Regardless of her feelings either way towards Yours Truly, Rarity remained a consummate professional for the most part, except when she measured my neck and had wrapped her tape measure there a little too tightly for comfort. As with any Saddle Row tailor, she refrained from vocalising the peculiarities of my unique physique, having jumped from drunken overindulgence to military austerity and back again in a short space of time, and instead jotted them down in that impenetrable code in her notebook. Only when I removed my clothes, standing as naked as the common pony and revealed the veritable portrait of scar tissue on my back did her facade slip, gasping quietly in shock at the rippling lines that marred it.

Nevertheless, she got what she needed to start on the set of armour, plus a lounge suit in a grey check to maintain some level of cover. It would certainly raise eyebrows with my fellow aristocrats in the Imperial Club to walk in wearing a suit made by a brand new tailor without centuries of tradition, but if she was truly as good as the populist fashion magazines' incessant proselytising, then the quality of the garment should speak for itself.

As for the star spider silk armour itself, as I had requested a rush order, Rarity assured me that it would be ready in five days time and that it could be collected from her new store in Canterlot. My desire for secrecy around this 'insurance', as I liked to refer to it, might come across as undue paranoia on my part, but in war, as in games of chance, one never revealed the metaphorical ace up one's sleeve. Besides, I would not put it past a few of my fellow officers, particularly a certain former criminal, to attempt to steal it were they to discover it. Red Coat, at least, remained in awe of me enough to maintain his discretion.

With that finished, Red Coat and I went back to the castle to prepare for the party. His transformation was nothing short of astounding; at Rarity's insistence, he had undertaken the journey back wearing his ceremonial dress tunic, complete with a spare cap that she had lying around and generously donated. It's amazing what insouciantly unbuttoning the stiff collar of the tunic, balancing the cap at a rakish angle, and a pep-talk from a Bearer of an Element of Harmony can accomplish. Scars aside, he looked to be the purest ideal of a noble defender of Equestria. At the seamstress' instructions, he stood a little taller and straighter, but not so much as to appear to have a rigid metal pole inserted somewhere uncomfortable, and overall he carried himself with a sense of confidence that was lacking in his demeanour before. Now, as he strode alongside me through the streets of Ponyville, his disfigurements were no longer an aspect of his to be pitied, mocked, or feared, but had become a badge of honour in the eyes of the common pony - a symbol of sacrifice in the name of Harmony.

Of course, none of this would have been necessary if Red Coat and his family hadn't been caught up in the war fever, likely drummed up by Princess Luna as she searched for willing ponies to lead her Night Guards. I wondered if he had ever visited home since that awful night, and if his father was proud of the son returned mutilated and scarred. That was none of my concern, however, beyond my job as a glorified counsellor for an entire battalion of ponies insecure and maladjusted enough to volunteer for military service, and I had a party to prepare for, anyway.

This time, our journey to the castle proceeded without any further distractions, and before long I was back in the relative solitude of my guest room. It turned out that this unpacking business was rather more complicated than Drape Cut had made it look, and I was quite at a loss as to where exactly my clothes, toiletries, and other bits and bobs should be stored. Eventually, I worked out the functions of a clothes hanger through trial and error, and my evening clothes were stored away in a state of relative neatness in readiness for tonight, and everything else was merely strewed across the dresser top. I became acutely aware of just how helpless I was without servants to do these sorts of things for me, but that was what I paid them for, after all.

I passed the time until the party in relative solitude; there is a very limited amount of effort that I can allocate to being the sort of interesting and sociable Prince that everypony expects me to be, and though it could be sustained by a steady supply of alcohol and hors d'oeuvre, there comes a point where even I tire of exchanging witty badinage with my fellow nobles and would rather be by myself. Fortunately, Twilight's library provided both privacy and entertainment; the former in that the Princess herself was distracted by the preparations and the guests were off enjoying the very limited sights of Ponyville (there's a bell tower and I think that's it as far as tourist attractions go), and the latter in the sheer number of books on offer. I attempted to grapple with The Teleportation Treatise, thinking that learning how to instantly remove myself from danger would prove invaluable, before I realised that it would take more than a single afternoon to learn what Twilight mastered in a year, and I gave up completely. Instead, I became engrossed in something called Burnferno, which was more befitting my intellect.

