Author's Notes:

Firstly, I'd like to apologize for my lack of work on this fic.
Secondly, I haven't accomplished much in this chapter, and it's basically just a way to bring in the next story arc.
Thirdly, I'm a bit worried I've lost my touch, so bear wiht me while I get back into the swing of things.

Princess Celestia glowered at the staff before her, disgusted at the eldritch energy pulsing from deep within the ugly thing. It was wrong on a fundamental level, something even vampires and werewolves seemed normal when compared against, and now something so vile had managed to wreak havoc in Ponyville. Reman, keeping true to his impeccable timing, had left for dinner shortly after the artifact, this Wabbajack, came into Celestia's possession. Renoir was similarly occupied with examining Pinkie Pie, who was given guardianship of the horrendous object, and may have borne any number of psychological scars from the experience.

“It says here that Daedric artifacts are small fragments of the Princes, and that only very specific rituals can banish them back to Oblivion,” Twilight said, reading one of the many books Renoir had in his possession. Of course, she would have preferred being by her friend's side, but her talents were needed to aid the princess in the Wabbajacks destruction. “While it goes on to say the Hero of Kvatch and Martin Septim destroyed a weapon called the Ebony Blade to open a portal to Mancar Camoran's Paradise in order to retrieve the Amulet of Kings.” She paused for a moment, before putting a number of pieces together. “This reads like a fantasy novel.”

“Perhaps myth and legend are the only things we have to work with,” Luna begrudgingly said, glaring at the Wabbajack in a mix of frustration and wonder. So far, it had resisted both impossible heat and chill, but remained not only intact, but cool to the touch. Likewise, incredible pressures, as far as any princess was willing to unleash this close to civilization, were ineffective; it would bend, bow, and warp, but always spring back into shape the moment there was any slack. “I doubt scholars would waste time with writing falsehoods, regardless of how fanciful they may be.”

“Perhaps Renoir will know something; this is his book after all, isn't it?” Cadance asked, just as perplexed by the eldritch staff as anypony else. Truth be told, she wanted it back on Nirn and out of Equestria's hooves, but knew that could not be until Pinkie was able to move with it; they'd tried throwing through the portal, but it refused to go without its current wielder. This thing was something primeval, tainted in the same manner as Discord's vile magics, but far, far older.

“Summoning and banishing are Reman's specialty, and we won't be seeing him until tomorrow,” Twilight replied, shaking her head. “Renoir only knew what the Wabbajack may be capable of, not proper methods of disposal.” Flipping through more pages, she sighed, and resigned herself to the mystery for the moment. “The Wabbajack is an artifact of Sheogorath, Daedric Prince of madness and patron of the arts; its effects are random, and the means for its destruction are possibly just as random.”

“Asking Renoir cannot possibly harm us in this pursuit,” Luna said, more as a general observation than a recommendation to interrupt him while he worked on Pinkie. She sighed and shook her head, realizing it was indeed a pointless endeavor to involve him in this, especially with him hard at work already. Truthfully, she was sick of not knowing what to do with this staff; Discord could be handled, as could every other threat Equestria had ever known, but this thing was a tool of a god of madness, and it had chosen one of their Elements of Harmony. Could the Madgod corrupt Laughter, render the Elements as a whole useless? “If we cannot destroy this Wabbajack, then we must remove it.”

“Unfortunately, it will not travel through the portal without Pinkie,” Celestia replied, having tested that possibility herself. There were no easy choices here, and everything had some consequence to it. Waiting until the possible issues with Discord, the barrier’s growing inability to bind him to stone, seemed viable, but the Emperor was expecting them, and it would not do to keep him waiting for too long. Similarly, leaving immediately would be troublesome; none of Canterlot’s nobility, indeed none in Equestria, had known life without their princess on the throne. “An alternate solution must be found.”

“We need to see how everypony is, first,” Twilight said, on the same page as her mentor. “We can’t get the Wabbajack out of Equestria until we know everything it did, some way to reverse its effects.” She was ever concerned for everypony’s safety, and wanted the very best for those affected by the accursed staff. Celestia smiled at the thoughtful unicorn, proud her apprentice had grown into such a fine young mare. “Then there’s the damage that needs to be accounted for, and the injured to tend to, not to mention the psychological effects it may have had.”

