A Dark Knight Over Trottingham

by iowaforever

First published 29th of January, 2014

Blueblood becomes the Dark Knight

For most of his life, Blueblood has lived in the shadow of his parents' murder. His past has haunted him, kept him from moving on and achieving something beyond "President and CEO of Mane Enterprises".

But when his life is thrown out of balance once again, Blueblood begins a journey that will lead him to becoming something more than just a pony.
He will become a legend.
A Dark Knight.

Cover art by Supersheep 64

Comments contain spoilers. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

Takes place in the same universe as Mare of Steel, The Princess of Themyscira and In Brightest Day, In Blackest Night. Reading those first is recommended, but not required

Chapter 1

A young colt stood alone, snow drifting down from the dark sky. He was crying, tears running down his face and splashing on his hooves and mixing with the blood in the snow. Even as he heard the sound of others coming to his aid, he did not look up. He’d see them again, their glazed eyes fixed upon the sky.

He blamed himself. He was not sure why, but he was certain that this had been his fault. He had pestered them into taking the shortcut. He was too busy enjoying himself to notice just what lay in wait. Then everything had happened at once, and he was alone, crying in the snow. His tried to force himself to stay there, to let snow and exposure kill him so he would not have to look up, but somepony came up and gently pushed him away. He tried to resist, but he was only a young colt; what could he do to resist?

As he was led away from the scene, he caught glimpse of two ponies, a stallion and a mare, lying dead in the snow.

“Master Blueblood?... Master Blueblood?” Blueblood blinked his eyes and looked up. The mid afternoon sun was beaming straight in his face, making it hard for him to see. With a groan he pushed himself up on his hooves, looking around his room and spotting the only other occupant, an elderly Earth Pony stallion who was waiting at the foot of his bed.

“Something wrong, Pennyworth?” Blueblood asked.

“The board of directors called; they wanted to remind you about the meeting in...” Pennyworth checked his watch “Three hours, give or take a few minutes.”

“Call them and tell them I can’t make it. Use whatever excuse you didn’t use last time.” Blueblood flopped over on his stomach and tried to go back to sleep, but Pennyworth was not about to let up so quickly.

“Well, I’ve already feigned illness, so unless you die or are called away by Princess Celestia in the next five minutes I doubt they’ll take no for an answer.” Blueblood sighed again and forced himself out of bed, accepting a robe that Pennyworth passed to him.

“Remind me to speak with her about having my title of ‘Prince’ mean something again.”

“I will make sure to provide refreshments for your eventual argument.” Blueblood knew that Pennyworth was exaggerating; he got along very well with his adoptive great aunt, although he did disagree with the notion that the title of “Prince” was mostly ceremonial. His father had been alright with the arrangement, but there still seemed like more he could accomplish with just a bit more power.

... Also remember to avoid dealing with Silver Industries for a few months, to avoid power tripping. Blueblood thought idly.

“Guess I’ll just have to face the board again. Call them and tell them I might be a little late.”

“I suppose that is better than dying. The shower is ready for your use.” and with that, Pennyworth wandered off to complete his other duties. Blueblood continued on into the bathroom shedding his robe and stepping into the shower.

It was now that he realized that he was covered in sweat. It was not an uncommon occurrence whenever his mind decided to drift into the past, but it still caught him off guard. He had talked with Pennyworth a few times about it, hoping that the older stallion could impart some wisdom, but even with his help he never seemed to get anywhere.

My own fault... no surprise there. Setting his self-loathing aside, he turned on the shower and allowed warm water to erase what evidence remained of his dreams. Pennyworth would probably confront him about it later (he always seemed adept at figuring things out), but for now Blueblood took the moment to allow his mind to clear... so he could figure out just what to say to make the board happy and get him out of there. He silently prayed for them to bring up something important, something he could really get invested in, but lately they seemed too interested in talking about such things as weapons technology and meaningless acquisitions... and working closer with Silver Industries.

Once he was sure he was clean enough, he stepped out of the shower and dried himself off, trying to make himself as presentable as possible. That task complete, he headed towards the main dining room, spotting Pennyworth standing next to a plate of various food stuffs. He nodded his thanks to the older pony before sitting down.

“Something on your mind, sir?” Pennyworth asked. Well, that was quick.

“No, nothing really.” Blueblood said.

“Master Blueblood, I’ve been in your service since you were a foal; I know when you’re hiding something from me.”

“... I had another one of those dreams, Pennyworth,” Blueblood said after a long pause, suddenly uninterested in his breakfast. “You know, where my parents die?”

“I know.” Pennyworth said, nodding solemnly. The two had talked some years ago, and Blueblood had learned he was not the only one who had dreams of that night. “I have offered as much advice as I can on the matter-”

“I know you have,” Blueblood looked up at Pennyworth “And I thank you for that. But it seems like every time I try and get over it, it just keeps coming back.”

“It never will go away completely, Master Blueblood. I have lost quite a few ponies over the course of my life, and I’ve found it’s best not to dwell upon their passing, else you begin to forget all the good things about them.” Blueblood nodded, but he did not feel convinced that that would be an easy thing to do. The image of his parents dying had been burned into his memory for quite some time, and with each passing day that was all he could remember about them.

“I’ll think of something.” he said finally, pushing his plate away and standing to leave. “Fancy Pants has that dinner party tonight, so I probably won’t be back until later.”

“I’ll keep something warmed just in case you’re still hungry.”

“Thank you, Pennyworth.” As Pennyworth cleared the table, Blueblood gathered up the last of his things and stepped outside. The positioning of the Manor was such that Blueblood could get a good view of Trottingham proper, spying groups of ponies going about their business. He knew that under the veneer of peace and calm lay a very broken system, but these ponies either did not realize the full extent of the problem, or just did not care.

With a sigh, and after trying his best to put his memories in check, Blueblood set out for Trottingham’s business district.

He had only been here for less than two months, and already Braeburn Apple was beginning to grow tired of Trottingham. Whatever sense of optimism he had brought with him when he had first signed on to Trottingham’s police force had faded away, and it seemed that the only time he had been happy was whenever he had to put on a facade for visiting relatives. Still, he pressed on, just in the hope that something would change.

Small hope, He thought.

Currently, he and another officer were escorting a prisoner to Arkham Asylum. Said prisoner was supposed to spend ten years in the county jail, but he had managed to plead insanity and secure psychiatric evaluation instead. Braeburn had protested, citing how most of said “psychic evaluations” ended with the prisoner receiving a clean bill of health and being released in a few months, but he was ignored. Again. He looked back towards the cart they were transporting the prisoner in, guessing that he was probably enjoying himself immensely.

“Ey, rookie.” the other officer said, catching Braeburn’s attention. “Eyes front; we’re almost here.”

“Since when have you ever been one for procedure?” Braeburn asked, looking over at his companion.

“Well, there’s all those weirdos here; gotta show them that we’re the ones in charge.” If we were anywhere else in Equestria I would have agreed with you. Braeburn did not vocalize his response, but did turn his focus towards the approaching asylum.

Arkham was a holdover from the earlier days of Trottingham. Braeburn was not really sure who built it, and wondered why it had not been condemned long ago, but there it stood, shrouded by several groves of thick, gnarled trees. Just seeing the building made Braeburn uneasy; it reminded him of the old house his grandmother had lived in before she died, complete with dark windows and tarnished siding. Braeburn pushed his unease aside and pressed on, his mind focusing on the task at hoof.

The two officers stopped just outside the entrance to Arkham, Braeburn watching the door while his companion went around to get the prisoner. Said prisoner, a middle aged Pegasus with a small chunk out of his left ear, seemed very pleased with himself as he was lead into the building, Braeburn following close behind. The ponies stepped quickly inside, and it dawned on Braeburn that it was fairly quiet. Unnaturally so.

“Hey!” his companion called. “Anypony back there?” there was a pause before a security pony stepped out, a bit shaken by the arrival of the officers and their prisoner.

“Oh, hello there.” the security pony said. “Is this the prisoner transfer?”

“Yes,” Braeburn said from the back. “Diamond Hoof, known associate of the Falcon, sentenced to a year here along with psychiatric evaluation.”

“Right, of course.” the security pony shifted around a little. “Should take us a few minutes to get everything all set up.”

“I expected that you’d have thing prepared already.” Braeburn raised an eyebrow. “Is something wrong?”

“Uh... no, of course not. You see, we’re moving one of the patients to a new room today, and... well, we needed to make sure that everything worked out.”

“All this for one guy?” the other police officer asked. “That’s ridiculous. I want to speak to whoever’s in charge here. Rookie, stay here with the prisoner.” Braeburn opened his mouth to protest, but by that time the other ponies were gone. The prisoner seemed to be paying him no mind, and Braeburn was satisfied to leave it at that.

Of course, this was Trottingham; things that satisfied Braeburn rarely lasted very long.

“So,” Diamond Hoof said after a pause. “Must be a pretty big guy they’re moving around if they’re all so freaked out about it.” Braeburn said nothing. “Y’know, if my boss was here he’d probably be the one complaining; he’s not one for delays... bet you’ve had to deal with things like that before, haven’t you?” Braeburn continued to hold his silence.

“Hey, Buddy. I’m sure you’re probably not too hot on this set up. Must be a pain dragging crazies out here all the time.” Diamond Hoof smirked. “Maybe I could help you... look, I know ponies; I could get you a nice set up. Wouldn’t have to deal with ponies out here. Just a little extra on the side, y’know. Could get yourself a nice house... maybe a girl.” Braeburn blinked, but continued to stay silent. This caused Diamond Hoof to frown. “Okay, a guy? I’m not prejudice or anything.” still nothing, although Braeburn could hear the sound of hoof steps coming towards them. “C’mon, you’ve got to give me something to work with here.”

“Oh, I will.” as his colleague and two orderlies entered the room, Braeburn stood up a little.

“Okay, we’ve got that all settled.” the two orderlies moved to escort the prisoner into the asylum. Diamond Hoof glared at Braeburn as he was lead away, but Braeburn said nothing. Once the prisoner had been lead away, the head orderly turned to Braeburn.

“I’m sorry for the delay, sir.” the orderly said. “We’ll make sure to take good care of Mr. Diamond Hoof.”

“Oh, I’m sure you will.” Braeburn reached around and produced a few forms, paperwork needed to make Diamond Hoof’s stay official. He briefly considered saying something, that there was a typo to make the prisoner's stay longer, but deep down Braeburn knew he could not do that. He was an Apple, and even stretching the truth in the name of justice did not feel right to him. With a small sigh he passed the forms to the orderly and watched as they took Diamond Hoof away, the criminal giving Braeburn a thin smile as he left.

One of these days it'll be worth it, Braeburn thought as he turned to leave. One of these days

Blueblood was so close. A small bead of sweat had formed on his forehead, but he ignored it. All of his concentration and skill were needed, and one minor slip up could result in disaster.

