she knows how to walk in heels, she prefers to delay putting them on until the last possible moment, just so that it doesn’t feel like she’s walking on broken glass. They also allow her to move quickly. A final snap of her fingers, and her summoned pistol-belt wraps itself around her waist. With all this done, Twilight strides over to the door, intending to run after Rainbow Dash and confront her. Twilight’s hand closes around the door handle and she yanks the door open-

-only to nearly walk straight into the beaming, shriveled face of Madam Locke, hairbrush in one hand, makeup box in the other.

“Excellent timing your Highness, I was just about to come in and do your hair, none of these troopies know the first thing about makeup, nor do I for that matter, but I’m the closest thing this place has to someone who knows which end of a lipstick is which.” Placing her wrinkly, leathery hands upon Twilight’s shoulders, the armourer spins the flabbergasted Princess around and steers her with surprising strength towards one of the benches. Locke firmly sits Twilight down in front of a mirror and lays out a surprising array of powders and pastes.

Twilight knows better than to get on the wrong side of a stylist on a mission, and so she takes a deep and soothing breath, intending to let Locke down gently. She turns “Excuse me, Madame Locke, but I-”

“You need to hold still ma’am, or this won’t work,” Locke interrupts Twilight before the princess can continue and then she yanks Twilight’s shoulders back around so she’s square with the mirror once more. “This is very delicate, and there’s no one else in this whole place who’ll be able to do this for you until you get to the Khanate. Heaven only knows what you’ll do in that nest of cats. Now chin up and hold still.” Locke say, before placing a hand under Twilight’s chin and yanks it upward firmly, before twisting Twilight’s head left and right, sucking her teeth and tutting gently. After accepting the futility of resistance, Twilight resigns herself to being pulled and tweaked and permed until she meets the satisfaction of the ageing armourer.

Half a lifetime later, Twilight opens her eyes as Locke steps back, scrutinizing Twilight.
“You’ll do,” Locke says at last, lifting the mirror so that Twilight can look herself in the mirror, and Twilight’s eyes widen. She looks… breathtaking. Like Cadance or Fluttershy used to look all the time. Not that Twilight was jealous or anything. Of course not. Locke has accentuated her cheekbones and applied some kind of glittering eye-shadow. She’s also applied a very subtle touch of lipstick to make her lips fuller, and done something to Twilight’s eyes as well to make them appear brighter, like they seem to be glowing. She’s also applied mascara and even plucked Twilight’s eyebrows very slightly. The overall effect is startling. Twilight takes a deep breath of absolute wonder. For the first time in her life, she’s met someone who knows more about makeup and style than Rarity, which is something Twilight never thought she’d admit.

“Thank you,” Twilight says, and Locke smiles warmly down at her.

“It was nothing your Highness, this should see you to Tarhen and through the drive to your quarters, it’s specially formulated for high temperatures so it won’t run when you start sweating.” Twilight nods, relieved. She needs to look her best when she goes into Tarhen and her own makeup application techniques look like the scrawlings of a child on a chalkboard compared to Locke’s skill. Twilight turns to Locke, intending to ask a question that’s been bothering her for some time. How does an old lady who knows so much about makeup and tea and counselling end up fixing guns in a dirt-hole fortress like this?

“If I may ask, what did you do before you came here?” Twilight inquires, and Locke shrugs.

“I did a lot of things Princess, now you’d better get a move on,” Locke replies, turning around. Her gaze suddenly drops and she spots the Luger lying on the floor. Twilight’s eyes widen as the ancient armourer picks the weapon up, turning it over in her hands. Locke pauses for a long moment, before she walks back over to Twilight, the smile gone from her face.

“This is Caporal Bolt’s pistol.” Locke’s tone makes it clear this is not a question, and Twilight nods, though there can be no reasonable doubt. Lugers are status symbols among Legionnaires for a reason. They’re incredibly rare. Twilight has glanced at Locke’s issue tables and there are twenty five Lugers in a fortress of over one thousand Legionnaires. There is only one Luger with the distinctive polished silver cocking lugs and the markings of the Shell-sea Arsenal, the weapon factory that supplies Princess Luna’s Night-Guard, and that Luger made the trip east with Twilight.

Locke turns it over in her hands for a moment before offering it to Twilight, who mutely holds out her hand for the weapon. “Caporal Bolt thinks very highly of you indeed Princess, she knows this pistol isn’t safe to be dropped.”

Twilight’s eyes widen as Locke places the pistol in her outstretched hand. Twilight’s hand closes woodenly around the pistol-grip, holding onto it silently for a moment. Twilight’s thoughts wrap around the pistol. It feels heavy, freighted with memories and heaven knows what kind of sentimental value between the young princess and the Legionnaire. She can almost feel Dash’s warm grip upon the handle, and she remembers those hands lying softly upon her own in the small hours of the night.

Twilight nods mutely as she mechanically presses the toggle, sliding the magazine out before cocking the lug backwards and letting a round ping out. Twilight scoops the round up and slots it back into the magazine, before slotting the magazine back into place. Twilight looks into Locke’s eyes for a moment, and then nods, understanding the unspoken message. “I’ll take it to her,” Twilight says, turning the weapon over in her hand once more.

“You’d better go,” Locke says firmly. “You’ve got peace to make.” Twilight nods, before bowing her head and heading for the exit, sliding the pistol into her belt. She can give it to Dash later, although how much later is open for discussion… I’ll give it back when I’m ready, whenever that is.


As it turns out, later does not come for quite a while. Twilight leaves the armoury to find the Legionnaires are forming up to march onto their transport ship, the Archangel having dropped in low over the Pit so that the troops can embark via troop lift. In platoons, the two compagnies load up into the bowels of the huge airship, the sections chosen to escort Twilight from the air standing apart from the main mass of troops.

In one corner of the parade ground, Twilight spots the Ninth Compagnie, instantly distinguishable from the rest due to their royal blue dress uniforms and Klepi Blancs. They look absolutely immaculate as they stand ready in front of the open-topped carriage that will be transporting Twilight when they get into Tarhen. Dash stands at their head, her face an impassive mask.

