The two diarchs were accompanied by a dozen or so ponies, some mere office drudges and other soldiers of the Night Guard, who all swarmed around the legs of the two towering alicorns. Each of the ponies in suits asked questions, requested orders, or made asinine comments about how they were off the clock and it was unfair for them to be kept behind for so long, all shouting above one another to be heard amidst the din, to which the Princesses responded with their usual grace and patience. The soldiers did their best to keep the bureaucrats from getting underhoof, literally, in Celestia's case, but it looked as though even the hardened veterans of Black Venom Pass and Fort E-5150 were about to be overwhelmed by a force greater than the Changeling hordes - disgruntled white collar workers who just wanted to go home after eight hours trapped behind a desk.

Then Luna saw me. She was haranguing some bureaucrat who had dared to question the need for the lockdown when the danger had obviously passed, but the moment her dark eyes locked onto mine she immediately stopped mid-sentence. Ignoring the stallion's pleas for answers to his question, she shoved him out of the way with a sweep of her hoof and strode through the swarm of ponies around her, never altering her gait to allow for the smaller stallions and mares to scurry out of her path. A few who were too slow were simply shoved out of the way by her long legs. She crossed the distance between us in a few seconds, leaving Celestia to deal with the remaining petitioners demanding attention like a flock of hungry goslings clustered around their mother.

Luna stared down at me like a judge moments before passing sentence upon a convicted criminal. In truth, since my return to Canterlot I had seen precious little of her, merely a few brief and awkward visits she had made when I was in the hospital recuperating from my wounds and delirious with a cocktail of painkillers and actual cocktails. Even then, those short meetings were undercut with the inherent awkwardness that follows the dark mare like the scent of unwashed underpants with Cannon Fodder, though the bouquet of flowers she had brought me was a touching sentiment. I cannot, however, help but feel a degree of guilt about the feelings of apprehension I still held about her, as since I had through no will of my own saved her from capture (after she had thrust herself right into danger in the first place, of course) she had made some effort in softening her approach to me, the pony she once described as the perfect exemplar of all that she found so offensive about modern Equestria. Such things could not be resolved quite so readily and neatly.

"Your Highness!" exclaimed Rubber Stamp, immediately prostrating herself before the Princess and dropping the ice pack in the process. As I picked it up off the floor and applied the soothing, numbing cold once more to my aching horn, the mare babbled incessantly about how I had saved her life. What followed was a veritable torrent of words, panicky, excitable, and tumbling over one another as though each phrase wanted to be the first out of her mouth, like a foal describing a fun day at the beach to a bewildered stranger, albeit with a damn sight more mortal terror involved. She painted a verbal portrait of the heroic Prince Blueblood, standing defiantly amidst the destruction and desolation of her ruined office, striking down the insidious and cowardly Changeling assassin with the swift and righteous fury expected of a commissar. What utter rot; she left out the part where she fell unconscious, too.

Luna listened to this nonsense with the patience that only an immortal alicorn demi-goddess can muster, but even that has its limits. She raised a hoof in the air, the silver sabatons she wore glinting in the candlelight, and Rubber Stamp ceased speaking immediately. I marvelled at this power and wondered how I could learn it, but it would be folly of the highest order for me to presume to match the Princess of the Night's sheer presence of character to silence the talkative with a simple gesture.

"Thank you," she said softly. "Your tale is certainly a heroic one, and I think Captain Red Coat would be interested in hearing it for the official report."

"O-of course!" said Rubber Stamp. She rose to her hooves clumsily, all but tripping herself over on her own legs, and skipped off to where a very tired-looking Captain Red Coat stood off to the side, slightly behind Celestia where he probably hoped nopony could pay him much attention. Nevertheless, I gave him a friendly wave with my free hoof, which he reciprocated with hesitant flapping of his prosthetic foreleg. The two then trotted off down the corridor and disappeared around the corner.

"Blueblood," said Luna. I jerked back to look up at her, a lance of pain struck my neck and twisted into the sinew. Her expression was that curiously unreadable one that she pulls precisely to keep other ponies from determining how she feels; she probably thinks it makes her the perfect image of implacable stoicism, but after having seen it so many times before, it had lost a great deal of its power, and I instead saw it for the masque it was. Perhaps she was the same as me, then, hiding behind a facade we dare not allow to slip.

"Princess," I said, struggling to get to my hooves despite Cannon Fodder's quiet but firm insistence that I should rest. Proper protocol doesn't allow for injuries, you see.

