1630. 27th of January, 1882.
Tarhen, Citadel of God's Strength.

Twilight's mind is whirling as she reviews her notes, occasionally glancing up at the clock. The forty-five minutes since she and the Shah agreed to a proposal have gone by in a blistering flurry of shock and awe. That the Shah would accept her first proposal, a proposal built more to test the waters, speaks volumes more than it should. This is good news, Twilight thinks, it tells me that first and foremost, the Shah is a reasonable being and can be dealt with in a reasonable fashion, something that is by no means to be taken for granted when dealing with a theocracy. Her quill scratches another line upon her notepad under her close supervision.

“That being said,” Twilight quietly muses, as much for the quill pen as for her own clarity of thought, “the question still remains, why is he bargaining so cheaply with me? We haven’t even talked about the two provinces on the Equestrian border… Is he setting me up for something? His own people are going to hate his guts.”

Twilight glances around, shocked out of her old habits by the sensitive nature of what she’s saying. What foreign heads of state do in their own countries is none of my business; I’m just glad that he’s agreed to terms that favour Equestria more than anything. If he wants to have a revolution then good for him, Twilight tells herself. After all, Equestria has been dealing with unrest in the Khanate for hundreds of years, and life in the Empire has continued unaffected. However that is neither here nor there right now. In a few moments, she is going to have to stand up before a press conference on the lawn outside the citadel and give her thoughts to the world's media. She can already hear the vultures circling as daguerreotypists set up their capture lenses and journalists jostling as they try and get their microphones in position to capture her remarks.

Diplomatic Incident has already sent a trooper back to the Equestrian enclave with a draft telegram for the attention of the foreign office, to let them know that the climate in the Khanate is 'conducive to a negotiated settlement,' and once that has been constructively leaked, that should cool down Fleet Street somewhat, but first Twilight has to get through this interview to do the groundwork. Hopefully this will make a pleasant surprise for the midday news broadcasts in Equestria. Twilight glances down at her notes, taking a deep breath. She's not that worried about the media, not really. The media will scream and froth and draw whatever conclusions best suit their bylines even if she gets up there and starts reciting Pilgrim’s Progress backwards, whilst doing a routine from one of Vaudeville’s sketches. She's more concerned about getting up there on a podium, in clear sight of a dozen positions that could be used by a sniper.

Twilight draws a deep breath, and then reaches for the shield spell as she hears footsteps coming down the corridor. She looks up to see the Cossack from earlier- Andarestov, she reminds herself- approaching. She quickly fastens an expression of alert interest onto her face as the young man draws in close.

“Your Highness,” he says softly, and Twilight sits up a little straighter.

“They're ready for us?” Twilight asks, and the Cossack commander nods.

“Yes, Your Highness, they're all assembled for review.” He offers her another smile, and Twilight feels the faint bundle of nerves ease slightly, before she rises to her feet, notes in hand.

“Very well, let's get it started,” Twilight replies, turning to start walking down the corridor towards the podium, every heavy step feeling as though she is walking to a waiting gallows. As she draws near to the doorway out onto the podium, she can hear the low rumble of noise of a crowd trying to be quiet, like the bass thunder of an onrushing stampede, a heavy expectant quiet that makes Twilight's heart beat a little faster.

She draws a deep breath, clenching her fists.

You sure you can do this?

Twilight’s knuckles turn white as her fists clench, the whispers hiss malevolently in her ears. Princess Twilight squares her shoulders, mastering her courage. She then starts walking toward the doorway. She's used to this; it's the familiar pre-press conference nerves, she's dealt with it a thousand times before and this time will be no different.

---

Canterlot Castle. Celestia's office.

“You wished to see me ma'am?” Shining Armour asks, his tone studiously neutral as he adjusts the front of his bright red foreign service tunic, resplendent in his white leather belt order, pith helmet perfectly stainless, its brass boss gleaming in the light spilling in from Celestia's study window.

“I did, Colonel,” Princess Celestia replies warmly, her rose coloured eyes locking on the steely blue eyes of the commanding officer of the royal guard, the Canterlot and Hoofshire Grenadiers, First Regiment. “I'm sorry for interrupting your preparations, I know you have a lot to do.”