Their dress uniforms have been modified somewhat however. Each Legionnaire is carrying a canvas haversack and satchel. Dash brings the fifteen man unit to attention, and as one the soldiers salute Twilight, the crash of their boots lost in the rumble of the engines of the airships.

Twilight acknowledges the salute with a wave of her hand, turning to inspect the three ranks. They are immaculate as Twilight would expect, the only subtle differences visible where uniforms have been modified to fit this or that prosthetic. Twilight knows that can’t be helped, and in truth she’s more than a little glad. She’ll be guarded by veterans, men and women who have tasted the white fire of combat. Twilight takes a deep breath, wondering what she needs to say to these men, or indeed if she needs to say anything at all. Twilight inwardly frowns slightly, her thoughts darkening. What can I say that will not immediately sound patronizing? She can feel Dash’s eye on her, and it makes her stomach churn. Dash pivots on her heel and marches up to Twilight, crashing to a halt in front of her.

“Ninth Compagnie of the Second Regiment, Legion d’Etrangere, ready for inspection ma’am,” Dash barks, and Twilight nods.

“Thank you Caporal, dismiss the men and prepare for departure,” she replies, commanding her churning guts and thundering heart to be still.

Twilight takes a deep breath as Dash turns back to the squad and barks out orders, and the men turn as one and fall out, instantly bomb-bursting to grab the last of their equipment, two of them moving over to the mechanical-horse drawn carriage and firing up the boilers that power the roan coloured ‘horses,’ their boilers hissing as the mechanized horses toss their heads and paw at the ground in a credible imitation of the real thing. Twilight watches as the Legionnaires tweak and then flick the reins, spurring the mechanized horses into a gallop. Twilight watches them careen away for a moment, before her gaze turns to the remnants of the Fifth and Sixth Compagnies that are even now boarding the troop elevators that will lift them into the belly of the Archangel. Once the Archangel has finished loading, then Twilight’s airship will land upon the parade square and it’ll be Twilight’s turn to board, but in a rather more civilised fashion than by troop elevator.

As Twilight watches, the troop elevators rapidly rise into the belly of the massive troop transport ship. The balloon of the ship is naturally massive to allow the ship to hoist up to three companies plus vehicular support, and so Archangel dominates the sky, the balloon alone being almost two hundred metres in length. The airship is painted in the flat tan desert colouring of the Legion. The reinforced canvas of the sails is faded and patched, and the airship’s frame is pitted with the scars of incoming fire. The Archangel slowly climbs, the rumble of its drives growing as bright blue cones of flame blossom from the engines.

Twilight shivers slightly as she watches the airship rumbling overhead, easing out into the patrol pattern around the fortress. The two escorting cruisers are next, thundering through the sky with all the grace of a sledgehammer. They are much sleeker and smaller than the transport ship at one hundred and fifty metres, the cigar-shaped balloons glinting in the sunlight. The gondolas beneath them are bristling with weaponry, rapid fire flak cannon studded along its side, and six ground-bombardment guns arranged along the underside, along with four gun-turrets for taking shots at other ships. When this is combined with the Maxim guns that have been installed, the cruiser has become an incredibly lethal weapon in the hands of a competent commander, and Twilight has two of them escorting her to Tarhen.

The two cruisers move like sharks as they move to flank the Archangel, taking up positions on either side of the troop carrier. Twilight watches them for a moment, before she hears the rumble of another set of drives howling in. Her own transport, HMS Equerry, is not a warship. It is not painted in the dull tan of the Legion’s desert combat pattern. Instead, it is lavishly decorated in bright sweeping lavender and gold, with huge windows that provide absolutely amazing visibility. A balcony runs around the upper deck with an ornamental railing that looks to be incredibly flimsy, but Twilight doesn’t mind as the airship touches down and the bow-ramp drops, along with the gangway.

Twilight makes her way up the gangway onto the ship, suddenly feeling very tired. She can feel one of the pistols on her belt digging into her side, and she unhooks her pistol-belt, putting her pistols upon her desk. Twilight sighs irritably as she makes her way to the nearest couch, barely managing to take note of the opulent furnishings of the ship before she collapses into the chair, feeling her strength fade. Whatever else she might say about the Night Princess, Twilight does not deny that she lacks subtlety. Conferences between her and the other princesses have been happening annoyingly frequently over the last few days, but they are as good a way as any to keep track of what’s going on outside the fort. Twilight closes her eyes and she’s instantly out cold, ensconced in the embrace of the plush armchair.

__________

Twilight opens her eyes to find herself sat in a nondescript, well furnished conference room that could quite easily be a replica of Canterlot Castle’s Situation Room, though the vast expanse of varnished mahogany that is the conference table has been replaced with a tiny four seater table more suited for taking tea on the verandahs outside, complete with green and white parasol.

She is not alone in this conference room naturally. Princess Celestia is in attendance, wrapped in the flowing robes of state. Her expression is warm and inviting, but the billowing of her hair is slower than usual and Twilight can see the way the sun princess is tapping her fingers against the table nervously. Princess Luna is obviously in attendance, dressed in her dark blue dress uniform, her masked face as cold and remote as ever, and her body-language is almost completely unreadable. However Celestia and Luna aren’t the only people present at the table. Princess Cadance, Twilight’s beloved former nanny, is also present, dressed much more conservatively than Twilight has ever seen Cadance dress, in a creamy-white gown with the high lace-lined collar that is currently in fasion, though she has forgone the puffy shoulder padding that Twilight has heard called ‘leg ‘o mutton’ sleeves by Rarity, who had found the shoulder-pads patently ridiculous. However Twilight can’t help but inspect her former baby-sitter more closely based on the choice of uncharacteristic attire, and she notices the very subtle bump in Cadance’s belly. Given princesses can’t get fat, that leaves only one option. Cadance grins at Twilight.