I didn't get very far, though, as Luna swung a foreleg around my upper body and I found my face pressed into her chest, with the raised rim of her cold gorget cutting into my forehead and an ear squashed awkwardly. Somepony, Pinkie Pie most likely, had told her that hugs are something modern ponies like to do to one another, and while it might have worked wonders for the likes of Twilight Sparkle and her friends, I was hardly first on the list to be considered a 'modern pony'. To ponies of my ilk, a hug was something I did in private with a mare rather smaller, plumper, and gigglier than her before, during, or after a certain indulgent activity together. That said, the sensation of being held was not altogether unpleasant; the underlying sense of panic and nausea that accompanies every near-death experience was quelled by the security of her embrace, and the frantic beating of my heart soon slowed to a pace approaching normal. Though the moment was spoilt somewhat by a soft titter from Celestia that brought a hot flush to my cheeks, or that might have been a fever coming.

"I'm so glad you're safe!" she said, planting a chaste and regal kiss on my forehead, just to the left of my still-aching horn. She broke the embrace, and I was left rather bewildered and confused at the sudden and rather public display of affection from the normally cold and distant Princess of the Night, such that I was at a complete loss as to what to say or do. Therefore, I settled for just sitting on my haunches and staring like an idiot.

"I as well, nephew," said Celestia. The other ponies around her had gone, presumably either having received what they wanted from the Princess or told to go away in her usual, polite manner. That is, except one. An officer of the Night Guard, a captain according to the three shiny pips on the epaulettes of his barracks dress uniform, stood to her left. His nervous manner certainly showed that he was at least considering galloping down the corridor to freedom, and for that he was blocked by a huge, outstretched wing behind him like a great, feathery white wall.

When Luna turned on her hooves and glowered at the officer, eyes narrowed and an almost predatory snarl to her lips, I realised Celestia had draped her wing over the officer not to restrain him, but as a comfort. The poor chap, probably no older than twenty years, looked scared out of his wits, and I sympathised; I had been in that same situation rather too many times in the intervening period between Luna's return and my unhappy entry into her good books, and I learned rather too lately that the trick to weathering the tirade that was to follow was to show no fear. That was easier said than done, of course, but what is bravery but merely another form of lying?

"Captain Sterling Silver," said Luna as she approached him, the strike of her gilded horseshoes ringing out even on tacky linoleum. The stallion flinched, all but trying to hide underneath Celestia, though social propriety forbade him from doing so. "Commanding officer of the third company, second battalion of my Night Guard. You are the officer on duty on this shift. Please explain to Commissar Prince Blueblood how your failure to maintain the highest levels of security has led to an attempt on his life."

[In addition to providing reinforcements for the first battalion, the second battalion of each of the Guards regiments also maintained the security of government offices and royal palaces in Canterlot, as well as carrying out their traditional role of protecting Princess Cadence, my sister, and me. Twilight Sparkle continued to refuse a personal guard, despite the Ministry of War raising a full regiment for her.]

The Captain stared at me with wide eyes, silently pleading for me to say something that will get him out of this mess. I was hardly going to volunteer myself for Luna's ire, so I stayed quietly.

"I, uh..." he stammered out. "All essential ponies and records had been moved out to the new building. We didn't think-"

"You didn't think!" Luna interrupted, snarling like a tethered manticore; it was certainly a poor choice of words there, but I scarcely think a more tactful pony could have done better than merely delay the inevitable angry rant that she had clearly been itching to unload on him. "I should have Rarity embroider that on the finest Cathayan silks and frame it to hang in our throne room, or, better yet, Twilight blast those words fifty feet tall into the side of Mount Canter with her magic. It will be a monument to the total incompetence with which this war has been waged from the very start! How could you possibly-"

"Luna," said Celestia, her voice in that level, kind-but-firm tone that she must have spent centuries perfecting. "Please let him say his piece."

Hearing it brought back many memories, and not all of them were pleasant; she had used the exact same voice, quietly admonishing and calculated to inspire the maximum amount of guilt in its intended victim, ten years prior, when my unforgivable behaviour towards her personal student had led her to believe my interests were best served by being thrown out of the castle and her care. It certainly worked just as well on her sister as it did me, silencing the dark alicorn as though she had been suddenly struck dumb.

Celestia nudged Sterling Silver forwards with a delicate sweep of her wing, the feathers fluttering gracefully in the still, stagnant air of the office building. The poor, unfortunate lad stumbled a few steps forwards, and then gazed back at the three ponies staring at him, Luna with disdain, I with indifference, and Celestia with her infinite kindness and patience. "Go on," she said with a practiced smile, "tell my sister and my nephew what you told me."