“Mr. Mane?” one of the board members asked, causing Blueblood to look up.

“I thought I told you to call me Blueblood.” he replied, turning his attention back to the task at hoof.

“Mr Mane, we are trying to hold a meeting here. If you would please set aside your toy and focus for a minute-”

“I am focusing.” Blueblood chewed his lip before spinning a section of the cube around, finally matching up all sides in their proper colors. “There, finished. See, was it so hard for you guys to wait?”

“If only your father could see this; I am certain he would not approve.” the board member sighed before continuing. “We were trying to discuss the offer made by Silver Industries-”

“And I gave you my answer: no.” Blueblood set the cube aside and looked at the board members. “I would say that I respect Silversmith as a pony, except I don’t; he’s too ruthless and a bad influence on this company, and I thought we already had military contracts. Why would we want to share our work with somepony else?”

“But sir, the manufacturing facilities-” another board member said before Blueblood cut him off.

“Are still in his name, or did you not read the fine print?” there was a pause, all the board members looking to Blueblood. “Yeah, I pay attention to little details like that. Problem?”

“Even if they are in Silversmith’s name,” the first board member said. “We still need to take this deal. Can you imagine just what we’d be able to achieve with more manufacturing facilities? We could expand even further, open up new markets-”

“Then why don’t we build some of our own factories, get more ponies working?” Blueblood asked.

“I’d support that plan...” a junior board member said. “But it might take some time to set up.”

“Eh, we can work with that. We’ll just have to increase output at our factories to catch up with demands.”

“Mr. Mane, you realize that-”

“I’ll tell you what I realize.” Blueblood leaned forward. “Silversmith wants all of us out of business, and he’ll do whatever it takes to get there. We’re not as bad off as you think, which leads me to believe that you might be in on his deal so you might get a little bit of the profits. Unless I deem it necessary, I will not do business with Silver Industries. That’s all I want to hear on the topic.”

“But Mr. Mane-”

“That. Is. All.” Blueblood checked his watch. “Now, if you’d excuse me, I have a dinner party with Fancy Pants in about an hour, so unless you have anything relevant to talk about that has nothing to do with Silver Industries then I suggest that we close this meeting.” the board members looked to each other, but said nothing. “Good. Oh, and I want you to look into some new land for purchase, so we can build some of our own facilities.” With that Blueblood turned and left, trusting that the board was at least competent enough to clean up after themselves.

The Mane Enterprises building was closing down for the night, but it was still a flurry of activity. Numerous ponies went to and fro, attending to jobs that Blueblood could not remember off the top of his head. Most of the ponies gave him a greeting as he walked by, and had he not been in such a hurry to get out he would have returned the favor. Despite the building’s size, it was not incredibly difficult for him to leave, as the crowds tended to part for him without much fuss.

As he stepped out onto Trottingham’s street, things changed. Despite his attire, he was still one pony among thousands, all hurrying off to whatever business awaited them. Here, there were no greetings, no parting of crowds. He even drew a few glares from some of the more downtrodden ponies. They probably don’t realize how I’ve been helping them. He sighed and moved to the curb, hailing a taxi to take him downtown.

It was not something he enjoyed, being forced to go from place to place and kowtow to different nobles and rich ponies, but it kept his mind distracted. And Blueblood needed distractions more than ever.

Author's Notes:

Well, here it is; after many delays, swapping of characters, and just lack of work, I have finally started my Batman crossover.
This takes place seven years before the beginning of Mare of Steel, just so you know
I don't own My Little Pony and Batman; they belong to Hasbro and DC comics. Likes and comments are appreciated, and if I screwed something up please let me know

Chapter 2

Blueblood stood off to one side, idly sipping a glass of wine, watching as the other members of Trottingham’s elite went about their business. Some would give a nod or flash a smile, and being the courteous guest, Blueblood would return such gestures before moving on. It was just like work: address the problem and move on as quickly as possible. The extra posturing and white lies were just another aspect of life, one that Blueblood was highly adept at.

And ponies say that they know the real Blueblood... Wish I could meet him; he certainly sounds like an interesting pony.

“Ah, there you are.” Blueblood turned as he was approached by Fancy Pants, the Canterlot unicorn followed by a mare, a white unicorn with a two toned pink and white mane. “Fleur, I want you to meet Blueblood, the Prince of Trottingham.”

“Oh, you are royalty?” the mare, Fleur, asked, and Blueblood could detect the smallest hints of an accent in her voice. Foreign... might explain her lack of knowledge of Equestria’s government.

“Well, the title’s just a nickname, although my family has had ties to the Princesses since before the Nightmare Moon incident.” Blueblood countered before offering his hoof to the mare. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Fleur.”

“Likewise.” Fleur replied. As Blueblood thought over what he was going to say, he took a moment to analyse Fleur and see just who she was; her body language was rather reserved, so she was not a hard-partying type, and the hint of a blush that formed whenever she looked to Fancy Pants. Spoke of a relationship more than just platonic friends. So that’s why Fancy Pants went to Prance... “So, how exactly do you know Fancy Pants?” She asked, tilting her head ever so slightly.

“We’ve collaborated on a few projects in the past.” Blueblood took a sip from his wine. “A charity here, a research project there, things like that. I’d do more, but distance is a bit of an issue.”

“Well, you could always come to Canterlot if you wanted.” Fancy Pants said. “We’ve got a few contacts that you can’t reach in Trottingham, and none of the... less than stellar conditions.”

“I’m sure you do,” Blueblood said evenly. “But I think I’ll stay in Trottingham for a few more years; I don’t think Mane Enterprises is ready for a complete shift in locations.”

“Suit yourself. But still, you should at least visit more often; with all the time you spend here in Trottingham ponies are beginning to say you’ve turned into a brooding shut-in.” Fancy replied, shrugging slightly.

And they would be only half right. Blueblood mused before speaking.

“Well, you’ll just have to tell them that their worries are completely unfound. I’m just dealing with a few business issues right now and can’t really get away.”

“Oh?” Fleur raised an eyebrow. “What kind of business deals?”

“Nothing you’d be interested in, I’m sure,” Blueblood took a sip from his wine. “Industrial products, contracts, things that most ponies might find to be rather boring. Even I think it’s boring, and I run the company.”

“Oh...” Fleur said, a small hint of disappointment in her voice. Perhaps her interest in Equestria goes beyond Fancy Pants... “Have you considered choosing a different line of work?”

“Well, there’s only one other possible job for somepony like me in a city like this, but the end result would most likely be me in jail.” Blueblood responded, taking another sip from his drink. “To be quite frank, Miss Fleur, I think I’d look absolutely terrible in orange.” this drew a chuckle from the other two, and even made Blueblood almost smile. Almost. “At any rate, I’m sticking to the family business for the foreseeable future.”

Fleur smiled. “I’m sure your family must be very proud of that.”

It was intended as an innocent statement, Blueblood knew that, but he could still feel a chill down his back as he was drawn back to that night, sitting in the snow and watching his parents die. He pulled himself back to reality as quickly as possible, giving a small frown and taking another drink.

“Yes... I’m sure they would be.” He replied darkly. Fortunately for him Fleur seemingly got the message and made no further comments. “Anyway, how long will you two be in Trottingham?”

“Just for a few days before heading back to Canterlot.” Fancy Pants answered. “I’d stay longer, but I can’t say that Trottingham is my favorite city.”

“Guessing that’s why you moved away.” Blueblood took another drink, noticing that Fleur had given Fancy Pants an odd look.

“You never told me you lived here.” she said, more surprised than anything.

Obviously not a sticking point... Blueblood noted.

“I just didn’t think it was all that important.” Fancy Pants countered, giving the mare a more reassuring glance. “After all, why worry about minor things that happened in the past?”

Because those minor things might come back to have major consequences, Blueblood thought, but did not say anything until he finished off the last of his wine. “Now, I’d love to stay and chat, but I best be getting home. Do you know where I can find a phone?”

“There should be one down that hall.” Fancy Pants said, pointing to the hall in question. Blueblood nodded his thanks and departed, navigating through the crowds with surprising grace. A few more ponies tried to speak with him, but Blueblood quickly and politely turned them away until he reached the phone, and older rotary phone with slightly faded finish. Fortunately for Blueblood, he did not have to wait long for an answer.

“Hello?” he heard Pennyworth answer.

“Pennyworth, it’s me.” Blueblood said.

“I suppose you would like me to bring the carriage over now, sir?”

“If it’s reasonable. If not I’ll just see myself back to the manor.”

“I’ll be down in a few minutes, sir.” there was a pause before Pennyworth spoke again. “Interesting, it’s only 8:45. Usually you leave engagements such as that one at 8:30.”

“And there’s a problem with that?”

“Of course not, sir.” Pennyworth replied, still as professional as ever. “But if you’d like to maintain your reputation as the mysterious, aloof Blueblood, then you might want to make sure that consistency isn’t an issue.” Blueblood rolled his eyes.

“Just get over here as soon as you can.”

“Yes sir.”

It was raining by the time Braeburn left the police station. Trottingham was a bigger city, so there was a tram service available, but Braeburn had come to learn that it was reasonably safer to walk than it was to ride the tram. Still, even with the idea that he was safer walking Braeburn found himself looking from alley to alley, just to make sure that nothing illegal was in the process of happening. that was one thing Braeburn had noticed; ever since joining the Trottingham police force, he had become more attuned to “illegal operations”, and it became harder and harder for him to really let his guard down. And Granny Smith said I was lazy.

Braeburn pulled his overcoat a little tighter, in a vain attempt to stay warm. Fortunately, he could see the apartment building where he lived looming out of the darkness, two of the local drunks already passed out in front of the steps. Braeburn gave a little sigh before stepping over them and making his way up to the door. He had to give the door an extra shove to prevent it from jamming, and his natural Earth Pony strength meant he almost tore the door off its hinges. Braeburn would have filed a complaint, but he was too tired and wet to worry about that.

After drying himself off as best he could, Braeburn took his overcoat off and started up the stairs, idly flicking bits of trash off the stairs. He stopped only to get the occasional piece that stuck to his hoof, which he cast aside for somepony else to deal with. Before he had come to Trottingham, he would have made sure that trash like that was taken care of, but now he really didn’t care.

He had other, more serious forms of trash to deal with.

Braeburn made his way to his apartment, a small, cluttered thing with an old sofa and a brick-like mattress. After setting aside the last of his things, he shuffled over to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of light cider, just something to help him relax after a rough day. Braeburn did not make a habit of drinking, but after dealing with several “mistrials”, a small scuffle with a few bankrobbers, a thinly veiled bribe attempt, and a complaint from Arkham concerning “4479”, whatever that meant, he felt that he needed a drink or two.

Braeburn sighed, taking a drink of cider before sitting down on the couch, staring out the nearby window at Trottingham. It was a terrible view, but it was better than just staring at a blank wall for a few hours. He took another drink, watching as if something would change.