“Hey there Lady-bug, how’re you doing?” Cadance asks brightly, and Twilight feels the knot of tension that had been building in her stomach since she’d been abruptly dropped into this meeting easing a little.

“Pretty good, things have been hectic,” Twilight says with a sigh. “I’ve been run ragged trying to get things ready for the trip to Tarhen.”

Cadance blinks, surprised, and Twilight notices Princess Celestia shoot her a look out of the corner of her eye. “Oh? This is the first I’ve heard about you travelling to Tarhen… Aunty contacted me last night and asked me to hot-foot it down to Canterlot from the United Federation… President McKinley wasn’t happy about that. I assumed I was about to be asked to travel to Tarhen, but if you’re going… what’s this about?”

“We cannot trust the United Federation to mind its own business if things come to blows,” Luna says frankly. “The anti-Equestria lobby is gaining momentum and we will not have you put in danger if they decide to get involved on the opposite side.”

“You two sound like you’ve already given up,” Twilight mumbles, and Celestia shakes her head.

“Not at all Twilight, we’re just managing the risk,” the eldest princess says. “The Khanate has always traditionally been close with the United Federation, just as we enjoy favourable relations with the Zebricans. The difference is that the Zebricans are pacifists but the United Federation enjoy getting their fingers into pies that perhaps they shouldn’t. They’re also a democracy for all intents and purposes, and those are easy enough to manipulate by anyone who knows what they’re doing.”

Cadance grins. “Exactly, which is why I think you’re making a mistake in bringing me back here. I’ve got friends in high places.”

“Theatrical players do not count as ‘friends in high places,’” Luna says. “Nor do the kind of high society you have been cavorting with.”

“Now Luna,” Celestia says as Cadance folds her arms and pouts slightly.. “Cadance has been doing invaluable work in the United Federation, and her diplomatic skill has served the Empire well.” Celestia turns to Cadance. “Cadance, I’m pulling you out of the United Federation because we have need of your talents elsewhere.”

“Where else aunty? The Zebricans won’t get involved, nor will the State. That only leaves… oh.”

“Precisely, I want you to go north and meet with Chief Adrelana and Vladimir Illych. We have been investing in the Adrelanas for quite some time now, I’d like to see a return on that investment, ” Celestia says, and Cadance nods grimly. Twilight glances down at the plate of cream-cakes arranged before them, and after a quick inquiring glance at Celestia, she picks up one of the eclairs, deep in thought.

Obviously what she’s doing is part of some kind of wider strategy, and Twilight’s not privy to the fine details of other parts of the strategy. She can understand that, even if it rankles at her somewhat. Celestia’s gaze then turns on Twilight.

“So, Twilight, today’s the day that you go into Tarhen?” Celestia asks, and Twilight nods.

“Yeah, everything’s all ready and we’re in transit right now,” Twilight says.

“Tell us more about this Justicar,” Luna says firmly. “I still have doubts about your reliance upon him.” Twilight turns the eclair over in her fingers, taking a deep breath. The events of last night have cast fresh doubts upon Prophet.

“There have been problems,” Twilight says after a moment. “Last night, I came upon a Khan fighting with my bodyguard-”

Luna snaps her fingers sharply and a projector screen materializes in a cloud of smoke before them. As it does, Twilight feels a strange presence in her mind, the ageless mind of the Night Princess, cold, remote and calculating as it winnows through her memories. Twilight’s eyes widen and she attempts to lift her shields, however Luna’s presence is already leaving, trophy in hand.

As Twilight watches, the events of last night play out upon the projector, from the argument between Zaranov and Prophet, to Twilight heading to her bedroom, hearing the scuffle, and then dashing into the bedroom. Celestia nods approvingly as Twilight smashes the Khan back with her magic, and Luna whistles behind her mask as the Khan keeps coming even as Twilight puts three rounds into him. Even watching it through a screen, Twilight feels her heart race a little, and her side twinges gently in sympathy. Cadance whimpers, hands clasped to her face as Dash delivers the butt-stroke to the back of the Khan’s head. Twilight shivers as the Khan collapses off her on screen.

“Stop,” Celestia says suddenly, and the image freezes to reveal Rainbow Dash’s face. Her face is splattered red with blood and her remaining eye cold and hard as ice. Her bullet-shaped pith helmet is knocked slightly askew, but it still covers her dramatically coloured locks.

Twilight takes a deep breath as Celestia’s pink eyes scan the image for a moment, her expression unreadable and distant, before she nods, as if making a decision.

“What is the name of that Legionnaire, Twilight?” Celestia asks softly, though her tone makes it quite clear that she expects an answer. Twilight takes a deep breath, summoning her courage. “Well?” Princes Celestia asks softly, and Twilight sighs.

“Caporal Arc Bolt,” Twilight says after a moment. She then turns to Princess Luna. “She’s a caporal, the caporal that you were with on the rooftop a few weeks ago.” Luna nods and grunts approvingly.

“I see,” Celestia says after a second. “Well, when you get back to the land of the living, let Caporal Bolt know that we are most pleased with her performance, that she has been Mentioned In Dispatches for this act of heroism.”

“Military Cross,” Luna interrupts Celestia. “Tell her she’s going to be awarded an MC when this is all over.”

“I will,” Twilight says, relief flowing through her, however her relief is short lived.

“So what are you going to do about Prophet?” Luna asks, and Twilight bites her lip gently.

“I’m going to keep him where he is,” Twilight says after a moment. “We can use him to feed false information to our enemies, whoever they might be. If I get him removed, they’ll send someone to replace him, someone unknown to us.” Twilight runs a hand through her hair.

“Now, on to my proposals,” Twilight continues. “I’m planning on proposing a gradual draw-down on Equestrian troops on the Khanate’s border, if in turn, the trade routes that they’ve shut down are re-opened. I’d also like to reduce Equestrian import tariffs, if in turn, they renounce all claim on those two territories that we confiscated, or alternatively, we can give them those territories if in turn they’ll accept our import tariffs. I’m not going to give them everything.”