“That is all well and good, Twilight, but these can be handled by ours guards,” Luna replied, not too happy about her own ideas. “What needs to be done is for you and the other Elements, along with my sister, to travel to this Imperial City and speak to Emperor Mede, and the sooner, the better.” Luna was certain she could handle the throne by herself for a short while, especially if Celestia had managed for so long. It still pained her to think of her sister leaving for any amount of time, but she doubted anything too serious would happen on the road. “The sooner you leave, the sooner you can return, and with all that’s happening, it may be best to get back before things come to a head.”

Cadance, unsure of what side to take, and unsure if there was even a middle ground of compromise, bit her cheek but remained silent. There were dangers to both; if Celestia and the Elements went right away, Discord may escape before they returned, but if they waited, their opportunity to ally with the Empire would be lost as well. She resolved to not take a side, and allow her aunt to make the final choice; she didn’t know nearly enough about Nirn to choose, while Luna and Twilight had seen the land firsthoof.

Clearing her throat, Celestia made her choice.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Renoir Belmont broke his concentration after repairing the minor damage Pinkie suffered, and realized that most injuries she sustained were of the mind, far beyond anything he was capable of mending. There was no imbalance of humors, no obvious issue his nose could scent out, but something was wrong, something small, but even as Renoir reviewed the handful of charts the doctors had handed him, his mind was on that small chink in her armor. “Spirit walking,” he said after a moment, letting Pinkie's words sink in fully.

“Well, that's what it felt like,” she replied, honestly convinced she had been, for intents and purposes, dead and trapped to Equus as a spirit. Astral projection was not unheard of, and was commonly practiced amongst Telvani wizards even in the modern day, but Pinkie possessed no magic, by both her own admission and his testing. There was nothing he was capable of doing, in all seriousness, so he let it lie. Pinkie, aside from a little dehydration, was perfectly healthy, and as terrible it made him feel to think it, out of his hands.

“It is not out of disbelief that I ask,” the vampire answered, mindful of the odd look Pinkie was giving him. “You’ve been put under my charge, so I have an obligation to keep you well.” It didn’t hurt that he had almost no idea what any of the doctors were talking about, attributing the lack of communication to differing thoughts on medicine. Pinkie seemed satisfied by that, and lay back on her bed to rest.

“They’re in here, sir,” came a voice from the hall. The speaker was a nurses, the same nurse who informed Renoir that nurses in Equestria weren’t apprentice healers studying under doctors. The entire ordeal was still a little embarrassing for him, honestly.

“Thank you, nurse,” a Solar Guard said as he walked in, before returning to his usual stoic demeanor. “I have news for one Renoir Belmont and a Pinkamena Diane Pie in regards to your diplomatic mission.”

“Oh, are we not going back?” Pinkie asked, hurt. There were so many wonderful things to see on the other side, good and bad, that she had yet to see. To her relief, the guard shook his head.

“Princess Celestia has altered the original timetable, ma’am.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Bitter Springs wasn't quite sure why the princesses chose him to pass on the changes to the diplomatic party's timetable, but he didn't question it as he stepped into the Stallion’s Barding, a small, formal restaurant that mostly catered to guards and their families. Given that he was in full uniform, by all appearances a Lunar Guard ready for battle, he drew more than a few looks as ponies noticed him. A few of the waitstaff noticed him, and a friendly waiter pointed him in the right direction, not that he could miss the four he was after.

Winter Tundra and his family were eating there; Springs had seen his name on the registry, so there was no hiding from him now. Though, as he approached the table in question, he was not fully prepared for what he saw. Glade and Valley were happily chatting, Reman and Tundra were content to mumble and generally avoid anything asked of both of them. A faint, pink line traced over the imperial’s cheekbone, and the retired major had one eye nearly swollen shut, bulging from its socket like an overripe fruit; at first glance, it looked severe, but it was truly nothing more than one serious black eye.

Everypony was dressed up for the evening out: Valley was in a comfortable gown, a number that surely made her the object of more than a few stallion’s imagination, and Springs was sure it would have affected him if he wasn’t after the same sort of partner she was; Tundra was in his old dress uniform, gleaming with his numerous medals and ribbons; Glade was clad in velvet, which was draped over body and clasped with bits of sculpted silver; Reman, far from his shining, golden armor, was clad in a quilted shirt and wool trousers, both dyed a deep red.

“Springs, how do you do?” the imperial asked without turning around. The restaurant was noisy enough to discount the guard’s steps giving him away; likewise, his scent should have been covered by the food on Reman’s plate and those around him.

“One of these days I’d like to know how you do that,” the unicorn replied, grinning as he approached the table. The tension he could feel in the air subsided, though he suspected it was more to save face in front of an outsider rather than any meaningful change in the general disposition of the resident alpha males.