“It is of no moment, Your Highness.” Shining Armour's tone is stilted and formal and there's a hint of something behind his eyes, irritation perhaps. Celestia offers the soldier another smile as she gestures him toward a seat. Whilst it would be within her capability to reach into his mind and pluck his thoughts out like pages from a book, Celestia would never do that. It would be unthinkably rude for one thing, and for another, it is unneeded.

“Nasty business in Tarhen this morning,” she says, and right on cue, Lieutenant Colonel Shining Armour's nostrils flare slightly and his ears turn a faint shade of red. His father had had exactly the same tells, yet where Night Light had been animated, less restrained with his opinions and much more frank with his sovereign, Shining Armour is a more reserved creature who has not quite grown into his rank yet. Quite understandable, given that the rank normally goes to men ten years older than him at least. Shining Armour is quiet and thoughtful where his father was headstrong and bullish.

Yet for all that, Shining Armour is an exemplary soldier and an inspirational tactician. The cross at his throat for valour where he'd stood against the undead lord Sombra was not won for sitting behind a desk, and unlike most officers, Shining Armour leads his men from the front, or as near as he can get.

“You disapprove?” Celestia asks, having expected nothing less. That is his sister out there after all.

“Yes ma'am.” Shining Armour's tone is flat, emotionless and without any hesitation whatsoever. Clearly the commander of her praetorian guard is more angry than Celestia had thought. He has every right to be angry, she reminds herself, knowing she cannot bring herself to rebuke him. Celestia looks closer, and she notices that his face is slightly more pale than mere anger can explain, and once again she castigates herself as she notices his hands are shaking slightly, and there's a faint glint to his eyes.

He doesn't know she's alive, he's expecting me to tell him…

“Tell me, Your Highness, when do you want us to roll across the border?”

“Ideally never,” Celestia replies, keeping her tone even. She is prepared to forgive her nephew-in-law for a considerable amount today. “Your sister is alive and well.” She is unable to keep a faint smile from her lips as she says this, and she's gratified to see an answering smile spread across Shining Armour's own visage.

“Thank fu-goodness for that,” Shining Armour quickly catches himself, but the air of relief pulsing through him is unmistakable. “Apologies, ma'am, I just-”

“No apology is needed Colonel,” Celestia replies warmly, turning back to the radio set and pursing her lips slightly. Her niece has not been available to explain how these silly things work yet, and in her fit of pique this morning, Celestia is worried that she's broken something. She walks up to the radio and painstakingly reconnects the wires that she'd removed earlier, and after a few seconds, the radio squeals to life in a shrill wail that makes Celestia's skin crawl even as the crystal based magic within sends equally unpleasant tremors through Celestia's own highly tuned senses. Being a creature of magic, she’s attuned to the natural rhythms of things, and these radio sets seem to interfere with that.

Shining Armour blinks as she steps back, and then he takes his cue and moves forward.
“What am I adjusting this to, highness?” he asks, and Celestia's faintly pained grimace turns into a smile.

“Turn it to the EBC Foreign Service channel.” Celestia's smile grows slightly. The telegram from the foreign office had been short, sharp and to the point. It had also borne Diplomatic Incident's characteristic concise style:

For the immediate attention of: P-CEL/P-LUN

Top Secret stop
Definite possibility Cat-King accept peace stop
Cats open border when EQ troops are withdrawn stop
Formal announcement soon to coincide local party stop
EBC Broadcast at 1900 Canterlot YFS making statement stop

DI

Whilst it would have been within Celestia's power to tell the captain of the guard all this, or to present the telegram to him, Celestia has always enjoyed giving pleasant surprises to people she likes. Thus, as Prince Shining Armour, Commanding Officer of the First Regiment, Canterlot and Hoofshire Grenadier Guards, tunes the radio to the appropriate signal, he hears his sister's voice coming from the speakers, grainy but strong. In the background, the faint pop of flashbulbs and the chatter of lenses can be heard as daugerrotypists and photographers start capturing images of the Princess:

“Citizens of the Khanate, of the Equestrian Empire, Members of the Press.

“I come before you today in the face of determined opposition from certain parties who have tried to impede the progress of the Empire and the Khanate towards a peaceful resolution to the current tensions. It is my pleasure to announce to you all and to the world that they have failed.