Celestia nods. “That sounds reasonable to me Twilight, you’ve done your homework on the subject… What are your proposals for our expatriates?” she asks, and Twilight sighs.

“They took their fate in their hands when they left Equestria, we can advise them to leave but I will not see a drop of Equestrian blood shed for people who have voluntarily left Equestria, no matter their circumstances,” Twilight places her hands upon her chin. “Those who have dual citizenship… We can evacuate them from the compound, though I’d be placing a lot of trust in the Khans to honour the rules of war.”

“Trust which would be misplaced,” Luna says firmly. “We would not trust the Khans to hold to any kind of treaty unless it was in their interest to do so.”

“You are being unfair Luna,” Cadance says. “I’ve met with Khans before, they’ve been perfectly reasonable.”

“Tell me, have you ever met Khans in the Khanate?” Luna asks, and Cadance shakes her head, to which Luna nods as though she’s scored a point. Twilight is not convinced, but she knows better than to try and argue with the Lunar Princess. Twilight is about to disagree politely when she hears a vague voice rippling through the dreamscape.

“Hey, wake up!” The voice says, and Twilight feels a strange tingling in her fingers and toes. Celestia sighs and Luna groans irritably.

“We shall continue this conference later… good luck Twilight,” Celestia says, a smile on her face. Cadance likewise gives Twilight a thumbs up and an encouraging smile and even Luna gives an approving tilt of the head.

__________

Twilight opens her eyes suddenly to find Caporal Dash shaking her rather abruptly awake. Twilight gasps in surprise as she stares up at Rainbow Dash, who is now straightening up, the ghost of fear rapidly fading from the Legionnaire’s face.

“Ah, you’re awake, Your Highness,” Dash says. “We’re nearly over Tarhen now. I’ve got something to show you.” Dash’s sharp tone makes Twilight frown very slightly. The princess rises to her feet, feeling a palpable sense of awkwardness between herself and Dash.

Twilight follows the Legionnaire out of the door of the sitting room and down onto the lower deck of the airship, noting as she does how the quality of the furnishings around her degrades. Indeed, by the time she’s on the lower deck, she’s walking on pressed steel that clatters with each of the Legionnaire’s hobnailed bootsteps, and then past bare steel grey bulkheads.

“Servant’s space and engineering,” Dash explains when Twilight asks about the noticeable drop in quality around them. As they walk, Twilight takes a deep breath.

“I’m sorry about-”

“Don’t mention it,” Dash says shortly, her tone flat and emotionless. Twilight isn’t quite sure what to say about that, or to Dash. The Legionnaire is sharp and businesslike, so unlike the Dash of yesterday that Twilight can’t help but shiver a little. The rap of the Legionnaire’s boots upon the decking is the only sound between the two women.

As they round a corner, the two of them come into the forward storage area, where the carriage is being stored, the mechanized horses stand statuesque in inactivity. “Here we are,” Dash says, holding out her right hand to gesture expansively at the carriage.

Twilight walks up to the carriage, intent on inspecting the vehicle closely. It is obviously a very fine piece of wood and metalwork, crafted out of brass and varnished wood, which speaks volumes about the wealth of the person who owned it. In a country which is ninety per-cent desert, wood is incredibly valuable. Twilight whistles in appreciation as she draws closer to climb up and inspect the interior of the carriage.

The interior is likewise incredibly well furnished in emerald coloured velvet on the floor and thick green leather upholstery, though Twilight notices a couple of additions have been made. There are ugly screws and nails in the leatherwork. Seams in the fabric have been clumsily stitched. Twilight taps the velvet gently, and is rewarded with the gentle clank.

“Armour plating,” Dash reveals. “This will take more punishment than most combat walkers. Your Highness will also notice the curtain.”

Twilight leans forward and lifts the curtain mounted to the dividing wall between the forward facing row of seats and the ones facing backwards. Twilight’s eyes widen and her mouth drops open in shock as she stares at the small arsenal that is strapped to the back of the seat in front. She can see several shortened cavalry carbines strapped in place, and two snub-nosed lever action shotguns mounted next to them. Her gaze drops and she can dimly make out two more full size pump action shotguns, along with boxes of ammunition. The arsenal is completed by a selection of Webleys which have likewise been strapped down, along with a selection of short and sharp bladed implements, including an entrenching tool for some reason. This could start a small war, Twilight thinks in awe.

“Hopefully these won’t ever be needed,” Dash says. “But it’s better to be safe than sorry ma’am.”

Twilight nods, before drawing her breath and turning to Dash. “Dash… Bolt, talk to me-”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Dash says, and Twilight can feel the Legionnaire tensing up. Twilight steps forward, effectively trapping Dash in the carriage with her.

“Dash… please,” Twilight says, imploring Dash to look her in the eye. Rainbow Dash turns to look Twilight in the face, that bright scarlet eye gleaming with something undefinable, but whatever it is is cold and hard as granite. Dash shakes her head sharply.

“It’s nothing you need to worry about, Your Highness,” Dash says after a moment. “I’m a Legionnaire. Privacy is for Princesses, right?” Dash’s tone is acidic, and Twilight isn’t sure what to say in response. Twilight mentally kicks herself. She should have announced herself, should have done something...

“I’m sorry… I didn’t know it was you and I thought...” Twilight trails off, her mouth closing and opening weakly as she tries to find words to tell the Legionnaire what she has in mind, however Twilight’s words are suddenly snatched away by a shrill warbling sound that rings through the airship. Dash uses the opportunity to shove past Twilight and leap out of the carriage.

“We’re coming up on Tarhen now, you’d better get yourself up on deck and ready,” Dash says flatly, and Twilight hisses a sigh of desperation. Twilight jumps out of the carriage, her woes with Dash suddenly being forced to the back of her mind as she makes her way back up, back to the luxuriously furnished quarters and to the balcony upon which she will get her first glimpse of the city that has already bestowed so much woe upon her people . The city where her friend and mentor is imprisoned, and where her ex was wounded. Twilight steels herself and strides out onto the balcony.

