January, 1882. Canterlot 0320.

Iron grey clouds hang sullenly over Canterlot, hiding the stars from view. The bashful moon hides behind a blanket of cloud, casting only a dim glow upon the spires of Canterlot castle as a vicious scything rain sweeps through the broad streets, slashing down upon the shoulders of the buildings which huddle together for warmth. Banners snap and furl in the brutal night wind, the bright fabrics dimmed by darkness and rain. Torches gutter furtively in the darkness and ruddy light spills from misty windows, peals of laughter drifting upon the breeze as families shut themselves against the night and all the terrors that it brings. Meanwhile Night-Guardsmen in their royal blue tunics and jackboots curse and tighten their greatcoats against the bitter chill as they patrol through the city, rifles loosely clasped in hands or slung over shoulders. Drunks stagger and shamble up streets, and beggars and whores slowly move out into the street, using the shelter of the moon to ply their illicit trades as the Night Guard work tirelessly to catch them in the oldest of contests.

Even during the night, there is still life in the city of Canterlot. High above the city, several warships of the Imperial Navy traverse the heavens, rain glittering off their cigar-shaped balloons as the warships drift like shadows across the inky sky. The citizens of Canterlot are accustomed to the sight of the golden warships of the Imperial Navy flying high overhead, the soft rumble of their drives softened almost into melody by the altitude. Dripping flags hang from their cannon barrels, and aboard each airship, cloud-men are wandering the decks wrapped in oilskins and leathers, securing lines and checking gun-ports.

Anyone looking up on this particular night however would have noticed something distinctly odd about the airships overhead. Normally there would be ten, the battleship HMS Achilles and her support ships, the flotilla that regularly polices Canterlot's skyways. Tonight there are eleven, and one is drifting out of the normal patrol pattern. That one is heading straight towards Canterlot castle, and it does not have the distinctive golden outer plating of the Imperial Navy. Instead the airship is plated with the jet black and silver armor plating of the smaller but no less professional Lunar Guard, the organization built around the security of Princess Luna and her entourage. Bullet holes are punched into the side of the ship, and one of the engines putters loudly, belching smoke.

Upon the fore-deck of the Eclipse class destroyer Zam-Tarkaz, a woman is standing out on the viewing deck, staring out at the looming spectacle of Canterlot Castle. Lights flicker like stars within the citadel as the signallers flash bursts of light between the ship and the receiving gantries of the castle. Even the long cigar-shaped balloon over her head offers no protection from the sheets of rain that hammer down upon the city below, and the women's royal blue tunic is soaked through, despite the best efforts of the jet black cloak she is wearing. Her steel mask is likewise streaked with water, as is the onyx crown she wears upon her head. The Princess' shoulder length midnight blue hair glitters like starlight, flowing languidly as though it is caught in a slow invisible current in spite of the strength of the gusting wind. She taps her foot impatiently upon the deck, trying to tell herself it is merely impatience as the wind whips at her cloak. Her uniform is spattered with tiny speckles of scarlet that won't come out.

Her visit to the Khanate has proven rather less successful than she would have hoped. The Khanate's ambassador hadn't even wanted to speak to her, instead fobbing her off to several junior level diplomats who were all too terrified to talk to her about anything of substance, not least the behavior of the guards on the border between the Khanate and the Empire, who had been turning Equestrian cargo airships and trade caravans at the border in one of the periodic protests at the Imperial invasion of their territory several years ago. However Luna could not help but get the feeling that something more worrying was going on this time. More soldiers were out on the streets of the Khanate than usual and the Crows, or the black robed Ministry of Internal Order troops, were certainly making their presence known. All of this pointed, in Luna's opinion, towards internal issues within the Khanate. A well organized and well armed mob bursting through the gates of the Equestrian Embassy hadn't helped the discussions a great deal.

Princess Luna is distracted from her sour musings by the sound of footsteps on the deck behind her and she turns to see the captain of the Zam-Tarkaz appear behind her, his face grim.

“Ma'am.” He says softly, not bothering to salute. Whilst other regals, her dear sister among them, are sticklers for protocol and being bowed to, Princess Luna is not. Bowing and scraping wastes time that could be used for more important matters, and thus her Lunar Guard is far more relaxed than the golden armored crimson robed Solar Guard who protect Princesses Celestia and Cadence, but Luna maintains that her guards are no less professional for their lack of bowing and scraping.

“We will be making landfall in five minutes ma'am, we have doctors on standby at the landing gantries for the wounded.” He says crisply, unfazed by the blank sheet of steel that covers Princess Luna's face. Luna politely nods in reply, glad that said steel mask keeps her relieved smile from showing. She knows she shouldn't feel guilty about the wounded or dead, that they were lucky that her destroyer's guns and the Legion were able to hold the embassy until the staff had been evacuated, otherwise it would have been far worse. However it's rather difficult not to feel guilty about these things when you consider the riot would not have happened if she hadn't been there in the first place. Luna knows that should have, would have and could have are not good human traits to be emulating. That being said, it's one thing on an intellectual level, but it is a far more personal affair to see eighty stretchers arranged along a corridor in the bowels of the destroyer. The knowledge that she is responsible for those stretchers being there is weighing heavily upon her mind.