“I have met today with the Shah and his Cabinet. I have broken bread with them and talked of many things, and I have come to a realization: Though we are not and never will be alike, we may not be so different. The Shah and his cabinet are reasonable people. I am a reasonable person. I come before you and I say this:

“The Empire is confident in a peaceful resolution to current conditions. To all the citizens of Equestria and the Khanate, I'd ask that you remain calm. Remember your pride and your dignity. Do not rise to the provocation of malcontents who wish to drown us all in blood. In short, my closing thought is this: Equestria will do business with the Khanate. Peace for our time is close at hand. That will be all, no questions please.”

With that, the broadcast switches back to a commentator and Celestia nods slowly, thinking. No jeering, but no applause either. Silence speaks louder than words. She turns to see Shining Armour grinning foolishly up at her, the Major looking for all the world like a schoolboy who has been let out early. Celestia certainly cannot begrudge him that.

“Wonderful,” Celestia says after a moment, injecting warmth into her tone.

“That is close to the word I would use,” Shining Armour agrees, unable to keep the happiness out of his own voice. “She's alive, they’re not booing her-”

“And doing better than I had expected when I conferred with her earlier today,” Celestia says warmly, keeping her grim thoughts about the subdued response to her student’s speech, to herself. Shining Armour is the head of her praetorian guard. She can’t have him worrying or nervous about his sister when he’s got important decisions to make. With that in mind, she’s not about to tell him that the silence of the Khan journalists is less than encouraging.

“So, in light of this, what are your orders?” Shining Armour asks, and Celestia releases an explosive sigh as her mind turns to the draw-down of tensions.

“You can take your soldiers off of their war footing, Colonel, but gradually. I'm sure Luna will likewise be taking her... auxiliaries off of their war footing, followed by a measured withdrawal of the forces on the border down to their pre-embassy strength. We don't wish to pull our forces out right away, we don't have a treaty after all, but we might as well make the first move...”

Celestia turns to the sand table, still thinking hard, still worrying slightly. Her worries have abated a little, but only a little.

_______

Tarhen.
Citadel of God's Strength.
1905 hrs Local, 27th January 1882

A warm amiable quiet fills the dining garden, punctuated only by the whispering of the fountain and the gentle trickling of music and amiable smalltalk as the small group eats. The dining area is much smaller and less ornate than Twilight had expected for a Shah's private dining chambers. The six of them are lounging on intricately woven rugs resting on low wooden platforms with a plate of what could be called finger-food in the middle, though finger-food in the Khanate is very different from finger-food in Equestria. Thin strips of salted and spiced lamb are arranged on the plate, along with smaller morsels of dark green cured meat in small brass bowls. There are also dips and various sauces that have been laid out, along with a small bowl of salad that is obviously a concession to the Equestrian omnivorous palate.

Twilight glances up, through the arbour that winds its way up a trellis mounted to one of the marble walls, up at the iron grey sky of the gathering dusk and she feels a warm smile spread across her face as the Khan in the corner plucks at a lyre of some kind. This morning, she had not even dreamed of progress like this.

“This is a most excellent feast, honoured Shah,” she replies, looking across the table at the robed Shah.

“I am glad you approve, it is more pleasant than the more... formal dining rooms inside,” he says, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “It is less stilted, this is a place where we can speak our minds in comfort, away from prying eyes.” He glances at the other attendees of the get-together, at Diplomatic Incident, Andarestov, and Prophet, before his eyes turn to Twilight once more.

“I’d like to apologize, Princess… for the reception that you received this morning. It is deeply distressing, particularly when we consider quite how tense things are between our two nations. I do not even want to speculate on what you think of us.”

Twilight looks at the strip of meat in her fingers, considering her words carefully. “I think that we’ve run into that age-old problem of the loud and ignorant minority being loudly ignorant, shouting down the silent majority. I do not consider the actions of a few loudmouths to be representative of the opinion of the wider Khan population as a whole,” Twilight says after a moment. “I understand that we’re not popular, and that certain segments of the population will start frothing at the mouth if they happen to so much as clap eyes on us. It’s unavoidable and I’m not going to hold your government accountable for it,” Twilight says, but then her eyes harden.