The party itself started in the late afternoon, a few hours before Celestia and Luna were due to swap their respective astral bodies in the sky. Dressed up in that tight, restrictive ceremonial dress uniform of a commissar, I looked as though I was about to attend a funeral instead of a celebration. Though I found black to be quite flattering when it contrasted with my white fur, the stark red and the ghoulish skull motifs leant it an oppressive air that I found to be rather incompatible with what was supposed to be a happy occasion. It appeared as though it was designed by two separate ponies who absolutely refused to compromise; one of them was an experienced tailor, and the other a thirteen-year old colt addicted to comic books.

[Blueblood is partially right on this. The uniforms of the Royal Commissariat were designed by Rarity, but the winged alicorn skull symbol was designed by Princess Luna. Her initial sketches on a napkin made during a dinner with Twilight Sparkle and her friends are currently on display in the Clover the Clever Museum of History in Canterlot, along with a few other less savoury doodles.]

I therefore toned down the severe formality of the outfit with a patterned cravat tucked into the open neck of the double-breasted tunic and a flower pilfered from Twilight's garden in the lapel. The detestable cap that served as the most identifiable part of my uniform was balanced at a precariously rakish angle on my head. After a bit more preening in front of the mirror, with Cannon Fodder in place of my valet to offer advice, I was only half an hour late to a party in the same building I was already in.

Fortunately, introductions to the Princesses always took a considerable amount of time, as each pony, Yours Truly included, is desperate for any kind of recognition and attention from the universally-beloved Princess Celestia. That there were now four of them to be presented to certainly didn't help speed the process up either. The queue leading from the great hall stretched some distance out into the corridor when I arrived. While I could have used my position as her favourite (and only living) nephew to jump right at the head of the queue, as the majority of the guests were officers armed with decorative but still deadly rapiers and champagne and cocktails would flow like the Canterlot waterfalls, I thought it best to try and keep things as civil as possible this time.

I took my position at the back of the queue, behind a rather nervous-looking mare in the crimson uniform of General replete with gold braid and an assortment of medals. She shot me a rather odd look as I passed her, and as I stood there, waiting with growing impatience for the line to move forwards, I could hear her muttering under her breath. I dismissed her as a lunatic, but then again, most generals are; to attract enough attention from one's superiors to gain a promotion into the general staff and to carry out one's duties knowing that each decision means the deaths of scores of young stallions and mares, success demanded a certain separation from reality. Looking back now, I suppose that's where Crimson Arrow and McBridle fell short - they were both too normal to be successful generals.

The line moved forwards a few steps, and then the mare in front of me sighed, turned on her hooves, and stared up at me. She was a small, middle-aged earth pony, with a face and frame that reminded me of a rat or other unpleasant rodent; certainly, her nose twitching did very little to discourage me from making that comparison. Her dress uniform was untidy and clearly un-ironed, and she had chosen to replace the cap with a black beret. There was a full ten seconds of her staring up at me before she deigned to speak.

"There are catbirds in my army," she said. Her Trottingham accent was sharp, clipped, and refined; the sort that was adopted and learned, as opposed to a natural way of speaking.

"I beg your pardon?" I said, wondering if I was speaking to an escapee from a nearby mental asylum.

"Catbirds, Blueblood, in my army."

I frowned, wondering what in blazes she was on about, but then I noticed a pair of griffons standing further ahead in the queue. Both of them were incongruously wearing the older dress uniforms of the now-reformed Royal Guard, though the crisp, neat tunics were supplemented with a few items that spoke to the unique barbarism of their kind. One, who I took to be an officer senior to his companion, wore fur-lined pelisse draped over his left shoulder that looked unsettlingly real. The ponies in front of and behind them kept a fair and respectable distance, further than any of the other guests in the queue.

"You mean the PGL?" I said. "And it's Prince Blueblood, if you don't mind, or simply 'Sir' for the sake of expediency."

[The Princess's Griffon Legion (PGL) is a regiment of the Equestrian Army, and is made up of the descendents of griffons who fled to Equestria to escape the mad King Grover III's reign of terror.]

The General squinted up at me. "I am the daughter of a farmer," she said, puffing her chest out. "And now I am a general and you are not, and I will be the one to lead the Equestrian Army to final victory in the field."

"I'm sure you will," I said, unable to hold back on the sarcasm. "And you are...?"

"Market Garden." She said that as though I should have known already. Granted, if I had paid closer attention to the mountains of paperwork currently putting my desk's structural integrity to the test, I probably would have recognised one of the rising stars of Twilight's newly reformed general staff. "General Market Garden, if you don't mind, of the First Army. Princess Luna said you're going to be my special liaison. I already have one commissar peering over my shoulder, so I don't think I need another, thank you very much."

