Same day, 1135, Tarhen.

Twilight gazes out of the back of the carriage as it rolls onward through the crowded streets of Tarhen, her eyes upon the armoured gates of the compound and her mind far away from thoughts of the coming meeting with the Shah, no matter how hard she tries to stay focussed. Instead, thoughts of Dash keep intruding, of that hurt, betrayed expression etched upon her ex’s face. Twilight narrows her eyes slightly. She has other things to worry about right now and she cannot let her mind wander from her job, even for a second.

“Something troubles you?” Belial’s voice rumbles from the seat opposite her. Twilight shakes her head.

“No, Capitane, I was just thinking about Caporal Bolt,” Twilight mumbles. “I hope she doesn’t mind me bringing your compagnie out for escort rather than her unit.”

“If she does, then she is a poor commander of men,” Belial replies frankly. “It is not becoming to take a reassignment personally, and she should know better. Among other things, her activities appear to have caused the principle, that is to say you, quite a bit of discomfort,” Belial says firmly, and Twilight has to nod at that point as an unpleasant thought ripples through her mind. She doesn’t want to damage Dash’s career in the Legion, which causes another spike of regret to pulse through her, but then she sits up a little straighter in her seat. She has other things to worry about right now.

“You are right Capitane, we have bigger problems on our plate than one Caporal’s hurt feelings,” Twilight lies, hoping that it sounds convincing. She then turns her attention to Prophet, who shifts in his chair to reach his sword. “So, in respect to Shah Khalid, what can I expect of him?” she asks as the Khan draws the sword and rests it across his lap to start anointing it.

“You can expect a fair hearing,” Prophet replies calmly, polishing his sword with holy oil. “Shah Khalid is perturbed by what has happened today and he wishes to salve the wound between your nation and ours, lest it fester. However, he seeks a satisfactory resolution for his government. He will bargain hard, as will any representatives he will place before you,” the Justicar says, though Twilight notices a faint flicker of his right ear.

“That he will, but we have diplomats to handle that,” Diplomatic Incident says softly. “Right now, Your Highness, your focus needs to be on making an initial agreement; we can dot the T’s and cross the I’s at a later date, I don’t want you worrying about bringing home a whole treaty.”

Twilight frowns. “Don’t you think I can-”

“Never that, dear girl,” Diplomatic Incident replies, “I just want you to have a clear idea of the task at hand; we can’t have you overreaching yourself, after all. It would be a rather poor show if we gave the cat the keys to the coop… no offence meant,” he adds hastily, holding up a hand to Prophet.

“None taken,” Prophet grumbles in reply as his frown deepens, before shifting in his chair to look around at the escorting vehicles.

“Are you sure this is a wise strategy, Princess? Coming to his gates in this kind of force, I think the Shah may get the wrong impression,” Prophet cautions.

“I’ve been shot at twice today, Prophet. I have no desire for there to be a repeat incident,” Twilight replies calmly. Prophet tilts his head.

“You believe this to be strength, travelling surrounded by soldiers?” he asks.

Twilight shakes her head.
“I’d prefer to ride with a small escort, but circumstances have shown that to be impractical. Since it seems I cannot rely on the Khans to protect me, I must look to my own for defence,” she says, glancing at the carnage that the walker is inflicting upon the already chaotic streets as carriages and beasts of burden are forced to scatter before the six-legged monstrosity. Twilight can see people staring up at the convoy of military vehicles as they roll onward. For a moment, she wonders exactly what they’re thinking about her. Even the religious police officers have stopped to stare in wonder at the convoy.

Prophet takes a deep breath. “Princess. I believe it is my duty to tell you that this approach will not work. You are humiliating the army and offending the police at a stroke. You are also creating a sizeable groundswell of ill-feeling among the populace,” he says. Twilight fixes the Justicar with an irritable look.

“I do believe that that’s the point,” Belial says flatly. “If we could trust the army and the police, we would be more than happy to mobilize a platoon rather than a company. The Princess is making a statement about the consequences of not being able to trust Khans.”

“All this whilst having Khans under arms,” Prophet says, gesturing at the carriage in front, where the squad leader is twitching his tail as his ears scan the surroundings. Belial shakes his head.

“She’s got Legionnaires under arms,” Belial says coolly, his own whiskers twitching faintly.

The corners of Prophet’s mouth curls downward into a faint frown but he says nothing further, for which Twilight is extremely grateful. As they roll onward, she takes in the scenery around her, the broad avenues and the whitewashed concrete buildings, many of which tower over the three storey constructions she had been fighting her way through this morning. Statues stand in the middle of the thoroughfare, the mute gaze of the martyrs standing watch over the bustling street.

The citizens here appear to be better dressed in silks and finer velvets, and Twilight is transfixed by the glorious riot of colours in their robes. There are even females, distinctive by their veils and the golden pins that many are sporting down the front of their robes. Well maintained walkers are striding through the crowds, their burnished copper boilers gleaming as they strut like chickens through the swirling morass of people and beasts of burden.

Twilight has never seen anything like it -- such a riotous mass of noise and colour, so unlike the calm, restrained bustle of Canterlot’s streets, and she can even hear music drifting through the streets over the clamour of people surrounding her, a soft and faintly wistful stringed piece accompanied by a slow, haunting melody on some kind of piped instrument that Twilight has no name for.