“I think he just makes it up as he goes along,” Glade said, chuckling. She herself knew enough of her packmate’s tricks to understand the logic behind it, if not the mechanism. She eyed her friend for a moment, before easing into her seat; if Springs was there for something important, he would say it on his own time. “Pull up a chair if you’re going to be a minute,” she halfheartedly commanded, though her tone was nothing but friendly. Honestly, she was glad for a break in the tension.

“Honestly, I only have to pass on a message,” the Lunar Guard replied, refusing to move from his spot. Nodding, Reman looked to him and took a sip from his polished silver glass, filled with water as Glade still kept him from enjoying his drink; he only complied because it made a good show of solidarity, and he certainly did not want her risking anything, despite how low the odds of anything negative happening truly were. “Princess Celestia has changed the schedule, very abruptly and radically.”

“How so?” the imperial asked, setting down his drink to give the stallion his full attention. It was rare to see him visibly paying attention, but most ponies knew he was very capable of focusing on a handful of tasks at once, especially when one only occupied his ears. Glade sniggered at the face he was making; the way his muscles relaxed and tensed remind her very much of his transformed state.

“Well,” Springs began, unused to the attention he was receiving from the normally unresponsive man. His time vampire hunting with Renoir had enlightened him on the human condition, but seeing such a turnaround was still startling to him; most ponies were slow to change their mood, barring a few exceptions, so the flip-flopping the only two men he knew was somewhat amazing. “For one, you’re leaving at first light tomorrow, as soon as she raises the sun.” This drew more than a harsh look from Winter Tundra, who very nearly leaped from his seat, restrained only by his wife’s firm hoof. “You won’t be travelling on hoof this time, at least.”

“The princess is giving us a chariot?” Glade asked, now as interested as her packmate. It would be nice not to have to walk or fly everywhere, but there seemed to be a catch,a dn as famous in Canterlot as Celestia was for her jokes, it paid to be a bit cautious.

“And a guard from both rotations,” the effeminate stallion answered. He meant there would be a representative member from the Solar and Lunar Guards; it was entirely likely Glade would have no relation to those chosen, and being the messenger, Springs was certainly going to be passed over for selection. “The princess felt it best to cut on your travel time.”

“Then I suppose we’d best not keep her waiting,” Reman said as he rose from his seat. He gave a courteous nod to his hosts, smiling in a congenial way that seemed entirely at odds with his earlier image. “Sirrah, ma’am, I would love to continue when I am next in Canterlot.” His voice was kind enough for Tundra to miss the obvious insult, or perhaps the major simply chose not to lower himself by being offended; Springs honestly cared more for the brushed leather of the imperial's shoes.

“We’d love to have you again, Reman,” Tundra replied through a smile as fake as the gold chandelier above him. “But, maybe you won’t be gone too long, Glade?” He looked to his daughter for an answer, and smiled genuinely as she nodded; if nothing else, having her around made the imperial worth tolerating.

“We’ll see you soon, sweetie,” Valley said, embracing her daughter in a hug. As much as she wanted to pretend Glade was a little filly, she was very much an adult and fully capable of taking care of herself. “You take good care of my baby girl, Reman.” The werewolf in question nodded and slapped his fist against his chest in what his people’s standard salute.

“Bye, Mom; I’ll be home as soon as I can,” Glade replied, trying to keep her emotions under control. Her blood was boiling at the thought of missing the action, and as much as she wanted to stay and visit, she would only grow more agitated until she was able to relieve that tension with some old fashioned exercise.

“Stay safe,” Tundra coughed out just as the pair of lycans made to leave. He watched them walk out the door and disappear into the haze of Canterlot’s street lamps, unwilling to believe his flesh and blood was going away again after only spending a brief few days home. For a few minutes, the three stood in a wanting silence, the sort that screamed to be occupied by even the driest of conversation.

“Is something wrong, BItter?” Valley asked, using the stallion’s first name. He blinked and looked at her, before shaking his head; he huffed in a way that made the pegasus mare think he had a revelation.

“He saw me walking up in his glass,” he said, holding the bit of polished metal in his magic. “Polished to a mirror’s shine.” He expected no less of the Stallion’s Barding, but nodded his pardon to the married pegasi before he too made his leave. He checked a clock and grunted; it was his off night, and he was in full dress with nothing to do.

He shook his head and trotted back to the castle, wondering if he could catch Glade and Reman on their way.