“Do you have any messages for your sister before we dock?” He asks and Luna shakes her head. She can't really pass the messages she has through any medium less secure than direct face to face communication, and long range flashy light signals are apt to get the message wrong at the best of times. This message needs to be transmitted as accurately as possible. Whilst this message is urgent, it is nothing that will not wait until breakfast-time tomorrow morning. Or rather, nothing can be done until breakfast-time tomorrow morning.

Luna knows she could just be having a paranoid moment. Accusations of her jumping at shadows are fairly common, especially from the courtiers and members of the Equestrian Parliamentary houses, both bodies which have held little love for Luna since her return from exile three years ago, and recent events have thus far supported her detractors. Luna sighed bitterly, remembering the good old days when she and Celestia were roaming the wild-lands as professional swordswomen, slaying dragons for fun and profit, jousting, drinking and fighting. Now she does her jousting with a quill-pen and the only dragons she can slay are the Ministry of the Treasury and the Ministry of Defence, both of which are more hydra than dragon. What happened today should shake them. Equestrian soldiers have been fired upon today in a foreign nation for the first time in several hundred years. What makes it worse is that Equestrian soldiers are among the wounded and dead from the encounter. There will need to be a reckoning for this, Luna is certain of that.

The Captain clears his throat firmly.
“So what will you tell her?” He asks and Luna grimaces beneath her mask as she turns back towards the castle.
“That it could have gone better.” She replies quietly and they both share a grim chuckle.

“That's an understatement ma'am,” He replies. “The Legion doesn't appreciate being called upon for what we needed them to do today. Would you like me to pass on your regards?” he asks and she shakes her head.

“I think not, I will do it myself sometime in the near future.” Luna contemplates something for a moment, tapping her foot a little more rapidly.

“Maybe I should present a few medals?” The Night-Princess suggests after a second of thought. Luna has not been in Equestria for a thousand years up until three years ago. The creation of the Légion Étrangère was something she missed during her exile, and thus she doesn't know a lot about them. She didn’t even know they existed until this trip. However when her captain snickers and shakes his head, Luna has a nasty feeling she's said something she shouldn’t have.

“No ma'am, you can't eat medals.” he says grimly and Luna nods, lowering her head quietly as she remembers the pop pop of rounds whizzing overhead and the crack and rattle of Legionnaire rifles. It's been a very long time since she's been in combat, and whilst rifles themselves are not exactly unheard of technology, they still make her feel more than a little queasy when she’s on the receiving end.

It seems to be a far cry from the days that she charged the enemy, sword in hand and steel in her gut. Now, determination matters not a whit and courage doesn't matter either. Charging blindly will get you shot down before you can take five steps. This is not the first time Luna wonders if she's getting a little too old for this game, however she knows the answer to that question.

“Right, thank you captain, I'll see if I can do something for them.” She says quietly as the Zam-Tarkaz docks up.
One thing sticks in her mind as umbilical cords are hurled from ship to shore. The Rainbow haired woman who had helped to secure the gates of the Equestrian Embassy against the rioting mob, and later helped hustle Princess Luna onto the skiff in the back garden of the Embassy sticks in her mind. Luna isn't quite able to forget the courage of that woman, despite the thoughts whirling through her mind. She's seen her before somewhere, she's sure of it. Luna never found out what became of her...

Luna disembarks quickly. It has been a long day and she's very tired, however there is a long list of things she needs to see to before her bedchamber can be prepared. However as she sweeps across the gantry and into the castle itself, she realizes that those things can wait. Princess Celestia is standing in the doorway waiting for her, wrapped in a thick pink dressing robe. Princess Celestia is a tall woman, much taller than Luna and even taller than her own guardsmen. Her face is also un-concealed, unlike Luna's. Her normally immaculately kept hair that shimmers in soft pinks, blues and greens and billows much in the same way as Luna's own hair does, is hanging limp and ragged down her back, the lifeless pink hair tangled. Her normally warm and welcoming eyes are cold and hard and her mouth is set into a firm line. In her hand is a mug of still steaming coffee so thick that the spoon practically stands in the mug. The God-Empress of half the continent is not in a good mood.

"Follow me sister." The Empress' voice brooks no argument. Whilst everyone talks about Celestia and Luna holding joint authority, Luna knows who is truly behind the reins.

Author's Notes:

So, this is my first chapter, I hope you all like it
even if you don't, please tell me what you think since without your comments, I don't get better as a writer
any feedback is appreciated.