“We’re drawing close to the Shah’s Palace now, Princess,” Prophet says, “There is a slight… gathering outside. They’re protestors, most of whom are protesting against Equestria’s involvement here. Do not take the signs personally.”

“I didn’t know people were allowed to protest here,” Belial says, causing Prophet’s whiskers to twitch irritably.

“They shouldn’t be, but they’re not protesting directly against the Shah, and their presence serves anyone who might want her highness dead,” Prophet replies darkly. Twilight can hear the crowd now, a low, baying sound reminding her of of wild animals. It only seems to grow in strength as they travel onward and away from the band. Twilight can feel herself tensing up as the rumbling of the crowd intensifies and the smaller groups of people start to thin. Obviously, people do not want to be caught up in whatever’s going on, Twilight can tell that much. Then, as they round a corner and come out onto a long straight avenue, Twilight sees the Shah’s palace. Her eyes widen in awe as the street ends and they come onto an open plaza before the palace.

The palace, or at least what she can see of it, is enormous. All of Ponyville could easily fit into it. It towers over the equally gargantuan perimeter wall, a slab-sided edifice that seems more akin to a fortress than a residence. Titanic statues are set into alcoves. Motifs of embossed swords and elaborately carved scrolls decorate the walls, trying and failing miserably to take the edges off the sharp architecture. Twilight can already see that this would be almost impossible to take: it has commanding sightlines over the surrounding area, and she can see thinly disguised revetments built into the walls, and also narrow firing slots from whence marksmen can engage targets outside the citadel.

Even the perimeter wall is imposing, twenty looming feet of marble wall with great, looming towers evenly spaced along its length. Red and gold banners flap from the walls, flashing like flames in the afternoon sun. Twilight’s gaze is not on the architecture, however.

She is staring at a massive throng of people -- Khans, humans, and others are all standing in the square, waving banners and chanting songs. Many are waving banners.

“GO HOME, DAEMONS!” screams one.

“MURDERERS NOT WELCOME!” is scrawled upon another.

“AVENGE THE MARTYRS OF THE EMBASSY!” a third effort proclaims.

As Twilight watches in horror, a ripple effect passes through the crowd as they become aware of the Equestrian convoy before them and all eyes turn to face her. The roaring of the crowd fades into a faint susurration of disbelieving anger. For a spellbound moment, there is absolute silence as the crowd gaze at the target of their ire made manifest.

“This... could possibly get ugly,” Diplomatic Incident whispers to Twilight.

Belial narrows his eyes.
“We shall see about that. Fourth Compagnie, fix bayonets and-”

“Are you mad, Capitane!?” Twilight gasps. “I will not have my arrival cause any further bloodshed!” She can see no surer way of provoking the crowd than to start sticking them with bayonets.

Belial fixes her with a look and he shakes his head, his eyes flashing. “Your Highness, I would not be doing my duty if I did not do my utmost to protect you, and if that means I have to cover this square in corpses, so be it.”

Twilight blinks, flabbergasted, but before she can reply, Diplomatic Incident wades in.
“My good man, please consider the nature of those banners and the protests. If we visit bloodshed upon these people, then all we shall do is vindicate them, and we shall have to carve our way through a crowd every time we wish to make the Shah’s acquaintance. I shouldn’t have to tell you why that’s problematic. Also, if I may, there are enough people in this crowd to overwhelm a mere compagnie of Legionnaires, however good you think your men are.” Diplomatic Incident’s moustache bristles with righteous indignation, an indignation that sets Capitane Belial aback for a second, but only for a second.

“We cannot afford to be halted!” he snaps. “Every moment that we remain stuck here gives our enemy a chance to strike us!” Twilight can see something in his eyes, something she’d never expected to see in a Legionnaire: Fear, pure and simple. Fear of having his compagnie chopped apart by a ravening mob like the Ninth Compagnie, fear of being overwhelmed by people who once upon a time had been his countrymen, fear of-

Twilight stops herself suddenly, wondering whence that had come from. She hadn’t meant to reach into Belial’s mind like that, it had not been her intention at all. So I can heal myself and stick my fingers in people’s heads… what else haven’t you told me, Celestia? Twilight shakes herself free of her doubts as the convoy has reached the edge of the unruly crowd and rolled to a stop.

The crowd shifts, surging toward the convoy like a wave of fur and anger. However, Belial is faster. “Legionnaires, disembark!” he bellows. “Stocks and sticks only, gentlemen! Clear a path to the gates!” Immediately, all along the convoy, legionnaires leap down from their vehicles, drawing batons made from the handles of entrenching tools. At once, a ring of tan uniforms forms up around the convoy, the armoured walker using its flat top as an improvised rappelling pad for the two transports overhead, which swiftly disgorge their cargo of legionnaires. Twilight cannot help but be impressed by the swiftness of the operation, and some of her antipathy towards the Khan capitane dissipates.