The first thing that strikes Twilight is the size of Tarhen. The massive city sprawls below her like a grimy grey stain that stretches from one side of the desert bowl to the other. Tarhen is built in a natural basin, surrounded on three sides by mountain ranges, the peaks of which are tipped with defensive bastions capable of firing into the city at will, thus necessitating the compliance of the army in any coup-de-tat. As far as Twilight can see, low squat concrete buildings jostle for space with adobe compounds, and grim, unforgiving industrial blocks belch thick clouds of brown smoke from chimneys. Even from up here, Twilight can smell something burning. Airships twist their way through the bustling skyways of Tarhen's outlying industrial districts, massive barges that have been brightly decorated with the company's name, or else the owner's.

Huge cargo-barges that dwarf Twilight's own ship rumble past. The air is thick with the ringing of horns and claxons, and blistering with insults as the airships fight for docking rights. Tiny skiffs zip through the chaos, nipping and ducking through gaps in the traffic in a way that would be considered suicidal to most, and even smaller solar-sailboards whip through the air like fireflies, being piloted by whooping teenagers that yowl and cheer as they skip through the air. In this frantic maelstrom of activity, the screaming of the cruisers’ sirens are almost inaudible.

Twilight jumps as she hears boots behind her upon the hard-wood of the balcony floor and turns to see a Legionnaire that Twilight doesn’t recognize striding out onto the balcony, rifle slung over his shoulder and megaphone clutched loosely in one hand, a set of signalling flags in the other. He calmly sets the flags down upon the deck, and then puts his rifle down next to them. Twilight wonders what this performance is all in aid of, however she’s not kept wondering for long.

A massive cargo hauler suddenly breaks from the pattern and thunders in, obviously intent on cutting in line. The Legionnaire calmly raises the megaphone and bellows something in Fars’ad as the massive airship, easily twice the size of her own ship rumbles in closer. Twilight notices one of the crewmen on the ship hanging out the window bellowing profanities in broken Equestrian in reply. The Legionnaire nods and picks up a yellow flag, pumping it up and down once. The cargo hauler responds by blasting on its horns twice. The Legionnaire puts down the yellow flag and picks up a red one.

“This should do it,” he says to Twilight. “This guy’s an idiot, this should make him think twice.”
Twilight nods, not feeling very reassured. That airship is getting much closer than it really should now, she can clearly make out the bridge, and the captain gesturing at them to move. The Legionnaire waves the red flag twice, extending his arm and pumping the flag up and down.

The captain responds by blasting his horn three times, but then the thunderous howl of an attack siren rings through the sky and suddenly the captain points at something that Twilight can’t see. Then the huge cargo hauler suddenly starts to turn, releasing emergency ballast to get out of the way as the Resolute suddenly thunders across its path, weapons raised. Twilight’s last sight of the captain of the other ship is the sight of a Khan staring in open mouthed terror as the Resolute arrogantly rises out of the pattern to shepherd the convoy, its guns daring anyone else to come close.

Twilight turns to the Legionnaire. “Is that a common thing?” she asks, and the Legionnaire.nods in reply.

“It happens all the time Ma’am,” he replies grimly as he scans the skyline before them. “Normally we don’t have an armed escort… but then again, I would have expected us not to be directed into standard traffic patterns, you being a Princess and all. I don’t like it ma’am.”

Twilight nods, not allowing herself to speak. She doesn’t like it either. She can feel eyes upon her, and not the friendly kind either. It doesn’t take much effort at all to see how that airship could have just kept coming and slammed into her own ship, sending it tumbling from the sky…

Twilight yanks her thoughts back under control. She’s got this. It didn’t happen that way, she doesn’t need to worry about what didn’t happen. What could happen is worrying enough. Twilight sighs, feeling the airship shift slightly beneath her feet. The princess suddenly realizes the airship is climbing.

“What’s going on?” Twilight asks, and the Legionnaire shrugs, his face hidden by the snowy white scarf.
“No idea ma’am,” he replies, and Twilight turns to look ahead, noticing the other Legion ships are likewise climbing out of the cargo pattern, being directed by skiffs painted in the green and white of the Khanate’s Internal Security Forces. Twilight bites her lip, her grip tightening upon the railings.

The cordon of ISF skiffs starts to tighten around the Legion ships, and Twilight watches in awe as the Resolute and Royal seamlessly drift backwards to shield Twilight’s ship. She can hear voices exchanging words in broken Equestrian, even over the howl of the engines and the wind.

“We’ve got a problem your highness.” Twilight turns to see one of Equerry’s crewmen coming up onto the balcony. “They want to halt our convoy and conduct inspections… apparently they haven’t been told we’re coming.”

“Right,” Twilight hisses, remembering exactly who she left in charge of securing her travel arrangements. Her hand balls into a fist with frustration. First Dash, now this. She’s going to have a long and hard discussion with Prophet about this.

However Twilight’s train of thought is suddenly rather abruptly cut off by the snapping of sails, the sharp whiplike crack of massive sails unfurling in the breeze and the thunder of mass reaction drives. Twilight gasps as she catches a glimpse of huge triangular solar sails and massive trimaran hulls.

Then the Resolute drifts backwards, and Twilight is left staring in awe at the sight of the massive man-o-war before her, a relic of a bygone era but no less intimidating for it. It is easily almost as long as a Conqueror class battleship and its armour is much thicker. It is heavily armed too, twin-barrel ten inch gun turrets are arranged along its flanks to unleash an absolutely withering broadside. Pennants flutter from masts that seem to go on for days, and the crimson and gold flag of the Khanate flies proudly upon the raised stern-quarters. The man-o-war banks slightly, matching pace with the Equerry, and Twilight watches curiously as the crew are hurrying this way and that, scaling the rigging and scrubbing the decks and generally being useful. Twilight shivers slightly, feeling her palms slowly becoming sweaty. She can feel the vibrations from those massive engines pulsing through her feet and hands. If Twilight needed any further reminder of the strength of the Khanate, this would be it. Other ships are drifting around the massive man-o-war. Cutters hang close to the man-o-war whilst cruisers and frigates hang back, keeping their distance.