“I will, however, hold your government accountable for the actions of the police and the army.” Twilight fixes the Shah with a hard look. “I’m prepared to overlook idiots with placards. I’m not quite so willing to overlook policemen running away from assisting us, and air traffic control agencies splitting up our party.”

The Shah blinks, and a flicker of anger passes across his face before he smooths it back into a warm smile. “I understand your frustration. You lost two soldiers today, and my law enforcement agencies have signally failed in their responsibilities to you as a foreign dignitary,” the Shah says grimly. “I’ll certainly be talking to Hassan Zafwan and Tariq Aznan about my expectations, and how they have abjectly failed in the meeting thereof.”

The Shah then looks up at Twilight, and he steeples his fingers.
“Princess Twilight, I shall be absolutely frank with you,” The dictator takes a deep breath and then he presses onward, though Twilight notices his gaze flicking to the impassive face of the Justicar sat next to him. “I’ve spoken with my parliament about the importance of having Equestria for a trading partner, about how a war between our states would be destructive beyond all reason, and their position on the matter has remained intractable. They've refused to support my order for the police and the army to assist in protecting you. The Speaker's exact words were “We do not wish the souls of our soldiers to be compromised by dealing with the unholy and the damned.” The Shah looks as though the words dripping from his mouth are causing him physical pain.

“But surely you can over-rule them?” Twilight asks, and Shah Khalid shake his head with a low booming chuckle.
“I should be so lucky. This is not Equestria, and I'm not Princess Celestia. I can't obliterate my enemies with a flick of my fingers. If I were to attempt to stand in the way of my parliament on a matter where the parliamentary position enjoys popular support, I'd be comitting suicide, both politically and personally.” Khalid sighs, rubbing his chin.

“It's a problem, because I like you, Princess Twilight, and that's something I never thought I'd say about an Equestrian royal. You've got a good heart, and you're willing to be reasonable, rather than looking down your nose at me from the percieved moral high ground.” Shah Khalid says thoughtfully. “That's why I'm giving you such easy terms, even if it's going to cost me some public support... I'd rather be an unpopular ruler for a few years than the Khan that decided he wanted to try Celestia's throne out for size.”

“You're very wise.” Twilight says, and the Shah shakes his head.
“You flatter me, but no. I'm very desperate. I've got people like Aznan, the clergy and large segments of parliament twisting my tail about how our army is much larger than yours, how we can sustain a war because the Divinity is so unspeakably holy that she won't permit us to lose and so on.”

Prophet flicks the Shah a sharp look and the Shah raises his hand quickly.
“Peace, Prophet, I meant no offence. What I mean to say is that the Divinity helps those who help themselves. She's certainly not going to reward us with victory if we go against her Plan.”

“Her plan is to vanquish Equestria.” Prophet objects, and the Shah nods.
“True, the Scriptures do dwell upon that point to some length, but they never specify how we are to vanquish the Equestrians or when. I'd rather the war to vanquish Equestria happen when I'm long dead, and I think you'd feel the same way if you knew what I know.” The tiger-patterned Khan gazes at his empty wine glass for a long pensive moment, his eyes glinting in the reflected candle-light. He then looks up at Princess Twilight.

“I suppose what I'm saying, in a long and rambling way, is that this is my last big throw to avoid war. There's no wiggle room or room for haggling here, and we can do this one of two ways. We can either come back to the meetings tomorrow and we can treat the whole thing like a high stakes poker game, each of us trying to wring the other for some notional advantage until eventually one of us calls the other's bluff and suddenly half the eastern continent is in flames, or we can both do what our respective governments pay us to do and refine the broad outlines that we've already informally agreed upon into a workable framework...” The Shah says, his eyes locked upon Twilight's face.

Twilight's mouth is very dry for a second, and she's very aware of every eye in the room upon her.
“Well I've never even played poker, so I think that anything we can do between us to lessen the tension between our nations has got to be a good thing,” Twilight says after a moment “Certainly I think that we can come to an arrangement along the lines of what we agreed to earlier on today.”

“What will your own government say? Don't you need to get this cleared by your people at home?”