The crowd charges forward like a surge of solid malevolence to crash into the wall of Legionnaires like a tidal wave against a breaker and the wall of legionnaires flexes under the pressure, but then with, a bellowed command, the legionnaires push back, laying into the crowds with their batons in a well orchestrated display of Equestrian military might. Screams ring out. Shouts of pain and curses blister the air as the crowd tries to fight its way past the legionnaires, who retaliate in kind, battering anyone within reach and forcing the crowd back. Twilight watches in awe, staring down at the sea of angry people around them, met as they are by the disciplined fury of the legionnaires.

As she watches the crowd, Twilight realizes that those in front are not actually moving of their own will; their own fervour has faded beneath the onslaught of the legionnaires, but those behind are pushing those in front, crushing them against the legionnaires and subjecting them to the full force of the legionnaires’ might. As Twilight watches in revolted horror, one of the blood-streaked Khans sags, only to be swallowed and dragged under by the churning mass of people.

After a moment of seemingly senseless violence, however, a shrill ululating horn rings out over the din, and Twilight turns to see the crowd at the head of the convoy suddenly falling back as grey-robed cavalry mounted on strange two legged saurians with short stubby arms and long distinctive ripping claws, each one twice the height of a man, advance in a column of red-plumed shakos and shock lances.

The crowd rapidly retreats from the advancing cavalry. Those too slow to move are swept aside by a stinging swat from a shock lance, though Twilight notes that the lances are not charged to full power.

“Mirikamaur Cossacks,” Diplomatic Incident says. “It’s a good thing that the Lady Ambassador’s not here.”

As the cavalry draws close, Twilight can see that the riders are in fact not Khans, they’re humans, dressed in loose fitting grey robes with blue sashes across the front of elaborate double breasted dress tunics. Waterfalls of braid glitter upon thier chests, as do dozens of brightly coloured, glittering medals. All are wearing black shakos with a bright tuft of red feathers blooming from the front, and most, if not all, are sporting elaborately curled moustaches and tiny, pointed goatees. Cavalry sabres flash at their sides and cavalry carbines bounce upon their backs. Twilight has never seen anything like it.

The cavalry column closes with the convoy, and the head of the column gestures for his riders to halt, before he turns and Twilight blinks in astonishment. The man at the head of the cavalry column is one of the most handsome men Twilight has ever seen. He is a tall man with rich chestnut hair and sideburns, high cheekbones, and a smile that could break a thousand hearts. He looks like the sort of man that the Canterlot gutter press writes about her sleeping with. Twilight can hear Diplomatic Incident muttering something about posturing young peacocks under his breath, along with something else about how he never had that kind of luck.

“Your Majesty!” he says in flawless Equestrian with a rich Canterlot drawl to it, the kind that could make a woman’s knees weak at fifty paces and make even the most esteemed Canterlot aristocrat unsure of their own nobility. He rises from his saddle and sweeps his shako off his head in a quick, florid bow. “Apologies for the delay, minor crowding problem, we shall ensure it does not happen again.” He tosses Twilight another winning smile.

Twilight rises to her feet calmly, a smile upon her face. Not for the first time, she’s glad that she bats for the other team, so to speak, not that it prevents a hot, scarlet blush from suffusing her cheeks.

“It is of no concern, we were admiring the population’s enthusiastic welcome,” she replies, detecting a brief flicker of surprise and amusement in the young man’s face before he nods.

“Ah, I see, well in that case, would you permit me to escort your highness’s procession to the citadel?”

Twilight nods to the cavalryman’s enquiry. “Of course you may…” Twilight trails off and the man bows his head again.

“Lieutenant of Cavalry, Sir Vitaliy Andarestov, Your Highness.”

“Princess Twilight Sparkle of Equestria, thank you, Lieutenant. I shall convey your timely intervention to the Shah. You have my thanks.”

The man chuckles. “It was my pleasure.” Twilight could almost swear that the young man winks at her before turning back towards his own troops. She sits back down, pursing her lips faintly as she feels the gaze of the other inhabitants of the carriage upon her.

“Well, that is most helpful, it is good to know we will not have to advance across a carpet of bodies, after all,” Twilight says after a moment. Belial’s whiskers have the grace to flick lightly as the soldiers advance across the disquietingly quiet square, the crowd muttering irritably, but obviously cowed by the advance of the cavalry. Almost unbidden, Twilight’s eyes flicker back to the Lieutenant of cavalry, as she spends a moment taking in his exquisitely tailored uniform, and the short stripes on his sleeve. For a moment she wonders what they mean. She then notices him looking straight back at her. Twilight suddenly snaps her gaze back forward, a flush upon her face.

A soft laugh ripples through the carriage, a deep and powerful laugh that emanates deep from within Prophet’s belly. “Ho, I see our Princess is quite smitten!” Twilight feels her cheeks colour a deeper shade of red.

“You forget your place, Justicar,” Twilight responds, though she cannot quite put any heat behind her words.

The Justicar merely laughs louder. “I appear to have struck a nerve, what a shame,” he remarks with a broad smile. Twilight’s eyes move around the carriage, daring any of the other occupants to even breathe a word. However, Diplomatic Incident and Belial are both keeping their expressions studiously neutral.

Twilight knows that she doesn’t entertain thoughts of that nature. They’ve only just met for one thing, and for another, Twilight knows that she isn’t that way inclined, no matter what Celestia might think. She knows the stirrings of her own heart, and it does not twitch in the way that it does when Twilight’s thoughts drift toward a certain one-eyed legionnaire, but everyone else seems to be making their own decisions about the matter.