I decided that I didn't like her, and as it happened, I would later find out that I was hardly in a minority in finding Market Garden, despite whatever skill she had as a leader, to be rude and abrasive. Something, however, didn't quite add up.

"What happened to General Solitaire?"

She smiled slyly. "I had a word with the Ministry of War. Victory will require decisive action, the likes of which Solitaire and the old guard of officers have proven themselves to be incapable of taking. Crimson Arrow had no imagination and McBridle had no initiative, and neither of them had any sort of fighting spirit, which, I assure you, I have in spades. I simply made my case to Field Marshal Iron Hoof, and here I am. And here you are, working with me now."

More like keeping an eye on you, thought I. As much as her brusque manner and over-inflated sense of self-importance grated on me, if I could impress upon my superiors in the Commissariat the need for me to serve as a facilitator between a general whose appalling personality was all but bound to insult everypony who had to work with her, then I could at least have an excuse to keep myself out of harm's way. After all, she might be correct in her assertion that she was the one to bring Equestria 'final victory in the field', as she had put it, like some prophesied messiah appointed by Faust herself, but that would all be for naught if she got herself fired from that position by being rude to the wrong ponies. Not everypony can get away with it as I can, especially the commoners.

Market Garden was still talking, rambling on about the state of the war and offering her own opinions on how it should be fought and that if she was in charge from the start we would have won by now. I was only half-paying attention, with the other half distracted by the rather delectable pair of flanks on the mare just ahead of her in the queue. Fortunately, said queue started moving at a fair old pace, and I assumed that Princess Luna was getting impatient greeting each and every guest in turn instead of imbibing heroic quantities of mead and having what she called 'fun'. By the time it looked as though she was starting to suspect that I was merely nodding and saying vague affirmations in strategic points in her monologue, it was time for her to be presented to the Princesses. Based on her inflated ego, I was surprised she didn't ask the rulers of Equestria to bow to her.

It was my turn, and that decidedly one-sided conversation with Market Garden had made me all the more desperate for a drink. Having done this countless times, I kept my greetings short and professional, knowing that I would have plenty of time to chat with the Princesses later; a quick bow and an equally-brisk 'Your Highness' was sufficient to expedite this.

That, however, all fell apart when I got to Twilight. Celestia and Cadence greeted me with their usual warmth, while Luna was her typically cold and distant self. When I saw our newest Princess, however, I found myself momentarily stunned into paralysis. Where before she was plain old Twilight Sparkle, albeit with a pair of wings and ever so slightly taller, apparently having had the same treatment that Rarity had given to Red Coat earlier, she looked every inch the perfect pony princess. She wore an elegant blue and white dress that hugged and accentuated her figure, with a train that cascaded elegantly from her flanks to the floor. What was more alluring, however, was the confidence with which she now held herself; the pretty clothes were merely an accent to her natural beauty and power.

I realised I was staring at her the same way Blitzkrieg stares at a free and open bar, and rapidly collected myself and gave a hasty bow. After a brief exchange of trite greetings I was free to canter through the open set of double doors and into the hall with embarrassment flashing hotly on my cheeks.

Whatever issue there had been with the chandelier had clearly been rectified. It hung rather precariously over the hall from a vast domed roof, resplendent in glittering white crystals, sweeping silverwork, and gently glowing candles. Nevertheless, though the chain that held it suspended over the heads of dozens of party guests certainly looked sturdy enough, I decided it was best to give the space directly beneath it a wide enough berth for now.

The hall itself was of modest size. A central area, underneath the aforementioned chandelier, had been cleared for dancing, a small band played inoffensive classical music in the corner, and around the sides were tables and chairs for ponies to sit on. A larger table atop a raised platform was at the far end of the hall, reserved for the four Princesses. At my right hoof side as I entered the hall was a longer table upon which was served a variety of party snacks, sandwiches, and, most importantly, drinks. On the left, a few open double doors led to a sweeping balcony, from which one could view Ponyville in the distance and the malignant gloom of the Everfree Forest beyond.

As for the guests themselves, most of them were officers of Twilight's new Equestrian Army, and judging by the varying amounts of gold lace, medals, and other shiny accoutrements that one accumulates the further up the totem pole one climbs, there appeared to be examples of just about every rank from major to field marshal. A number of ponies were in the civilian equivalent of ceremonial dress, white tie for stallions and ball gowns for mares, and I recognised a few as senior members of the Cabinet and Bearers of the Elements of Harmony. It occurred to me, standing there and watching over all of the very important ponies congregated entirely within one room, all chatting, eating, drinking, and dancing all in that somewhat restrained way before a party truly starts, that between them and all four Princesses also being present, this was the perfect opportunity for Changeling infiltrators to decapitate Equestria's political and military leadership in one strike.