No, this is Trottingham, he thought. Nothing ever changes.

Throughout Trottingham’s underworld, there was one name that was both respected and feared by all: the Falcon. A grey and white feathered griffon, born to a successful crime family, he had come to Trottingham almost ten years prior to make his fortune and expand the family business, his ruthlessness and manipulative nature allowing him to take control of Trottingham’s major criminal organizations in a few months. Criminals respected him, cops and politicians feared him, and he held the reins to many businessponies.

Blueblood might have been the Prince of Trottingham, but the Falcon was its king.

“Boss,” the Falcon was drawn from his drink by one of his subordinate, a thin Earth Pony that the Falcon had temporarily promoted in light of Diamond Hoof’s imprisonment. “Someone’s here to see you.”

“What did he say he wanted?” the Falcon asked, his voice rough from several years of smoking.

“Dunno. Looks like some kinda business type.” The subordinate replied. The Falcon sighed and set his drink aside.

“Tell the boys to keep watch. Hopefully this won’t take long.” He ordered and the pony nodded before exiting. the Falcon took another sip from his drink as the visitor entered, and he recognized the newcomer as a member of the Mane Enterprises board of directors. The Falcon did not usually try to get close to Trottingham’s “Golden Boy”, but having one of his board show up was a surprise to say the least.

“So, you’re the Falcon.” the board member said as the Falcon finished off his drink.

“And you’re either stupid or desperate, if you don’t know who I am.” he replied. “What do you want?”

“I have come to ask... a favor.” Wonderful.

“If it’s money you want I’m sure that a stuffed shirt like you has more than enough.” the Falcon chuckled before continuing. “So what do you really want, that you come directly to me?”

“I need you and your operation to eliminate someone.” the businesspony replied.

“Who? Ex-wife? Mistress? Mistress’ boyfriend.”

“I need you to get rid of Blueblood Mane.” at this, the Falcon laughed.

“You’re joking, right?” the Falcon said through his laughter. “I don’t like the guy myself, but I’m not stupid enough to try and kill him. The last guy that tried that got a one-way ticket to the chair for his troubles. You’re better off asking one of those freelance nutcases that’ve been showing up.”

“I never said you had to kill him.” the businesspony stated, pawing at the ground slightly.

“Then what am I supposed to do with him? Lock him up here?” the Falcon set his drink aside before continuing on. “I might own half the cops in this city, but that doesn’t mean I am one.”

“Listen, me and some of my associates already have a plan in place to replace Blueblood Mane.” the pony managed to compose himself rather well before continuing. “The important part is getting rid of him, and that is where we need someone of your... talents.” the Falcon was beginning to see a better picture of what this pony wanted; get rid of the Golden Boy, and then get a stooge to take his place.

“Okay, say we do go ahead with this.” the Falcon produced a cigar from his desk, turning it over a few times in his to check the quality. “We get rid of the Golden Boy for you, you do whatever it you’ve got cooking, then what? What’s in it for me?”

“I can offer you ten million bits, plus an extra five once our plan is fully complete.” the Falcon took a moment to make sure that the businesspony was leveling with him; fifteen million bits was a lot of money, and nopony sane would throw around that kind of cash unless they were really desperate. I’ll squeeze him for a little more if this works out.

“Make sure it’s in cash.” the Falcon said before lighting his cigar. “I’m not well liked enough to just walk down to the bank and drop off a check.”

“I’ll see what I can arrange.”

“Great. Come back whenever you want me to do this, and we’ll get the Golden Boy for you.” the pony gave a curt nod and turned to leave before the Falcon spoke again. “Oh, and make sure to turn over whatever cash you’ve got on you to the guys outside. They don’t just stand there to look pretty.”

“I have already offered you enough.” the businesspony countered, glaring at the Falcon. There was a pause before the griffon chuckled.

“You know what? Keep the change; it’ll help pay for your cast once the boys find out you’re not paying them.” the pony did seem to pale at that, and the Falcon found himself smirking as the stuffed shirt scurried from the room. There was a pause before he heard the “thanks” of his boys as the pony paid them, and with another chuckle he too a few puffs of his cigar and leaned back.

He always loved it when a good deal came through.

Author's Notes:

Has it really been six months since this updated? I am so sorry for that happening.
Anyway, more stuff highlighting some of our major players in the story. I'll try to get Blueblood into the suit by around chapter 7
I don't own Ponies or Batman. Likes and Comments are Appreciated, and If I screwed something up please let me know

Chapter 3

Trottingham Police Headquarters was one of the better maintained buildings in the city, something that bothered Braeburn. To someone who had actually been within the system, seen all it secrets and falsehoods, the Headquarters building looked less like a symbol of justice and more like a pair of gaudy curtains meant to hide reality from the casual observer.

At least they actually try to look official. It was a small comfort, but Braeburn had learned to take whatever he could. He shook his head and made his way up the steps, pushing open the door and dusting some of the snow off his body. Most of the other officers within the building paid him no mind, and those that did notice him gave him disdainful glances before returning to their work. Braeburn paid them no mind, brushing past them as he made his way to the Commissioner’s office.

Walking into the Commissioner’s office, Braeburn almost choked on the cloud of cigar smoke wafting from the corner. Braeburn did not even have to look to know that it was Straight Six, a beige unicorn who had a “mixed” reputation among the other members of the Force. Braeburn paid him no mind, ignoring Straight Six’s dissatisfied grunt and instead mustering whatever sense of professionalism he still had.

“You asked to see me, sir?” he asked. The Commissioner, a wizened old Earth Pony whose name eluded Braeburn, looked up from his paperwork before nodding.

“Oh yes, Braeburn.” the Commissioner replied, turning to face Braeburn. “First, I just wanted to congratulate you on the Diamond Hoof case. Hopefully, we can make some more headway in digging deeper into the Falcon’s empire.”

Given that half the cops on the Force are on his payroll, I highly doubt that, Braeburn thought, but he responded with a short nod. “Thank you, sir. Is that all?”

“Not quite,” the old Earth Pony coughed before continuing. “Now, I take it you are familiar with Detective Straight Six?”

“‘Familiar’?” Straight Six asked from his position, stifling a laugh. “Boss, you’re makin’ me sound like some kinda hood.” Braeburn’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

“Regardless,” the Commissioner continued. “You do know the detective, yes?”

“Not personally, no,” Braeburn said, keeping his voice even and controlled. “But I do know of the detective, and some of his... actions.”

“And what makes some hick like you think you can judge me for ‘em?” Straight Six snapped, standing up and crossing to Braeburn. “I’ve actually gotten results around here, and what have ya done? Got lucky and snagged some two-bit lackey? Please, I coulda done that in my sleep.” Fortunately for Braeburn, the Commissioner cut him off before the conversation could devolve into a full blown argument.

“Gentlecolts, please,” he said, his voice rising just enough to imitate authority. “Now, you can bicker all you want, as long as it doesn’t interfere with you doing your jobs.”

“... Sorry, Boss.” Straight Six muttered, taking another puff from his cigar before wandering over to the other side of the office. That settled, Braeburn spoke up again.

“I take it Detective Straight Six has something to do with this?” he asked.

“Yes.” the Commissioner replied. “To increase efficiency, I’ve decided to pair the two of you together for future cases.”

“What?!” both Braeburn and Straight Six cried, the latter turning to face the Commissioner.

“Boss, ya seriously can’t think pairin’ me off with some newbie is a good idea, can ya?” the unicorn asked.

“Straight Six and I don’t like each other,” Braeburn added. “How is that supposed to add to our ‘efficiency’?”

“I think that some of our newer recruits have not had the chance to really ‘learn the ropes’ of this city,” the Commissioner said, coughing again. “So Six will mentor you, and hopefully you two will provide a more effective model for the future.”

“That... doesn’t really answer my question.” Braeburn replied, his face and spirits dropping.

“You can work out the details later.” the Commissioner looked back down at his paperwork. “You two are dismissed.”

“But what’s going to stop-” Braeburn began before the Commissioner cut him off.

“That’s all. You are dismissed.” Braeburn’s jaw tightened again, but he merely nodded and exited the room, Straight Six following after him. Once they were outside, and out of earshot of the Commissioner, Braeburn let out a frustrated sigh.

“Guess I’m not the only one who thinks the old kook’s goin’ senile.” Straight Six grunted. “Anyway, s’long as ya don’t slow me down or get in my way we’ll work out just fine.”

“Oh, that’ll be fine,” Braeburn muttered, following the detective towards the entrance to the building. “Guess I’ll also have to think of a good reason to explain why half the criminals you bring in have sustained injuries they couldn’t possibly have gotten given the crimes you caught them committing.” At this, Straight Six stopped and turned around, blowing a cloud of smoke in Braeburn’s face.

“Listen, newbie. Ya think you’re some kinda hotshot who’s gonna change the world by himself.” he let out a rough chuckle before continuing. “I was stupid like that once. Then I learned that these streets don’t play nice, so that doesn’t give me any incentive to play nice with them. So if ya want to be all high and mighty on me, go ahead. Just do it somewhere that it won’t get in my way.” with that, Straight Six exited the building, Braeburn waiting a minute before following after him.

“Improve efficiency”? he thought. Just seems like a convenient way to get us out of the way.

It had started snowing when Blueblood had left the Manor. He did not mind the snow; it was just another part of life in Trottingham, something that each and every citizen had to cope with one way or another.

His first stop had been the florist two blocks down from City Hall. The owner was a nice old mare Blueblood had been referred to back when he had first taken over Mane Enterprises, and she always had a variety of arrangements available. White roses were hard to come by, but they had known each other long enough that the mare was able to save a bouquet when he made his annual visit.

Soon, the high rises and glamor of central Trottingham gave way to urban squalor and decay. The section had once been one of the up and coming neighborhoods of the city, the old mayor praising the plans he and his fellows had come up with. Now, the name “Crime Alley” hung over the block like a cloud, never shifting as it drew more and more lives towards ruin.

Blueblood had barely spent three minutes in the Alley, and it had done its share of damage.

As he walked, he spotted a couple of ponies waiting near one of the apartments. Rough looking types, they eyed him as he continued along, their gazes narrowing with each step he took. Blueblood pushed them out of mind, his attention focused on the alley further down the road. One of the ponies, though, did not seem willing to let him get off that easily, and stepped out towards Blueblood.

“A little Hearth’s Warming gift for ponies in need?” he asked, voice dripping in sarcasm. Blueblood said nothing, instead stepping to the side and walking past the surprised stallion. “Hey, you can’t just walk off like that!” the pony cried, but Blueblood continued on, pausing only as he turned the corner and started down the alley.