Twilight merely resolves to banish all thought of romantic entanglement from her head. They are now drawing near to the vast, imposing gates into the citadel and she needs a clear head now more than ever as the vast wooden gates of the citadel creak ponderously open.

____________________________________________________

“What a knob,” Dash mutters from her position on a third floor roof. She’s dressed in loose fitting robes like most Khanate women, complete with the veil, which has now been tossed back over her head to give her unrestricted access to the marksman’s sight of her rifle. She and her small reconnaissance team have been following the convoy at a safe distance, mainly scouting ahead for any potential ambushes or spotters who might have been covertly observing the convoy. Already she’s built up quite a list of faces, all of which have gone into a notepad for future reference. Now she’s sitting up here to watch the princess cross the threshold, and keep an eye on that puffed up prick of a cavalryman.

Dash is no fool; she can see the way he looks at Twilight and it sets off something fiercely territorial in her belly, a monster of fire and ash. Certainly she noticed how he and his team took their sweet time massing the force to assist the Legionnaires.

That had been a worrying moment for Caporal Arc Bolt. She’d been worried sick when she’d watched the convoy get mobbed like that, and she cursed Belial with every fibre of her being for not doing any reconnaissance sweeps and allowing the situation to go nuts like that. Now Twilight’s inside, so Dash can relax a little. She sags away from the rifle, a faint sigh of exhaustion bubbling out of her chest.

“Right, the principal is home free,” Dash says. Sov nods next to her, grunting softly as he scans the crowd one more time with his enhanced eye, the lens clicking and whirring as he zooms in and out, adjusting focus.

“Nice one, boss.” Smit says, sat upon the rolled up rug he and Sov have been lugging through the streets as their cover, the rug that had their rifles wrapped up in it. “Now, care to tell me why we’re burning our R&R time when the Princess herself told us to fuckoffski?”

“The Fourth aren’t cutting the mustard -- you can see that,” Dash replies. Smit nods.

“I’m not questionin’ that, boss. I’m just askin’ when you grew a hankerin’ for royalty. Weren’t it one princess that put you in command of the whole fookin’ compagnie, all eleven of us? Why do you give a shit if this one gets whacked?”

“Because she finds it funny when you get angry, Smit. Ya need to cool it off,” Whiskers says from her own position watching the stairwell to the roof.

Smit shakes his head. “Fuck that, there’s something yer not fuckin’ tellin’ us, boss, and I wanna know what it is.”

“Shut up,” Dash grunts, “I’ll tell you when you need to know.”

“I wanna know why you’re putting our lives on the line like this is all. If this was that short one, Princess Luna, you wouldn’t give a shit.”

“Watch your tone! Field Marshal can take care of herself!” Dash barks, knowing it's a feeble excuse even before she gives it voice. Smit just plows right through it.

“Boss, there’s something not right here, and you need to tell us what’s going on,” Smit doggedly persists, worrying at the question like a dog with a bone.

Dash turns away from her rifle sight to fix her second in command with a look before she sighs. “Have you ever wanted something so bad you could kill for it?” she asks after a second. “Ever wanted something so much that you’d forsake everything, break every rule, risk everything?”

“Sure, that’s how I got in this shit job,” Smit replies, and Dash nods shortly.

“Right, well that’s the problem. Back before I was a legionnaire, I was a Wonderbolt… and that right there is my ex.” She points at the carriage disappearing through the gates.

A stunned silence lands on the Legionnaires.

“So you were boning Princess Twilight?” Sov says, wonder colouring his voice.

“Yep,” Dash says, allowing a little bit of pride to colour her voice.

Smit snorts. “Now I know you’re fucking with me, Boss.”

Dash snorts back.
“Yeah, that’s right, I’m fucking with you, because when have you ever known me to breathe a word about where I came from and what I did before I joined the Legion?” Dash barks acidly. Smit shrugs.

“Right, so you banged her royal purpleness down there way back when, so what?” Smit says, and Dash tilts her head, wondering if Smit is just trying to draw this whole thing out into the group’s hearing.

“Because… because…”

“Is it because you still get your knickers in a twist over her? Scratch that, it’s written all over yer fookin’ face,” Smit says sharply. Dash rolls away from the rifle to sit up, anger colouring her features.

“I… just shut up, Smit. You’re talking bollocks as per fucking usual.” Dash snaps, turning back to the rifle, but not fast enough to miss the poisonous scowl Smit tosses her.

“So that’s how it is, boss? I’m your second in command and you’re just going to blow me off like that?”

“Yeah, that’s how it is, till you learn how to mind your own fucking business. Talk to me like that again and I’ll shove my boot so far up your arse, you’ll need fucking boot polish to clean your teeth!” Dash hisses back, her tone so venomous it surprises everyone, including herself.

“Fair enough. Just let me know when you’re ready to stop being a little bitch, yeah?” Smit’s tone is equally confrontational and Dash takes a deep breath, summoning the control required to avoid turning around and pummelling him. She tightens her grip on the rifle and gazes out across the crowd, gritting her teeth as she presses her eye to the scope to scanning for threats, trying not to let her rage get the better of her. There will need to be a reckoning, of that she is certain, preferably before Smit’s attitude infects the rest of the troops. She grips the rifle tighter, trying to quell the shaking of her hands.