"Yes," Luna hissed. "Forgive me, we should at least hear his excuses first before passing judgement."

"Y-your Highnesses," said the Lieutenant. Despite the nervous quiver in his voice, he stepped away from Celestia, though remaining close enough to dart back into the protective cover of her wing if need be. He continued speaking, but as he was unable to meet Princess Luna's soul-piercing gaze he appeared to be addressing her horseshoes instead. She sneered at this.

"All of the essential ponies and records are already in the new Ministry of War building," he continued, "and we hadn't intercepted any infiltrators for months now. We deemed the old building to be of low risk - negligible, in fact - there's nothing and nopony here the enemy could possibly find useful, just the non-essentials. We haven't trained enough unicorns who can detect shape-shifting magic to maintain the high level of security needed in both sites, so we had to make a choice about which of the two to prioritise."

It sounded rehearsed, as though he was reading from a script. I concluded he had already explained all of this to Princess Celestia, who must have given him a few tips on how to explain bad news to Princess Luna when she is not in an appropriately receptive mood. He hadn't heeded most of them, it seemed, but the fact that he was still standing there, apparently in one piece and un-murdered, clearly showed that what little he had absorbed and put into practice had some small effect. At the very least, it should have introduced the idea into Luna's head that perhaps she was being just a little bit unrealistic in her expectations of what the Guards were fully capable of halfway through their reformation. That is, until he spoke again.

"If Prince Blueblood had warned us about his visit, we would have organised extra security for him," he said, as if it was my own damned fault for nearly having my throat sliced open with a kitchen knife.

"I don't need a bloody foalsitter," I snapped, and rather harshly too I admit. The three of them turned to look at me; Luna stared inscrutably, Sterling Silver quivered in his boots, and Celestia gave her usual, encouraging smile. I collected the jumbled mess of my thoughts hastily, and added: "I didn't want to cause a fuss and waste everypony's time on just me when there are more important ponies who need protecting. Besides, we made short work of that Changeling, and they'll think twice before trying that again."

It was not my best recovery from a minor faux pas I've ever had to make, and I've made more than my fair share of them, but it did the job. A little bit of self-deprecation and just the right amount of bravado, which could easily be deflected onto Cannon Fodder should somepony think that I'm crowing about myself more than I deserved, was what most ponies expected of me and thus helped to ease over tensions. That said, though Luna had already forgotten I was there, Celestia's gaze lingered on me, and then on Cannon Fodder for a second longer.

"Those are merely excuses for your ineptitude," said Luna, regarding the stallion as one would a worm on the pavement in one's path.

Every pony has a limit as to just how much they can take before all sense, logic, and even the notion of self-preservation is just lost. I like to think that mine is set fairly high; being a coward and all that it entails, it would take rather a lot of abuse and trauma before I could reach the point where the primal need to save my craven self is overridden by the desire to prove myself right (a certain seamstress, a pristine tailored dinner jacket, and a confectionary missile excepted). Princess Luna had made a sport of trying to find that limit in the ponies she deals with, having done so with me when she saw fit to lecture me about the nature of warfare from her outdated, backwards viewpoint on top of all of the other misery she had put me through. Now, Sterling Silver, presumably having had issues of his own that were now compounded by what Treble Bass would euphemistically call a 'security breach' and by Yours Truly as 'the time I almost got killed by a cake knife', had just exceeded this limit.

"I did my best with what I had!" he shouted. Sterling Silver's eyes were as wide as saucers as he came to the unfortunate realisation that he had just yelled at one of the ruling Diarchs of Equestria, the mare he was sworn to revere and obey up to and including at the cost of his own life. Having crossed the point of no return, he decided that he might as well go all-in and damn the consequences.

"I'm sorry, Your Highness, but we don't have the resources to protect every single government building in Canterlot and your castle and everypony in every public event that happens here. And you and Princess Celestia, too. I had to make a judgement call, the same as every single day, about what to prioritise. Maintaining maximum security in one place means taking it away from somewhere else. We just can't stop all of them all the time, and it just so happened one slipped through the gap when Prince Blueblood came here."

That's right, shift the blame back on me for just trying to complete a bit of paperwork. The stallion was babbling; his words tumbling out as though they were all in a race to leave his mouth first. When he had apparently run out of both words and courage he ceased speaking, as though a switch in his brain had flicked, and whatever indignation at having been forced to accept the blame for this was no longer sufficient to propel his rather spirited but misguided defence of his own decisions. All that was left now was a scared little pony again, standing before the irate Princess of the Night and awaiting his fate.