That was when I noticed the place was positively crawling with guards. There appeared to be one guard for every two guests as far as I could see, and they stood around the corners of the room and at doors and windows, and pegasi were perched like gargoyles on wall sconces. Each was in full plate armour and were fully armed for combat. The earth ponies and pegasi carried those new-fangled muskets, which a number of guests were excitedly discussing, and, to their credit, the guardsponies remained professionally detached and refused to demonstrate how they worked in spite of the persistent nagging. Looking around with a fresh appreciation for security, as my habitual paranoia kicked in once I became aware of just how big a target had been painted on Auntie 'Tia's rather large flanks, I spotted the unicorn guards discretely moving between the groups of ponies and surreptitiously scanning them.

Though I assured myself that security was tight enough to dissuade even Queen Chrysalis from so obvious a target, the weight of my sword hanging from my belt was immensely reassuring, especially after last time. I also noticed that most of the other guests were likewise armed, though I wagered most of those swords and hoof-pistols that adorned the officers and the odd civilian had never been drawn for their intended, practical use at all.

I made a beeline for the drinks, my highly-polished horseshoes tapping on the marble floor as I crossed the hall at a brisk pace. A few heads naturally turned in my direction, as I apparently made some sort of dramatic entrance, which I put down to a level of superficial charm I have always been able to project without effort. Passing the soft drinks, fruit juices, and Apple family cider left out for the tedious sort of killjoy who doesn't drink alcohol, I grabbed a flute of champagne. A quick sip confirmed it to be of an acceptable vintage; perfectly drinkable but unremarkable, but it would do for now.

I turned around, only to be met face-to-face with a bright pink earth pony. Her nose was mere inches from my own, and she wore a grin so broad that it appeared to take up more than half of her entire face. Messy hair like cotton candy and a dress decorated with candy motifs confirmed that this was none other than the infamous Pinkie Pie, whom I had glimpsed from afar at the Grand Galloping Gala so long ago. I let out a short, violent exclamation and flinched back, bumping my rump into the table behind me and knocking over a plate piled high with canapés.

"Hi, Mister Blue-Buddy!" she exclaimed.

"What did you just call me!?" I roared, almost snapping the champagne flute in half. A few ponies turned to look, but I ignored them.

Damnation, what was the point in sending earth ponies to school if they don't learn how to address their social betters correctly? First that Market Garden filly, and now Pinkie Pie. I blamed Twilight, of course, for remaining too familiar with these commoners so they forgot their instinctive awe of royalty. However, that Pinkie Pie was, against all logic and reason, a Bearer of an Element of Harmony and therefore some shade at least of nobility, not to mention a popular heroine and a universally-beloved party planner, probably meant that I shouldn't toss my drink in her face.

"It's Prince Blue-Buddy to you," I hissed through gritted teeth. "Not 'mister'; that's for common stallions."

"Oo-ooo-oo!" She pulled back to a more comfortable distance. "What are you a prince of, exactly? I mean, Celestia is the princess of the sun, Luna is the princess of the moon, Cadence is the princess of love, and Twilight is the princess of friendship."

My initial shock of anger had rapidly deflated, though that might have been because I had been quaffing down that champagne much too quickly. Perhaps, after all, this was an opportunity to educate her on how to approach royalty correctly.

"My distant ancestor took the title of Princess of Blood, but my family hasn't used that for hundreds of years."

Then, the deluge of words began - unceasing, without pause for breath or thought. I cannot describe adequately being subjected to a Pinkie Pie ramble in mere words, but I shall endeavour to replicate what little I can remember of the nonsensical tirade, flitting as it did between different subjects within the same sentence as her mouth struggled to keep up with the sudden and violent changes of topic within her mind. All of this was accompanied by a great deal of mad gesticulation and physical props she had summoned from somewhere. It was like being held beneath a waterfall, unable to escape or do anything but stand there and accept one's fate. Try as I might to interject, there was no stopping her without clamping her mouth shut by either physical or magical means, which I doubted would do much to help anyway.