“I do, but that won't take too long,” Twilight says “Princess Celestia is likewise anxious to avoid war so I doubt she'll object too strenuously.”
“Excellent... it looks like things might be moving in the right direction.”
“I certainly hope so, Honoured Shah,” Twilight says, and then the dinner conversation turns to more pleasant subjects.

____

Twilight is deep in thought as the convoy rattles through the base gates. Night had fallen over the city by the time they'd taken their leave of the Shah, and as though a switch had been flipped, the streets had been practically deserted when they rolled out, the markets shut up. The only people out on the streets come nightfall had been the soldiers and Basijis patrolling to make sure everyone is in after curfew, along with street sweepers. The almost deserted streets had made Twilight feel intensely nervous, despite the compagnie of legionnaires, and she had been deeply grateful when they'd rounded a corner and she'd seen the well lit perimeter of the Legion base .

Now as the convoy rolls past the saluting sentries, Twilight has a lot on her mind. The Justicar has not gone with them back to the base, preferring to attend to his own business in his own enigmatic fashion. All he'd told her was that tomorrow would be a busy day and that he'd needed to get some paperwork together beforehand. Twilight couldn't quite see what kind of paperwork the Justicar would have been able to get together at eight o'clock at night, local time, but he'd been insistent. Twilight supposes that he'd probably rather stay among his own kind, but it still seems a little odd.

The moment the convoy rattles to a halt, Twilight climbs out and starts striding towards the old admin block, Diplomatic Incident and Belial at her heels.
“What're your plans now, Your Highness?” Diplomatic Incident asks, and Twilight clicks her tongue softly.
“He seems genuine,” Twilight says “he actually seems like he's interested in peace between our peoples and he's gone out onto a limb to give us terms.”

“And you've stepped out onto a limb to offer him counter-proposals that are extremely soft.” Diplomatic Incident says, and Twilight nods.
“We're decreasing the trade tariffs and he's opening his borders to our trade. He's also going to start stamping on his clerics if they start being too virulent... I think that's an excellent starting point for further negotiations.” Twilight says, before turning to Belial. “What're your plans for transport and security tomorrow?”

“I think tomorrow, it would be best if you travelled with a couple of platoons rather than a full compagnie, your highness,” Belial says, “Though perhaps I might make a suggestion regarding Caporal Bolt and the Ninth?”

“Of course you might.” Twilight says, and the Khan twitches his tail

“Perhaps it would be good to use Caporal Bolt and the Ninth for something other than for your bodyguarding detachment ma’am… they’re insufficient for the task.”

“I beg your pardon, they fought valiantly this morning!” Twilight protests, and Belial raises his hand.

“I do not mean to impugn upon their honour or their fighting skill, Your Highness. Their valour this morning has put my concerns in that regard to bed. Quite simply, there aren’t enough of them. There are only thirteen of them, not enough to beat back a massed attack if a mob similar to the one that met us on the route to the palace today decides to go for us.”

“I see… and what would you have them do instead?” Twilight asks, and Belial shrugs.

“It is a new technique that we were experimenting with prior to the Ninth being deployed to the Embassy. The Ninth was a reconnaissance compagnie, so it would make sense to use them like that now, as a covert observation and investigation presence. They can overwatch our route, sweep it and provide plainclothes cover if needed.” Belial says, and Twilight nods. That suggestion sounds eminently reasonable, and it also solves her other problem; to keep Rainbow Dash at arm’s length whilst she sorts out the confusing tangle of feelings that occupies her heart.

“I see, and what about-” Twilight breaks off as she hears the shrill ringing of a bugle. The note is slightly off-key, but the notes are unmistakable. The short sharp blasts of the Last Post ring across the compound and Twilight's eyes widen as she sees a group of Legionnaires, Smit at their head, silently marching onto the parade square, clad in fresh khaki uniforms. Smit is carrying the black Ninth Compagnie banner, and behind him come the Legionnaires marching in two short columns. Two of them are carrying helmets one helmet each, and two more are carrying stakes.

As Twilight watches, the whole compound seems to go silent, the other Legionnaires who are doing various things around the landing square go silent and still. All turn in the direction of the silent procession as it makes its way to the edge of the parade ground and draws to a halt.