Luna's face was an impassive, blank masque, but her tense body language betrayed her true feelings. Even the stars that swirled about in her ethereal mane and tail appeared to do so with an erratic energy, as though they too were eager to unleash her anger upon a young officer who, let's be clear here, was struggling to do the best he could with meagre resources. That might sound unusually forgiving coming from Yours Truly, whose distant ancestors had all but invented the notion of generations-long grudges and especially after I had barely survived the results of this chap's orders, but as I write this I expect that fifty years of distance has the effect of mellowing out one's feelings about some events. That I was still somewhat dazed from my experience might have had some impact too.

"Well, thank you, Captain Sterling Silver," said Princess Celestia, at length. She retracted her wing and folded it up against her body in the usual manner, thus revealing the corridor beyond. "You may leave to carry out your duties."

Taking an opportunity that might not be granted again soon, the stallion immediately slapped himself on the forehead with a hoof in a vague approximation of a salute, and then backed away slowly, apparently following etiquette rules about not turning one’s back to the Princesses. Once around the corner of the corridor and safely out of sight, I heard him break into a gallop, the rapid tattoo of his hoofsteps echoing off the walls. As I sat there, wondering how much longer until the guards would finish their sweep of the building and I would be allowed to crawl on home and rest, Celestia breathed a heavy, exasperated sigh.

"You're being too hard on them," said Celestia to Luna, using the long-dead tongue of Ancient Equestria.

"And you are not hard enough," said Luna, responding in that same antediluvian language.

"They are doing their best, and that is all we can ask of them."

"But it isn't enough, sister, and you know it."

This was not the first time I had been an inadvertent eavesdropper on their private, personal conversations, but then again, it was Auntie 'Tia herself who recognised my unusual aptitude for languages (me being quite singularly terrible at all other academic, vocational, and magical subjects at school, despite having the best teachers my father's money could buy) and personally taught me the arcane words of Equestria's distant past. Clearly, she did not mind me overhearing her words, or had simply forgotten that I was sitting there, staring dumbly at the two diarchs and watching their little sisterly squabble.

I suppose I should have said something, which would have been the polite thing to do in most cases, but Luna certainly did not look at all as though she would tolerate being interrupted even by me. She was most likely unaware that I could understand them, and would probably not be best pleased if she learnt that their attempts at secrecy had failed.

"What more can we possibly ask of them?" said Celestia. "Too many have already given their lives."

Luna scowled at her sister, and it was that same venomous glare she wore when she caught me in a compromising position in the castle pantry with one of the scullery maids. It was not one of hate or anger, as many who have been subjected to it have mistaken it for, but, after having gotten to know her a damned sight better over the years, I learned it actually signified a deep and hurtful sense of disappointment. It was so quickly turned to anger, though, should it become apparent that one's words or actions justified her feeling that way. Nevertheless, it often seemed to be born out of one's inevitable failure to live up to the impossibly high standards that she had set for others, and for herself, I might add.

"There is always more," said Luna, her voice low and measured. "If we are to achieve final victory in the field, our subjects must face up to the fact that no war can be won by mere half-measures. Sacrifices must be made, and our subjects must accept that. They sought a war without bloodshed, without hardship, without effort, and for that they have paid a terrible price, and the price will be higher still if they cannot accept that. I fear you too have fallen prey to this way of thinking, if you continue to refuse my advice."

"And what advice would that be, sister?" said Celestia, the sarcasm in her voice was sudden and cutting. "You have lectured me so much these past few months some of it just slips out of mind."

"Dissolve the government, take direct rule as you did a thousand years ago, and lead your country to victory. We have been at war for two years now and we have nothing to show for it besides a few miles of captured land and bodies. The frontline has stagnated while politicians and generals drag out Twilight Sparkle's reforms. We need decisive action now, we need to go on the offensive now; to take the Badlands, to hunt down the spies in our midst, and to crush the enemy mercilessly."

The tirade stopped, but only after it had reached a deafening crescendo. The sound of Luna's voice, though devoid of the volume-enhancing qualities of the Royal Canterlot Voice this time, continued to echo down the mostly empty corridors a second or two after she had finished speaking. In the ruined office, a few of the braver ponies did peek their heads out to take a look at the two sisters arguing, but apparently not understanding a word of their ancient tongue, could only stare and exchange a few educated guesses as to what they were arguing about.