Not the time or place… she tells herself, and she wonders if the excuse would sound as weak as it does in her head.
____________________________________________

Twilight struggles to repress a faint shudder of foreboding as they cross the threshold into the citadel, falling under the shadow of the mighty gateway into the Shah’s stronghold, escorted by his cossacks. Her gaze tracks over the nail studded wooden gates as the convoy rumbles through the gatehouse, beneath murder holes, from which curious eyes peer down at her and past golden armoured soldiers carrying ceremonial halberds. In a sudden dazzling blaze of afternoon sunlight, they’re through. The gates are being closed behind them as the convoy rumbles into the citadel’s courtyard.

The courtyard is a massive open expanse of incredibly well maintained garden that makes Twilight’s mind boggle at the expense and of keeping such a lawn so well maintained in such temperatures with so many notoriously thirsty plants from climes as far afield as Equestria and Zebrica. Then she notices something else. The ambient temperature in the garden is downright luxurious rather than the scorching heat of Tarhen in the afternoon. At once, Twilight releases a couple of questing tendrils of magic, but to her abject surprise, there is no trace of spellwork that she can detect. Twilight purses her lips as she gazes across the lawn at the broad, tree-lined avenues that lead to the citadel itself and at the various arrangements of hedges and statues that do little to disguise the vastness of the courtyard. Even, here, amidst the spectacular horticulture, there are reminders of the grim business of all fortresses. Twilight can see that anyone who attempts to force entry will be cut down by fire from the citadel and the walls, and even the outer defenses can direct their fire here. Crossfire from those hedges would probably be fairly nasty, too; there’s next to no cover.

Twilight fights back another shiver of apprehension. If the Shah wanted them dead, he would not have invited them into his sanctum, where it would be perfectly clear to all around which nation was behind it. That thought does not make her feel much better. Twilight’s gaze moves to the citadel, which looms up over her, shouldering its way up from the garden to tower over her like a slab-sided monolith. The thin firing slots glare down at her like eyes, and Twilight can feel the prickling of the skin between her shoulderblades as she looks up at the imposing marble edifice. The statues glitter like blades in the sun. The unexpected quiet in the unnatural chill of the courtyard makes Twilight a little nervous.

A blast of sound suddenly hammers its way into her eardrums, a shrill, brassy note that makes Twilight start in her chair. However, as more notes follow the first, resolving into in the steady, solemn notes of the Equestrian National Anthem.

“Hrmph, someone’s anxious to get into your good graces.” Diplomatic Incident’s caustic tone could strip the paint from the bulkhead, but Twilight relaxes very slightly as the armoured vehicle that leads her convoy turns to the left, followed by the troop transport carriage in front of hers. She can see a brass band organized beside a set of steps leading up into the citadel, along with an honour guard in full dress uniform and a red carpet. However, Twilight’s brief surge of ease fades rapidly as she notices the group of people gathered at the head of the red carpet.

Many of them are Khans, though there are quite a few humans among the group assembled at the head of the stairs. Thanks to her briefing, Twilight can pick out the Interior Minister, Hassan Zafwan, the commander of the army, General Tariq Aznan, and the head of the Foreign Ministry, Khalten Sobjeck along with numerous functionaries. However one Khan stands at the front of the pack, dressed in simple coal grey robes that contrast rather eloquently with the ornately decorated robes and glittering displays of opulent jewellery that the others are displaying.

Shah Khalid Al-Sayed is not a tall Khan, coming up to Twilight’s shoulder at most. However, he carries a presence about him Twilight can feel from forty yards away. He’s coloured bright silver and grey streaks and his long whiskers twitch and flick faintly in time with the music. Twilight is amazed, for she knows that the white tiger breed of Khan are among the rarest of all. As Twilight’s carriage rumbles to a halt, she steels herself, knowing that any opportunity to create a good environment for the meeting has long since passed. She rises to her feet and quickly looks around to check for journalists. Finding none, she rises to standing and disembarks from the carriage, her boots clicking upon the marble surface. She draws herself up a little straighter, hoping that the creases in her trousers remain sharp as ever as she strides down the red carpet. She can feel the eyes of the Shah’s delegation upon her and her masculine attire. She can almost feel their scandalized outrage. Good, let them work themselves into a froth about my trousers, let them ask about my dress, so I can tell them it was ruined when their maniacs decided to pick a fight.

As she draws closer, Twilight can feel the force of Shah Khalid’s personality washing over her like the outer edges of a whirlpool. As she raises her own magical sensors, she detects a faint magical aura emanating from the ruler, of the kind that would only really emanate from a beginner level sorcerer in Equestria, but would be extraordinary in the Khanate, particularly when such individuals are normally packed off into the Justicars.

