A few unicorns went around cleaning up dangerous shards of broken glass. Patrols landed and took off with metronomic regularity. The wounded and the dead were being dealt with. The prisoners were now shackled and under guard. The guard brought order to chaos in very much the same way ponies also brought harmony to the disharmonic world around them.

In the middle of all of this managed chaos, Gosling watched everything, taking it all in, and he was coming to terms with the new reality he found himself in. Never again could he risk riding a train, not a civilian one. Sure, he might be able to ride the train and nothing might happen. He could ride the train a dozen times and each time, nothing might happen. But once something did happen, once somepony did something to strike at him or the princesses, there would be another day like today, or maybe worse. It was a sobering thought.

But it was not a crushing thought, nor was it a depressing thought. Gosling felt a grim sense of acceptance. This was the cost of his happiness. He couldn’t change it. This was the world he lived in. The best he could do was accept it and then try to make things better.

“Sir, more ponies were captured in a nearby farmhouse,” a pegasus reported to Captain Hotspur and offered a snappy salute with his wing. “They had the family hostage, but they surrendered. No harm was done.”

“Good.” Hotspur’s terse reply also came with a salute. The pegasus took off at once and the captain watched as he flew away. Hotspur looked tired and his eyes were watering from the smoke.

“We’re not monsters,” Tarbean said from where he sat shackled a few yards away.

“Say again?” Hotspur asked.

“We’re not monsters,” Tarbean repeated, “I realise that the events of today will have coloured your perceptions of us, but we’re not monsters. We don’t want senseless killing. We don’t want to hurt ponies. We wish to liberate them.”

“Horseapples!” Hotspur spat out the word and glanced over at Hush, almost as though he was about to give the command for the big brute pegasus to silence the prisoner. “Whatta load of horseapples! Yous brought over a hundred ponies to try and capture future Prince Gosling today!”

“And we did it with good intentions. We brought ourselves in such number so that we could pacify the crowd. Reduce the number of ponies who might try be heroes. Overwhelming odds tends to make a brash pony reconsider. If anything, it is you who came prepared to do violence, bring harm, and kill your fellow ponies today, all at the bidding of the sisters.”

“Getta load of dis guy!” Hotspur gritted his teeth together for a moment and stomped a hoof. “Hey, wiseguy, do you know why the guard had to be called out? Because some buncha assholes went and blew up a bridge! And those assholes, they had to be dealt with!”

Tarbean’s head dropped down low and his ears drooped. “I never approved of those actions. I spoke out against them. I tried to tell them that such rash action would only hurt our cause.”

“Fronkin’ great, yous guys, the cracks are showing. Without the cult of personality sideshow circus freak that was Starlight Glimmer, sounds like yous guys can’t keep your stuff together.” A twisted, sardonic smile spread over Hotspur’s muzzle. “That makes me happy, it does.”

“And you are an idiot,” Tarbean replied in a cool, calm voice. “Capturing me accomplishes you nothing. If anything, you are making all of this worse by removing one of the calm voices of reason and moderation. There are those who are far, far worse and without me being there to silence them, dreadful action shall commence.”

Hotspur glared over at Tarbean through narrowed eyes. “That sounds like an admission that the lot of yous guys is terrorists. That’s yous is saying that the only thing that prevents your group from being murderous anarchists is yours truly. Whatta load a horseapples.”

The exchange ended and Gosling stood there, trying to take it all in, trying to understand what had just taken place. Tarbean was now staring off at the horizon, at the sky in the distance, a sky that he would likely never touch again. Hotspur on the other hoof, he was gnashing his teeth with rage.

“Captain?” Gosling asked.

“I’m fine, just pissed off,” Hotspur replied as he turned to face Gosling. “I take my oath to protect and serve seriously. I gave my word. Honour and respect… yous knows how it is. I’m a different pony than I was in my old life.”

Nodding, Gosling had some understanding. He wasn’t the same pony either. He was changed, in both a mental way and a physical way. He had grown, in many senses of the word, he had changed, he was different. Hearing the sounds of a camera, Gosling turned his head to watch Seville, who was up and moving around, snapping photographs of everything around him. How many pictures had his earth pony friend taken today? A hundred? A thousand?