"Does that mean you're in charge of all of the blood in Equestria? Like, the blood flowing in everypony's veins right now? That's so cool! Because sometimes when I'm lying in bed playing with Gummy, he's my pet baby alligator, and he suddenly comes up with this really, really, really fun idea for a special kind of pie for Rainbow Dash's birthday. You know Rainbow Dash, right? She's my friend and she loves my pies and I bake one for her every birthday, Hearth's Warming, Summer Sun Celebration, Winter Moon Festival, Nightmare Night, and Tuesday! Anyway, what Gummy comes up with is so unbelievably amazing that I just have to write it down before either of us forget it. So I jump up out of bed to get to my notepad before the awesome idea leaves my head, but then my head goes all 'whoa' and I have to lie down again. By the time I stop feeling dizzy I've forgotten the super-cool pie idea - the 'pie-dea'! Twilight said it's because I'm standing up so quickly that my blood can't keep up and get to my head in time. If you could tell my blood to stop being so lazy and keep up with the rest of me, then that would save so many pies!"

Over the course of that insane rant I had completely drained my first glass of champagne and started on the second. Being a little bit tipsy didn't help me understand it any better, and I'd need a damn sight more drink in me before I could. Finally, however, I was allowed to speak:

"'Blood' is an Ancient Equestrian symbol for the Herd's fighting spirit and determination to never give up in the struggle for Harmony. More recently, it’s come to mean the purity of the noble unicorn bloodline descended from Princess Platinum."

Pinkie Pie carried on. What she said, I simply can't tell you, as I had given up on even trying at that point. Instead, I looked past her to find anypony who might come to my rescue; the Princesses were still busy with the introductions, Red Coat was chatting up some young mare and looking very dashing as Rarity had promised, and Sunshine Smiles was wrapped up in a conversation with his new best friend Shining Armour and the two griffons. I'd have even settled with listening to General Market Garden drone on endlessly about how she was going to personally win the war all by herself, presumably by lecturing Queen Chrysalis to death.

"...and that's how I found out Applejack and me are your cousins!"

That jolted me out of my fugue state. Almost choking on my champagne for a second time that night, I struggled to find a way to articulate an appropriate reaction to that particular piece of utter nonsense. "What?" was all that I could manage on such short notice.

"Gee, Prince Blue-Buddy, it's almost like you weren't paying attention to a word I said!" She then waved over at a group of nearby ponies. "Hey, Applejack! Come and meet your new cousin!"

I recognised her instantly, the Bearer of the Element of Honesty who had baked the enormous cake that had ruined a perfectly innocent dinner jacket. Applejack trotted on over, grinning inanely, and if I didn't know any better I'd say the two of them had planned this.

"I'll be," she drawled, tilting her peculiar, beaten old hat back so that she might have a chance of looking me in the eye. "Is that true, Pinkie? Does that make us royalty?"

[Blueblood had written Applejack's accent phonetically. For the sake of maintaining readability and with respect to Applejack, I have taken the liberty of correcting this.]

"That isn't how it works," I said, feeling the pit of my stomach suddenly drop like a trap door. "There must be some mistake."

"Nuh-uh," said Pinkie Pie, shaking her head. "Now, listen carefully this time. The Apple Family is really, surprisingly, stupendously good at keeping records. Goldie Delicious has the paperwork to prove it; your great-great-great-Grandpa Pureblood and Applejack's great-great-Aunt Jonagold Apple got really friendly, like really, really, really friendly, and their love-foal was Applejack's Great Uncle Empire Apple."

"Well, now," said Applejack, sidling over to my side and playfully jabbing her elbow into my ribs. "What do y'all make of my 'common carnival fare' now, cousin?"

"I don't think that actually makes us cousins," I sneered. "In any case, the College of Heralds would never approve an application based on such tenuous grounds." [The College of Heralds is a royal corporation that oversees all matters of heraldry and peerage in Equestria on behalf of the Princesses. Its remit includes genealogical research and recommendations of the granting of peerages.]

"Well, bless your heart." Applejack waved her hoof dismissively at me. "We ain't fussed about titles and all that, and I don't need no fancy ponies to tell me who's my kin and who ain't. Besides, it ain't really up to me to judge whether you and yours are Apples or not; that'll be up to Granny Smith, but I reckon I could put in a good word for you, cousin."

"Ooh!" exclaimed Pinkie, jumping up and down on the spot like an excitable puppy. "We could have the next Apple family reunion at Blueblood's! Think about all the Apples in Equestria converging on your palace, parking their wagons on your lawn, raising a barn in your garden, dragging their muddy hooves over your carpets, drinking your drinks, taking you on a hay-ride through the streets of Canterlot for all of your fancy pony friends to see! Wouldn't that be fun? Hey, that's funny, you've turned an even whiter shade of white!"