Celestia was silent for a few agonising moments, the sound of which, or just its absence rather, soon quietened even the trite chatter of the ponies. Each tick of the clock dragging out until the gap between each percussive marking of a second passed seemed like a minute. I found myself transfixed by her, by the plaintive look on her face, tinged with what I took to be a sense of immense sorrow that seemed to plunge her elegant features into darkness like a storm cloud smothering the summer sun. She did not speak for a full minute, by my estimate at least, while Luna stared at her, panting as though her speech had taken her great physical effort. I imagine it did, or rather she had bottled up those thoughts for a considerable amount of time, months if her choice of words was any indication, and the news of the security flaws that led to the attempt on my life was the sabre slicing the cork off the top that kept it safely stored inside.

"For you," said Celestia, lifting her head and fixing her sister with a solemn stare, "it's offensives, encirclements, sieges, recruitment, drill, logistics and supply, casualty lists, guns, spears, cannons, and all of that. For me, it's my little ponies."

"Your 'little ponies'!" Luna scoffed. "You've infantilised them! How can you expect them to fight when you treat your subjects like they're your foals? A thousand years of your 'Pax Celestia' has made them soft, weak, decadent, spoilt, and timid. The Equestria I know would have destroyed Chrysalis already!"

"Do you remember how..." Celestia paused, bowing her head and closing her eyes as she searched for the right word "...how difficult life was for ponies back then? A third of all earth pony peasants didn't make it to their fifth birthday, and those who did looked forward to fifty years of toil in the fields if plague did not get them first. And the pegasi warriors, those who survived the agoge [The rigorous and often brutal education and training programme of ancient Pegasopolis that aimed to produce strong and capable warriors] could only expect a lifetime of fighting your wars of conquest. And the unicorns? When famine struck and the earth pony harvests failed, their great cities were the first to starve."

"It made them strong," said Luna flatly, as if that was entirely self-evident.

"It made them afraid.” Celestia placed a hoof on Luna’s shoulder, and looking as though she was on the verge of tears, she offered a soft smile. “These were the ponies who feared your beautiful night and rejected you, who lavished praise upon me and forgot everything you did for them. With you gone for a thousand years, how could I not seek to build a kinder, more accepting Equestria, ready to welcome back their Princess of the Night?"

Luna pushed her sister’s hoof away. "And now that war has come they cannot even defend themselves. They-"

She was staring right at me, her blue eyes were scalpels that sliced cleanly, efficiently through my flesh and into my soul. An icy chill that had nothing to do with this building's lack of an effective heating system crawled over my back, like some wet, slimy creature, and I realised that I had been rumbled.

"He understands us?" said Luna, turning back to Celestia and snarling with the sort of indignation that only a pony who has been caught saying something incriminating can muster. "How does he know our language?"

"The benefits of our modern education system," said Celestia, and not without the merest hint of smugness. That was not quite true, however, as while Ancient Equestrian was part of the curriculum in Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns, I spent most of my time in those classes giggling at the pictures of the naughty ponies on antique vases instead of paying attention to the teacher. My fluency with the language only came about because I spent a month with Auntie 'Tia where she spoke nothing but Ancient Equestrian to me for the entire time until it somehow sunk in. Once one grasps the flow of a language by being immersed in it, the rest follows quite easily enough.

[Blueblood's natural aptitude for languages was truly remarkable, despite his very poor academic performance in school. After I observed him learning Coltcuttan by listening to his servants' conversations when his father served as viceroy there, I discovered that he could pick up grammar and vocabulary very quickly through constant exposure to the language.]

Luna fixed me with her cold stare once more, and I recoiled from it, as if seeking safety against the bare stone wall. Cannon Fodder looked a little alarmed by my reaction, by which I mean the dull expression he always wore shifted a little to include a slight frown, but otherwise seemed to think that I had the situation all in hoof as usual.

"Blueblood," she said, her voice a hushed stage-whisper. "Would you say that you are the only pony here, my sister and I excepted, who heard and understood everything that we had just said?"

"Yes." There was very little point in me trying to pretend otherwise, in light of the overwhelming evidence.

Her eyes narrowed. "Which means that if what my sister and I have just discussed gets out, I'll know that it came from you. Do you understand?"

"Yes." I understood perfectly; there'd be very little left of me for the mortician to reassemble after she had finished with me.

"Good." Princess Luna moved to walk away, but stopped halfway through lifting her left forehoof off the floor. She placed her hoof back with a delicate 'tap', and turned her head to face me. Her aquiline features bore an almost playful smirk that inspired far more icy fear in me than her more usual malignant glare. "Pray, nephew, if you are so keen on eavesdropping on the conversations of your superiors, perhaps you might have some opinion to offer on this dilemma that faces us. Do not feel as though you have to keep them to yourself, 'tis only polite, after all."