“What’s this all about?” Twilight asks, and the Legionnaire next to her shrugs.

“No idea ma’am… we’re not normally treated to this welcome,” he replies, however Twilight’s reply is cut off by the crewman clearing his throat.

“Ma’am, we’ve got a problem.”

“Are we being refused entry?” Twilight asks, and the crewman shakes his head quickly.

“No ma’am… the protection fleet are here to escort us in… they just… they want to talk to you ma’am, they’re on the radio now,” he says.Twilight sighs bitterly, turning and walking back into the airship, through her quarters and forward to the bridge, which is surprisingly quiet and compact, with only the captain, the navigator and the helmsman crowded into a room that is full of dials and gauges that Twilight doesn’t even want to hazard a guess at the purpose of.

All three are wearing incredibly strange headsets with goggles that are fitted with an array of telescopic lenses, and various filters that fit into those lenses mounted on little mechanical arms, Each man also wears a breathing mask and hoses that drop from his mouth to strange little packs at his waist. Twilight is reminded less of men, and more of giant insects as they move back and forth, manipulating levers and adjusting valves, the faint ticking of dozens of cogitator drums and dials providing a gentle melody to their work. The navigator however has his mask pulled down around his chin, and he’s speaking into a strange headset, with a speaking cup in front of his chin and a single listening cup upon the right ear. Twilight then turns back to the captain, who is straightening up inasmuch as a six foot two man can stand in a room designed for people whose height would rarely exceed five foot nine.

“I’m here, you wished to see me,” Twilight says. The captain whirls around and nods rapidly, his harness jingling as he points enthusiastically at the navigator, who likewise turns rapidly and gestures for Twilight to come over to join him at a radio set that is almost as tall as he is.

“Yes, Your Highness,” the navigator says quickly. “Admiral Neydin is on the line for you, I’ll hand you on to him now.” He lifts his headset off his head and before Twilight can do anything, the brass instrument is dropped around her own ears and she’s frantically adjusting the speaking cup and the listening cup so that the silly thing doesn’t fall off.

“This is Princess Twilight Sparkle for Admiral Neydin,” Twilight says nervously into the speaking cup, anticipating bellowed exclamations of rage. This is not what she receives, however.

“Your Highness.” The voice coming over the line is cultured, but it is also tinny and weak. “On behalf of the Navy and the Ministry of Internal Order, I can only apologize for the welcome you have recieved thus far. Due to a dreadful error of miscommunication, we were not informed of your coming and Traffic Control failed to assign you to the correct pathway. This shall now be corrected forthwith and your ship has been given priority clearance to land at Eternal-City landing fields, to be escorted by the Holy Royal Navy.”

“I see,” Twilight says, relieved that she’s not going to have to see any more suicidal cargo ships. “Thank you for your help Admiral, we are relieved for your assistance.”

“Excellent, now if you will adjust course to Two Zero and pass me back to your navigator, I can get off the line and pass him to Tarhen Air Control.”

Twilight nods and she’s about to lift the headset off her head when she notices the corvettes of the Holy Navy suddenly crowding around her escorting ships and the cargo ship, forcing them backwards and down into the traffic pattern. Twilight drops the headset back down onto her head, her eyes narrowing. “Admiral, what is happening with our escort ships?” she asks, and there is a pause on the other end of the line, before the admiral’s voice comes back.

“Yes,” Neydin says. “Unfortunately we cannot allow your escort to land with you, since they’re listed to a different destination, so they must rejoin the traffic pattern. They should be landing in thirty minutes… Orders from the Ministry of the Interior, I apologize for the inconvenience.”

Twilight takes a deep breath, summoning her courage. “Admiral, I must insist that my escort is authorized to land at their destination immediately. You will note that there have been recent attacks upon Equestrian royals in the past. I am anxious to prevent a repeat of that,” she says, however the Admiral’s instructions are quite clear.

“Your Highness, I apologize but my hands are tied, I am under orders from the Ministry of the Interior that your escort must follow standard traffic procedures.” The Admiral sounds apologetic at this, and Twilight takes a deep breath, her palms sweating. This sounds fishy, very fishy indeed.

“I will convey my feelings regarding this matter to the Shah when I see him tomorrow,” Twilight’s voice is grim, the unspoken threat hanging in the air.

“Highness, you are more than welcome to do exactly that,” the Admiral replies, his tone conciliatory. “I understand your concern… and I will do what I can to safeguard the route and ensure you do not meet with problems en route to your destination.”

“Thank you Admiral, I find this agreeable, and I shall mention your willingness to assist when I speak with the Shah. I shall comply with your docking requests.” Twilight frowns. Looking out from the bridge, Twilight can see the landing field, and what appears to be a sizeable crowd gathered around one particular pad. The Princess doesn’t need to be a tactician to be aware that she might have just put herself in quite a bit of hot water.

______

Twilight’s worries build as she heads aft, to where Rainbow Dash has been keeping the other Legionnaires busy with weapons maintenance and uniform checks. Twilight is aware this news is not going to be at all well received by the fifteen Legionnaires she’s actually asking to put their lives on the line, with no support save her and a Justicar whose loyalty Twilight questions more with each passing hour.

The Legionnaires are quartered in the servants’ quarters, which was originally built to take up to twenty servants, and thus fifteen Legionnaires are able to stay in here with little difficulty. Twilight can hear Dash stalking among her troops, exhorting them in the way that only Rainbow Dash can:
“You call that a crease Legionnaire? I thought you’d used your dress uniform to clean your rifle, but now that I’ve seen your rifle, I appear to be mistaken! You’ve got thirty minutes, but in those thirty minutes, I want those uniforms to be absolutely gleaming! You’ll be inspected by the princess before we step off and I won’t have you lot looking like a sack of shit!”

Twilight sighs and knocks on the door sharply, and after a moment, the door opens to reveal Dash, who snaps to attention as she spots Twilight.