Pinkie Pie was spared my full and honest assessment on just how 'fun' I would find all of those things, when the sharp sound of a spoon gently tapping on the side of a champagne flute cut through the noise of the room like a rapier blade. All conversation ceased and all eyes turned towards the table on the raised platform where, now that they had finally finished with the introductions, the four rulers of Equestria sat. The aforementioned glass and cutlery were held in Twilight's magic, as she rose to her hooves and cleared her throat to deliver a speech. I used this opportunity to make my escape, and as I darted to cover on the other side of the hall where hopefully I wouldn't be spotted in the crowd, I reassured myself that with the sheer size of the Apple Family and my ancestor Pureblood's rustic tastes such a connection between our families was inevitable. I also wondered how expensive it would be to have two Bearers and their entire families assassinated.

"Ladies and gentlecolts," Twilight began. Her voice was curiously flat and robotic, as though reading from a script.

The silence that had fallen on the crowd was reverent, like that of a cathedral. She looked to Celestia first, presumably for reassurance, which she received in the form of a polite nod and an encouraging smile, then continued:

"I would like to thank each and every one of you for coming to this celebration of our armed forces; it is by their continuing sacrifice that our safety and Harmony is maintained. This day marks the founding of the Princess of Friendship's Own Regiment of Prism Guards, and with it the completion of the much-needed reforms of our military. The sword of Equestria, blunted and rusted after centuries of neglect, has been re-forged, and is ready to put an end to the Changeling threat for once and for all. Colonel Fer-de-Lance, bring forth the standard."

At that command, an honour guard marched through the open double doors and into the hall to the sound of triumphant martial music. The sound of their horseshoes pounding against the marble all but drowned out the band behind them. A tall, scarred mare in a deep purple dress uniform I hadn't seen before led the procession, followed by a rather nervous-looking ensign bearing the regimental standard itself. It was purple, and bore the heraldic device of Twilight's cutie mark in the centre, framed by an alchemist's prism. There was some symbolism about the Magic of Friendship being refracted through the hearts of ponies or some such rot, but it flew right over my head at any rate.

The crowd scurried out of the way of the marching honour guard, which forged a path right up to the pedestal where the four Princesses sat. This stern-looking mare barked an order, calling a halt to the procession and, mercifully, to the music. As the silence re-settled over the crowd, she brought the trembling ensign up to Princess Twilight. It was rather difficult to see from my perspective, huddled away near the back and away from the more irritating of her friends, but fortunately my tall stature allowed me to glimpse her exchanging a few words with this Colonel Fer-de-Lance, whoever she was, before taking the limply-hanging end of the regimental standard and planting a kiss on it.

With that silly bit of ceremony over with, the party went into full swing. The Colonel joined in, though I would not have the pleasure of speaking with her that night, while the honour guard was sent packing with the standard; it was just as well, too, as I had already gotten myself into a heap of trouble just to rescue one flag and I was in no desire to repeat that whole awful affair.

From then on it was all a mad, drunken haze of flitting between clusters of officers and civilians important enough to deserve an invitation. To recount everything would be a waste of time for the both of us, dear reader, and it was without scandal or much more embarrassment than I had already suffered. Anecdotes and bon mots were delivered with their usual impeccable timing, and as the alcohol flowed and the guests became ever more merry the music rose and swelled in tempo and energy until even I felt the need to dance. In spite of the other deficiencies in her personality, Pinkie Pie had done a sterling job in this party; the strict protocols and traditions of formal parties had been maintained (her own behaviour to Yours Truly excepted), but it was still a lively and entertaining affair.

The brief interlude in the festivities for the lowering of the sun and the raising of the moon by both Princesses was a particular highlight. An hour or so after that, I realised that I had seen very little of Twilight Sparkle since her little speech, beyond the occasional glimpse of purple in the small gaps between groups of chatting ponies. Being well on my way on my journey to inebriation, I decided that I ought to rectify that; after all, seeing her again was the main draw for me in attending this party, and I'd be damned if I was going to be sent back to the frontline without at least a friendly chat. I cannot explain this need in rational terms, only a strong, emotional longing to be in her company, to hear her voice whether passionately extolling the virtues of whatever obscure academic practice held her interest that week or bemoaning my lack of ability to keep up.