The town may have fallen to decay, but the alley was still the same as it was all those years ago. Old memories began to return, those of a young and naive colt wandering into unseen danger, but Blueblood was quick to quell them before they took hold and broke his focus. There would be time for remembrances; just not yet. He stopped in the center of the alley, pausing for a moment before gently placing the roses on the ground, backing up slightly to leave a little room for the makeshift memorial.

Now, he allowed his memories to come forth.

“Ha ha! Take that, evildoers!” his younger self darted along the street, sweeping an invisible sword at enemies only he could see. The heroes from the film would be proud to count him among their number, all of them fighting against the forces of evil and tyranny... whatever that was.

“Don’t run off now, Blueblood,” his mother called after him, causing Blueblood to groan in frustration. There was evil to be fought, and he couldn’t be stuck with his parents looking over his shoulder all the time.

“But I need to defeat evil!” he protested.

“Listen to your mother, Blueblood.” His father countered. “There will be plenty of time to defeat evil once we get back home.”

“Fine...” Blueblood groaned again, slowing down his pace so that he was walking in step with his parents. There was silence, save for the slight crunching of snow beneath his hooves, but he was quick to put it out of mind. Maybe he could fight evil from here; there was always a way through which good could shine.

“Dear, why did you have Pennyworth wait so far away?” his mother asked as they kept walking.

“I didn’t want to draw too much attention, Martha,” Blueblood’s father replied. “As wonderful as the ponies of Trottingham are, we would never be able to make it very far if everypony knew where we would be going.”

“But it’s so cold; we’ll be half frozen by the time we get back to the house.” Blueblood was only half listening to his parents’ conversation, but freezing was no good. How would his father get his work done, or Blueblood be able to take his heroics further?

A thought popped into his mind as they walked. “Hey Dad,” he said, “What about that alley over there?”

“I don’t know, son,” his father said. “I suppose it might make for a good shortcut, but walking through alleys isn’t always a good idea...”

“Come on Dad!” Blueblood tugged on his father’s coat sleeve. “I’ll protect us from the evil!” If it could win ponies over in the movies, it would certainly work here. There was a brief pause before his father gave a chuckle.

“Alright,” he said. “But stay close to us; no need to go running on ahead.” Ha! Now he would show them all. Blueblood stopped just at the entrance to the alley, peering down in search of evil. He did not see any, much to his disappointment, but there would be better opportunities soon, he was sure of it.

“Beware my sword!” he called, sweeping out at invisible enemies. “Ha! You can never escape from the eyes of-” Blueblood stopped, spotting a shape among the shadows of the alley. It was a pony, he thought, a rough looking sort with something clutched in his magic. Blueblood backed up, bumping into his parents’ legs as the other pony stopped in front of them.

“Nice night for a walk, eh?” the pony said, raising his weapon towards the three of them. “Unfortunately, not all of us can afford to live in a fancy house this time of year... We’ll start with the lady’s pearls.”

“Get behind me,” Blueblood did not hesitated as his father pushed him back. “It’s okay, son... everything will be okay...” Blueblood swallowed, eyes darting between his father and the mugger. There had to be something he could do, some way to combat the evil before him.

The heroes he had seen would have done something. Blueblood, on the other hand, could not.

What happened next was a blur of motion; as the mugger drew near, Blueblood’s father appeared to lunged towards the weapon, trying to wrestle it away from his grasp. The mugger’s eyes widened as he jumped back, his yelp drowned out by a loud bang. Blueblood ducked, covering his ears doing little to drown out his mother screaming. There was another bang before she too fell silent, Blueblood wincing as something heavy collapsed against the pavement.

All was silent. Now, Blueblood was alone.

Blueblood opened his eyes, drawing back to the present. The police had never found out who it was who had shot his parents, or what exactly it was that the pony had used to kill them. All that remained was the spot where they had died... and the pony who had led them to it.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, closing his eyes once more. “I’m sorry for all I’ve done. I promise, I will make things right... somehow.” There was no answer, just the wind whipping up a few small flurries of snow. With a sigh, Blueblood turned to start back down the alley, leaving his parent’s memorial for next year.

Unfortunately, his memorial appeared to have attracted attention; the rough looking stallions from before, along with a few others, still lingered at the end of the alley, eyeing him as he approached. Blueblood was nowhere near as nervous as he had been as a child, but it still took quite a bit of skill to keep his composure. “Still waiting for your donation, sir.” the closest one said as Blueblood approached.

“I don’t have any loose change on me,” Blueblood replied, keeping his voice even. “Leave me alone before you do something you’ll regret.”

“Ha! You think a stuffed shirt like you can take us?” the second pony said. “Our boss would rather have you in one piece, but if you insist on resisting...” Blueblood quirked an eyebrow at this. Trottingham’s mob was rather easily offended, but even they would never raise a hoof against Blueblood Mane... would they?

Now was not the time to figure out.

“Listen, if it’s money you want I can make sure your boss gets everything he desires.” Blueblood started, backing up slightly as the others advanced.

“Yeah, he’s got enough of that... but then, there’s always better ways to get more.” the pony looked to his compatriots. “Grab him.”

“... of course, by then the hood’d sprained his ankle jumpin’ the gap, so it was just a matter of bookin’ him and cleanin’ up the mess he’d left.” Braeburn had done his best to drown out most of Straight Six’s monologues, pushing it towards another piece of white noise to go with the cigar smoke as they walked towards Crime Alley. “No need to rough up a hood iffn he’s already done it himself.”

“I’d say there’s no need to ‘rough up a hood’ on principle, but then you wouldn’t listen to me anyway.” Braeburn replied.

“What’s the point? You’ll understand why we gotta do things my way.” Straight Six took a drag from his cigar and continued. “‘Course, even though I don’t like ya, we’ve gotta make sure ya actually get to that point; no point in gettin’ more dead cops ‘round here, and the Commissioner doesn’t need anythin’ more to make him look bad.”

“That, at least, is something we can agree on.” At this, Straight Six laughed.

“Ya don’t know the half of it. I only stick around because I’m sure the Commissioners’ pals would be very ‘welcomin’’ if I wasn’t on the force. That’s happened to a few of the ponies that’ve left; I remember there was one young colt like ya...” And off he went on another one of his stories, Braeburn keeping his eyes forward. If they deviated more from his typical “the world is cruel, so be cruel back” outlook, Straight Six might have done well with storytelling at one of the Apple Family Reunions... unlikely, but Braeburn had been surprised before.

Their trek took them around an old theatre, rotting from several years of neglect. Beyond, Braeburn could see lines of shuttered businesses and barred up apartments, separated by alleys littered with trash. From his research this area had been a rising model of prosperity until the Mane murders, and now all that remained was Crime Alley.

Further up the street, Braeburn could see some kind of commotion at the entrance to one of the alleys; perhaps half a dozen ponies, a mix of Earth Ponies and unicorns, clearly jostling with one another over some target. “Gang fight, perhaps?” Braeburn asked, more to himself than anypony else.

“Nah, they look too clean to be normal hoods.” Straight Six countered. “Check it out if ya want, but don’t be surprised if they start swingin’.” I’ve been here long enough; I know what to look out for. Braeburn merely rolled his eyes as he and Straight Six trotted over to the scuffled.

“Trottingham Police!” he shouted, catching the attention of at least two ponies. “What seems to be the trouble?”

“Stay out of this, boy,” the closer one said, stepping forward to intercept Braeburn and Straight Six. “This is a personal matter, so shove off and go back to checking parking meters again.”

“As your ‘personal matter’ is causing a public disturbance, I believe it is my business to inquire into the problem,” Braeburn firmed up his stance. “Now, I know the last thing any of us want is trouble, so I can give you a small fine for the disturbance or book you for resisting police inquiry: it’s your choice.”

“If you’re goin’ to throw the book at ‘em,” Straight Six said from behind Braeburn. “Might want to start by actually throwin’ it instead of makin’ empty threats.” Braeburn ignored his “partner”, but the other pony was not in the mood to cooperate.

“Listen here,” the pony said, taking a step towards Braeburn. “Maybe you need to be reminded of how things work around here, but this is nothing you need to be concerned about. So shove off before you really get hurt.”

“I suppose you’re going for resisting police inquiry,” Braeburn said. “Very well, consider yourself under arrest. You have the right to remain silent, everything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law-” the pony took a swing, Braeburn narrowly avoiding the attack with a short jump back. “Take the others!”

“Finally, you’re seein’ things my way.” Straight Six darted forward, barrelling over one of the ponies that stepped in his way. The first took another swing at Braeburn, to which he ducked under before turning and bucking.

Getting bucked by anypony would have caused some injury. Braeburn was an Apple, and getting bucked by an Apple meant that the other pony found himself knocked unconscious against the far wall. That task complete, Braeburn moved towards the next member of the group, a skinnier fellow who seemed much more receptive to the idea of coming quietly. Straight Six, meanwhile, had knocked down one pony and was in the process of pinning a second against a wall, the last having slipped away and booked it down the street.

“Not so tough now, huh?” Straight Six growled. “C’mon, take another swing, I dare ya. I’ve had t’ put up with enough crap this week; take a swing and I’ll probably feel a whole lot better once you’re out.”

“Detective, please,” Braeburn said, stepping forward towards the unicorn. “We’ve got them, and you’ve got your dose of violence for the day. Let’s try to show these guys that the law actually has some semblance of meaning around here.”

“Eh, these punks’ll never understand till ya give ‘em a few good licks, trust me on that.” Straight Six drew his hoof back for a punch, but Braeburn stepped forward to stop him.

“He’s beaten already,” he said, speaking more firmly this time. “Book him, and maybe he’ll be more forthcoming on what he was doing than if you punch him in the face.” there was a lengthy pause, Straight Six glaring at Braeburn before finally lowering his hoof.

“Fine, we’ll do this your way.” he growled, taking another puff from his cigar. “Friggin’ bleedin’ hearts: give ‘em an inch, they pave a road over ya for life.” Braeburn was pretty sure that was not how the phrase went, but pushed it out of his mind as he went to gather up the criminals.

Four ponies, three Earth Ponies and one unicorn. Two were unconscious or close enough, the others calmly accepted their arrest (as calm enough for criminals, at any rate). That left two ponies unaccounted for, and hopefully Straight Six had gotten a good look at the others so they could be properly profiled. Braeburn backed up after hoofcuffing the last, scanning them to make sure he had gotten everypony.

It was then that he noticed a fifth pony crumpled against a nearby trash can. Oh horseapples, Braeburn pushed past the criminals and approached the fifth pony. He was a unicorn, well built yet soft at the same time. His coat was white, his mane blond, and his suit would have been rather fine had it not been torn in several places. “Straight Six, we’ve got another one!”

“Just keep it ta ‘Six’ kid,” the unicorn grumbled, trotting over with another puff of his cigar. Straight Six regarded the unicorn for a moment before his jaw dropped. “Sweet Celestia, that’s Blueblood Mane!”