Belial purses his lips slightly.
“How trite, this is not the time or-” Twilight holds up a hand for him to be silent and she slowly starts walking towards the small group of soldiers who are standing, heads bowed in a small semicircle. A bearded sapper is standing next to them, silently clutching a sledgehammer. As she draws close, she can hear Smit delivering a soft, halting eulogy in the creole of the Legion, and Twilight comes to a stop outside the circle, worried that she might be intruding into something that she shouldn’t be, but then a hand comes down on Twilight’s shoulder and a soft female voice speaks in Twilight’s ear..

“Come join us, Twilight. You were there, you deserve the right to pay your respects.” Dash says softly, and Twilight jumps, suddenly feeling like a child who has been caught with her hands in the biscuit tin as all eyes turn onto her. A blush spreads across Twilight’s face, and she glances at Rainbow Dash, who is standing just behind her dressed in the same khaki combat uniforms, however she’s carrying a couple of crates under one arm with names stencilled upon them.

“Very well.” Twilight says, stepping forward into the circle. Her heart is pounding in her chest as she gazes at the two stakes lying upon the ground as Smit finishes his eulogy, and then he turns to one of the bearded sappers who is standing next to the group.

“All yours, Thoma.” He says, and the bearded sapper grunts as he lifts his sledgehammer as one of the other legionnaires dresses forward to hold the stake in place. Twilight watches in silence as the sapper raises the sledge and brings it down, the sharp crack of the hammer falling ringing across the parade square as the sapper swings again and again, each blow ringing in Twilight’s ears like a gunshot.

It’s her fault these men are there. Nobody else can take the blame but her. The buck stops at the top, but then something else seems to flow through Twilight’s veins as she hears the thunder of the hammer falling. These men sold their lives to pay for hers. They gave their lives for their country. Twilight will not allow that sacrifice to be for nothing, she cannot, for to do so would be an insult to their memory.

As each blow falls, Twilight’s mouth tightens. She can feel a lump building in her throat, and she feels tears building behind her eyes. Twilight straightens her shoulders, stiffening her lower lip even as she feels the weight of the crown upon her head attempting to force her head down.

After an eternity, the hammer-blows cease, and Dash steps forward. Her own voice is husky, but strong.
“Right, gents… Smit’s already spoken about the past, about our two comrades. We can’t forget them, but we can’t allow ourselves to dwell either. We’ve got a job to do here, we’ve still got a mission to complete and we’ve got a Princess to protect. Neither of them would have wanted us to slack off and so we’re not going to sack it in here or now. We are the last of the Ninth Compagnie, and I will not have us showing up at Valhalla’s gates without a few more stories to tell. Not least, we don’t want to embarrass Willo and Oswaldt. That is all, you are all dismissed.”

“Yes boss,” Smit says, turning to face the soldiers “Legionnaires, to your duties, fall out!” With that, the crowd of Legionnaires disperse, leaving Dash and Twilight alone gazing at the stakes.

Twilight hears a long low sigh from Dash, and then she feels Dash’s gaze on her.
“I suppose this is the part where you’ve come to ask for my stripes?” Twilight hears Dash ask, and Twilight almost flinches at the tone, which is full of self-reproach and pain, so unlike the strident tone with which Dash addressed her men a few moments ago.

Twilight turns to Dash and tilts her head slightly. She can feel the ghosts of all the moments they shared earlier, and their more recent history, crowding around them. She takes a deep breath, and then shakes her head.
“No. I don’t have any right, or desire to… it was an impossible situation that I put you into… I don’t hold you responsible for the loss of your men. You did a good job out there, Bolt.”

“Bullshit,” Dash says bitterly “With respect, your highness, that’s bullshit. You’re a princess, not a soldier. I… I lost men, and that’s on me.”

“Yes, it is,” Twilight says quietly “You’ve got to live with that, just as I do. You’re the one who executes the policy, but it’s my job to formulate it. I’m the one who failed today Da-Bolt! I should have… ugh… but you don’t have to carry this all by yourself!” Twilight says, her tone becoming more forceful, and Dash’s remaining eye widens, but then she purses her lips.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to say, your highness, before this all happened.” She says after a long moment “I think… I think it would be best for all concerned if I turned over command of the compagnie to Smit.” She takes a deep breath and closes her eye for a second “I’m… not a good NCO, or a good compagnie commander. You deserve better.”