Now, under most normal circumstances I would have admitted that I simply don't have an opinion, which, while confirming Auntie Luna's view that I am a dullard all but incapable of independent thought beyond selecting which of my many expensive silk cravats to wear for my midday rest in my palace's south solar, would have still been the safest option. She wouldn't be entirely wrong on that account either, as that's all I ever really wanted out of life. However, still feeling a tad disorientated after having survived the fight and my better judgement likely numbed by those painkillers and potions the medic had given me, my attempts to articulate that entirely pedestrian, inoffensive, and thoroughly unsatisfying opinion that would have disappointed the two of them in equal measure, didn't quite slip from my lips in the way that I had initially intended.

"I think you're both right," I said in halting Ancient Equestrian; my pronunciation was always a little off.

"Explain," said Luna. Her expression of faint amusement turned into her more habitual grimace. Instead of cutting off further debate on the topic, I merely opened up a brand new avenue at my own expense. "Our viewpoints are diametrically opposed."

Damnation, I would have to think of something quickly, unless I could contrive a way to fall unconscious in the next minute or so. I looked to Celestia, who merely gave me a hopeful smile and a gentle nod of her head, as though she was encouraging one of her students to recite a speech on stage in front of hundreds of bored parents. I was on my own then, as she either remained oblivious to my plight or thought that there was some cryptic lesson to learn buried beneath my misery that I had to tease out for myself. Knowing her as I do, it was most likely the latter, but for the life of me I could not work out what it was.

"You were meant to rule together," I blurted out, being the first coherent thought that had coalesced inside my mind that was not just a whole lot of very un-princely swearing.

It must have worked, because both Princesses looked at me as though I had said something profound, or perhaps they were simply humouring me. It was quite hard to tell, really, but from where I sat, Celestia's beaming smile seemed quite genuine on the surface. As for Luna, I was already acquainted with her belief that the practice of concealing one's true feelings to avoid needless conflict was a sign of utmost weakness, so it was an immense relief to see her snarl soften and transform into a more benign frown of puzzlement.

"He's right," said Celestia, and I could finally relax. Inasmuch as I could possibly try to relax after what I had just been through. It was not enough that I had nearly died again, I had to follow up that harrowing experience with some sort of quiz about the philosophical direction of Equestrian society over the past one thousand years.

"Day and Night, Sun and Moon, sister," she continued. "Equestria needs both of us to thrive. We must work together to achieve victory. You are right; in a thousand years of peace, perhaps I did not see that the harmony my little ponies enjoyed could be so vulnerable to an outside threat. In truth, I feared a return to the dark times that turned you into Nightmare Moon."

"I did not mean to diminish your achievements," said Luna, her voice much gentler now. "You have built a nation to be proud of in my absence, and all I ask now is that I be allowed to defend it from those who seek to destroy it."

"Then we must work together to find a way to bring a swift resolution to this war, without compromising the harmony our nation is built upon."

"A path between day and night." Luna tapped her chin thoughtfully, then an enthusiastic smile stretched across her lips, as one would upon coming to a beneficial conclusion to some problem. "I have a few hours before I must patrol the dream realm. Perhaps we should retire to the castle and discuss the matter further."

"Just how we used to, one thousand years ago," said Celestia, beaming happily. She looked to me, and gave a polite nod of her head, sending her incorporeal mane wafting elegantly on whatever cosmic breeze that keeps it aloft. "Thank you, Blueblood, for your insight."

The two then left, chattering to one another about how they might work together for the benefit of Equestria, and I was left sitting there in the corridor, wondering what in the blazes had just happened. Even then I was under no misapprehension that my apparent burst of 'insight', as Celestia had put it, was truly the nice, safe, and conclusive end to their disagreements. Their arguments, reflected in the discussions across Equestria from both chambers of Parliament to the clubs in Canterlot to peasants gathered around mugs of cider in Ponyville, would carry on for far longer than this war lasted. Indeed, it still rages on unresolved, the respective sides taken up by hunched, flat-hoofed, glasses-wearing, pipe-smoking academics who have managed to con the entire country into giving them tax money just to bicker about the past.

[Blueblood's description of the conversation I had with Princess Luna is accurate for the most part, barring a few clumsy translations of Ancient Equestrian words that have no direct comparison to modern Ponish that I have taken the liberty to correct. While it is true that no debate as intense as the ones that I have had with my sister on the Changeling War, and on various other matters pertaining to her difficult adjustment to modern life, could be resolved with two short sentences, my nephew's words did cause the two of us to stop and consider the other's point of view, leading to an effective if volatile working relationship for the duration of the conflict.]