“That big industrialist everypony keeps talking about?” Braeburn asked. “‘The Prince of Trottingham’?”

“Ya don’t get out much, do ya rookie?” Straight Six asked. Braeburn could not answer before Blueblood groaned, rolling his head to one side as he came to.

“Easy, sir,” Braeburn said. “You’ve been in a fight.”

“... Really?” the unicorn asked. “Oh... I should’ve known they were up to something.”

“Ya must’ve got knocked ‘round real good,” Straight Six said. “Keep an eye on him, rookie; I’ll get us some backup..” Braeburn nodded, keeping his eye on Blueblood. The Unicorn tried to get to his feet, but Braeburn eased him back down.

“Rest, sir. We’re getting you some help.” Blueblood, though, would not settle down.

“No... no, they’ll just find me again,” he said, pushing Braeburn away as he struggled back to his hooves.

“Who’s ‘they’?” Braeburn asked. “Mr. Mane-”

“Blueblood,” the unicorn said quickly. “No one I like calls me ‘Mr. Mane’.”

“Oh...” Braeburn paused. “Mr. Blueblood, sir, if you think some ponies are after you, we’ll need to get you down to the station to make a statement and go over some witnesses. It should only take a few hours, but I recommend seeing a doctor first about your injuries.”

“I’ll be fine,” he said, stepping out into the street. “Just a little dizzy, that’s all.”

“At least wait here until we can get more backup,” Braeburn offered. “You won’t get very far through Trottingham like this.” Blueblood did not say anything, causing Braeburn to frown slightly. Were the Manes known for their stubbornness too? He thought, adding another pony to the list of “Ponies to Invite to the Apple Family Reunion if They Were More Personable”, right after Straight Six. He opened his mouth to say more before the unicorn replied.

“That should be alright.” he said. “Thank you for your services, Officer.”

“Apple, sir.” Braeburn said quickly. “Braeburn Apple.”

“An Apple...” Blueblood thought on that for a moment before speaking again. “My father knew a few Apples: good honest folk, not very tolerant of twisted plans. It’s good to see that some spark hasn’t died in that like.”

“Well, thank you kindly, Mr. Blueblood.” Braeburn said, giving a short nod. “Now, let’s get you out of this cold until the others arrive.” Blueblood nodded, slowly making his way towards the edge of the alley before gingerly stepping around the hoofcuffed ponies. Braeburn did not immediately follow, instead making a sweep of the alley for any signs of intrusion. Other than a slightly trampled bouquet of white roses, there was nothing out of the ordinary to be found in the alley.

What the heck’s a rich business pony like him doing in a place like this?

Author's Notes:

I'm not much for excuses. This chapter (and my presence among DC Fics) has long been absent, and I finally mustered energy to get back on track once more. Here's hoping I can keep that momentum, and don't just let you guys down again with three more years with no updates.

Likes and comments are appreciated, and if I screwed something up please let me know.

Chapter 4

“If I may speak freely, sir,” Pennyworth said as Blueblood and he made their way up the steps of Mane Manor. “You’ve got to stop running into such ‘interesting’ ponies like this. You’ll end up in traction or worse killed if you run into another band of thugs.”

“I’ll try not to make a habit out of it.” Blueblood said, nodding his thanks as Pennyworth held the door for him. “Pennyworth, do you know of any members of the Mane Enterprises’ staff that might have connections to the Trottingham Mob?”

“Your father did his best to clear out those sorts of folk when he took over the business,” Pennyworth started. “Since he died, though, who knows how many ponies may have had their moral compasses go askew. Why do you ask?”

“When those ponies attacked me, they said that their boss ‘wanted me in one piece’, and not for a ransom of any kind.” Blueblood crossed into the living room, Pennyworth following him close behind.

“Well, kidnappers tend to be well organized,” Pennyworth started. “But what does that have to do with the Mane Enterprises board?”

“Nothing, just something I was thinking of when I was at the police station,” Blueblood stopped in front of the fireplace. Perched above it was a photo taken a few months before his parents were murdered, them and him sitting before that very fireplace smiling for the camera. “The mob has never made any direct attack against my family, not even after my parents died. What’s changed since then? And it’s not like my trips to crime alley are well known. Somepony who knows me and my schedule well would have had to get in touch with the criminals or their handlers so they could be in the right place at the right time.”

“Are you saying that somepony on the board wants you dead or missing?” Pennyworth asked. “That sounds utterly ridiculous! To think that somepony would betray a figure such as you, and for what?”

“Silver Industries, probably,” Blueblood turned away. “There are a few members on the board who were none too happy when I rejected Silversmith’s partnership offer. I wouldn’t put it past the pony himself to try something like this, but it seems a little...”

“Roughshod, sir?”

“Most likely. Silversmith has nothing to gain if I just disappeared, even with a favorable board running Mane Enterprises in my stead.” Blueblood turned back to Pennyworth. “Do you know of any ponies my father would have vouched for, anypony who would be completely loyal?”

“There’s only one: a zebra named Foxtail if I recall.” Pennyworth frowned. “Though, it sounds a lot like you are taking matters into your own hooves, sir.”

“Other than a few cops, the mob has too many ears around for me to speak lightly about this sort of thing,” Blueblood crossed the room, heading for his study as he continued. “I need to figure out who I can trust... and who I can’t. Then, I can figure out who was after me.”

“Sir, I understand that this is a sensitive issue,” Pennyworth started. “But this isn’t some awry building contract or environmental concern: you’re talking about straight corporate betrayal and sabotage. You may start with the best intentions and the highest confidence, but please make sure that you understand what your limits are before you get too deep into something you cannot control.”

“If somepony wanted to kidnap me, it’s already too far out of my control.” Blueblood sat down at his desk before continuing. “Call Mr. Foxtail and arrange a meeting with him, and make sure you use the private line in case somepony tries to listen in. I’ll take my dinner in here tonight.”

“... Of course, sir.” Pennyworth nodded and turned to leave, Blueblood missing one last worried glance from the old pony. He had steepled his hooves, staring down at the ol desk as he thought up a plan of how to approach the matter.

Dad... he thought. Bad ponies have come in to ruin everything you’ve worked so hard to build... I’m going to make sure they don’t get any further.

Foxtail was a well dressed zebra, though his glasses failed to hide his nervousness as he stepped into Mane Manor. He had eased up a bit after Pennyworth had greeted him, and it was not long before Blueblood himself escorted him further into the manor.

“I must say, Mr. Blueblood,” he said as they walked into the study. “It’s a bit unexpected for a pony to get a personal audience with you.”

“I’ve been meaning to step out a bit more, perhaps show the world who the real Blueblood Mane is,” a lie, but manners sometimes had to come before the truth. “Please, sit down. Pennyworth will be back with some refreshments in a bit.”

“Oh of course,” Foxtail made himself comfortable as Blueblood crossed over to the back of the desk. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure of seeing the ‘real’ Blueblood Mane?”

Blueblood gave a small snort before his face grew serious. “What would you say of the integrity of the Mane Enterprises Board of Directors?”

There was a lengthy pause as Foxtail thought it over.

“I cannot fully say without personal biases, Mr. Blueblood.” the zebra began. “I was one of the last ponies hired before your father was... um...”

“It’s okay,” Blueblood shook his head. “There’s no need to dance around the issue like that.”

“I try not to think on the matter,” Foxtail replied. “But anyway, since I am relatively new to the company the board has not always been the kindest to me. Why else do you think I’ve been down in R&D instead of up there with you?”

“Speaking from personal experience, you appear to be the lucky one.” this drew a chuckle from Foxtail before Blueblood continued. “But to get to the point, do you think that anypony there would be engaging in deals ‘under the table’, as it were?”

“With all due respect to you and your father, I would be surprised if nopony did.” Blueblood frowned. Things were far more serious than he realized. “But I can only think of a few that would actually look after their own interests instead of the legacy of your father.”

“Any names off the top of your head?” now it was Foxtail’s turn to frown.

“Now Mr. Blueblood,” he started. “While I do not have a whole lot of love for the Mane Enterprises Board of Directors, I’m not willing to turn them over for reasons that I do not know.” My father chose well with this one, Blueblood thought.

“It concerns the kidnapping attempt made on me back around Hearth’s Warming,” Blueblood said. “I’ve got suspicions, nothing more, but I think that a member of the Board might have paid off the Mob to kidnap me.” Foxtail gasped.

“Dear Celestia,” he muttered. “I had no idea...”

“It’s alright, Foxtail,” Blueblood leaned back. “I’m sure it caught all of us off guard. I want to find out who it is that wants me out of the way, but I need to do it in such a way that I or anypony else doesn’t draw more fire.”

“I... I see.” Foxtail adjusted his glasses before continuing. “I’m still not sure if that’s legal... or if I want any part of it...” he firmed up his posture before speaking. “But then, if it helps preserve at least some of the legacy your father left behind, then who am I to ignore it?”

“Good pony,” Blueblood said, flashing the hint of a smile. “I’ll be staying out of the office for a while, just until all this finishes blowing over. In the meantime, start looking around for anything that might point to one pony or the other, anything that might have ties to the mob.”

“A lot of ponies might find it odd for a sudden review of documents,” Foxtail mused. “But I have a few connections in records that might be willing to help... so long as I’m careful, I shouldn’t lose my job... or my life...”

“Just get me some leads, and I’ll take it from there,” Blueblood stood. “They may want me out, but I’m still President and CEO; they can’t exactly turn me away from everything without looking suspicious.”

“I really hope you’re right, Mr. Blueblood.”

Foxtail’s inquiries had produced some fruit; a number of documents from members of the Mane Enterprises Board had been deemed as “classified information”, documents spanning a time around when Blueblood fully assumed his role as CEO and the time of the kidnapping. Unfortunately, Foxtail did not have the clearance to access those files, so Blueblood would have to take care of matters personally.

He stepped lightly down the hall, keeping a neutral expression about himself as he headed towards “Records”. It was a quieter section of Mane Enterprises, with only a few ponies around to take notice of him. One, a rail thin, bespectacled unicorn, quickly lept to his hooves as Blueblood entered Records. “Mr. Mane, what a surprise!”

“Sorry, just wandering around a bit, Mister...?”

“Cross Reference, sir,” the unicorn stammered. “Don’t mind me, it’s just... well, I’ve never actually met you before, Mr. Mane.”

“Oh,” Blueblood gave a small chuckle. “Well, guess I should get out more, huh?”

“If you say so, Mr. Mane.” Cross Reference replied. “So... uh... is there anything I can help you with, Mr. Mane?”

“No...” Blueblood started. “Oh wait, there was one thing. I’d been looking into some of our communications concerning the Silver Industries contract and thought I saw a few things missing.”

“M-m-m-missing?” Cross Reference started, ears drooping.