I found her on the balcony after much searching and almost getting cornered again by that tedious General Market Garden. It was quite a chilly night, still being that time in Spring where the days are warm but the temperature plummets rapidly after sunset, so the balcony was quiet compared to the raucous party inside. Twilight stood at the edge, her forehooves resting on the rail as she looked over at Ponyville beyond. As far as I could make out in the gloom, the only other ponies around were a couple rather too interested in exploring the contents of each other's mouths than what their Princess was doing. Clearly, she wanted some quiet time to herself. I, on the other hoof, was much too inebriated to recognise this at the time, and stumbled on over next to her.

"That was a nice speech Princess Luna wrote for you," I said, stumbling over to her side. I'd taken another glass of champagne with me, and sipped it as I gazed out at the village.

Twilight turned her head slowly and gave me a quizzical look. "How did you know she wrote it?"

"Your speeches aren't usually so bellicose," I said, and I almost added 'mercifully short' and 'direct and to the point' to the end of that. "The bit about the rusty sword is very much something Princess Luna says too. If I had a bit for every time I've heard her use that analogy I'll finally pay off my late father's gambling debts in one go."

"I couldn't think of anything to say." She had been drinking, that much was clear, but was doing a better job than most of hiding it. I expect that a princess should never be drunk, though with princes it's more or less expected, but whatever quantity she had it was just enough to loosen her tongue for the first pony to speak to her. "I'm the Princess of Friendship, for pony's sake, and I'm making speeches about war, my face is on recruitment posters all over the realm, and now soldiers will march into battle led by a flag with my cutie mark on it. Doesn't it all sound a bit... you know?"

"Perverse?"

"I was going to say 'wrong', but that works too." Twilight sighed, and turned her gaze back to the warm, soft lights of Ponyville, whose tiny pinpricks in the distance seemed like a small homage to the majesty of the stars above. "It's just that after all I've done to get my reforms passed, all the things that I had to do to get it through Parliament, seeing that flag just now had made me wonder if the Magic of Friendship has failed us. We shouldn't have been in this situation in the first place."

Those words cut deeper than I thought they should, or it might have been alcohol-induced melancholia, and as I stood there, watching her stare forlornly into the distance, I found that I could not stand to see her look so sad. "Friendship hasn't failed," I said. "And it certainly doesn't mean you've failed, either."

"What is war but a failure of friendship to solve our differences? Perhaps if we reached out to the Changelings we could come to some sort of arrangement, and even helped them. But no, Equestria went to war, and now more ponies are going to die because we couldn't find a peaceful solution."

"Chrysalis didn't give us much of a choice," I said. "You're right about friendship, but don't you think we have an obligation to defend it, by force if necessary? It's gruesome and horrible, yes, but talking our differences out over tea and cakes only works if the belligerent wants to, and I doubt Chrysalis is all that keen on tea, anyway."

"On a rational, logical level you're absolutely right. Believe me, I've told myself this a thousand times over since that speech. But what use is friendship in war? How can it survive against all this hate?"

Twilight slumped over the balcony rail, and I feared for a moment that she might have passed out until she drunkenly lifted her head up. In the dim light, her eyes sparkled with the glow of a party that suddenly seemed so very distant. The wind had picked up, tugging at my tunic, and I thought back to just how unpleasant the heat of the Badlands was. In a week's time I'd be longing for this cold again.

"I don't know why I'm telling you, of all ponies," she continued in that sort of far-off voice a drunk pony uses when just rambling without much in the way of forethought. "It wasn't all that long ago you were calling me names and stealing my things and getting into fights with my brother."

"I like to think I've changed since then," I said. "You certainly have. And I think Equestria needs you more than ever now."

She appeared to be lost in thought, which I imagined was a constant peril for one as intelligent as her. "I'm not so sure," she said, at length. "I made my report and I got my reforms completed. The rest is up to the army while I do princess-things."

"Someday, hopefully soon, this dreadful war will come to an end, and both victor and vanquished will need somepony to bring them together to ensure a lasting peace. Until then, I think Equestria desperately needs its Princess of Friendship to keep it on the right path, lest this war makes us lose sight of what we're fighting for."

I was babbling by this point, merely saying the first coherent thoughts that swam up from the depths of my subconscious mind, but it seemed to do the trick. Twilight Sparkle smiled at me, and I felt a sudden and inexplicable sense of relief at that sight. And yet, though I longed to stay, the light and noise of the party beckoned me back, to once more take on the mantle that Canterlot's high society had placed on my shoulders as a high priest of senseless hedonism. Oh, the glitter of champagne in a crystal flute, the sparkle of the sequins on a pretty mare's dress as she danced across the marble, the chorus of laughter that follows a perfectly-delivered bon mot; it all sang to me in an intoxicating siren's song of soporific excess. This was the last party I would attend before returning to the front, and the knowledge of it left its sourness on every drink, snack, and pair of lips I had tasted that night, and if this was to become the last one of my life then I promised that it would be one worthy of the most depraved of my ancient family line.