At any rate, it was none of my business now; the affairs of alicorns are not for mortals to meddle with being an old adage from the distant past that still resonates today, but I would often find myself dragged into their problems, schemes, and utterly insane ideas for many years to come, whether I wanted to or not. Shortly after they had left, an officer came to take my version of events, and for once I was largely truthful on the matter. He was not at all interested in hearing what Cannon Fodder had to say, if anything.

Eventually, after another bout of tedious waiting where the pleasant glow of the painkillers and potions began to wear off, the building was declared 'secure', whatever that meant, by Captain Red Coat, who I wagered merely wanted to return to barracks and bed. It was a need I wholly sympathised with, and after brushing off the medic who informed me that I required a few more weeks of light duties and rest to recover from the beating I had just taken, Cannon Fodder half-escorted, half-carried me through to the main entrance of the building where a taxi awaited me. The journey was agonising, with each jolt and bump of the carriage accompanied by a splinter of pain in my chest. Ere long, however, we made it back to my apartment, whereupon Drape Cut guided me to the soft, gentle, comforting embrace of my bed.

As I lay there, still in my wrecked uniform and bound up in bandages, unable to sleep for there was no position which did not result in some measure of pain, whether from my back, cracked rib, or assorted bruises, I heard could hear my valet conversing with Cannon Fodder. Their voices were muffled and indistinct, but were just clear enough for me to discern that Drape Cut's clipped, refined voice dominated much of the conversation. From what I could gather, he had offered my aide the spare room in the apartment should he wish, which was politely declined. The sound of two sets of horseshoes on soft carpet followed, and then the opening of the door.

"Thank you for taking care of His Highness for me," I heard Drape Cut say.

I didn't sleep, or perhaps I did but it was so restless and shallow that I might as well have just stayed awake. Canterlot was no longer safe, and I had been going through these past few months there under the assumption that it was a sacred haven away from the horrors of the war. Whatever counter-measures that we raise will invariably be circumvented by a determined enemy hell-bent on our enslavement. I should have learned after the incident at Fancy Pants' party that the threat of a knife in the back from an enemy so proficient at blending in was everywhere, but I had hoped, somewhat naively I admit, that the problem had been utterly eradicated by the vigilance of our Royal Guard. You see, I wanted to believe in this idea of a sanctuary away from the war so much, and who could possibly blame me after two years at the front?

The next few days were spent in a sort of daze. While I had been excused from duty for a few days to recover and allow the various healing potions I had ingested to work their magic on my cracked rib and bruises, the attempt on my life had left me in a damned funk that was impossible to shake. I merely went through the motions of my daily routine, in some kind of hollow, vacant facsimile of my former wastrel life, albeit without the charm, joy, wit, and bonhomie it once possessed. Perhaps I never truly held those qualities, or recent events had exposed them for the ridiculous distractions that they truly are in the face of the distinct unpleasantness of the knowledge of one's own mortality. It was foolish to think that I could return to the idyllic, carefree life of the narcissistic hedonist I once occupied after all that I had seen on the frontline. It was, however, not for a lack of trying. Even Drape Cut, loathe as he was to suggest it, asked if I required the services of Lady Velvet Tail, which I considered and then dismissed on the grounds that she was probably rather busy of late with all of the soldiers in Canterlot. ['Lady' Velvet Tail was a courtesan of some repute in Canterlot at the time, of whom Blueblood was a frequent customer.]

A few days of this malaise had passed until I received two letters through the post; Drape Cut had left them on the tray when he brought my breakfast in bed, which was just before midday when hunger roused me from the womb-like security of plush pillows and warm blankets. Over a bowl of kedgeree I inspected the first, being a midnight blue envelope speckled with fine silvery pinpricks that glittered when I rotated it around in the light. It could only have come from one pony on Equis, whose tendency towards melodrama extended even to her official royal stationery. I opened it reluctantly, dreading its contents almost as much as I did the pony who wrote it, and read it as my breakfast grew as cold as the chill in my heart.

['Kedgeree' consists of smoked fish, rice, and eggs flavored with curry seasonings. Originating from Griffon colonists in Coltcutta, this dish can prove excruciatingly hard for ponies to digest unless their bodies are acclimated to fish, or they ingest supplemental enzymes beforehoof. Given Blueblood's exotic tastes, I cannot be sure which is true in his case.]

Dearest Commissar-Prince Blueblood,

I write to wish you a swift recovery, so that you may take up your duties once more as commissar to our Night Guard. Rubber Stamp has asked me to convey her gratitude for saving her life and for dispatching the cowardly infiltrator.