“Your Highness!” she says, her eyes fixed on a point over Twilight’s shoulder. Twilight tilts her head slightly, but takes a breath. She will have time to deal with Dash’s awkwardness later, and the other Legionnaires are starting to take an interest, glancing over their shoulders at the Princess and the Legionnaire. Twilight has to be calm and cool, collected and professional.

“Caporal Bolt, there has been a change in plans,” she says, and Bolt tilts her head curiously.

“You mean we’ve been delayed?” she asks, and Twilight shakes her head.

“We’re landing in five minutes.”

Dash’s mouth drops open at Twilight’s words, dumbfounded. Dash glances at Twilight once more, and then she slams the door to the room with a bang, shutting off her comrades from herself and Twilight. “And what about our escorts?” Twilight feels about two inches tall beneath the Caporal’s piercing gaze.

“We’re going to be travelling for the first half hour with no top cover,” Twilight says, her voice trailing off as she watches Dash’s eye widen and spots of colour appear upon her cheek.

“What the fuck happened to the plan?” she snaps, and Twilight’s mouth tightens into a thin line.

“The Holy Navy happened. Apparently our escorts have to join the regular traffic queues, by order of the Ministry of the Interior.”

“Fucking great,” Dash says. “There’s going to be a crowd around the ship… we’re going to need to do something to get that crowd moved on. Hmm... Perhaps we could pump flares to get them to push back?”

“I don’t think spewing burning phosphorous over a crowd would be a good way of introducing ourselves,” Twilight replies grimly. Dash nods in response, pulling out a notepad.

“Well, how about we get in touch with the tower and get the crowd dispersed?” Dash suggests. “Where’s our landing pad, show me where we’re landing.”

Twilight nods, turning and leading Dash up to the bridge, knocking once before coming in.
“Ma’am,” the navigator greets, nodding at Twilight, before spotting Dash behind Twilight. “This is most improper, I cannot have her on the bridge,” he bleats, and Dash shrugs.

“Cool it, I’m only here for a few moments,” Dash growls, picking her way through the tight space, until she’s practically peering over the helmsman’s shoulder. “Nope, that’s not good… it’s too open.”

“I should hope so,” the helmsman grumbles through his mask. “This thing handled like a freight-barge before it was loaded over capacity, now it’s about as easy to control as a greased paedophile in a playground.”

“Can we get the landing site changed?” Dash barks, and the helmsman shakes his head.

“We’re on final approach, I’m bracketed on either side and both are coming in on hot kinetic approaches. I’m not going to be able to nip boward without a prang to our stern-quarters.”

“Meaning?” Twilight asks, perplexed.

“He means there are two airships, one on either side of us, both of which are coming in quite fast, and he’s not going to be able to turn in front of them without them hitting us,” the navigator supplies, and Dash swears, to another disapproving glance from the navigator.

“Bollocks, right, can we get in touch with tower control and get that crowd dispersed? I dunno, simulate a fire emergency or something, I just want that crowd gone.”

The captain turns and pulls his mask up, staring in abject horror at Dash. “Simulate a fire emergency?! On final approach?! Are you mad Caporal, do you have any IDEA how much trouble we’d get into for that?”

“Yeah, well do you imagine how much shit you’d get into if you got Princess Twilight whacked!”

“I’m sorry Caporal, but I cannot simulate a fire emergency… all our equipment for such is all stowed anyway. That is my final word on the matter,” the helmsman says shortly.

“Right, well Twi, we’re out of options here. About all I’ve got left is to fire off some warning shots since you’ve just about left me with sweet bugger all else!” Dash barks irritably, and Twilight’s mouth drops open. Warning shots, straight out of the door. She cannot think of many better ways to make a bad impression.

“No Caporal! Warning shots would create entirely the wrong impression, we cannot have people running in terror from my carriage, there would be panic!”

“Right, well what the fuck do you want me to do then?!” Dash snaps, and Twilight notices a flicker of something in her eye, before she turns and stalks off the bridge. Twilight nods politely to the captain before turning and going after the caporal. Dash has not gone far by the time Twilight catches up with her, and Twilight opens her mouth.

“I’m sor-”

“Not your fault,” Dash grunts bluntly. “There was nothing you could have done to stop them from dropping that on us. No plan ever survives first contact with the enemy and I-”

“They aren’t the enemy, Caporal!”

“Well excuse the fuck out of me for weighing all the risks, that’s what you pay me for… you know what, this isn’t cool, we need to leave.”

“Dash!”

“No Twi, we need to fuck off, if our escorts are being locked down, if we’re out in the open like that… it screams trap to me.”

“Dash, we’re not walking into a trap. We’re guests of the Shah.” Twilight’s tone is firm and patient, but it brooks no argument. “Anyone who wants to go for us would have to be supremely stupid to do so.”

“This is the- but- I don’t- ugh, never mind, I was sort of expecting a wrench to get into the works somewhere.” Dash’s back straightens and she removes her helmet, running a hand through those brilliant chromatic locks, exhaling a breath with a sharp whistle. She then replaces her helmet upon her head, her eye locked upon Twilight’s face as a sharp predatory smile spreads across her face.

“We can do this. It’s likely to get uglier than Rarity on a bad hair-day, It’s going to be a cluster-fuck, but you’re the Princess, I’m the Legionnaire, we can do this,” Dash says brashly, her remaining eye flinty. Before Twilight can say anything else however, Dash holds her hand up. “Right, I've gotta brief the troops, you go get your shit in order and we’ll get going.” Dash tosses Twilight a brilliant cocky grin that doesn't quite ring true, before she turns, heading down the corridor that will take her to the Legionnaires’ quarters.

Twilight takes a deep breath, and then turns away. As Twilight starts to walk, she hears Dash’s voice down the corridor: “Gather in Legionnaires, we've got a job…”

Dash’s voice fades as Twilight heads back up through the corridors of the airship, back to her own quarters, where her own paperwork is sitting, spread out on the desk where she had dumped it when she climbed aboard. Twilight takes a breath, gathering the paperwork together in silence. She can feel her heart pumping, can feel her skin tingling as her magic reacts to her nervous disposition. She can feel it dancing across her skin almost, and prickling the pores upon her skin. Twilight clenches her hand into a fist, before reaching for her gun-belt.