Twilight takes a deep breath, lifting her own very subtle shields to ward herself against such effects. Up close, even without the slight glamour, the Shah is an intimidating Khan. His cold, silver eyes give nothing away, and his face is naturally cold and expressionless. Whilst other cats’ ears and tails are expressive enough to compensate, Khalid Al-Sayed has schooled his own limbs to only say exactly what he wants them to. Despite his lesser stature, Twilight can see that he’s not weak. His chest is well built, given how the robes lay smartly, unwrinkled across it, and the sleeves of his robes bulge subtly with muscle. Twilight knows that this is not a cat to tangle with.

She walks up to him, keeping her face neutral as she stands before him and prepares to curtwardssey as would be appropriate. However, before she can do so, the Shah steps forward and down one step so that his head is level with hers, and then he bows his head very subtly and slightly to her.

“Princess Twilight the First and Only of Equestria, allow me to extend my most sincere apologies for the nature of your welcome,” the Shah says, his head rising to look her dead in the eye. “Such behaviour shames us as a nation, me as a ruler, and my appointed ministers as masters of their charges. On behalf of my nation, I offer my apology to you,” the Shah says.

Surprise is the first thing that strikes Twilight. An abject moment of absolute shock that jolts her to her very core. She had not expected the ruler of the Khans, a proud king of a proud nation, to demean himself like this, to absolutely and completely apologize and take responsibility. She’d expected hedging and circumventions -- the lack of them throws her for a loop. Caught on the back foot, her mouth drops open in faint shock, but it snaps closed as Twilight masters herself once more.

“You are surprised?” the Shah rumbles, and though his deep rolling voice is perfectly affable, Twilight can hear an edge behind it.

“I am,” Twilight replies after a moment. “I am surprised, but I am grateful. I also would like to offer apology for coming to your gates in such strength, it-”

“Come now, Princess, do not be absurd. I would think you a fool if you did not move about in some strength, given the abject failure of my police force to protect you, though perhaps the walker and the flying units were a little much. You have come seeking to make an impression, one has certainly been made. Now, let us go inside and we can discuss the matters upon which you have come to speak in more salubrious conditions. You are a guest here. I will not have you waiting on the front door of my summer house.” His tone is ebullient and magnanimous, and a faint smile curls his lips.

At once, his retinue start turning to file inside and Twilight steps forward to join the Shah, hearing Diplomatic Incident and Prophet making their way forward to join her. Twilight can hear Diplomatic Incident start chattering in rapid Fars’ad to an equally aged Khan in pale blue robes. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him gesture to her escort to wait on one of the lawns, but then she falls into step next to the Shah and her attention is suddenly taken up by the head of state as they walk in.

They pass through the doorway into the palace proper, into an echoing atrium, their shoes padding softly upon a sumptuously thick turquoise rug. They are let into just one of the high-ceilinged,colonnaded hallways, broad rays of sunlight flashing off of the golden ornamentation inlaid into the walls. Twilight is fighting hard to keep her eyes from dancing between the elaborate portraits and glorious tapestries upon the walls as the sun shines down from artfully placed windows and falls from stained glass portals in the ceiling. In spite of this, the temperature in the room is pleasant. Twilight can hear running water tinkling softly in the background, but then the Shah starts asking questions.

“So, Princess, from what I understand, you are the ultimate authority on education and healthcare unless I am mistaken?” he asks, and Twilight shakes her head in reply.

“You’re pretty much correct, though I’m less an authority than an administrator. The system that was in place before I came to my current station works, I made a few improvements but I see no need to implement change for change’s sake,” Twilight says, feeling the keen intelligence behind the Khan’s gaze scrutinizing her.

“I see. I was a teacher myself, you know, before I became a revolutionary. Some days, I think I would have been better off with my books and blackboards but…” He sucks his teeth for a moment and then gestures at the expansive surroundings. “It has worked out fairly well for me thus far, don’t you think?”

“I can’t imagine you being a teacher. A firebrand certainly, but what did you teach?” Twilight asks, becoming more animated. This is not at all what she had expected; this might just be someone she can perhaps work with, rather than a dour scowling head of state who is full to the brim with his own arrogance.

“I taught history, Princess… and as I taught it, I saw it repeated over again through my lifetime. Our nation was plunged into violence over and over again with coup and counter-coup. I have done what I have needed to do to try and stabilize our nation. I will not have a senseless war destabilize my hard work, nor will I bow to unreasonable demands, or else someone will take it into his head to replace me and all shall be undone.”

Twilight nods in agreement. “Of course… Likewise, the Crown has no desire to be involved in a pointless war. We wish for a stable nation and trading partner on our eastern border, but at the same time we are the injured party in this dispute and we will take appropriate measures to protect ourselves.”

“Appropriate measures indeed,” a voice behind Twilight interrupts, and she turns her head to see General Tariq Aznan stepping forward so that he’s not quite level with the Shah, but very nearly. “I would question, Your Highness, your definition of appropriate measures, you have brought heavily armed and armoured troops into our city. You have parked three armies on our doorstep. These, in the opinion of a humble servant,” the cat bows slightly, jangling the golden ornaments in his beard, “can only be acts of war.”

Twilight purses her lips. “I bring soldiers, because protocol demanded I bring an honour guard,” Aznan gave her a dismissive look as if to call her a small child, but Twilight forges on. “Practicality demanded that honour guards be large, given the recent difficulties with fundamentalists. I had not expected them to be called upon to fight. I had hoped that protection would be provided by the Khanate in the manner that I was led to expect by their Ambassador. I had hoped they would not be necessary, but-” Twilight pauses for a second, feeling something dry and sticky upon her neck. She tilts her head and flicks the spot of dried blood to the gloriously embroidered carpet. “-I was unfortunately mistaken.”