“Oh, it’s not your fault Mr. Reference,” Blueblood said quickly. “Probably just a filing error. Mind if I go take a look, maybe see if they might have been misplaced?”

“Of course, Mr. Mane!” Cross Reference nodded. “I’ll have to take you back there, though: policy is that Records can’t be accessed by one singular pony, in case they might steal something.”

“Sounds like a sound policy,” Blueblood nodded. “Who came up with that?”

“You did, sir?” Blueblood knew that, but the role of the clueless billionaire came rather easily to him, so why change his style?

“Oh, did I?” Blueblood laughed again. “Silly me, I must have forgotten. Oh well, lead on Mr. Reference.” Cross Reference nodded, turning and wandering off into the wing with Blueblood in tow. Blueblood gave a small shiver as they kept walking, his eyes darting between the cubicles. “Is it always so chilly?”

“Yes Mr. Mane,” Cross Reference said. “Records is always kept slightly below average temperatures, to help with the preservation of the records. Too hot, too cold, and everything will be damaged.”

“I see.” a pause. “You’re quite good at your job, Mr. Reference.”

“Oh, thank you.” Cross Reference gave an awkward smile. “Yeah, records, files, negatives, it’s my special talent and all. Just seeing all that information getting process, or in need of processing, it’s fascinating to watch, especially when you start factoring in all the different channels and paths it has to go through.”

“Sounds like a lot to keep track of.”

“That’s just part of the fun, isn’t it?” Cross Reference paused. “Oh... it’s probably quite boring to you, isn’t it?”

“Not my special talent, but I have my own thirst for information of all kinds.” Blueblood chuckled. “My father said I should’ve been a detective instead of a business pony, so I could actually use that information instead of just sitting around letting it go to waste.”

“Oh...” Cross Reference lost most of the joy he had been projecting. “I know it’s late for this, and you’ve probably heard it a million times, but... I’m sorry about what happened to your parents.”

“Thank you.” It was true, he had heard it countless times before, but it was still one sign that his parents’ legacy continued. For how much longer, though, remains to be seen.

“Ah, here we are.” Cross Reference stopped at a door, pushing it open to reveal a large closet filled with filing cabinets. “This contains transcripts and copies of every communique written or verbal concerning business matters that has passed in and out of Mane Enterprises in the last year. The Silver Industries Communications should be under ‘July 2’, second drawer.”

“Thank you.” Blueblood stepped forward and opened the drawer, pulling out any relevant files he could find. Almost everything was there, from Silversmith, Bottom Line, and Barleycoat bringing up the topic to the Board, to Blueblood’s final letter turning down Silversmith’s contract. Nothing but the basic communications had come back from Silver Industries, but Blueblood could only speculate as to how “Lex” had taken the rejection.

Poorly, most likely.

However, there was nothing really out of the ordinary... Except, for the ones who explored the option first and foremost, Bottom Line and Barleycoat did not appear very often in communications between Mane Enterprises and Silver Industries.

“Mr. Reference,” Blueblood asked. “Did Messrs. Bottom Line and Barleycoat make any requests about the Silver Industries communiques?”

“Not that I know of...” Cross Reference said, scratching his chin with a hoof. “I do know that some documents were moved into the classified section, but I just assumed you authorized that in accordance to company policy.” there was a lengthy pause. “You... didn’t?”

“Not that I can remember,” Blueblood replied, setting the files back in the cabinet. “Can you go get them for me?”

“I’m not authorized to go back to the classified section...”

“Well, you have my authorization,” Blueblood exited the room, followed by the other unicorn. “Go get those files, especially anything from Bottom Line and Barleycoat.”

“Yes sir.” Cross Reference nodded. “The Classified Section is a little further back; just give me a moment to get you clearance and I’ll be right back.”

“Can’t I go with you?” Blueblood asked.

“Not without authorization; your father didn’t want anyone to find an easy way into the classified section on their own.” Cross Reference massaged the back of his head. “It’s from a different time, I suppose.”

“I’ll have to address that at some point or another. Now, off you go.” Cross Reference nodded and jogged off down the hall, Blueblood stepping away from the other doors as he mulled over this new development. Somepony had moved records into Classifieds, knowing the loopholes that a pony would have to go through to get there. Possibly Bottom Line and/or Barleycoat, but whatever or whoever they talked to remained a mystery: Silversmith? A Mob contact? Somepony else?

Leads... at least he had an idea of where he was going.

He was broken from his thoughts by the sound of hoofsteps coming towards him. Cross Reference must work fast; I’ll have to give him a promotion sometime soon. Blueblood turned to face them, but frowned as he saw two security guards approaching.

“Mr. Mane, sir,” the leader said. “We heard you needed some help down in Records.”

“I did...” Blueblood started. “Did Mr. Cross Reference send you? Where is he?” the two ponies looked to one another, seeming rather unsure of themselves.

“Mr. Mane, if you would come with us-” the second pony started, but Blueblood had started backing away from them.

“Who sent you?” he demanded. “What is it that they want from me?”

“Mr. Mane, you’ll need to come with us-” Blueblood wasted no time in turning and bolting for the door. Somepony had been alerted to his “snooping”, and now the guards were here to take care of him... most likely.

That theory became much more possible when one of the ponies tackled him from behind, delivering a quick kick to his head to knock him out. Blueblood struggled for a brief instant, his vision going fuzzy as the ponies restrained him.

Not careful enough. Once more, Blueblood had failed.

The first thing Blueblood was aware of was that he had a burlap sack over his head. Not overly original, he supposed, but then it was most efficient. The air was thick with smoke, Neigh Orleans cigars if he was not mistaken, and he was surrounded by at least three other ponies, all armed.

“Well, what do we have here?” a fourth member said before yanking the sack from Blueblood’s head. It took him a moment for his eyes to adjust before he saw the cigar-smoking griffon standing before him, a smug grin on his face. “If it isn’t the Prince of Trottingham himself, Blueblood Mane.”

“... Falcon, I presume,” Blueblood muttered back.

“Ey look, he know’s who I am.” the Falcon chuckled, taking a drag from his cigar. “Guess there isn’t just air in that thick skull of yours, eh Prince?” Blueblood said nothing, instead glaring up at the gangster as he moved away. “You’re a hard pony to find, Blueblood. When my boys first failed to grab you back at Hearth’s Warming, I thought you’d just slip through my talons... but then here you are, delivered right to my doorstep like a late Hearth’s Warming Gift. I’m touched, really.”

“So you’re the one trying to kidnap me,” Blueblood growled. “Why?”

“Don’t know, don’t really care either.” the Falcon turned back around. “Somepony wants you out of the way, so they paid me a nice stack of cash to make it so. That’s how things work around here.” there was a pause before the Falcon grinned. “Oh, what’s the matter? Daddy’s little angel finally get some stains on his pearly white robes?”

“Don’t you dare talk about my father!” Blueblood lunged forward, but the other ponies restrained him. The griffon just laughed.

“Or what? You’ll sue me?” he chuckled again before taking a drag from his cigar. “I never knew your old man, Blue, but my old boss Don Carmine did. Want to know what he said about him?” there was a lengthy pause as the Falcon leaned into Blueblood’s face.

“He had nothing but respect for Thomas Mane,” he said. “Makes no sense, I know, but Carmine was crazy about the guy; even sent flowers to his funeral, cried for two whole days when that punk put two slugs in him and your ma.” Blueblood’s glare intensified as the Falcon drew away.

“Before you start throwing around accusations, Carmine didn’t off your parents; we’re bad ponies and griffons down here, but we’ve got to show some class. Besides, Carmine saw there wasn’t much different between the Manes and us down here.”

“My father would never associate with criminals like you.”

“Really? You never stopped to think about how alike we are, you and I?” the Falcon stepped behind his desk, producing a weapon not unlike the one that had killed Blueblood’s parents “We’ve both got visions, grand ideas, a way to run the world and make sure that everypony gets what’s coming to them. But there’s one big difference between you and I... Want to know what that it?” Blueblood said nothing as the Falcon pressed the barrel of the weapon against his temple, his eyes closing as he waited for his life to end.

Click... Click...

“It’s empty, ya dumb pony,” the Falcon hissed. “Even my blind Granny could see that, yet you cowered like a little chick hiding from his father. You know what that means?” there was a pause, the Falcon’s expression souring further. “Well, do ya?!”

“... No.” Blueblood said finally.

“I ain’t bound.” the Falcon tossed the weapon aside. “I’m the guy who puts a gun to your head and makes you beg for mercy. I can do that because I don’t give a damn about what society thinks of me, ‘cuz society’s already kissing my talons at every word I say. You? You’re just a stuffed shirt who thinks hiding behind his money and fame will get him set for life. You’re Blueblood Mane; you’ve probably never had to suffer for once in your life, never had to realize that you need more than just money to get through to the next day.” Blueblood said nothing, not even as the Falcon delivered a punch to his chin.

“I always laugh whenever stuffed shirts like you try to come down to my level,” the Falcon said. “You’ll never understand what it’s like to be down here, to know true power, and you’ll always fear what you don’t understand.” a pause. “Now, your father understood this, nipped a bit at our peripheries before he got killed, but never went deeper. You... doubt you’ll ever get that chance.”

“So what, you’ll kill me now?” Blueblood asked.

“And waste a perfectly good crossbow or bullet on you?” the Falcon scoffed. “Nah. I’ve got a few buddies in the old country who’ve been looking for a pony like you. Not a perfect fit, but they’ll take good care of you out there.” The Falcon took a drag from his cigar. “Nice to see you, Golden Boy. Enjoy the trip to the Griffon Kingdoms.”

The Falcon had sent word to the Mane Enterprises board a few days after, that Blueblood was safely on his way to a prison deep within the Griffon Kingdoms. Money and accolades were exchanged, and the Falcon rested easy with his fifteen million bits while the Board’s replacement Blueblood called Silver Industries to renegotiate the manufacturing deal.

Arrangements were made, the fake Prince Blueblood boarding an airship bound for Manehattan at approximately 10:30 AM on a Tuesday. At approximately 11:00 AM that Tuesday, the airship was suddenly strickened and crashed, ending the lives of six ponies and injuring dozens more. Blueblood, or at least the pony that bore his face, was unharmed, but no longer appeared interested in going to Manehattan, heading to Canterlot instead. The crash was reported as a mechanical failure, though some witnesses would later say that a red streak had struck one of the stabilizers, causing the craft to spiral out of control.

The Mane Enterprises/ Silver Industries deal imploded once more, and the Board Members were left to question just what happened to Blueblood Mane.

Author's Notes:

Now, to get things moving again. I would have done more with Zod replacing Blueblood (or his double, as the case may be), but this is a Batman story, not Superman, and I didn't want to get too distracted... any more than I already am, to be honest.

Anyway, thanks to those that have stuck around. Likes and comments are appreciated, and if I screwed something up please let me know.

Chapter 5

Four Years Later...