But I don’t want better, I want YOU!’ Rings in Twilight’s head, but she doesn’t say anything for a long moment. She knows how hard it must have been for the brash, self-confident young NCO to admit any kind of fault, much less abject failure.
‘If that’s what you want- Twilight prepares to say.

“No, Caporal,” Twilight hears herself say “I will not have you resigning your post. You’re the highest remaining rank. If you were incompetent as you say you are, Zaranov would not have kept you in command of the compagnie, do you agree?”

“I suppose so but it’s not just that… it’s… goddamnit, it’s you.”
Twilight’s eyes widen, and for a moment she’s too startled to speak. Dash blushes furiously, before she continues. “You’re just… I don’t know what to do about us… I still-”

Twilight’s heart lurches.

“-Feel like I’m causing you problems here… I can’t stop myself from kissing you, or walking in on you and… you’ve got all this on your plate and I’m causing you problems, I just-”

“Stop.” Twilight says shortly. “I have something to say, and this isn’t going to make it any easier.” She’s relieved as Dash snaps her mouth shut. This is going to be hard enough as it is. It's clear as day that both her and Dash are suffering from the same conflicted feelings, and it would be best for all concerned if Dash and her spent some time apart. Quite apart from endangering the progress made with the Shah today, her feelings are a distraction, and distractions in Dash's line of work tend to be fairly terminal things.

“The Ninth Compagnie is being removed and replaced as my bodyguarding element.” Twilight says frankly.

Dash’s mouth drops open and she opens her mouth to speak, but Twilight speaks first.
“This isn’t because of us, or at least, not entirely because of us. Belial has suggested, and I agree, that your compagnie would be better employed as a reconnaissance force, sweeping the route ahead of my column.” Twilight says, and Rainbow Dash takes a deep breath.

“So you're shuffling us to the point position at his recommendation?” Dash asks after a moment, leaning back and Twilight fixes the one eyed Legionnaire with a look.

“Dash… I think it’s best, for now, if we just keep our distance from each other.” Twilight says, the words tasting like poison upon her tongue as she says them, but she must say them. For all that Celestia’s words had stung, Twilight has to confess that the Princess of the Sun is right. She cannot put her own personal feelings ahead of her subjects, or do anything to jeapordize the progress that has been made today. “We made... we made real progress today and I don't want to... I can't...” Twilight feels her throat start to close up but she forces herself to carry on.
“I'm not going to jeopardize that progress right now.” The words come out more forcefully than Twilight would like but Dash nods.

Dash nods
“I see… fair enough, Twilight.” Her voice is husky, “Permission to fall out, your Highness?”

“Permission granted.” Twilight gasps the words through a closing throat, gripping her hands together so tightly that she feels like she’s going to snap her fingers. For a moment, she sees the ghost of a quivering lip upon the other woman’s face, but then Rainbow Dash salutes, snaps her boots up then down in the sharp snap snap snap of the about face, before marching away, arms straight, at one hundred and twenty paces per minute rather than eighty eight. Twilight watches her go through a haze of gathering tears, and then she dashes them away before turning and walking toward her admin block quarters, head back and back straight.

_______

Tariq Aznan stalks through the front door of his house, his tail lashing backward and forth. His whiskers furiously quiver, a growl bubbling from between his bared teeth as he tosses his greatcoat and peaked cap upon the hat-rack by the front door. His maid leaps for cover as he stomps past her, his expression thunderous.

Swearing is not something that comes easily to the infinitely self-possessed Khan. He has spent years working on his self-control, shaping his face into a face that says only what he wishes it to say. Despite all the weapons in his arsenal, all the soldiers under his command, it is a long-standing joke that the most deadly weapon in the Khanate is General Tariq Aznan's self control. Yet, he'd barely been able to keep his voice down in his carriage as he'd blistered the air with curses.

Still, as he paces down the hallway, Aznan forces himself to think about this calmly. So, the youngest princess isn't the figurehead I thought she was, he thinks. She's empowered to speak, rather than just to listen and carry words back to her Daemon mistress, and she's capable of side-stepping stonewalling types to get what she wants... how does this change things?