"Pinkie Pie put a lot of effort into this party," I said, holding out my hoof, "and I think she'd love to see you enjoy it instead of standing out here in the cold."

She looked out into the darkness and then back up at me, then her smile grew wider. "Of course," she said, taking my hoof. "Thank you, Blueblood."

She followed me back, once more into my world of light and decadence.

***

A single ray of light cast by Celestia's rising sun streamed through a crack between the curtains and landed directly on my face. I opened my eyes, only to be blinded by it, and clenching them shut once again seemed to soften the pain only slightly. Something was beating a rhythm in my head roughly in time with my heartbeat, and whatever creature it was had also made use of my skull as a latrine before promptly dying. At some point in the night, I must have had the stuffing beaten out of me by a lover's jealous husband and then forced to run a marathon at knife-point. This, however, was all very familiar to me; this was the Morning After and I had a hangover.

Slowly, I rolled away the sweat-soaked duvet and stretched out my battered limbs as much as the bed would allow; the sheets were somewhat stuck to my body, so the process was reminiscent of unpeeling a banana. I lay there, the draft from the window cooling my coat, and I waited for the misery to end, but my mouth felt as though I had gargled with dust and I would have to answer a certain natural call soon. There was nothing for it, and sooner or later I'd have to drag myself out of bed like a vampire out of its tomb and begin the long and slow process of piecing together the events of the night before. The pounding in my brain subsided as I wiggled down and away from the accusatory beam of sunlight, and, after a moment of bracing myself for the onslaught the day would bring, I opened my eyes.

This was not my room.

It was far larger, for one, with a wide open space in the middle, a modest bookcase next to a set of double doors, a mirror plastered with photographs, and a very complicated-looking telescope by that window. My clothes were on the floor, along with a blue and white dress that looked familiar but my alcohol-soaked brain still couldn't work it out. I then saw that there was a rather large book on the bedside table, leaning drunkenly against a gramophone. Squinting until the words on the spine would stay still enough for me to read, it was titled 'Lectures on the Theory of Advanced Thaumodynamics: 2nd Edition'. There was only one pony in the world who would consider that to be appropriate for light bedtime reading, and when the name formed in my mind like an enormous billboard, I felt suddenly very awake and very sober, but no less nauseated.

Oh no.

Next to me on the bed was a pony-shaped lump under the sheets. The pounding in my head grew faster as, desperate to confirm or disprove my fears, I took the corner of the duvet with my magic and delicately rolled it back. When I saw a pair of purple flanks emblazoned with stars, the memories of the night before came flooding back, clear and shockingly vivid.

After our little discussion on the balcony, Twilight and I had rejoined the party, and we drank, talked, and danced. Or rather, I danced while she had some sort of seizure, but as nopony rushed to give her medical aid I just assumed that this was normal for her. We both carried on long into the night, after most of the other guests had left, in a veritable kaleidoscope of sybaritic excess, until it was just me, her, and the two other Princesses finishing off what remained of the food and drink. Luna drunkenly regaled us with stories of when she and Celestia were foals, complete with miming and imitations, and with only a few gentle corrections from the slightly more sober elder sister; Twilight rested her head on my shoulder as we listened on, and I recall being subjected to a few unsettlingly eager grins from Cadence.

Nevertheless, all good things must come to an end, and the Princesses all had business to attend to the following day. Being the gentlecolt that I always claimed to be but only sometimes lived up to, I escorted Twilight back to her chambers, still chatting about any old nonsense that came to mind. We stumbled through the corridor, tripping over carpets and bouncing off the walls, and could scarcely keep our hooves off one another. Once there, however, with the door closed and out of sight from other, more judgemental ponies, all pretence dropped; we tore off each other's evening clothes and fell upon one another in a spontaneous, champagne-soaked eruption of a mutual lust long-repressed by social propriety and a decade of juvenile antagonism.

Back in the present, Princess Twilight Sparkle began to stir, and I considered ducking under the bed and hiding there until I could make my escape. Too late. She rolled over to face me, her eyes flickered open, and then bugged out of their sockets when she saw me sitting in her bed with a very guilty grin on my face.

"Good Morning, Twi-"

Twilight screamed.