Seville’s life would be forever changed. He had seen the face of the enemy, so to speak, he had bled because of their violence. He had suffered at their hooves. Gosling’s friend was wrapped up in bandages, which covered so much of his body. Seville had to be suffering, in pain, but he soldiered on, doing his job. His career would never be the same after today. Gosling couldn’t even imagine how much this was going to change things for his earth pony friend. He was coming home with the story of a lifetime, with the pictures to prove it.

That story, if told right, could change perceptions, change the points of view of both sides involved in this fight, this war of ideas, of ideologies, a war of outlooks. It was a war that Gosling understood that he had to fight, but it wasn’t a battle he understood. He thought of everything that he knew of history and mused that the answers to the future might be found in the past. He needed to take advantage of his situation, return to school, and become a scholar. By understanding history, by understanding the past, he might have a better chance of influencing the inevitable future that they seemed to be racing towards. He might be able to make a difference, make headway, he might be able to right a few wrongs.

But he was going to need an army. Sighing, feeling distraught without understanding why, he glanced over at the now disgraced former Captain Tarbean. There was a right way and a wrong way to make a difference. Tarbean had plenty of good intentions, but he had gone about things the wrong way. Gosling wasn’t sure what the right way was, but he knew that violence had no part in it. If he was going to win, he was going to have to win over both hearts and minds with kind words, gentle acts, he had to make ponies want to do good.

How did one do that? Gosling was stumped, but he suspected that Celestia had an answer. Perhaps Cadance as well. He took what he knew of them and concluded that both of them manipulated ponies into being the very best they could be. Cadance had done it to him. He turned his head around, his armor creaking, and looked at the courier’s cases secured to his sides, on his hips.

Lead by example?

He still had a job to do. Gosling suspected that the chess dispatches were a lot more than chess dispatches. Everything he had learned thus far had taught him that every act had a deeper purpose, a secondary function. Everything served a greater purpose. The other eyes-only dispatches he was carrying were all valuable and important, but, he suspected that the chess dispatches were the most important thing of all. No doubt, there was some elaborate means of encryption or a cipher in place involving chess boards with the pieces all placed in specific locations, or something devious to that end.

Taking another train north seemed foolhardy. It would be putting civilians at risk. Unless of course he took an empty train. That seemed like a waste of valuable resources, not to mention if the train was attacked, it would be another train laid to ruin, much like this one. No, taking a train was not an option.

Gosling’s head swiveled around until his snoot was facing north. Being a pegasus, he just sort of knew these things, but it somehow felt stronger now, he was more aware, more attuned with the world around him, like his knowledge of the sun and the moon. He didn’t understand the changes being wrought in him, so he just went along with them. What else could he do?

Blinking, he looked around him at the smouldering wreckage and derailed train cars. He looked at the ponies, both friend and foe, the wounded and the well off, and then his eyes fell upon those who were dead. The bodies were being laid out in neat, orderly rows. The dead knew no distinction between friend and foe. The bodies were laid out side by side, many of them no doubt had been enemies no less than an hour ago, but now shared the peaceful, dreamless sleep of death together. A heavy sense of sadness fell upon Gosling and he shook his head.

Whatever great hope had been held by the ponies who committed this brash and daring raid, it was now dashed upon the rocks. Thanks to Seville, Equestria at large would see these ponies as they were—terrorists. They had attacked a train believed to be full of civilians with the intent of capturing him. The whole of the known world would know about what had taken place here.

And the world would know that he did his job. Gosling did not wish to be known as a lazy, worthless, roustabout prince. He had fought and defended his friend. He had discovered that his training as a guard had made him quite good at violence, a realisation that bothered him, unnerved him, but also brought a sense of relief.

“Captain Hotspur, these dispatches still need to be delivered,” Gosling said in what he hoped was a firm, no nonsense sort of voice.

“What?” Hotspur barked in reply.