It is with regret, however, that I must inform you that your request for a promotion has been denied. The post of commissar for the Guards Division has already been appointed, as have all commissarial posts in the First Army. [Army Group Centre was re-named as part of the restructuring process, and Army Groups East and West became the Second and Third Armies respectively. All three field armies were then placed under the command of Field Marshal Iron Hoof's Army Group. Keeping track of changing military formations in this period remains a logistical nightmare, but can provide hours of entertainment for the pedantic sort of armchair general.] However, let it not be said that I do not reward valour, and therefore I have created an honorary title for you. Henceforth, you have been appointed as Lord Commissar, with a special advisory role to General Solitaire in addition to your normal role as commissar to the Night Guards. You will share your expertise in the field to your fellow commissars assigned to watch over all component formations of the First Army on an ad hoc basis, as and when your duties to Colonel Sunshine Smiles allows. This arrangement will satisfy the desire you had expressed to Rubber Stamp to support your fellow commissars.

I trust that this will be satisfactory to both your needs and those of the Royal Commissariat.

Yours eternally into the night,

H.R.H. Princess Luna

P.S. - See you at Twilight's party!

Fantastic. Not only did my one chance at seizing safety without saving face fail, this damned compromise dreamt up by Princess Luna would simply add yet more work on top of what I already passed onto Cannon Fodder, and I would still have to contend with the bowel-clenching terror of frontline combat. Not to mention, making my list of regal titles even more ungainly by adding the entirely superfluous appellation of 'lord'; His Royal Highness Lord Commissar Prince Blueblood, Duke of Canterlot, Member of Their Divine Highnesses’ Most Honourable Privy Council, Aide-de-Camp to the Royal Pony Sisters, etc., just all sounded ridiculous. I was about to toss this scrap of very pretty paper away when I, by chance, re-read the post-script.

A party? I had no recollection of being invited to one hosted by Twilight Sparkle, let alone accepting such an invitation, unless Equestria's newest princess still required an education in the etiquette around royal social events. That thought was very quickly quashed when I noticed that the second letter resting against the side of the breakfast tray was in fact a card, about the size of one of those vulgar seaside postcards Captain Blitzkrieg collects. Lifting it with my magic, I saw that it was indeed a formal invitation card, of a good texture and with the words engraved rather than cheaply printed. It read:

Princess Twilight Sparkle requests the pleasure of the company of Prince Blueblood at The Castle of Friendship on Friday 13th April to celebrate the founding day of the Prism Guards regiment.

RSVP
Doors open 8pm
Full-dress uniform or white tie

I re-read that invitation over and over, giving it far more attention than I had Luna's letter. I imagined Celestia had a hoof in arranging the invitations, as I doubted the bookish mare would have much time for royal invitation protocol between saving Equestria and reading books on more interesting and obscure topics. She never put much stock in formality, anyway, if her behaviour and those of her friends at the Grand Galloping Gala was any indication. Then again, if she was truly taking this princess business seriously, it would not be beyond her capabilities to consult the various etiquette manuals available, likely having more than a few in her personal library, and followed the rather simple instructions carefully. Still, I had to commend her on the quality of the invitation card, and it had been quite a while since I had attended a truly formal event.

The implication, however, only sunk in for me after I had finished the kedgeree and was halfway through my cup of morning tea. Though I had been pondering what outfit to wear to the party, if everypony expected me to be in the ceremonial full dress of the Commissariat or if I could get away with the rather more dignified civilian tailcoat, the term 'founding day' intruded quite rudely into my mind. We would be celebrating the founding of her new regiment of Royal Guard, which would join the Solar, Night, and Crystal Guards regiments into the Guards Division. This all meant that very soon the army would be mustered once more and hurled into the madness that was the front, carried out with the renewed and misguided vigour of over-confident generals eager to test out their new weapons and strategies on a tenacious and intelligent foe, who probably had full knowledge of our plans anyway.

Well, I can tell you that this realisation had sunk my already floundering spirits to new depths of despair that I had not thought possible. There was only one thing for it, and that was to make sure that my last days in Canterlot, and possibly on this good, green Equis, were as memorable as possible. I was going to get drunk; utterly, royally, completely, and regally trousered. After a short nap and a few hours trying on suits, I would embark upon a trip to the seedier side of Canterlot, to a place that I had tried to put off visiting since my return out of a misguided and half-hearted attempt to direct my life onto some sort of straight and narrow direction. The Tartarus Club awaited.