“You mean you had hoped that our soldiers should bleed and die for Daemons, correct?”

“Aznan,” the Shah releases a warning rumble. “We are treating with a representative of a foreign nation and we shall do so with politeness and decorum, Daemon or not.”

“Your excellency I must protest-”

“You may protest, but you will keep a civil tongue in your head when you do it!” the Shah says sharply, and Aznan’s mouth snaps shut like a trap. He gives Twilight a poisonous look before he falls back to join Hassan Zafwan.

“He is a good soldier, but not everything can be solved with war,” the Shah mumbles. He wrings his finely gloved hands subconsciously. “If it were up to him, we would be charging across the border and taking back the provinces you stole from us and digging in to defy you to try to dislodge us, but these are not the eighteen thirties anymore. Come, you are hungry?”

Twilight nods as they walk into the palace’s dining hall.

_______________________

Two hours later, after a sumptuous lunch of spiced meats and dates, the small party retires to one of the citadel’s larger drawing rooms, a lavishly decorated room panelled in dark wood with thick, dark, purple carpets and an intricate chandelier that glitters and shimmers from the sunlight thrown in from the wide Prench windows leading out onto a balcony overlooking the garden and the city. Drinks are summoned for and prayers are said over the initial meeting. Those are the last civil words that anyone says for a while.

“I will not stand for the baseless accusations being thrown at my office!” Hassan Zafwan thunders. The greying, old chief of police possesses a surprisingly powerful voice and he is not afraid to make use of it to shout down the opposition.

“If you will not stand, then perhaps you should kneel for the headsman for such a blatant failure to discharge your duties!” the foreign minister bellows in reply. He is a young Khan and a fervent pro-Equestrian. Indeed, it had been almost a little embarrassing for Twilight when he was fawning over her at lunch and talking in what he had fondly imagined was a whisper about the ‘philistines’ in the Interior Ministry. “We had a head of state in our capital and your people provided no kind of protection! There was no escort, not even a Cub’s Brigade band, you cretinous oaf!”

“Your lies grow more outrageous with each passing hour, I refuse to accept this slander!” Zafwan blusters. Twilight frowns very slightly, then opens her mouth, but before she can do anything, Aznan speaks up.

“Both of you, this is unseemly. We have dignitaries, royalty even, among us,” Aznan says, his voice calm and delicate, and both the chief of police and the foreign minister look down guiltily, insofar as a Khan’s face is capable of any expression at all. Their tails lash irritably however, and their ears swivel like turrets seeking targets.

“Anyway, let us not discuss the ambush of this morning,” Aznan continues, “Princess Twilight, you have yet to share with us your proposals for peace. I am sure I speak for all of us when I say I am most inquisitive to hear what Celestia’s faithful student can bring to the table.”

Twilight draws a deep breath, rising from the comfortable arm chair from which she’d been observing the arguments and the discussions quietly, content to take stock of the various arguing parties and determine the viewpoints of those concerned before she weighed in with something ignorant.

“I have been given full powers to sign and approve a treaty in the name of the Crown. As far as I understand, your central points of contention are the armies deployed on the border, the two provinces that we took from you, and our trade tariffs,” Twilight ticks the points off on her fingers and the Khans in the room nod. “To address these points in order: the armies and fleets are a direct consequence of your closing the border, your citizens torching our embassy, killing our soldiers, and the increasingly hostile rhetoric coming from your Ministry of Truth. My aunt will be more than happy to remove them once I can demonstrate that tensions have lessened between our nations. To that end, I am prepared to offer to open negotiations to discuss the decreasing of the trade tariffs. In exchange you will open the border to Equestrian trade once more and have a polite word with the Ministry of Truth and the more hardline clerics about the value of Equestrian trade. Is this acceptable?”

“Absolutely not!” a voice booms from the doorway. Twilight turns to see a black-robed Khan with a long, bushy beard striding into the room. His bright green eyes burn with the unthinking zeal of a fanatic, and Twilight struggles to hold back a sigh. Cleric Torkan Khazem, the head of the church, and thus the second most powerful Khan in the country. A well known firebrand who had been a political prisoner of the previous ruler, he commands a massive following. He’s also a hardline zealot and thus Twilight was not surprised that he was not invited to these meetings.

“Khalid, you hold these meetings without a representative of the Faith being present! Do you not know how dangerous the Daemons of Equestria are! They whisper in your ear and plant poison in your mind!” Torkan hisses, casting venomous glares at Twilight every so often, and Twilight shakes her head slightly, her eyes tracking to Diplomatic Incident, who is rolling his eyes faintly behind his half-moon glasses. “They are an affront to our faith, our way of life… they stand in contradiction of the Divine Truth… All souls must die, and all must return to Her embrace, these monsters and their mutant progeny have spurned that teaching. All of them are accursed and vile creatures. One pretends to claim the crown of the Divine for her own, a second slaughters all that she meets, the third is a succubus who will lead all astray with her wiles, and the fourth is the most dangerous of all…” He levels a trembling finger at Twilight, his eyes wide with fury. “She puts on the airs and graces of a human girl, but look behind the veil and see her twisted tongue that will ensnare you if you give her but a portion of your thoughts.”