“Equestrian!” Blueblood pulled himself up to his hooves, grabbing the nearest dirty tin that he could as he made his way to the front of the food line. Dozens of other prisoners watched him as he walked, his legs stiff and sore from years of hard labor and poor sleeping conditions.

Even after four years they still called him “Equestrian”. Like there weren’t other Equestrians in the hole he had been tossed in.

Blueblood stopped at the front of the line. The cook, a one-eyed griffon several inches shorter than him, regarded Blueblood for a moment before scooping out a ladleful of watery mush. Blueblood inspected the “meal”, noting several small chunks floating in the soup.

“Got the meat mixed in again, huh?” he muttered, much to the displeasure of the cook.

“Oh, high and mighty prince again, huh?” he snapped. “Keep complaining and you won’t get any more, your majesty. Get out of here!” Blueblood shot a glare at the griffon, but said nothing as he moved further into the prison.

The entire complex was made from an abandoned strip mine. Griffons watched the opening, and anypony inside had a number of restraints to keep them from attempting an escape: wing restraints for Pegasi and griffons, crude magic dampeners for unicorns. The dampeners probably did more to damage a unicorn’s magic than anything, and Blueblood found what few spells he knew to be even weaker than before. Basic necessities such as shelter were sparse, one prisoner or another squabbling over what they could to survive another day. The walls were lined with caves, most used for mining but several were fenced off for Solitary Confinement, positioned so they would be fully bombarded by Celestia’s sun throughout the majority of the day. Blueblood had frequented solitary confinement far more than he would have cared for, but at least it provided some reminder of home.

Home... where evil ponies were dragging his name through the mud, where Pennyworth would probably be inconsolable to learn that his charge was gone, possibly dead, and Blueblood could do nothing.

He found a somewhat comfortable rock, sitting down and regarding the gruel before him. With a heavy sigh he began eating, choking back as much of it as he could. It had been worst when he had first arrived, his body demanding more than he could provide, but four years meant he could now survive on starvation levels of food... for a given value of the term “survive”.

Blueblood finished with the last of the gruel, just in time for the tin to get smacked out of his hands. Wearily he looked up, eyeing the two griffons and pony that loomed over him. “Morning, gentlecolts...” he said.

“Enough with the crap, Equestrian,” said the leader, a surprisingly brawny griffon for having been in jail longer than Blueblood. “Where were you when Quarry 3 collapsed?”

“In Quarry 1, where I was supposed to be.” Blueblood countered. “I know it’s confusing sometimes, but counting isn’t too hard for most.” this earned a punch to his chin.

“Keep talking and I’ll take your your tongue, Equestrian,” the griffon hissed. “My good friend Josef was in that cave- you were supposed to take his place, that was our agreement.”

“I hardly consider a rock to the head an agreement.” Blueblood earned another punch.

“I should have just put you in the grave when I first met you, Equestrian trash.” the griffon readied himself for another strike. “Guess I’m gonna have to remedy that mistake.” Before the griffon could strike, however, Blueblood reached down with a hoof and slung the food tin upward, beaning the griffon on the beak before he delivered a punch of his own. The two goons moved forward to intercept Blueblood, but he kicked out and knocked one away before they could get a good grip on him.

“You have any idea who you’re dealing with!?” the griffon shrieked, circling as he looked for an opening as Blueblood pummeled the second goon. “I’m the one who calls the shots around here! I’m the king of this pit, and you’re just a waste of flesh!”

“If you’re the king of anything, it’s probably halitosis,” Blueblood tossed the second goon into the griffon. It was a weak toss, the two only stumbling back slightly, but it gave Blueblood enough time to arm himself with the biggest loose rock he could find. Not that he got the chance, for two guards swooped in on both parties, battering them with clubs.

Words were exchanged, inmates dispersed, and Blueblood was on his way back to Solitary. Again.

“Keep this up and you’ll be dead by the end of the week,” one guard said as he shoved Blueblood inside the cage. “Though with how often you get into fights, I wouldn’t be surprised if you take one or two down with you... heh, should be fun.” Blueblood said nothing, moving to the back of the cave to find some kind of shelter from the sun.

“Enjoy your three days, Equestrian. Maybe the sun might bake some sense into your brain.” the griffon laughed at his “joke” while Blueblood merely huddled in the back, turning his head away so he would not be too blinded by the sun. There was some truth, though; fights among the inmates were becoming more commonplace, especially those directed at him. Probably some contacts of the Falcon trying to kill him for a lighter sentence.

No... Blueblood Mane was not here. Blueblood Mane was back in Canterlot, blissfully selling his family legacy. Blueblood Mane was, for all intents and purposes, dead... only a shell of an Equestrian remained.

“A blessing and a curse, is it not?” Blueblood was shaken from his thoughts by a voice. Turning, he saw an elderly griffon sitting outside the bars, wings unbound yet dressed in a grey robe instead of a guard’s uniform.

“What do you mean?” Blueblood asked.

“The sun,” the old griffon said. “Is it not a blessing and a curse. The sun gives life, nourishment to the green things of the earth and safety to those beneath her, yet it blinds and burns those who are lost, injured.” there was a pause before the griffon shifted his arm in his robe, Blueblood affording a small gasp as a bowl of rice clattered out. “Eat.”

Blueblood started forward, but stopped himself. Rice was plain, but even a small bowl would do more than the gruel he had been surviving off... but why would this stranger be so generous? He stood there, looking dumbly at the rice while the griffon glanced at him. “Are you not hungry?”

“... Why?” Blueblood asked, looking to the griffon. “Who are you, and why are you helping me?”

“My name matters not,” the griffon said, looking back out at the sun. “And you mistake this for helping. I cannot help you in the sense that I would give you relief from your suffering, only that I could lead you to where you might help yourself.” Blueblood raised an eyebrow at this, but slowly approached before pulling the rice towards him. He would have loved to eat quickly, but something told him to keep a slower pace.

“So, how does Blueblood Mane end up out here in a hole in the ground?” the griffon asked, Blueblood almost choking on the rice.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Blueblood replied. “Prince Blueblood’s back in Equestria. I’m just an inmate.”

“Bah! That fool is merely a pretender to the name. I know well who Blueblood Mane is, and you are him...” the griffon looked to Blueblood. “Or have the years dulled your mind? Have you forgotten who you are?” Blueblood said nothing, merely wiping some errant rice from his chin.

“What does it matter anymore?” Blueblood said finally. “I’m locked in here, thousands of miles away from anything resembling normality.”

“Locked?” the Griffon gently pressed against the bars, Blueblood watching with surprise as they swung open towards him. “You are not locked here... physically, at least. But perhaps there is something inside you that is locked.” Blueblood said nothing as the griffon finally faced him fully.

“A fire, Mr. Mane,” he said. “I see a fire within you that burns brighter than any other among these wretches. It has been smothered by pain, loss, suffering, but it waits for a moment to rise again. And when it does, what remains: the wretch? The Prince?... a legend, Mr. Mane?” Blueblood said nothing, peering around the griffon and out into the prison yard. Thousands of inmates, milling about with no direction or care... what was he to them? Just another member, a victim to be preyed upon?

... no.

“What do you want with me?” he asked, looking back to the griffon.

“Nothing,” the griffon rose. “A better question would perhaps be what do you want with me? Follow me, and I will show you.” with that he strode out of the cell, pausing to look back at Blueblood. “You’d need not worry; the guards know I am here, and will do nothing if you follow me. But it is your choice whether you follow me, or continue to live as a wretch for the rest of your life.” Blueblood hesitated again, eyeing the rocks for signs of an ambush. The guards loved tormenting the prisoners in new and exciting ways- who was to say that this old griffon was not another one of their tricks?

But then... Was he just another wretch, unable to crawl out of the shadow of the past?

Blueblood rose, and stepped over the threshold.

Their journey covered many miles, and Blueblood’s true strength had returned. He could move further without tiring, eat real food for the first time in four years, and even managed a smile now and again. The old griffon, though, spoke little and did even less when they did not walk, always eyeing Blueblood as they continued their journey across the Griffon Kingdoms.

After an eternity, they boarded a small boat. The captain was a wry pony, short a few teeth but still quite jolly as he conducted Blueblood and the griffon across the ocean. Blueblood did not speak as much now, for he had a good idea as to where they were headed.

“Neighpan.” he said as the boat pulled into a small cove.

“Yes,” the griffon said, quickly jumping to the dry sand. “I have lived here for many years, as my teachers before me did. Come along now- this step in your journey is almost complete.” Blueblood nodded, following silently behind the griffon as he made his way inland. The air was cool, ringing with the sound of birdsong, and Blueblood did his best to keep his eyes forward and not be too distracted by the sights.

Another day’s walk, and Blueblood saw a castle rising ahead. It was not a castle in the same sense as Canterlot or the old Everfree Castle: this was a structure of low roofs and walls instead of towering spires, blackened from years of exposure to the elements. Moss clung to the sides of the castle, and birds had carved out nests among the ancient rock.

“The Neighpanese say that the gods once resided in this place,” the griffon said. “It is a place of vast spiritual energy, but it is also a dark place few dare to venture through... well, onwards we go.” the griffon continued on, Blueblood hesitating again as he eyed the castle. The griffon was odd enough on his own, but hiding out in an abandoned fortress...

You spent so many years hiding out in that mansion, a voice inside Blueblood’s mind said. What’s so different between that and a castle? Blueblood shook his head, hurrying up as the griffon slipped through the large wooden doors guarding the castle.

“You have come this far.” the griffon said. “Good. Tomorrow, I shall begin your training.”

“Training?” Blueblood asked. “What kind of training?”

“As I said before, Mr. Mane, you have a fire within you, but it must be worked until it is strong again.” the griffon stopped, staring up at a mural Blueblood could not decipher. “I have travelled the world for many years, and I have seen that the world is full of dualities: Sun and Moon, Light and Dark, Order and Chaos, Good and Evil. Too often do ponies and griffons believe they understand one or the other, from those in cities like Trottingham, to the islands of the gods’ servants, to far beyond the sight of Celestia and Luna. But to truly understand duality to to understand strength, and to understand strength is to become unconquerable.

“I will teach you to understand this duality. You will master body and mind, light and dark, and know good and evil.” the griffon looked back at Blueblood. “Rest, and in the morning we will see if you are ready.” Blueblood said nothing, watching as the griffon vanished into the gloom. He turned back to the mural, tilting his head to try and decipher what exactly the old griffon was looking at. Duality, probably. Blueblood’s ears drooped; it seemed so simple, why go through so much enigma for training?

The Falcon and his followers were evil. The Mane Enterprise member who had betrayed his father were evil. He, then, would be the good.

Blueblood stood at the opposite end of a large, circular room, the old griffon standing on the other side. He turned a stick of bamboo around in his telekinesis, feeling for its weight as he eyed his opponent. The old griffon stood off to the side, gazing out at the landscape beyond.