“Captain, these dispatches have to be delivered.” As he spoke, Gosling heard the scritchy-scratchy sound of Seville’s auto quill moving over the rough paper of a notebook. He swallowed, feeling nervous, and continued, “Captain, a lot of good ponies died today, all because these dispatches, and myself, were used as bait. What did they die for? They did their job, but to what end? I’m safe and we’ve captured a lot of prisoners, but these dispatches are still not delivered. I must do my job. I was tasked with delivering these dispatches and I will do so.”

Eyes narrowing, Hotspur glared at Gosling, looked over at Hush, who shrugged as his captain’s eyes fell upon him, and then returned his gaze to Gosling. After a few seconds, Hotspur replied, “No.”

“Sorry, Captain, but my orders come from higher up the chain of command than you.”

“Private Gosling, your orders came with the intention that yous was used for bait. If yous made it, good… if we were attacked and all of this happened, then I was to keep yous safe. So fuggetaboutit.” Hotspur lifted his head and drew himself to attention, then turned his most commanding stare upon Gosling. “Don’tchu get wise wit’ me, bruddah.”

“I was never given those orders,” Gosling replied in a calm, flat voice. “I was told to deliver these dispatches. The fact of the matter is, I still have standing orders from a princess. Failure to follow through with those orders could get me court martialed.”

Baring his teeth, Hotspur let out a snort. “And I have standing orders from a princess to keep yous as safe as equinely possible, given the circumstances and the situation. Look here, Prince Prettyboy, don’t make me tell Hush to sit on yous. He’ll do it.”

Gosling flapped his wings in frustration, causing a cloud of white dust to fill the air. The styptic powder made him cough and his eyes burned. “It’s not enough that we won this battle today”—Gosling took a brash step forwards and focused his now watery-eyed stare upon Hotspur—“I will fulfill my mission objectives and I will keep my oath to the empire to which I serve.”

“Yous is an ass, Private Gosling. Hush, make sure this clown doesn’t goes nowheres.”

“No.”

Both ponies turned and looked at Hush, who had just told Captain Hotspur ‘no.’ Hush, who was far smarter than he looked, understood military politics far too well. Nothing good ever came out of upsetting a princess—or a future prince.

“Did yous just tell me no, yous big hairy asshole?” Captain Hotspur asked.

Hush nodded.

“Fronkin’ mutiny here!” Hotspur let out a frustrated wickering bellow and glared at his most trusted companion. “Hush, how could yous? I thought we was tight. Yous is like a brother to me!”

Frowning, Hush shrugged, but said nothing.

“Well then, there is only one thing left to do. I too, have to fulfill my mission objective. Private Gosling, if yous will give me a few minutes to put some ponies in charge of this mess, I will gather up a wing of able bodied soldiers and then we will escort you north and hope that things don’t turn to meadow muffins.”

“I’m going too,” Seville said to Hotspur.

“Yous is an earth pony, and as such, yous don’t fly,” Hotspur replied.

“I started this mission with my friend, Gosling, and I plan to finish it. You said if I bled with you, then I was with you. I’ve bled a whole fronking lot today. I’ve lost so much blood that I’m dizzy and lightheaded. Does all this blood I’ve shed mean something or not?”

Hotspur scowled and then looked over at Hush. “Hush, for disobeying my orders, yous is gonna carry our bloodied brother to the Crystal Empire, and if you do, I won’t say a damn word in my report about how yous told me no. Yous gots that?”

Hush tilted his head and thought about Hotspur’s offer. After a few seconds, he looked over at Seville, let out a sigh, and then nodded. He stuck out his wing in Hotspur’s direction, and then held up his clawed thumb as if to say, ‘okay!’ without having to actually say anything.

“Let me goes and finds us some able bodied fliers that can fly across a continent at a moments notice,” Hotspur grumbled as he turned about. “Prince Prettyboy is a fronking ass. I gotta deliver the dispatches! Whatta jerk!”

Author's Notes:

Internet keeps going out. I would have had this posted last night otherwise.