“This is a secular matter,” the Shah replies sharply, “a matter for the Shah and his ruling council to deal with. The church has made its feelings on the Equestrian problem known, thus I do not believe the Clerical Council has anything further to say on the matter unless there are newfound revelations.” He then snarls, “Need I remind you that she is my personal guest and you know what She says about hospitality, and that God is the surest in settling accounts… The Divine will bring them to book eventually, but until that time, she is my guest, Daemon or no.”

“In addition,” the Shah continues, “we have a representative from the church here to guide us to the Divine’s Truth.”

Prophet turns around and fixes the churchman with a look, and Khazem flinches in abject shock.
“Forgive me, honoured Justicar, I had no idea you were advising the Shah on these matters.”

“I am not advising the Shah; I am advising the Princess,” Prophet says calmly, but the zealot’s eyes widen, flashing green.

“A member of the Justicars throwing his lot in with… do you not know what she represents?”

“Of course. The Prophet maintains that Equestria, and Equestrian magic users, are worth nothing more than extermination… however I have been to the borders and I have seen the armies there. If the situation deteriorates, they shall sweep through the land like a ravening plague of locusts and all our temples and our chapels shall be ripped down. It would be like the Age of Apostasy but on a far larger scale.” Prophet has the attention of the entire room, including Torkan. “As a loyal servant of the Church, I must do all I can to prevent that, and if that means throwing my lot in with Daemons, then so be it.”

“You walk ‘pon the edge of a knife, Honoured Justicar Prophet, with darkness on both sides.”

“The darkness will not come to the Justicar, the Justicar must go unto the darkness,” Prophet replies levelly.

The churchman sighs bitterly. “Very well, but I must insist on one thing to be added to these discussions… reparations for those massacred at the embassy.”

“An excellent idea,” Diplomatic Incident says. “What say you, Princess? Do you think we should ask them for fifty or seventy five million?”

“I meant-”

“I know exactly what you meant,” Twilight says, keeping her tone level with a great effort. “I will not do anything to suggest Equestria has any kind of culpability in what happened to our embassy.”

“Your pet butchers-”

“Oh do be silent, you irritating old fossil!” the foreign minister barks. “You turn my stomach with your mewling. Do you not have a sermon to write?”

“How dare you speak to me like that, you-” The meeting once more rapidly descends into a shouting match as the foreign minister and the cleric begin roaring at each other, supported by the chief treasurer and the interior minister. Twilight notices Aznan sitting back in his chair, calmly sipping his tea with dimples showing behind the edges of his cup, but then she feels a hand upon her shoulder and she turns to look at the Shah, who is standing behind her. He jerks his head over to the window and Twilight rises, glad to get away from the argument for a moment.

She follows Khalid over to the window, wondering what the Shah wishes to say. She is not kept wondering for long. “My cabinet is, as you can see, a rather fractious group. I prefer to let them have their shouting matches here rather than in the central parliament, it helps present a united facade to all sides, though it does not do much for my hearing. In truth, at times I feel less like a dictator than a ringmaster at a three-ring circus.” The Shah opens the window and leans out, patting the front of his robes for a moment, before retrieving a small, golden case. He opens the case with a well practiced flick and draws a thick cigar from the pack. He sticks the cigar between his lips and snaps his fingers. The cigar ignites in a brief flash that makes Twilight blink in surprise.

The Shah puffs slowly and thoughtfully for a moment, his eyes gazing out across the middle distance, out beyond the manicured lawns of his citadel, beyond the high walls to the city stretching out before them in a vast tapestry of colour and strange scents and sounds. After a long moment, he exhales.

“You did not come here to listen to me complain about my cabinet. Your offer is reasonable, certainly I am not willing to present you with a demand for reparations when you’ve given me some very good terms. You and I and the chancellor will need to sit down and go through your proposal, without all this.” He gestures over his shoulder at the shouting ministers. Twilight nods. “But the short of it is that I agree to your terms,” the Khan says, and Twilight’s mouth drops open in absolute shock. After all this time and trouble spent getting here, she’s managed to thrash an agreement out inside of twenty minutes! Twilight shakes herself free of her surprise to see the Shah grinning at her.

“Well,” Twilight says after a moment, “that was easy enough.”

“Indeed, so when can you sign?”

“Whenever it’s drawn up, we’d like this resolved as quickly as possible,” Twilight replies, and the Shah nods as a door slams in the room behind them.

“Very well. Let us give it two weeks of frequent visits to the palace before we make any official announcements, then we can sign it a week later on Liberation Day, and that way the populace have even more to celebrate. If we tell the populace we agreed on a settlement inside twenty minutes, they might start to think my job was easy enough that anyone could do it!” He offers Twilight a smile, which the young princess returns. For the first time in two weeks, Twilight allows herself to feel a little bit hopeful.

Maybe we can make it through this.

Next Chapter: Chapter 7: Adjustment Estimated time remaining: 4 Hours, 26 Minutes