“When you are ready,” the griffon said. Blueblood allowed a small smirk, twisting the stick around again before charging, intending to land a strike on his opponent as he stood distracted by the rising sun.

One strike, and Blueblood found himself skipping across the room, landing in a heap at the far end. The old griffon tucked his own bamboo stick away before speaking. “He who runs with aggression walks without dignity.”

“I thought anger would be useful to a fighter,” Blueblood said.

“Duality.” the griffon turned to him. “Anger is a useful tool, for you or the enemy. Master it, and it will be your ally: fail, and your enemy will twist you into something far beyond normal understanding.” Blueblood nodded rolling back to his hooves as he reached out for the bamboo again. The griffon had still not moved from his spot, still looking out at the sky as Blueblood approached.

This time, he went for a more careful attack, swinging a weaker strike towards the griffon’s head. He casually blocked the strike with his stick, still unmoving, even as Blueblood twisted the bamboo around to go for another strike. Once more the griffon blocked before sweeping out, catching Blueblood’s legs and sending the unicorn sprawling on the floor.

“You can never defeat another if you know not how to defeat yourself,” the griffon said. “Your mind is a mass of contradictions: the wretch and the prince, the son and the leader, anger and calm. How can you expect to be master of all if you cannot even calm the storm that lies within you?”

“That’s what we’re here to solve... right?” the griffon finally turned to face Blueblood, a frown set on his face.

“I will teach you nothing more today. Meditate, and tomorrow we will try again.”

The cavern was dark, foreboding. Blueblood advanced cautiously, bamboo stick at the ready, eyeing every corner and pillar that the old griffon might be hiding behind. His hooves echoed through the darkened hall, even as Blueblood tried his best to keep quiet so as to detect anything in his surroundings.

“Fear of the dark is one of the most primal instincts of all living things,” the voice of the griffon echoed through the hall. Blueblood spun, but saw nopony. “Good ponies shun it, evil encroaches on it and use it as a cloak to hide their wicked deeds. It is no surprise then that the Moon was driven to jealousy of the Sun, for only the wicked would venture out into her night.” Blueblood advanced, eyes darting back and forth.

“But the dark... the dark is your shield. The dark is your ally. For though they abuse it, criminals are superstitious and cowardly, and do not trust the night.” Blueblood stopped, ears flicking back and forth in search of the griffon. One more step, and he had no time to reach before the griffon pounced on him from above, pinning him to the ground.

“You have no trust, not yet.” the griffon said. “Embrace the shadows, Mr. Mane, and they will guide you in ways you could never have believed.”

“What do you fear?” Blueblood looked to where the old grifon sat, idly plucking at a piece of fish as the two rested from another round of training.

“I’m surprised you don’t know the answer to that already.” Blueblood replied, taking a bite of rice.

“What good is knowledge if there is no proof that what you speak is the truth?” The griffon said. “But my question remains unanswered: what do you fear?” Blueblood paused, looking down at his food as he thought it over. The standard fears of ponykind, loss, starvation, Celestia in a bad mood, all seemed so petty to one who had faced all that and more. If that was what the old griffon spoke of, then he was beyond fear.

But the question lingered: what do you fear?

“I don’t know.” Blueblood said finally “Nothing, really. I’ve been through so much it doesn’t seem like there’s anything that scares me now.” This did not seem to impress the griffon.

“You do, you just do not see it.” the griffon said. “Fear is the prime motivator for all that we do. Fear drove ponykind to band together to protect from their enemies. Fear led those that brought you to me to conspire and scheme. Fear is what keeps you here rather than returning back to Trottingham.”

“I’m not afraid to go back.” Blueblood said quickly, rising up to his hooves. “I’m not afraid of the Falcon or the Board. I survived them long enough, I can do it again.”

“Can you?” the griffon asked, finally looking in his direction. Blueblood felt a chill run down his spine as the old griffon fixed him with a stony gaze. “I see it within you, even if you cannot. It sits like a parasite, gnawing away at your soul while you futilely try to remedy it. I ask again: what do you fear?”

Blueblood found himself sputtering, mentally more than physically. Such a simple question, and here he was protesting like a foal who didn’t want to wash up before bed. He had done enough, he was training to fight back, he did not fear what other ponies did.

... didn’t he? Or else why would he have hidden out in this castle, his mansion, watching the world pass him by as he lingered with ghosts?

“You see it now, don’t you?” the griffon asked.

“... I see them,” he said, settling down again. “I see them dying in the snow, looking to make sure I was okay. I see what worry, what fear they had, draining out with their lives while all I could do was sit there... sit there and weep. I was the one that led them down that path, who wouldn’t listen... one mistake and my entire life was shattered.” he sighed. “That is what I fear. That one mistake, rising up again and again to drive me away... to crush me into nothing.” the griffon said nothing, taking another bite of fish before looking back out at nothing.

“Failure was your master, fear its bedmate. They rule you, rather than you ruling them. Break free, and you will be ready.” Blueblood said nothing, looking back to food that no longer seemed appetizing. The memories would fade, as they always did, but they would rise up again to drag him down further... as they always did. But if he broke free, what then? Could he just forget all he had gone through and live a better life? Would he just become numb as before, only now he didn’t care at all about the matters of the past rather than caring far too much?

I can’t... I can’t forget. He thought. There was a pause before something clicked in his mind. Duality... I won’t forget, but I will not be ruled. No again.

Blueblood took another bite of rice, missing the slight quirk of a smile from the griffon.

Blueblood sat in one of the gardens of the castle, his forelegs folded in his lap. His eyes were closed, his breathing controlled as he tried to calm his mind, to reach that duality that the old griffon kept discussing.

Inevitably, his mind drifted back to Trottingham. Who knew what sorts of corruption had creeped in since he had been gone... probably no more than what was already there, if he was perfectly honest. Falcon, his cronies, the Board, all of them corrupted. Trottingham was nothing but a festering pool of vice and crime, a dark stain on Equestria’s otherwise shining image. Any sane pony would have nothing to do with the place.

Yet... His father saw something within the city. There were good ponies in Trottingham: Pennyworth, Foxtail, that young Apple and his partner, Cross Reference, among others. Were they to get tossed in with the bad, written out as a lost cause? They tried their best to make something better of Trottingham, perhaps turn back the tide of corruption that had all but swallowed the city.

For what good it had done. Blueblood had seen how deep the corruption ran personally; no one pony could overcome that... could they? In between his talks on duality, the old griffon spoke highly of “the legend”, the pony that mastered knowledge of everything and was thus incorruptible. Perhaps a pony like that could rise up to the challenge, make Trottingham’s underbelly quiver in fear as they rightfully should. Was that why he was still here, to be that pony?

Blueblood afforded a short pause as he looked down at himself. He had bulked up a bit, perhaps, and his fighting skills were improving every day. The dreams had stopped, even, the night of his parents’ murder returning only when he allowed it to. But there wasn’t too much about him that could be considered intimidating...

Blueblood was disturbed from his meditation by a rustling sound overhead. Looking up, he spotted a dark shape fluttering among the leaves: a bat in search of insects to eat. Blueblood tilted his head to one side, watching as the bat swooped between the branches, his ears barely picking up the high-pitched chattering of the creature as it hunted. It didn’t have any concerns for darkness or shadows, deftly dodging obstacles in its hunt for prey.

Something so small, with no fear about it... yet ponies always spoke of their own fear of bats...

Blueblood turned his eyes away from the bat, a thought formulating in his mind. Fear was the key: his own and that of the criminals. Eliminate his fears, and he would be unbreakable- enhance their own, and they would run screaming into the light, where all would understand their true nature.

Once more, Blueblood allowed himself a slight smile.

The cavern was far less foreboding as Blueblood stepped back inside. Once more, the old griffon had hidden himself inside, waiting for an opportunity to strike. But now, the darkness was not an obstacle to be feared, but a tool to be bent to his will as he walked.

Blueblood did not bother with magic, instead gripping his bamboo in his right hoof as he moved slowly along the wall. His eyes darted about, not just checking the corners and gaps that lay before him, but the nooks and outcroppings above where an enemy might be lurking. His breathing was slow, controlled, just enough to keep him from passing out while not revealing himself to the rest of the world.

That was the hope, anyway.

“What is it that you seek?” the voice of the old griffon echoed through the cavern. Blueblood said nothing, jumping behind a pillar as he scanned the darkness. “Is it revenge, for what those griffons and ponies with evil in their hearts did to the legacy of your family?” Again Blueblood remained silent, moving forward slightly once he was sure that the coast was clear.

“Revenge is a slippery slope that only the strongest may save themselves from. Are you strong?” Blueblood did not answer, stopping and listening for any sound as best he could. “Perhaps you are, but there is more to you than just vengeance, is there not? Ask yourself: what is it that you truly seek?”

“Vengeance is too limited,” Blueblood said, moving back against the wall again. “Perhaps I was set upon by evil, but there is more than just defeating them and moving on. The plague of Trottingham is old and strong, it must be weakened.”

“And how?” Blueblood stopped, his ear flicking towards the left at the slight sound of rocks grinding together. Instead of moving towards it, he jumped right. The old griffon pounced over Blueblood, his bamboo whistling as it missed his head by scant centimeters. Blueblood twisted around and swung, the stick managing a slight strike against the griffon’s hind legs. Blueblood kept moving, drawing back into a defensive position as the griffon landed on the opposite end of the cavern.

“Justice,” he said. “Wicked men must be brought out into the light, and they must be robbed of the darkness where they’ve made their shelter. That is how I will save Trottingham from itself.” the old griffon regarded Blueblood for a moment before speaking.

“Exposing them...” he said. “Would it not be easier to kill them, and end their troubles once and for all?”

“No. Criminals kill, only for their troubles to multiply beyond their control. To stoop to their level is to embrace their own weakness.” Blueblood flashed a grin. “And how can one who seeks dominance over himself embrace such a glaring weakness?” there was a lengthy pause before the griffon stood up straighter, smiling.

“I have nothing more to teach you, Mr. Mane,” he said. “Go and return to your lands. Become the legend you were born to be.” Blueblood bowed low, setting his bamboo stick on the ground before turning towards the end of the cave. He could all but feel the shadows twisting around him, even as he stepped out into the light.

Blueblood Mane was dead, perhaps. The lazy Blueblood, the inattentive Blueblood who allowed ponies to conspire against him. In his place... well, who was to say?

His return to Trottingham, then, would show the truth.

Author's Notes:

I'd actually finished this chapter a few weeks ago, but I needed to stew on it... I'm not sure, but the first time I read through it it just didn't seem right. But second run through, a few edits here and there, and it's better than I gave it credit for.

As always, thanks again for all that've stuck with this story through my bouts of inactivity. Likes and comments are appreciated, and if I screwed something up please let me know.