He pads into his parlour, heading for the small glass-fronted cabinet. He pulls out a crystal flask of something amber coloured and strong smelling. He tries to ignore the rattling of the crystal-flask against the cup as he pours himself a generous measure of the fine spirit.

Maybe you've finally met your match, a quiet little voice in the back of his mind mutters. You've decided to try and lead a god around by the beard, why should you be surprised when the god in question can pull much harder than you?

“Yo boss,” a voice comes sneering from the door into the servant's quarters. Aznan turns his head to see Springbok padding into the room, his eyes hard and flinty. “I see you had a little bit of a setback earlier today.”

“It's nothing that cannot be overcome. I was expecting the Princess to be more... submissive, more inclined toward flapping and panicking. She's a woman after all.” Aznan says, his lip twitching slightly as Springbok reaches for Aznan’s crystal flask.

“Aye, but she's an Equestrian Princess first and foremost and they've all got spines of high tension steel my friend,” Springbok says as he pours himself a generous measure of whiskey. “Don't let the pair of titties on the front fool you. Nice tits though they may be, Equestrian Princesses are just as hard as any man, and twice as vicious. I made the mistake of underestimating them once, and I'd never make it again.” Springbok's eyes narrow and his mouth curls into a sour grimace.

“So, you know Equestrian foreign policy better than I do... what would you recommend doing next?”

“Do somethin' to keep them off balance, the one in the city might be empowered to speak for the Princesses back in Canterlot, but that's got disadvantages as well as advantages. There can't be too much of a difference between what they're saying in Canterlot and what she's saying here, and the ones in Canterlot are under pressure that the one here isn't,” Springbok explains.

Aznan leans in close to listen.
“Oh?”

“She's just got to deal with your paid hitmen, they've got to worry about the press, about the people and what they want. The Empire maintains this little fiction of being a democratic state, that means they've got to at least make a pretence at listening to what the people want,” Springbok says coolly, walking over to Aznan's map cabinet and pulling out a map of the long and winding frontier between Equestria and the Khanate. “If we can push them by means of a few little incidents, they’ll start applying pressure from the bottom, pressure that may be hard to ignore.”

“So you want to inflame the stupider elements of Equestrian society with a set of massacres committed by the members of your group still in Equestria?”

“Pretty much... but it has to be done by humans in Khan uniform and armed with Khan weaponry. We need everyone on the Equestrian side of the border to think it's Khan troops, rather than a group of Patriots. Then when accusations are levelled at the Khan government, we can raise our hands and play the innocent, since you'll have conveniently issued orders restricting all Khan troops to base for the time concerned.” Springbok's voice is almost hungry, and Aznan can feel a matching hunger rising in his own breast.

“This certainly sounds like a workable plan...” Aznan says, his smirk widening. “How long will it take you to put this whole thing together?”

“I reckon about three to five days... I'll need some weapons to be organized and sent down there, quick as possible. Fortunately the frontier where I wanna hit them is close enough to Tarhen and we're not havin' to cross that bleedin' desert... though there's one place that's a little harder to reach but I think it'll be worth the investment,” Springbok says, tapping a series of small frontier villages and one larger town, his smile widening as his finger taps a smaller village deep inside the Imperial heartland.

“Ambitious,” Aznan says with a grin. “I like it. I think it'll certainly catch dear Princess Twilight's immediate attention.”

“Well that's what you pay me for,” Springbok replies, taking a sip of his drink. “To Princess Twilight Sparkle...”

“May she have other things to concern herself with very shortly,” Aznan replies, lifting his glass in a respectful salute. “To whom are you planning on handing operational control?”

“I was thinking I'd take this one myself. My fighters hate Equestria, and they'd be more than happy to spoke their wheel, but I'd like to make sure I'm there to get the results that you desire.” Springbok grins wickedly at that, and Aznan nods knowingly.

Of course, and the fact that you'd never miss out on an opportunity to lead a raid yourself if you could help it has nothing to do with it, Aznan thinks to himself as the drink burns its way down his throat. Suddenly the situation doesn't look quite so tenuous anymore. Suddenly it looks like things might just be going his way.

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