We will be fine! She tells herself firmly, but as Twilight bends forward to put her gun-belt on, something catches her eye. Twilight reaches out and picks up Dash’s Luger. Twilight feels tension vibrating up and down her spine as she turns it over in her hand. Twilight’s hand closes around the grip of the pistol, forcing her jittering nerves to calm. What would Rainbow Dash do in this situation? Twilight asks herself, taking a steadying breath. For starters, Dash wouldn’t be so weepy or mopy. She’d do what needed to be done and keep herself together. Twilight nods firmly to herself, her grip tightening on the engraved pistol-grip. She then slides the pistol back into her belt, and gathers up her things. Twilight remembers the words of the wise old armourer as she focuses her mind: She has peace to make.

Twilight finishes gathering her paperwork, sliding it into the enchanted nothingness that she doesn’t like to use but, in Twilight’s opinion, is merited on this occasion. She can’t have state documents getting scattered if something happens after all.

You’re assuming something’s going to happen. Everything’s going to be just fine, Twilight tells herself as she glances out of the window, at the rapidly approaching landing field. Twilight can clearly see the people clustered around the landing pad now and she sighs. What’s the betting that this is our landing pad? she asks herself as she turns away from the window, and heads through the corridors of the ship once more, back to the cargo compartment, where she can hear the voices of the Legionnaires in hushed conversation.

As Twilight comes into the cargo compartment, she’s startled to find the Legionnaires are not dressed in their royal blue finery. Each Legionnaire is instead dressed in khaki and tan combat dress, including Rainbow Dash.

“Room ‘shun!” one of the Legionnaires snaps as they spot Twilight, and instantly every single Legionnaire crashes to a halt, standing straight and turning to face Twilight.

“As you were,” Twilight says, acknowledging the gesture with a wave of her hand. “I notice the new uniforms…” she trails off, and Dash jumps down from where she’d been standing on top of the carriage.

“Yes ma’am, it was on my authority, that uniform’s too tight and constricting, you can’t get to ammo quickly enough,” Dash explains, and Twilight nods, understanding the Legionnaire’s logic. As much as Twilight would prefer them to be dressed in the blue and white, she knows that she has to give Dash something, she can’t be completely unreasonable.

“I see, I have no issues with your choice of uniform, now brief me on how we’re going to do this?” Twilight asks, and Dash nods.

“We’re going to hightail it out of the airship. We’re not going to stop for a press conference at the ramp or anything, we’re just going to move as quickly as we can in the direction of our base, taking back streets where we can, just because the main roads are fucking painful to get past at this time of day, and we cannot get snarled in traffic. We've got no top cover or anything else, so speed is of the essence here,” Dash explains, and Twilight tilts her head.

“What about Prophet?” She asks, and Dash shrugs.

“Fuck ‘im, he can join up with us later,” Dash says frankly, her eye narrowed. “I’m not willing to risk your safety to pick up that Justicar. No offence to you Twilight, but it was one of his men who tried to kill us last night.”

“Don’t remind me.” Twilight shivers. “But… if something goes wrong, I want to get him, just so we can keep him safe, alive and under our eyesight.”

“You’re the boss,” Dash says calmly, turning on her heel and climbing up into the carriage, plonking herself down in the passenger compartment. Twilight takes a deep breath and then likewise climbs up into the carriage, taking a seat next to Rainbow Dash and trying to keep the butterflies in her stomach at bay. Twilight bites her lip as the docking sirens start to wail in the cargo bay. Twilight hears a low bump that sends a tremor through the airship’s frame as the airship touches down.

The lights suddenly go out, to be replaced with the steady red glare of the landing warning lights.
“Legionnaires, mount the vehicle!” Dash calls, and at once, eight of the fifteen Legionnaires climb aboard, positioning themselves precariously on the running boards or in the carriage itself, the other six taking positions at the entry way.

“Fix Bayonets!” Dash snaps, and the rasping sound of steel being drawn sets Twilight’s teeth on edge. Even though Twilight is expecting the call, it still turns her blood to ice. She squeezes her hands together as she feels how damp her palms are, and her dry tongue swipes at equally dry lips as the rumble of the engines fade to be replaced with the low pulsating hum of a crowd.

“Before we go,” Twilight turns to Dash. “I just want to say…” Twilight trails off as she tries to find the words, her eyes locked upon Dash’s single crimson eye gazing at her intently, that mouth slightly open. “Thanks, for everything,” Twilight finishes lamely, but Dash smiles.

“Any time Princess… right, let’s go make peace.”

A tinny voice rings out over the intercom. “Divine Providence has touched down next to us… ramp will open on my count. Five.”

Twilight’s heart is racing and her hands are shaking.

“Four.”

Dash turns to Twilight. “Is there gonna be some kind of ceremony?” She asks, and Twilight nods.

“Sure, there’s probably a group of diplomats waiting-” Twilight begins, but Dash cuts her off.

“You reckon it’s going to offend anyone if we leave them hanging?”

“If it does then too bad,” Twilight says grimly. “As you say, we need to get out of here, I’m not going to be held up because they want to go through the fol-de-rol of a proper state welcome. I’m Equestrian, the devil’s right hand, a little arrogance may go a long way. I’m here to deal with the big leagues, not be greeted by flunkies.”

“Two.”

“Let’s do this,” Twilight hears Dash growl.

“One.”

“STANDBY, STANDBY, NINTH COMPAGNIE!” A booming shout fills the room as the mechanized horses’ reins are cracked, activating the machines. “READY WEAPONS!”

Twilight inches toward her revolver, her palm resting on the wood as she hears the sharp ratcheting clack and snap of fifteen well oiled bolts being charged.

“DOOR, READY, READY, GO!”